Iowa City News, July 2012—Headline—Anthony Rawlings’ Efforts to Save the Iowa Taxpayers Their Money—The picture, black and white, showed a warehouse full of tables lined with merchandise—jewelry, shoes, handbags, clothes, etc. The article explained how Anthony Rawlings, uncomfortable that the taxpayers of Iowa were held responsible for his ex-wife’s pretrial expenses, held an auction of her belongings. It raised enough money to reimburse the state for her counsel and court costs. There was even an additional 176 thousand dollars, which was donated to the Red Cross of Iowa. Mr. Rawlings explained that this charity remained dear to him because it was Claire’s pet charity. A strip of newspaper stapled behind the first, had another picture, a close-up of some of the jewelry. The picture was not large, but center frame was a black velvet box containing a white gold necklace with a large pearl centered on a white gold cross.
As Claire was about to close up the box, something caught her eye. Folded in the bottom was a napkin. She pulled it out and unfolded it. On the napkin in scrolling red letters: Red Wing. Under the words on each side were signatures, Claire Nichols and Anthony Rawlings. Above the red letters: the date—March 15, 2010. She turned the napkin over—no other writing. There was no agreement—no definition of duties—and no life-changing contract—just a napkin with signatures.
Claire’s mind swirled with possibilities—she could take this information and ask for a new trial. No—she’d entered a plea of no contest and by definition couldn’t appeal. Tony knew that; besides, the legal system and the court of public opinion didn’t believe her before—they wouldn’t believe her now.
She questioned why he would share the information. Obviously, he didn’t view her as a threat. As Claire repacked the box, she contemplated and found a better reason—Tony spent years—no—decades—planning his vendetta. He liked recognition for his accomplishments. He required gratitude for his deeds. There was no one else with whom he could share his hard work. She wondered what sort of recognition he expected, perhaps a well done note?
She kept some of the photos and papers, put everything else in the box, rang her buzzer, and requested permission to incinerate the box. The guard consented and accompanied her to the basement. As they walked the passages, thoughts and ideas began to flow through Claire’s mind. She believed her actions kept her alive. She also knew that obedience took more strength than retaliation. With each echoing step, her new knowledge empowered that strength.
She lived her life governed by her grandmother’s and mother’s words. Those words encouraged truth and forgiveness—the truth had not set her free. The thoughts of revenge weren’t fueled only by her consequences—but the consequences of her parents, John, Emily, Simon, her friends at WKPZ, and even her grandmother’s necklace.
Opening the incinerator, she felt the warmth. It reminded her of the fires in her suite, Tony’s suite, and Lake Tahoe. Throwing the box into the flames, she watched the contents ignite. The flickering of the flames brought back the flames of her past—love, fear, contempt, desire, passion, pain, and sadness. As the fire consumed the memories—it fueled a new determination. Two and a half years ago, she had one goal—survival.
Now she had a new one—revenge. Mr. Anthony Rawlings would learn that his actions had consequences. Claire contemplated her decision; according to Catherine, Claire had received the rare opportunity to truly know Anthony Rawlings. With that knowledge, she had four to seven years to plan his demise.
Turning back to the guard, her mind spun with possibilities.
*
Immediately, the uniformed man noticed something different about the prisoner. It was her smile. How could he not notice? It extended into her emerald eyes.
In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.
—Robert Frost
Chapter Fifty-Three
‡
The Massachusetts autumn remained cooler than normal. Shivering, Sophia entered her art studio thinking about the events of the last few weeks. First, she presented a hugely successful gallery exhibit. Guests and investors from all over the East Coast were in attendance. Her dream was becoming reality as word spread about her art. Then, in the course of a day, her whole world fell apart.
The call came just as she left for her studio two weeks earlier. She almost didn’t answer but decided to pick up after the fourth ring. The New Jersey police called to inform her—a blue Toyota Camry was found by passing drivers. The accident must have occurred during the night. It was believed that perhaps her father lost control on the wet leaves, or it may have been an acceleration issue. She could request tests. The policeman offered his sincere condolences. Could she possibly travel to New Jersey and identify the bodies? Both her mother and her father were killed instantly.
Sophia had so many responsibilities—so many activities—the next week passed in a blur. There was the funeral planning and settling of their estate. That would take months or years. Sadly, she hadn’t realized the debt her parents incurred helping her with her art.
Now, with a minute to herself, she couldn’t stay home. She feared she would do nothing but cry. That was why—even on this cloudy Saturday afternoon—Sophia decided to go into the studio. Putting her purse in the office, she heard the bell on the front door. Damn—she’d meant to lock that. It wasn’t that she was afraid. This was a great town. She just wanted some quiet time alone.
As she stepped into the studio, the man at the counter looked familiar. Maybe he had been at the gallery event, or she had seen him on TV? She couldn’t be sure, but his eyes were so dark and mesmerizing. “I’m sorry, I’m not open today. I just forgot to lock the door,” Sophia said, as she approached the handsome stranger.
“That’s all right. I can come back,” the dark-eyed man said with an agreeable smile. “It’s just that I travel a lot and happened to be in town. A friend of mine told me about your gallery. He was here a week or so ago and bought three pieces. I’m very interested in nature, and he said you have a wonderful selection.”
Sophia exhaled and smiled. “Are you a friend of Jackson Wilson?”—the man’s smile widened as he nodded his head—“He’s one of my biggest fans.”
“I don’t get this way often. Are you sure you couldn’t give me a speed tour? By the way, my name is Anthony, Anthony Rawlings.”
Sophia stuck out her hand. “Where are my manners? I’m so sorry. My name is Sophia, Sophia Burke. I’d be glad to give you a tour.” She couldn’t stop looking at those eyes.
“With one condition”—Anthony said, his eyes shining—“you let me buy you some dinner and a drink after the tour.”
Sophia gently took the man’s elbow to lead him around the studio. After a few minutes of enjoying his charm, she decided why not? After the last few difficult weeks—what harm could one dinner and drink do?
The End
The Consequences Series
You know the CONSEQUENCES…
Learn the rest of the story!
Don’t miss the continuing saga of Claire, Tony, and Sophia. Discover the secrets, ambitions, deceptions, and emotions that fuel their tangled web. Can Claire follow through on her plan? Is Tony’s façade impenetrable? Did love ever truly exist? Will revenge prevail? What will happen to Sophia? Whose vengeance will triumph?
TRUTH, book #2
Released October 30, 2012
CONVICTED, book #3
Released October 2013
BEHIND HIS EYES TRILOGY
READING COMPANIONS TO THE BESTSELLING CONSEQUENCES SERIES
Experience the Consequences through Tony’s eyes…
BEHIND HIS EYES – Consequences, book #4
Released January 2014
BEHIND HIS EYES – Truth, book #5
To be released March 2104
BEHIND HIS EYES – Convicted, book #6
To be released May 2014
—Aleatha Romig—
Aleatha Romig is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, who has been voted #1 “New Autho
r to Read” on Goodreads, July 2012 through present!
Aleatha has lived most of her life in Indiana, growing up in Mishawaka, graduating from Indiana University, and currently living south of Indianapolis. Together with her high-school sweetheart and husband of twenty-seven years, they’ve raised three children. Before she became a full-time author, she worked days as a dental hygienist and spent her nights writing. Now, when she’s not imagining mind-blowing twists and turns, she likes to spend her time with her family and friends. Her pastimes include exercising, reading, and creating heroes/anti-heroes who haunt your dreams!
Aleatha enjoys traveling, especially when there is a beach involved. In 2011, she had the opportunity to visit Sydney, Australia, to visit her daughter studying at the University of Wollongong. Her dream is to travel to places in her novels and around the world.
CONSEQUENCES, her first novel, was released in August, 2011, by Xlibris Publishing. Then in October of 2012, Ms. Romig re-released CONSEQUENCES as an indie author. TRUTH, the sequel, was released October 30, 2012, and CONVICTED, the final installment of the Consequences series, was released October 8, 2013! She is now releasing the CONSEQUENCES READING COMPANIONS: BEHIND HIS EYES – A trilogy of companions, from Anthony Rawlings’ POV.
Aleatha is a “Published Author’s Network” member of the Romance Writers of America and represented by Danielle Egan-Miller of Brown and Miller Literary Associates.
—Share Your Thoughts—
Please share your thoughts about Consequences on:
* Amazon, Consequences by Romig, Customer Reviews
* Barnes & Noble, Consequences by Romig, Customer Reviews
* Goodreads.com/Aleatha Romig
—Stay connected with Aleatha—
“Like” Aleatha Romig @ http://www.Facebook.com/AleathaRomig to learn the latest information regarding Truth, Convicted, Behind his Eyes, and other writing endeavors.
And, “Follow” @aleatharomig on Twitter!
Email Aleatha: [email protected] / Check out her blog: http://aleatharomig.blogspot.com
WANDERLUST
SKYE WARREN
Can love come from pain?
Evie always dreamed of seeing the world, but her first night at a motel turns into a nightmare. Hunter is a rugged trucker willing to do anything to keep her—including kidnapping. As they cross the country in his rig, Evie plots her escape, but she may find what she’s been looking for right beside her.
Note: This boxed-set edition includes an exclusive epilogue.
“Skye Warren will take you into the depths of depravity but bring you home, safe in the end.”
—Kitty Thomas, author of Comfort Food
Copyright
ISBN: 9780988363243
WANDERLUST
Copyright © 2013 by Skye Warren
Cover design by Book Beautiful
All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, the reproduction or use of this work in any part is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author does not condone sexual acts without consent.
Praise for Trust in Me:
“Good gracious! Skye Warren is a true mistress of dark and twisted love stories.”
—The Forbidden Bookshelf
“Skye Warren knows how to deliver a powerfully poignant story that will keep her readers engrossed.”
—Sizzling Hot Books
Night Owl Top Pick! “The author plays with metaphors and imagery in a prominent way to express Mia’s abuse at the hands the men in her life. This story was literally hard to put down.”
—Night Owl Reviews
Praise for Hear Me:
“This is a disturbingly arousing book I couldn’t put down until the last page was turned.”
—Day Dreaming
“From the story title to the striking imagery of Melody being an echo of one man’s dark need and desire, HEAR ME has a smart and eloquent literary quality that stands out from page one.”
—S. Richards, Amazon reviewer
“…achingly detailed, beautifully written, and just so much to experience.”
—Maryse’s Book Blog
Author’s Foreword
Dear readers,
Wanderlust explores captivity and dubious consent. It is intended as a fantasy for those who enjoy these themes in their fiction.
This book is dedicated to those who have been found—but who never forget how it feels to be lost. Many thanks to the beta readers and editors who helped me, including Leila DeSint, K.M., Antoinette M—, Em Petrova, and Helen Hardt.
Yours,
Skye Warren
Chapter One
‡
The Niagara Falls were formed by glacier activity 10,000 years ago.
A clash of pots and pans came from downstairs. I winced but remained cross-legged on my bed, staring at the assorted items I’d deemed essential. Some clothes, toiletries.
A map.
There was so much I didn’t know, so much I hadn’t seen. My absence of knowledge had become an almost tangible thing, filling me up, suffocating me until I needed to kick up to the surface just to breathe.
Ironically, my innocence was my mom’s explanation for keeping me home. The world was too scary, and I wouldn’t even know how to protect myself. To hear her tell it, the streets were filled with ravening men who would attack me as soon as look at me.
That was the anxiety talking. At least that was what the counselor had said before we’d stopped going.
“Evie!” my mother yelled from the kitchen.
It would be three more times before she elevated to screams. Four before she threw something. Six before she came up to my room, demanding I make her coffee or whatever else she needed.
I’d grown up fast, fumbling with mac and cheese before I was tall enough to see over the pot, explaining away my excess absences to disinterested teachers. In high school, I’d stayed home and studied to get my GED. Two years of correspondence classes through the community college, and I was desperate for any human contact.
I picked up my book, running my fingers over the cool, glossy surface.
The library was one of the few places approved by my mother. I must have read almost every book in that place, living a thousand lives on paper, traveling around the world in eighty days and through the looking glass. I knew about hope and death, about fear and the dignity required to overcome, but only in theoretical constructs of ink and ground tree pulp. That was my irony: to wax poetic about the meaning of life while being unable to do something as simple as pay rent.
Weary of re-reads, I’d wandered into the nonfiction section. I’d picked this one up on a whim, on a joke almost because the title seemed so silly. Everything You Wanted to Know About Niagara Falls. Who wanted to know anything about Niagara Falls?
Then I read it.
I snuck back every day for a week, enamored by the descriptions, in awe of the pictures of water rushing, enchanted by the majesty and magic of this place both faraway and someday attainable. My mother didn’t let me get a library card, so I’d stolen the book and kept it ever since.
Now the paper was thin and pliable, well-worn from years of turning the pages. The binding was loose, the stitching visible between the cardboard and glue. By now it was probably held together by the clear tape that held the library tags to the spine.
“Happy birthday,” I whispered.
My present to myself: to finally see the place I’d been yearning for. The place I’d dreamed about even before I’d gotten the book, for all twenty years of my life. For room to breathe. For freedom.
Even my camera couldn’t sustain me. I flipped through the photographs on the digital screen, every single one taken in the house or the yard. Nowadays mom got antsy when I walked over to the park. There were only so many times I could pretend a new angle of the flower pot was artisti
c instead of just plain pathetic. I wanted to see new things, new places—new people.
I piled everything into my bag. I was far too old for the purple backpack. But then, my body was too old for me. Somewhere in the past five years, I had blossomed into a woman, with full lips and fuller breasts, with hair in places I was almost afraid to touch, except when I just had to at night in my bed, and I did—oh, I did, and it shamed me. I shamed myself with the wetness and the horrible, rippling pleasure around my fingers.
My twentieth birthday. Neither my mother nor I had acknowledged it at breakfast, as if even the mention of passing time would crack the fragile votive that ensconced us.
And now, I would shatter it.
I wouldn’t be going around the world or even outside the state—at least not today. But the fear felt huge inside my stomach. Her anxiety was rubbing off on me. I had to get out of here.
Everything fit neatly into my faded backpack, but then I was well-practiced in packing it after having done so at least a dozen times. Each time had ended in screaming, in tears, and in me back upstairs in my room.
Not this time. If I didn’t follow through now, I would be stuck here. I’d live here forever.
I’d die here.
Feeling queasy, I slung the bag over my shoulder and headed down the stairs. My mother sat at the kitchen table, her thin robe loosely tied, eyes glassy from the pills. The medicine was supposed to help her, but she never got better—only worse. More fearful, more controlling.
All those chemicals had taken their toll on her body. She looked so tired. The weary shadows around her eyes and tension lines around her lips always made my gut clench. I should be here to protect her. I just couldn’t, I couldn’t.
Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire Page 53