“Mum!” he yelled, dropping his lion so he could grab her coat with both hands. She nearly dragged him out of his chair. He scrambled to his feet as she went for the door, but he was held back by the man, who had a strong, merciless grip on him. “Mum!” he screamed again, arms outstretched.

She paused at the door, only briefly, mascara running down her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Lachlan,” she sobbed to the boy, gripping the doorframe until her knuckles were white. “I love you. But I just can’t have you in my life. I’m so sorry.”

“But mum!” Lachlan screamed, his voice ripping out of him. “I’ll be good! I promise. You can take Lionel back to the store, just take me back home, please!”

His mother only shook her head and whispered, “Goodbye.”

Lachlan continued to cry, to wail, to try and get out of the man’s grasp, as he watched his mother walk away and disappear out of sight.

“Please!” he bellowed, such a large sound from such a small boy. He felt his feet give way, and the man was now holding him up, legs dangling beneath him. “Please come back, mum, please! Take me home, take me home!”

“This is your home,” the man said again. He brought Lachlan’s head back to his mouth and whispered in his ear, wet and harsh. “And if you don’t stop screaming and making noise like a little twat, you’re going to get twenty lashings from my belt. Is that what you want for your first day here at the Hillside Orphanage? Is it?”

But Lachlan couldn’t stop screaming. He couldn’t care less about being beaten. He’d been hit that morning; he’d been beaten many times before. The true pain was the pain he felt inside, raging through him, tearing him apart. He felt like he was drowning in ice water and the flood was starting in his soul.

“Fine then,” the man said, and threw Lachlan to the ground. He picked Lionel up from the floor and held the lion up in the air. “If you don’t shut your bloody mouth, you’ll never see this again. I’ll give it to another boy.”

It was all Lachlan had. He shut up. Whimpering, he clamped his lips together, his chin shaking. The man gave him the lion, and he held on to him with all his might, until the fur was wet with tears.

His fifth birthday was the last one he would celebrate for a very long time.

Lachlan would never see his mother again.

He would never go home.

And the flood in his soul would never truly subside.

CHAPTER ONE

San Francisco – Present day

Kayla

“How long do you have to be absent of dick before you’re considered re-virginized?”

Steph and Nicola look at me sharply, as if I’ve asked something that’s just blown their minds.

“Kayla,” Nicola admonishes.

“What?” I ask with a shrug and tilt my head at her. “Out of the three of us here, you’re the one who’d probably know. We practically had to shove dick in your face before you started getting it on with Bram. So, were you re-virginized or not?”

“I had a vibrator, you idiot,” Nicola says, sitting back in the booth and giving me the eye. I know that eye too well. It’s the “What the hell is wrong with you, and why are we still your friend?” look.

“Vibrators don’t count,” I tell her. “I’m talking actual peen. Was it like losing it all over again when Bram gave you the ram? The Bram ram. Wham, bam, thank you Bram?”

She rolls her eyes and exchanges a look with Steph. It’s only been a few weeks since Nicola reconnected with Bram, and she and her daughter Ava had moved out of my apartment and in with him. While I’m still a bit wary about Bram at times, mainly because hot Scottish men can’t be trusted, I have to say I miss having Nicola and Ava around. It’s kind of lonely without them, and I’m prone to just sitting around at night, eating frozen meals and watching reruns of The Vampire Diaries.

Of course, part of the reason I’m all alone and pigging out on preservatives is because I decided to take a vow of celibacy a few weeks ago. It’s not just no sex—it’s no flirting, no dating, no Tinder, no nothing. Boys, men, I’m not even giving them a second glance.

And I’d like to say that it’s all working out for me. I may be alone at home most of the time, but I’d rather be battling my urge to drink wine and online shop than to sleep with another guy who wouldn’t know a woman’s clit if it slapped him in the face. Hell, I’m sure when I jerk my hips, it literally is slapping them in the face, and yet they pretend like it doesn’t exist.

Not to mention the dates that go nowhere, the men who seem to have potential but then see you only as this half-Asian princess that they want all sweet and subdued, and meanwhile I’m all slapping them with my vag and cursing my head off.

It’s much, much easier this way. Less stressful.

“You all right there, Kayla?” Steph asks.

“Yes, why?”

“Because you’re holding onto the edge of the table like you’re about to go all Hulk on us.”

I look down at my hands, my knuckles whiter than my already pale skin. I slowly let go. Maybe I’m stressed after all.

“Are you sure this whole no men thing is a good thing?” she asks, taking a sip of her beer.

Truthfully, having her question it is exactly what I want to hear. Any excuse to just throw it out the window. But still, I’m nothing if not determined.

“It’s the right thing,” I tell her, raising my head and forcing myself to relax. I reach for my glass of wine, even though it’s my second glass and I’m already lightheaded. “It’s the only way,” I add gravely.

“And why are you doing this again?” Nicola asks.

I look at her and her deep brown eyes, then over to Steph and her baby blue ones. My two best friends, dressed to casually impress in foreign labels and independent designers. The two of them are the reason I’m doing this, with their happy, shiny faces and commitment to those damn McGregor brothers. Nicola just settled down, happily, with Bram, after their massive falling out, and Stephanie is married to his brother, Linden. It doesn’t help that I’d had a fling with Linden a long time ago, way before he and Steph got together, back when they were just friends. It’s not that he broke my Grinch heart (it’s three sizes too small), but sometimes I’m reminded of what I could have had and what I don’t have.

I’m jealous, that’s really what it comes down to. And when I get jealous, even of my friends, I can turn into a mean little ninja. And I don’t want to be a mean little ninja, just a regular one (though I do miss being a sex ninja). So, swearing off men meant swearing off disappointment.

At least, it’s supposed to. It’s easier when I’m alone at home, at work, at my mother’s, at the gym, or even out for dinner. Anywhere where temptation is limited. Tonight though, Steph and Nicola practically dragged me out of the house and took me to our hangout, The Burgundy Lion pub in the Haight district, for a girls’ night. Being around booze and boys is never a good idea when you’re abstaining from dick. Luckily, I left the house wearing no makeup, yoga pants, and a baggy t-shirt that says “No Pants Party,” so it’s not like the guys will be clamoring to talk to me. Unless they think the “no pants” thing is an invitation.

“I’m doing this because my battery operated boyfriend always knows the right spots and I let my fingers do the talking,” I explain with a tired sigh. “And I’m sick and tired of dating in this stupid city. I’m just spinning my wheels, wasting my time, and I swear the men are just getting stupider. I can’t even get laid properly anymore. It’s like all the men in San Francisco are either taken, gay, or afraid of greedy vaginas.”

They exchange another glance, this secret kind of communication they seem to have now. My theory is that having a McGregor dick inside of you gives you a form of telekinesis. They are forever bonded by Scottish cock.