Chasing Eden Novel – Eden Egyptian cotton rustles, shifting with sudden movement and my eyes shoot open. He’s leaving again, and this time I’m ready to escape. Cloaked in darkness, I steel myself for what comes next. Feather-light fingertips graze my skin, trailing up my spine to the small birthmark between my shoulders. Warm breath sets my hair on end as he whispers, “Beautiful…” and plants his signature peck on the back of my neck. His way of claiming me before he goes. I used to crave his touch. Now, I loathe the small parts of me that yearn for these moments. Moments when he makes me feel cherished. Pretending to sleep, I close my eyes and breathe deeply. I’ve gotten good at faking it. Seconds later, the warmth from his body vanishes, the bed lightens and patiently, I wait as he exits the room and walks down the main staircase. His footsteps echo in the foyer followed by the familiar, metallic jingle of car keys. The front door opens and closes. He’s gone. Throwing off the covers, I sprint to the window and watch as his SUV disappears down the drive. He’ll be at the club for hours, banging some new stripper he hired. I should know… it’s where he found me.
The wealthy and handsome Kole Hunter, The Crown Prince of Miami, and for whatever reason he picked an orphaned, cocktail waitress to be by his side. Ha. Right. I was so naive, so blinded by love. No, blinded by his promise of love. Kole took every part of me that mattered. Then, he went looking for gratification in someone else’s arms… and there were so many. Like an old toy he cast me aside. Locked me away in a palace of loneliness wishing for his return while he went in search of one conquest after another. Each time he cheated was another dissection – another stab to my heart. One heart can only stand so much pain. At first, I tried to console myself with the fact that I shared his bed and his home, but – c’mon – that’s a tough pill to swallow when he’s never actually here. Then, I decided to get even. Banging around on him would only get me killed. You don’t share the King’s property. The only way you beat a King is to take what belongs to him, and I was going to take my life back. Kole believed once he had me that I would always be his. He assumed a few whispered words of devotion would be enough to keep me tethered, but clearly, he underestimated my feeling of self-worth.
Thanks to his frequent absence, I had time to gather supplies – time to prepare. Quietly, I pull on my clothes, sneakers, and hoodie. Retrieving the small package from my nightstand, I scribble a quick note and shove it inside the manila envelope. After depositing my little surprise in Kole’s safe, I leave it exposed and the door slightly ajar to ensure discovery. Crossing to the French doors that lead to the bedroom terrace, I turn my back on the place I’ve called home for the better part of a year. Outside, one of the low-level thugs Kole paid to keep an eye on me is sleeping propped up on a stone bench. Poor guy will pay dearly for his mistake. Skirting his unconscious form, I trot down the exterior steps and veer right toward the gardens, careful to stick to the shadows. The farther I move from the main building the more my steps lighten with anticipation. Making my exodus through the expansive grounds is a piece of cake. I’ve walked this route so many times I could do it blindfolded. Continue past the hedge maze. Take a left at the roses. From there, follow the yellow brick wall to Oz.
If you hit the apple orchard, you’ve gone too far. At last, I reach the gap at the edge of the property hidden by overgrown foliage. A discovery made on one of my many solo expeditions. Ignoring the nicks and cuts from the dried shrubbery, I squeeze to the other side. Yesterday, I stashed a duffle in the bushes along with a motorcycle I’d purchased for myself… with Kole’s generous allowance, of course. I should feel guilty… but then, so should he. Opening the bag, I inventory the key items: one-hundred thousand in cash – courtesy of Kole’s personal reserve, a couple of changes of clothes, a burner phone, and the care package I put together for my contact. Noting the time… 12:07 AM …I realize I’m ahead of schedule and the seeds of excitement take root. Excitement for my freedom; excitement for my future; excitement for my new life. I only wish I could see his face when he finds me missing. His precious Baby Doll.
The name makes me sick. Straddling the bike, I pull on the helmet and kick on the engine. A sweet little Kawasaki, it isn’t much but it’s fast. Without a single glance back, I take off towards Miami International ready to embrace my newfound independence. The decoy I spoke to yesterday is waiting for me at a gas station by the airport. She fidgets with uncertainty and it’s obvious she doubted whether I would show. Parking, I wave for her to join me and she crosses the lot to my bike. A couple weeks ago, I spotted her eating lunch in a small café during an afternoon trip to secure provisions and after a twenty-minute debate, I worked up the courage to approach her. Aside from a few minor, physical differences, she could be my doppelganger – same height and facial features, a slight build, even the same haircut. It was the hair I noticed first.
It’s crucial. He’ll be looking for that specifically. Like his farewell buss, the dark, chin-length bob is my signature… and the first thing I’ll change when I have the chance. Shockingly, it took little convincing to get her to go along. Turns out, she, too, had been looking for a way to escape her current relationship and the prospect of fleeing the country for a few months was too tempting to pass up. Following a lengthy discussion and several glasses of liquor, we traded phone numbers and parted with the understanding that I would get in touch with further instructions. To my surprise, she answered on the first ring when I called to give her the flight information. It seems I wasn’t the only one eager for a new beginning. As she nears, she smiles shyly and waves, “Hey. I wasn’t sure if you’d come.” Removing my helmet, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world…” I hand her a tote containing her cut of the hundred grand, a ticket to Paris, France, and a fake passport – something I acquired through an old friend. “Congrats. In two short hours you’ll be on your way to the City of Light.” “Where will you go?” “Don’t know, yet.”
Assuming Kole taps Dade to check for my name on recent flight manifests, I expect his private jet will be wheels up by tomorrow night. Which should buy me enough time to find somewhere small to start over. Someplace far away from the King and his castle. Handing the double my sweatshirt, “Here. Wear this for the cameras,” I ask, “Are you good with everything we discussed?” She nods in affirmation, “Yep. One hundred percent.” “Great.” Pointing to the sack, I instruct, “It’s all in the bag.” Curious, she opens it, inspecting the contents. Her eyes bulge with excitement and I warn, “He will come for me, which means he’ll come for you. It’s only a matter of time.” Her gaze lifts and I detect the flicker of apprehension, “…and when he does?” I shrug, “He’s some crazy person who picked up the wrong girl.” She inclines her head in understanding, “Good luck,” slinging the pack over her shoulder.
“Safe flight.” – Seven months later Kole “Kole! …Hey, Kole, c’mere! You gotta see this!” Dade summons from the depths of our hotel suite. Pushing to my feet, I moan, “Better be good news. Please, God…” I can’t handle another letdown. …and trudge to the living room. There, I spot Dade tucked up on an ottoman glued to his one love: a sleek, silver Dell XPS laptop he calls Ariadne… after some Greek… something or other. Our resident tech-xpert, it’s common to find him hacking away at all hours, clothed in his traditional uniform of vintage Hawaiian shirt and black slacks. Even now, his fingers fly across the keypad, clicking and clacking in a frenzied tempo. His shoulders hunch as his face hovers inches from the screen.
Skinnier than most of the men in my employ, Dade’s wiry frame often lends to the misconception that he’s a weakling, and while I don’t use him for muscle, he is in fact, absurdly strong. He’s also one of my best friends, and if I had a consigliere, it would probably be him. Dade is the only person in my life who is one hundred percent honest, one hundred percent of the time. Trotting to his side, I prompt, “‘Sup?” He tilts his laptop toward me, motioning, “See this?” His pointer underscores a line of Matrix code and I squint, side-eyeing him, “Yeah, that’s really-uhhh… cool… Uhem.” Angular features pucker in disapproval, “Take the red pill, man. Seriously.” Flipping it back around, he announces, “I found her, dipshit. She went through customs at Charles de Gaulle.” Pleased with himself, he taps at a couple keys, beaming, “Baby’s going home.” Electrified, my heart jolts in my chest, “Are you… Are you sure?” “Oh, yeah. I’d bet my raise on it.” “…and you can tell all of that from some random string?” “Random-” Sapphire eyes shoot skyward, “Have you learned nothing of my awesomeness?” and crooking his hand, he orders, “Check it. Right here…” Once more, he gestures to the display – specifically, three letters.
JFK “That’s the airport code for her destination and this…” Sliding right, he notes a series of numbers, “…is the time.” 1630 Utterly clueless, I nod, “Yeah-huh… That’s the… thing.” Knox vaults the couch, joining us, “What’s going on?” “He says he found E,” I inform, jerking my chin at Dade. “She’s headed Stateside… I think.” Immediately, Knox perks, “Really?” Grey-green sparks with curiosity and he crouches for a closer look. “Where d’you-What… What am I looking at?” “Dude! Get your face out of my lady!” A spastic display of awkward movements, “I don’t need you breathing all over her,” Dade swats at Knox as he wrestles his ‘lady’ to safety and scoots several inches to the left. Cradling his computer, he coos, “S’okay, baby. I have wipes in my bag.” Watching him, Knox mumbles under his breath, “Do you think he sleeps with it?” Waffling, “Mmmm…” I shrug, “He does watch a lot of porn.” “Do not.” Dade huffs, pouting. “…and in case you dumbasses haven’t put it together, she’s going to New Yor-” “Ooooh! JFK!” I exclaim, “Dude,” slapping Knox’s shoulder.
“She’s going to New York.” In turn, Knox smacks himself on the forehead, “Of course… JFK International. How could I miss that?” Grinning, he claps me on the back, “Good job, Kole.” Scowling, Dade adds, “Her flight leaves in two-” …and Knox shoves me back, “Her flight leaves in two hours!” “Right! Sixteen hundred… and something!” Shaking my head in mock exasperation, “I’m so stupid,” I smirk, “What would I do without you, Knox?” “I dunno. I’m pretty awesome. You should give me a raise.” “Wha-That’s…” Pure blues glint with annoyance, flitting between us. “You guys suck,” Dade grumbles, rising. “I’m gonna go pack.” Chuckling, I angle to Knox, “Call and get the jet ready. I want wheels up in forty-five minutes,” and my cheeks spread in a satisfied smile, “This time, we’ll be waiting for her when she lands.” Finally. Tonight, I’ll have my Baby Doll. – Eden Queens, New York Flopping to the broken recliner, I grumble, “I don’t want to work tonight. I swear, another drunk bimbo pukes on me, I’m throwing her through a window.” “It’s a strip club. It doesn’t have any windows.” “Curse your logic.”
A commercial kicks on and my roommate rolls to peer up at me from her spot on the floor, “Notfuhnuttin’ but I told you. Be a stripper. You’ll make twice as much and without the puke.” She waffles, wagging her head in consideration, “Well, mostly without.” Easy for her to say. My contrast in almost everyway, Rebel is what most would deem “attractive.” Aaah… Who am I kidding? She’s hot. Her layered, waves of honey-colored hair frame sculpted cheekbones and a wide, full mouth; brilliant, azure irises sparkle with mischief; long, slender legs stretch for miles; and, when she moves, it’s with the confidence of someone who’s used to receiving male attention. On her right arm, a tattoo sleeve extends from her wrist to her shoulder. The vibrant ink enhances her appeal and admittedly, I’m slightly envious of her ability to carry the look.
Oh, and she doesn’t have an ounce of fat on her body. Whereas, I like to eat… a lot. As a result, I’m slightly curvier than the rest of the girls at the club; though, some of that is muscle from my new training regimen. Also, I’m shorter, with a preference for sneakers, and when I move, it’s with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. “Well?” She presses, “How ’bout it? Wanna ride the pole?” Pausing to weigh my options, “Hmmm…” I scowl in deliberation. “Maybe…” She stares at me expectantly and I concede, “…except I have this whole aversion to being undressed in public.” Feigning concern she replies, “Oh, that sounds awful! Is there some kind of treatment? A personality transplant, perhaps?” “Sadly, I am an incurable prude, and I’ll probably die from lack of intercourse.” “That’s a pity. Can I have your bike?” Ultramarine eyes round, affecting her best puppy dog plea and she pouts, “I promise to take good care of her.” “Duh,” I tsk, “as if anyone else would be worthy of my baby.” “Yessss! Free parking for life!” Victorious she pumps her fist overhead drawing a tickled snort.
Chuckling, “Yeah, yeah…” I push to my feet, “Alright, I’m opening tonight. You dancing?” “On stage at nine. Don’t forget to cheer.” “K. See you there,” I nod, saluting in departure. “Later, babe,” she mutters distractedly, already returned to her regularly scheduled, reality addiction. Shuffling down the steps to our apartment, I beeline for my bike. It’s the one thing I have left from that life and I can’t bring myself to part with it. For me, it’s a symbol of my liberation… and the last connection I have to a person I can’t seem to shake. It’s been seven months since I made my daring escape. Seven months since I shared a bed with someone who was never there. Seven months since I felt his signature peck on the back of my neck. Seven months and not one whiff of trouble. Maybe, he let go, after all. Ignoring the tiny pang in my chest, I tug on my helmet.
At some point, I presume I won’t feel anything. Not that I feel a whole inferno of a lot as it is – just little twinges of nostalgia for the few good months we had together. At least, that’s what I tell myself. The first night of freedom, I camped in Bumfuckville, USA. I tried the small town bit for awhile, but quickly grew tired of everyone probing for information about the new girl. From there, I bounced around a few places until I accepted my need for city life. What can I say? I’m a creature of habit. With a population of more than eight million people, I figured it would be easier to get lost in a sprawling metropolis like New York. The fact that it’s twelve hundred miles from Miami doesn’t hurt. Luckily, about the time I was rolling into town, Rebel placed an ad in the paper for a roommate. When I came calling, she happily took me on and in the span of three months we’ve settled into an easy routine. Living with her in our tiny apartment has been a pleasant change from the cold, palatial estate I inhabited before. It’s cozy, cheerful, and I don’t feel like a prisoner. Turning the throttle, I zip into traffic. When I can, I work to pay the bills, reserving Kole’s money for emergencies.
Unfortunately, few jobs pay in cash, these days, and with no real experience my options were limited. Consequently, I found myself working at another gentleman’s club. Being one of the dancers, Rebel convinced me to apply. The moment I set foot inside, I could tell it was a newly renovated establishment. It didn’t have the familiar, sweaty stink or the dingy, run-down appearance of the previous hole. Kole’s precious club. My boss confirmed as much when he mentioned it opened a couple weeks before I was hired. Ironically, it’s called “Baby Doll”. Apparently, I couldn’t escape that name. … It’s nearing midnight and thus far, the new proprietor is a no-show. Aside from a couple regulars, VIP remained relatively empty and for the most part, Ryan and I spent our shift teasing one another. During her break, Rebel stopped by to ramble on about some hotty in the corner who’s been eye-banging me all night. She recommended him as a candidate for ending my dry spell… I politely declined. Banging the barkeep is one thing. After His Majesty, I have no desire to get involved with men who frequent strip clubs. “I have to go, I’m the owner.” Oh, right… I forgot screwing all the employees is good business. Thinking about it now, reminds me that it’s good to have friends.
Around Rebel and Ryan I’m relaxed, carefree, and it’s a relief I don’t have to play the part of Stepford girlfriend. With Kole, I felt like I had to be “on”; that I had to challenge him to keep him interested because I was always vying for his attention. It was so… exhausting. “Where is this guy?” Ryan snags a fresh bottle of Patrón and pours out a pair of shots. “No. If he doesn’t get here soon, I’m gonna be too blitzed to wait on him.” Winking, Ryan slides one of the miniature glasses across the bar. As I sprinkle salt on my wrist, I mumble, “Why do I have the sneaking suspicion you’re trying to get me drunk?” He slants forward, motioning for me to do the same. His head lowers to where our mouths are inches apart and he confesses, “That’s because… I am.” Maintaining eye contact, “Well played, Mr. Anderson…” I drag my tongue across the sour residue before knocking back the tequila. A provocative curl shapes my lips; pushing them out, I blow him a buss.
There’s a brief pause, and then, “Pffft…” we erupt in shared laughter. “Haha-” Abruptly, Ryan pales, and the mirth drains from his baby blues. “Looks like the owner’s here.” “Shhhhiii-” Scrambling to gather myself, “Okay, okay, okay…” I mumble, “Pray I don’t fall getting off this stool.” He throws his thumbs up in encouragement, “Be the stool.” “Really?! How is that supposed to help?” “I don’t know! I panicked!” Clinging to the cushion, I slide less than gracefully to the ground. Thankfully, my feet land squarely on the carpet and I raise my arms in triumph, “Nailed it.” “Awesome. Now, go!” “Yeah, yeah,” I mumble in dismissal. In a desperate attempt to appear sober, I focus intently on putting one foot in front of the other as I adjust my skirt and tie the apron around my waist. When I get to the owner’s booth on the opposite side of our section, my gaze lifts. No. No, no, no… This can’t be happening. I can feel the color draining from my face.
My pulse quickens, my breathing shallows and I gape in frozen horror. Seated in front of me with identical, half-cocked leers is Knox… “Well, well. Look who it is.” …and Dade, “Yeah, long time no see. Looking good, E.” Sonofabitch. If they’re here… Instantly, I stumble in retreat. Head on a swivel, I stammer, “Kn-nox. Dade. Wh-Where’s-” From behind, two bands of solid muscle snake around my waist. Warm breath tickles the back of my neck as familiar lips mark a path to my ear. Then, I hear it. His voice. The voice I’ve dreaded for seven months. Nipping at my earlobe, he murmurs, “Hey, Baby Doll. Did you miss me?”