*Borderline R-rating at the end
Chapter 1
I flipped the page of the magazine, loudly popping a bubble of pink gum and continuing to chew my way through the boredom of the summer night. I could be out with my friends, I thought listlessly. But then I remembered that I didn’t have any friends anymore, thanks to my Catholic, goody-goody parents. The few “good” friends I had I was forbidden to see because they were accused of “luring me into the arms of the Devil” (the exact words of my very religious mother after I came home at eleven one night smelling of cigarette smoke and aftershave, both of which I had a very well thought out explanation for, NOT).
So my punishment was a good session of father/daughter bonding, the word bonding put into almost literal sense, where Dad whipped me with his leather belt until welts the size of Texas formed on my skinny, white butt. The even better part was working at the closest 7-Eleven till three in the friggin morning every other night so I had no time to spend with my “Devil-worshipping” (another phrase straight from my mom’s mouth) friends.
There were a few things I did like about working from eight to three at 7-Eleven, though: 1.) I got to be away from my obnoxious family (Mom, Dad and six-year-old spoiled brat of a sister, Abby), 2.) I didn’t have to do the dishes, laundry, or take out the trash after dinner, and 3.) there was this too-cute seventeen-year-old high school dropout who took up the shift after mine. Tyler and I usually chatted for a minute while I bought a cup of coffee. Well, until I overheard a conversation by cell phone between him and this chick named Freesia. The self-centered beauty queen bitch already had him in her lustful grasp. So I drew back. I barely tried to start a conversation with him anymore.
The bell slung over the door sounded the arrival of three guys. I couldn’t help but be interested in them and looked up from my magazine.
Holy Hell! They were friggin gorgeous! There were two white guys and a black dude. Now when I say this, I mean really white and really black. The black guy had dreads and an eyebrow piercing. The brunette white dude had long, wavy hair and snakebites in his lower lip. But the most beautiful was the tall twenty-something blond with a dozen earrings in one ear. He stood out from the rest as the leader of their group, carrying a presence of confidence, pride, and danger. His skin was stone white, smoothly stretched over lean, sinewy muscles. As I stared, a cheetah came to mind. With those muscles, the blond was most definitely built for speed. He might’ve been a track star.
Sensing my ogling eyes, the blond turned his head and flashed me a crocodile grin, and a gold tooth sparkled caught the light. I held my breath and closed my eyes, counting to ten before daring myself to look again. I watched as the blond whispered something incomprehensible to his friends. They gave me the same, suggestive, toothy grin that made my heart beat faster.
As soon as I noticed that something was odd about the way they smiled, like they knew something I didn’t, I found myself pressed to the floor with my wrists shackled in stone handcuffs at my back. How had they crossed the entire room, avoided knocking down anything, and gotten me on my stomach in less than half a second?
“Scream,” a snakelike voice hissed into my ear. “Scream for help.”
I fought against the person, getting no closer to escape than I was before. “Get off my back,” I wheezed, getting that sinking feeling you always hear about and beginning to feel crushed. “I said, GET OFF!” I kicked out, hitting air. Trying to get away was no use; I was held fast to the floor, budging less than a centimeter with all of my struggling.
Suddenly, I was flopped over onto my back and my wrists were held above my head. I was staring into the insentient, black eyes of the blond, finding myself lost and dizzy. His sweet, even breath made my vision blur and a hot tingle ripple down my cold back. His fuzzy, perfect face dropped closer to me, tilting to the side, and his cheek eased against mine. The sensation resembled my cat when he would brush up against my hand, trying to get attention. Only the smell was a hell of a lot better. I was bathed in it, basking in it, drinking it in. The scent of his skin was my drug, and it had only taken a few seconds of inhaling it to get addicted.
His long hair slipped down to cover my face and I arched my back, pressing my body against him, trying to get as much of the scent into my lungs. God, they should make it into a perfume.
He drew his face down to my neck, sniffing, licking, savoring.
And then there was pain; lots and lots of pain.
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