Deanna Madden #1 The Girl in 6E (26 page)

THE KNOB TURNS
and I yank, a smile on my face, my heart dropping when the door doesn’t move. Doesn’t budge. The crack of metal on metal reminds me of the dead bolt that holds me in, a dead bolt I have forgotten about in my excitement at having a visitor. I laugh despite my frustration. There is humor in the fact that when I am finally ready to open the damn door to my life, it is locked, and from my own directive.

Jeremy’s voice has risen, and I look through the peephole to see him standing. “It’s locked,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “Thanks. I know that.”

“So unlock it.”

I groan, leaning against the door. “I can’t. I don’t have a key.”

“What?” He sounds alarmed, and I look through the small bulb of glass, to see his fists clenched. “What if you get hurt? Or need help?”

“It’s kind of hard for me to get hurt in here. And if I was in a situation where I needed help, I’d just wait for the morning. That’s when he unlocks me.”

“Who?” The word is vehement, angry. As if he will rip apart the keeper of the key, all in an attempt to protect my independence.

“Jeremy…” I try to calm him with my voice. “Calm down. It’s for my own good. At night…” I pause. “At night is when I am the most dangerous. A lot of times I can’t control myself, and I want to leave the apartment—to go out and hurt someone. I need this lock. It is what keeps me inside. The day is easier. I can control the day, can survive without the lock.”

“I don’t want you caged in like an animal. That is bullshit!” He pounds the door with his fist, the strong impact creating only a dull thud of sound, every dollar spent on its construction showing its worth.

I shake my head, stepping closer to the door. “You don’t understand, Jeremy. What I am, how I think…it isn’t like you, or like others. I have survived this long because of how I live. Because of the rules that keep my sanity, and my urges, in place.”

There is silence, and I wait. I do not begrudge the lock. The only times I hate the lock are when it is needed most—when I am blind with need and it is the only thing keeping me inside. At those times I scream and pound against the door, cursing Simon, cursing myself. But right now, when my mind is clear? I don’t care if there is 180 pounds of yummy on the other side. I know what I need. And I need and appreciate the restraint.

“Mind if I talk to you a little longer?”

I grin. “I’m good with that.”

I sit back down, hearing his voice move as he does the same, and we talk, our conversation passing back and forth through the steel door for almost an hour. Until my eyes droop and my voice slurs. Then he says good night, giving me one last peephole glance at his beautiful body before he walks down the hall.

“Be careful running home,” I call out, watching him step slowly backward, away from my door. “There are a lot of crazies out there.”

He grins, a cocky smile that lights up the dim hallway. “I like crazies. Me and them…we have a little bit of a thing.”

A little bit of a thing.
It is a glimmer, a crack, a chance of something more, and it is what I focus on as I drag myself into bed, my eyes drifting closed before I even have a chance to pull my blanket up.

I don’t know what is going to happen with Jeremy. I don’t know whether he is my “happily ever after” or not. But I know he makes me smile, and I know he accepts me—the “fucked-up, I’ll kill you with your own box cutters” me. And with that revelation, I fall deep, my demons letting me be, my body sinking into the peaceful oblivion that is sleep.

One week later, Mike forwards me an article that was printed in the
Statesboro Times
. It describes Annie’s rescue by an “unknown person” and states that the police thoroughly searched the trailer and grounds, finding a box with photos and souvenirs from more than eight missing girls, all around Annie’s age. They also found a laptop, the original that Mike had cloned. With the information found on the laptop, they hoped to solve the cases of the missing girls and bring some closure to their families.

I respond to his e-mail, asking him to get me the Thompsons’ bank account number. When he replies, I have him set up an untraceable wire and transfer two hundred grand into their account.

My eyes had picked up on the details. Their van, sagging in the church’s parking lot, duct tape holding the side mirror in place. The faded wear of their thrift store clothing. The shake in Henry Thompson’s voice when he expressed their lack of ransom funds. I had the money, no reason not to share it. It was a small price to pay for the experience. I had left this apartment, wandered among the living. I had helped someone. As much as I may have rescued Annie, she rescued me even more. She made me feel that in all of the rotten of my soul, there still existed goodness, light.

Hope.

There is a knock at the door and I look up, checking my reflection one last time in the mirror, the Betsey Johnson dress fitting perfectly, my hair curling gently over my shoulder, a sparkle in my eyes that I hope is excitement and not insanity.

Today is Friday, and I am doing it. Going on a date with Jeremy. It is ridiculously early, four p.m., and he has promised to have me home by seven. It is dangerous, it is risky. He has strict orders to tackle me to the ground if I start acting odd. But I think, in some small way, this is possible. And I want it. I need it. So, so badly.

Hope.

Hope is dangerous. Hope can be the loose thread that pulls apart your sanity.

Writing this book was so intriguing because it allowed me to dive into the world of camming. In my research, I immersed myself in the industry and was amazed at the women I encountered—ones from all walks of life, many of whom are highly educated and independent, and led previous lives as business professionals. Some turned to camming by choice, others by situation, but all share one overwhelming characteristic: confidence. These women are not ashamed of their profession, they are proud of it.

Although the characters in this book are fictional, the situations and setup of Deanna’s webcam operation are as accurate as I could portray them, and the clients are modeled after different fetishists that frequent the webcam community.

If you are interested in learning more about this industry, you can visit www.webcammingfaq.com for more information.

This book is my wicked baby. It is devious, and naughty, and often completely disobeyed any orders I gave it. It also has a love-hate relationship with many individuals. It takes a certain type of person to “get” it, and I am overwhelmed with love for the group that worked on this book. They all embraced the individuality that was
The Girl in 6E
and made it even better than I ever dreamed it could be.

To Redhook’s art, marketing, and publicity teams. You designed a cover I absolutely love and have constantly surprised me with your innovative ideas, creative approaches, and collaborative attitude. You are an incredible group, and it has been a joy to work with you.

To Susan Barnes. You have taken this book to a level that I love. I appreciate your fearlessness in embracing this book, in taking it deeper and darker. Your editorial changes have taken it to the place it needed to go, and I couldn’t be prouder of the end result. I can’t wait to work with you on the next one. Thank you for your dedication to this book and for appreciating what it is and letting it stay that way.

To Maura Kye-Casella, my agent. Thank you for your hard work with this book and for your passion and fire for it. You’ve been with me every step of the way, and I appreciate it immensely. Here’s to the next hundred.

And last but not least, the readers. Social media allows me the opportunity to connect with some of you. But I will never get a chance to speak to all of you, and hope that this note reaches those I have not. Thank you for spending time with this book. Please pass it on to your friends and family, please reread it until the pages are worn and the cover is falling off. And please know that I appreciate you.

Sincerely,
Alessandra

A. R. Torre is an open pseudonym for Alessandra Torre. She writes contemporary erotica and published her first book,
Blindfolded Innocence
, in 2012. Her first book,
Blindfolded Innocence
, was published in 2012. The sequel,
Masked Innocence
, was published in winter 2013.

Alessandra lives in the southern United States and is married, with one young child. She enjoys reading, spending time with her family, and playing with her dogs. Her favorite authors include Lisa Gardner, Dean Koontz, and Jennifer Crusie. You can connect with Alessandra through Twitter, her Facebook fan page, and at www.alessandratorre.com.

Blindfolded Innocence

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The Dumont Diaries

Sex. Love. Repeat.

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