Chapter 1

 

Her hands feverishly gripping the wheel of her Honda Accord, Lynn Monroe reached downtown Wheeling shortly after seven that evening.

She was surprised she'd made it without killing herself or someone else. Eastbound traffic on I-70 proved as horrendous as usual, the rush hour bursting with excitement and continuous close calls. In this case, it was Friday-which made things even more chaotic. The highway remained frantic with not only evening rush, but also party-goers anxious to begin their long-awaited Friday night celebrating.

But she'd made it, and even though she had to pry her frozen fingers loose from the wheel after parking the Honda, she reminded herself that she'd managed to cover the last fifteen miles in less than fifteen minutes. And without killing herself or adding to the pandemonium.

Nevertheless, the evening had been traumatic. Just thirty minutes earlier, she'd closed up her poster shop in downtown St. Clairsville, driven the three short blocks to Frank's townhouse and walked in unannounced.

And witnessed the unspeakable horror that had just taken place with her boyfriend and her younger sister Ariana.

She cursed herself once again for coming all this way in the first place. And cursed Frank. And Ariana. And life and its inconvenient grab-bag of unpleasant surprises.

Her plan had been to leave The Poster Shoppe a few minutes early. Since Jodi, her assistant manager, also had weekend plans, she'd agreed wholeheartedly with Lynn's strategy. It was a no-brainer for either of them to close up shop for the day and transfer the money from the cash register to their small office safe. Lynn had originally wanted to head on over to her apartment, change into something sexy, then drive over to Frank's for a little fun and frolic before they went out for their usual Friday night candlelight dinner at one of the better steakhouses in Wheeling.

She had no idea that her big plan would hit a major snag when she decided to drive straight to his townhouse instead. Frank had said something recently about her not being spontaneous, that she always planned everything in advance. She needed to be more impulsive. More carefree.

So, after some serious thought, she'd decided to challenge him and prove him wrong.

She didn't expect to see Ariana with Frank in his townhouse. And she certainly didn't expect to see them both scrambling for their clothes once she'd let herself in, walked down the carpeted hall and opened his bedroom door.

Her hands were still numb from clenching the wheel as she sat in her car next to the curb a few spots down from a well-lit hardware store. It took considerable effort to let go of the wheel and a few painful minutes to restore circulation in her damp fists so she could switch off the ignition and the lights.

Afterward, she sat back for a few minutes to get her breath. Her heart still raced-an extremely unpleasant combination of anger, humiliation and shock. Her thoughts scurried by at an alarming rate, but she soon found that if she focused on the present, she would eventually be able to think clearly. And as she sat in her dark cocoon of misery, staring numbly at the hordes of people rushing by, she struggled to keep from thinking about what she had to do.

Her struggle was very brief. In spite of focusing on the here and now, she just couldn't switch off the dark images racing past.

The relationship was over; that much was painfully clear. She couldn't possibly stay with Frank Alden after what he'd just done with her sister. The images of them scrambling to cover themselves would never leave her, and she was certain that these awful pictures would most likely stay with her for the rest of her life.

But as angry as she was with her sister, she realized she couldn't put all the blame on her. Ariana was slender and beautiful, and, at twenty-three, just as silly as she'd been in high school. She also possessed an air of naivete that had never failed to stop a man-any man-dead in his tracks. And her large emerald green eyes had always been her most devastating weapon in her impressive arsenal.

However, she could easily blame Frank. The man was thirty-eight and as savvy as they came. Managed a Hedge Fund. Drove a shiny black BMW. Owned a townhouse worth half a million, easy. His fifty-thousand-dollar wardrobe, along with his sophistication and charm, had always been his pride and joy. He was divorced, but that had been years ago. And as he'd stated so many times to so many people, he'd learned many things about females ever since.

In other words, Frank knew better. At least, he said he did.

However, he certainly didn't demonstrate his philosophy very well.

Suddenly exhausted, Lynn leaned back against the padded headrest. A wave of sadness washed over her, and she began to sob quietly.

***

Once the storm raging through her had subsided, Lynn opened her handbag and pulled out a Kleenex to wipe away her tears and begin the arduous chore of repairing her face.

Even in the best of conditions, such a task quickly became frustrating and seemingly impossible. Never having been considered ravishing, she'd always been regarded as pretty-- even pleasantly attractive-once she'd gotten her color tones just right and applied the correct touch to her cheekbones. But no matter how terrific her makeup and hair ended up, she knew she'd never reach the level of "striking" or even "mildly stunning" that most of the women she'd known in school and in college took for granted.

Even so, she'd managed to turn a few male heads since graduating from high school nearly fourteen years ago. And although she wasn't what most men could call a genuine "babe," she knew she had much to offer in a relationship. She was intelligent, honest and faithful, and had never been one to listen to idle gossip or base her personal evaluation on someone else's opinion. She'd always been slender, looked pretty good in her tee shirts and jeans, and had been told many times that her light-green eyes actually sparkled when she smiled.

I might not smile for quite a while... She frowned at her blotched reflection in the small round mirror she'd removed from her makeup case and found herself growing angry again. She applied a light coat of lipstick and blotted her cheeks with the makeup brush to hide the anger and the hurt, hoping to create at least an illusion of happy.

The very thought of such nonsense gave her the impulse to laugh. Right now, happy would be a serious stretch. In fact, something even as mild as a pleasant smile would now be just as unattainable as anything she'd ever lusted after. Thanks to Frank and his uncontrollable hormones, she doubted that she'd be happy-or even slightly content-for many years to come.

In her view, it was frightfully obvious that Frank Alden didn't care what made her happy. In fact, it was painfully apparent that the man was concerned only about things directly related to him and his immediate needs.

But at least I care about me...

She shuddered as a fresh onslaught of heated anger sliced through her. I care about my face. And about myself. And I really should, because I'm me. And like everyone else, I'm unique. There is no one like me anywhere in the universe. But it's now painfully obvious that no one cares about me as much as I do.

Why change anything about you? some strange inner voice asked as she slipped the makeup brush back into its case. Frank isn't here. Why reward him for what he's done? Why reward him at all for anything?

That made perfect sense. Her present state of misery was, in actuality, a crude way of rewarding him for his indiscretions. Putting him in charge again. Making his actions feed her destruction.

She needed to have fun. To be in charge of her own life. Like Frank-and, obviously, Ariana-she had to be a little indiscreet herself. And she intended to do just that.

Now was the perfect time, while she was in the mood.

Once she'd finished with her face and hair, she decided to head down the street, where the big white sign, PECO'S, flashed brightly above the bar entrance.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

At 7:30, the place wasn't quite packed.

Several small groups of giddy folks followed Lynn inside. All but four tables and two or three barstools in the large smoke-filled room were filled. Half a dozen couples moved awkwardly on the dance floor on the opposite end of the room, groping one another. A heavy pulsating number grumbled angrily from the juke, barely audible above the clinking of glasses intermixed with drunken laughter, catcalls, and hysterical shouting.

Lynn chose a vacant stool near the end of the bar, about ten feet from the door. Assessing the crowd, she quickly saw that there wasn't anyone she wanted to connect with. Everyone was either already half-drunk or staggering, and the few men she saw acting reasonably sober were chatting with their dates.

She decided to stay close to the door just in case immediate escape became necessary. She wanted to appear as invisible as possible. This wasn't her type of place, but she didn't want to spend the rest of the evening wandering the streets, looking for a more appropriate place. The few really great bars she knew of operated from the best restaurants, but she wasn't appropriately dressed-or hungry-for fine dining.

So, for the next few minutes, she ignored the glossy smiles of the half-drunk men sitting on stools next to her and waited for the redheaded bargirl to come over.

A few minutes later, Lynn ordered a vodka tonic. While waiting for her drink, she subtly scanned the crowd in the reflection of the large bar mirror on the other side of the counter.

The room consisted mostly of males in their thirties and forties. Blue-collared men obviously here to spend their paychecks for fun and as much drunken mindlessness as they could manage. In their outlandish colors and tight, revealing clothing, the women hanging around the men were probably hookers. Lynn counted eight of them. Four girls sat at the bar, sandwiched between the men and joining in with their drunken chatter. The others occupied tables and flirted with future prospects.

Lynn's drink came. She dropped a five on the counter. The redhead scooped it up and went back to the register to ring it up.

The drink was strong. She had a small sip and promised herself she wouldn't have another. One more of these would make it impossible for her to drive back to St. Clairsville without killing herself or someone else along the way. She'd never been a heavy drinker and preferred a glass of white wine with her meals. She just didn't want to draw attention to herself by ordering anything someone would consider bizarre, coaxing them over for silly conversation and drunken flirting.

But after thinking about it for a few moments, she wondered if she should have ordered the wine anyway. This was, after all, a special occasion.

Well, wasn't it?

She almost smiled at the phrase. That certainly was a weird term for whatever this situation was. Special occasion. Sounded almost proper, if you didn't have any idea what was actually going on.

In reality, this was nothing more than denial on her part. Turning her back on what she'd seen in St. Clairsville. Leaving the scene of a despicable act. Shutting down and turning away from the one thing she never ever wanted to see. Closing her mind on the image of her boyfriend having sex with her kid sister.

I'm an idiot. The very thought of it made her want to scream. I should have killed both of them while I had the chance.

Her hand shaking, she raised the glass to her lips. Yes. Idiot was an appropriate term. She'd observed the awkward scene in excruciating silence, but instead of confronting them, or roaring like a wounded lioness, or grabbing the nearest butcher knife and slitting their throats, she'd turned right around and ran out of the room.

Had she really done such a silly, cowardly thing? Or had she blurted out something right then that clearly reflected her outrage?

She couldn't remember. Thinking about it now, she realized that she might have indeed said something. She might have gasped. Or brought her hand up to her mouth. Or muttered something like, "Seriously?" Or, "My God!" Or even, "I can't believe any of this!"

But all she could remember was the shock of watching them scrambling for their clothes.

Then, after the horror of the event had ultimately worn off, reality returned, telling her that she really shouldn't be standing there, watching them. It was no place for her to be. And nothing good would result from her spending one more second in that townhouse.

She'd immediately turned around and rushed outside, jumped into the Honda, got onto I-70, and drove away.

She'd escaped. Vanished. Turned her back on both Frank and her sister. Turned away so she wouldn't let the cursed image develop more vividly in her head. And, possibly, to give them time to consider what they'd done. And the impact it had made on her. And how much they'd truly hurt her.

But as she thought about it now, she could only wonder if she'd done the right thing.

But what was the right thing?

Should she have gone ballistic? Scratched Frank's eyes out? Kicked him in the balls? Strangled Ariana until her eyes popped out of her skull? Pummeled her to the ground? Rushed outside and yelled bloody murder?

Lynn had never been the violent type. For her, denial had always been preferable to acting out her frustrations. Turning away worked wonders. Or closing her eyes. Or taking a breath and walking away. This had been her code of conduct ever since she could remember. Even in the worst-case scenario, she'd always been able to visualize the results of whatever dilemma she'd faced. To imagine what could happen if things escalated.

What would have happened if she'd gone primeval and resorted to the attack mode? Would someone have died? Frank or Ariana would have certainly been gravely injured, the paramedics most assuredly called in.

Then what? A charge of aggravated assault? A prison sentence? A permanent scar on her spotless record? A future filled with people staring at her as she walked down the street? Endless whisperings? Fear? Contempt? Anger? Suspicion? The media parked outside her condo? Reporters flocking her each time she showed her face? Small crowds gathering outside the store? Customers afraid to come in for fear of being interviewed?

As she thought more about this, she realized that in spite of her initial reaction, she'd actually done the right thing. Instead of making things worse for herself, she'd simply turned away from Frank and walked right out of his life.

Ariana was a different story entirely. Ariana was her kid sister and, as everyone knew, sisters stayed close to each other forever. It had been an unspoken bond for centuries. A natural element everyone actually believed. And only something as powerful as death could sever this bond.

But what happened to the bond when one sister betrayed the other by venturing into forbidden territory?

Ariana had always been the princess in the family. The prettier of the two. The daughter everyone noticed, envied, doted over. The girl everyone in town always thought would become a model, or movie star. Or wife of a doctor. Or rock star.

Lynn, as most everyone knew, was smarter, more sensible, and infinitely more mature than her younger, prettier sibling. Lynn was the daughter any parent would be proud of. A girl who would carve a career for herself through hard work and perseverance. Solid. Steady. Always staring straight ahead, without a sideways glance to take her eyes off her goal.

A man would come into her life one day. But until that day arrived, she would be immersed in her career and would not even consider such a distraction. And if-or when-such an event took place, she would instinctively know how to prioritize it.

Suddenly disgusted with herself, she had another tiny sip of her drink. Then, knowing she was wasting her time in this loud, foul-smelling place, she slipped down from her stool and left the bar.

As she went back out into the cool night, she knew she had to resolve this dilemma somehow. She had to approach both of them. Confront them. Tell them how much they'd hurt her. How they'd messed everything up. They no doubt knew that already but had to actually hear it coming from her to fully realize the consequences of their actions.

You've yanked out my heart and stomped on it. She knew she needed to tell them those very words. You've destroyed my love for both of you, and you've taken my trust and tossed it where I'll never be able to find it again.

They had to know this. And they had to hear it from her the moment she drove back to St. Clairsville.

But just as she approached the curb to cross the street, heavy footsteps came up quickly behind her.

***

"Wanna party, baby?"

Feeling as if her body had just been doused in ice, Lynn spun around. Two large, sloppy-dressed men in their mid-thirties stood unpleasantly close, grinning stupidly at her. The heavy stench emanating from them smothered her and she had to force herself not to gag. The man on her right was the one who'd just spoken. He was more than half a head taller than her, making him around six-two. He had piercing dark eyes, dark features, and a scraggly black beard. Dressed in a leather jacket, jeans and biker boots, he wore no shirt, exposing an extremely hairy chest. Lynn could tell instantly that he hadn't been near a shower stall in days.

"Time to party," said the other one with a smirk. He was just an inch or so shorter than his friend, but just as wasted, and emitting his own equally strong cocktail of B.O., whiskey, and foul breath. His features were not nearly as dark as his friend's, and his beard looked more like uneven stubble than anything else. He wore a light-gray sleeveless sweatshirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. A do-rag covered his head. Long, scraggly blondish hair emerged from the bottom of the rag, settling in matted clumps over his shoulders.

Lynn strongly feared that she was in serious trouble. But she knew that the worst thing she could do was panic.

"Listen, guys," she said, surprised that her voice was working, "I appreciate the offer, but-"

Both men chuckled.

"Offer?" The second one winked at his buddy. "Hear that, Smoke? We found ourselves a classy one tonight!"

"We'll see how classy she be," Smoke said. "Once we take her to the Holler, git her nice'n wasted, she'll loosen up!"

Her pulse thumping wildly, Lynn glanced to her right. Heavy traffic continued in a steady stream. On her left, a mailbox sat next to a parked SUV. Her only escape route rested between the two men. But since they were standing just two feet apart, she realized she couldn't possibly slip through them without them grabbing her.

Dammit, Frank Alden, she thought angrily, if I manage to get out of this alive...

The two of them simultaneously reached out and grabbed her arms. She tried pulling away, but they were strong and held her easily. Panic set in. She realized she was completely helpless. Then, just as her mind went blank, they turned and half-dragged, half-carried her down the block leading to the dark, foul-smelling side street separating Peco's from another building.

She was too weak with fear to resist or even work up an impressive scream. Her inner sense told her that a scream would infuriate them. They were obviously very drunk, and she knew from personal experience what could happen when two big, rough men faced frustration during a drunken binge.

Her heart fluttering, she held her breath and wished herself in a different place. She knew that was impossible, even silly, but her thoughts had slammed into overload and she could hardly control them. As they hauled her forcibly down the street, she hoped and prayed that she could survive this night. She also hoped she could live long enough to see her sister and Frank once again. It was now more important than ever that they fully realized how much they'd hurt her and that they'd literally forced her into a horrible nightmare. They hadn't caused this, but if it hadn't been for what she'd caught them doing, she wouldn't be here in the first place.

Just as she began thinking of a feasible escape plan, they'd reached an old Chevy pickup parked in an isolated spot at the end of the alley, near a dumpster overflowing with trash and rotting food. Without a word, they yanked open the passenger door and forced her into the front seat. The one in the leather jacket called Smoke got behind the wheel. His buddy squeezed in next to her and pulled the passenger door shut. Then, while settling into the seat, he chuckled and draped his left arm around her shoulders. She found herself enveloped in a horrendous cloud of nauseating B.O.

Lynn lowered her head and breathed in through her mouth. Her pulse hammered loudly as Smoke gunned the truck and slammed it into reverse. A moment later, they'd backed out into the street and crept up to the intersection. Ignoring passing traffic, they pulled right out.

For the next half-dozen lights, Smoke snaked the pickup in and out of the heavy Friday night traffic. Judging by their direction, Lynn could tell they were heading toward Bridgeport.

"Got us a live one, Shine." Smoke rubbed her thigh as he manned the wheel with his free hand.

"She may not be smokin' hot," Shine said, grinning and looking her over, "but she sure as hell's got the right stuff."

"They all do." Smoke pulled between another pickup and a dark sedan. He lit a cigarette from the crumpled pack he'd snatched from his inner pocket.

"Mebbe." Using his free arm, Shine bent forward to search for something underneath the seat. He raised his arm and the stench grew even worse. He was holding up a large bottle of whiskey. "But this one's got what we want most."

"Whazzat?"

Shine shrugged. "She's right here!"

They both howled laughter.

Lynn shivered and forced herself to stay focused. And kept breathing through her mouth.

She prayed that she'd somehow survive this night.