Sugar

SUGAR THE CANDY SHOP CANDICE WRIGHT CONTENTS Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Epilogue Also by Candice Wright Acknowledgments About the Author Sugar Copyright © 2023 by Candice Wright This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Cover design by Jodie @ JODIELOCKS designs Editing by Tanya Oemig Proof reading by Briann Graziano Created with Vellum For Stacey Brutger, Marie Mistry, Mallory Funk, and T S Snow, my fellow procrastinators and writing buddies, who kept me mostly sane while writing Sugar. PROLOGUE TWENTY YEARS AGO  I feel nothing. Not the frigid cold nor the mind-numbing fear I’d grown accustomed to. Something in me had broken, shattered into tiny pieces forever. I’m aware enough to know that the numbness isn’t normal, but right now, after months of living an exhaustive emotional hell, I’m done. And oh, how I revel in the quietness. There are no voices in my head screaming at me. No demons haunting me. No hands pawing at me. For now, it’s just me alone, standing in the wreckage of the chaos I caused. The acrid smell of smoke fills the air as flames reach up to touch the heavens, illuminating the dark night. I hope my family can see them from way up there and know vengeance has been served. Perhaps, over time, they will find some way to forgive me. The water I just dragged myself out of beckons me back. There is nobody left to miss me. Nobody left to mourn me. Nobody left to remember me. I suck in a breath at that. Could it be that simple? I turn when I hear sirens in the distance and know I’m running out of time. Fire rages in every direction I look but one. The dark water draws me closer, luring me in with its promise of freedom. Freedom, I do not deserve. Instead, I walk away from peace toward the smoldering calamity behind me, letting the need for vengeance fuel me. I shake off the invisible shackles that bound me to a love that was used as a weapon against me. I ignore my bleeding feet and bruised body and make a vow to myself: I will never bend. I will never break. And I will never fall again. CHAPTER ONE The rhythmic clacking of my heels echoes off the walls as I walk down the empty corridor. I don’t bother with stealth, not for this. I’m too pissed, and every day I’m out here searching for answers, my anger grows. As pretty as my homeland is, I never wanted to come back here to Greece, but I’m running out of patience and options. As I approach the gate, a guard takes me in, his eyes moving over my body before he licks his lips. I keep my glasses on and return the favor. Only while he’s checking out my tits, I’m checking out his weak spots. Once upon a time, he might have been fit. I’d say he’s an ex-police officer or soldier from the way he stands, but the potbelly and slow movements tell me he’s become lazy as a prison guard, probably believing the bars will keep him safe. What a fool. “English?” I ask him softly, my voice barely above a whisper, so he has to lean forward to hear me. “Yes, I speak English. Do you have any identification?” His English is good, making me lean toward the soldier theory. I open my bag and pull out my driver’s license and passport, both declaring me to be Sarah Parks. “Remove your glasses.” I remove them from my face and slip them into my bag. He looks down at my ID and compares the woman in the image to the woman before him. Sarah’s five-four, according to the DMV, but that’s with my four-inch heels on. Right now, in my Louboutins, I’m closer to five-six. My icy-blonde wig and pale blue contacts teamed with my milky-white skin, give me a somewhat Scandinavian look, which is why I adopt a faint accent. “You are American?” he asks. “My mother is from Sweden. My father was an American soldier. I’ve lived in many places, but the U.S. is where I was born.” He eventually nods before handing back my IDs. I slip them both into the inside pocket of my blazer as he pulls his keys from the chain on his belt and opens the gate for me. The noise reverberates around the corridor, but it stops immediately after the gate is closed. “I’ll need to search you and your bag.” “I don’t actually need to take my bag in with me. Is there somewhere I can leave it until I’m done?” He nods and takes it from me, placing it in a basket and sliding it onto the top shelf of the locker near the desk. “Hands against the wall.” I turn and do as he says, feeling my black sheath dress rise when I lean forward. “Not many people come in here without notice, so when the