Struck Down

by Penelope L'Amoreaux

  Struck Down

  A Dark Erotic Romance

  Penelope L’Amoreaux

  Copyright 2014 Penelope L’Amoreaux

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by James, GoOnWrite.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  I never expected love to find me in the trunk of a car. Then again, I had never expected to be shoved into a trunk and kidnapped.

  * * * *

  “Hitchhiking.” Brian’s grimaced. “Renee, really?”

  “Yeah! Hitchhiking.” He was my best friend, but he wasn’t going to dissuade me. I had just revealed how I would make my dream adventure happen. It was just happening a little sooner than I had planned. And solo. I hadn’t planned on that, either.

  “You’re going to get drugged. Murdered. Cut into pieces and stored in some guy’s freezer and they’ll find you and call me and I’ll have to identify your head in a jar.” When he was upset, Brian spoke at a rapid clip.

  Like he had a reason to be upset. I could punch him. This was about me. I was the one who had been left by my fiancé.

  That’s right, I got dumped the day before I was meant to become a “mrs.”.

  Absentmindedly my hand went to my chest, rubbing my bruised heart.

  “Hey,” Brian chided, softer. His hand grabbed mine and stopped it. “I’m sorry. I get it.”

  “Do you? It’s just…” Just what, exactly? How do you tell someone, even if they’re your best friend, that you’ve been broken? That you are just the shell of who you once were?

  “Shhh, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” He pulled me into a hug and I buried my face in his chest. If only Brian was the kind of guy I wanted to marry. He is loyal, steadfast, and hysterically funny. All the things you’d want in a husband. Oh, and he is gay. That part… not such marriage material. At least not for me.

  Matt had been who I wanted to marry. His height had perfectly complimented my petite frame. His blond hair to my dark curls. His blue eyes to my chocolate ones. His lightness was perfection, beautiful and enchanting. He made me feel dark and exotic, which was impressive considering I was just an average girl from North Carolina. Did I mention he was a brilliant engineer? Being with him felt easy. I didn’t have to think when I was with him. Maybe a bit boring, but stable.

  He was a knight in shining armor, and he was gone. He had taken the deposit for the wedding, the ring, and our friends with him. All but Brian, who was doing his best to talk me out of my next plan.

  I was going to hitchhike from my coastal town of Wilmington to Maine, backpack down the Appalachian Trail, and then cut across the Mountains to Sea trail. And I was doing it alone.

  * * * *

  It had been one thing to make my plans and tell them to Brian. It was another to leave my befuddled and worried parents with a backpack on, a bedroll strapped to the top, and my thumb ready to try to hook a ride. Currently I was standing next to I-40. Not right next to it, where I should be if I wanted to hook a ride, but a good fifty feet away.

  Behind me was Wilmington. College beach town and vacation home central. All of the houses built on stilts, still too close to the water, all painted in pastel colors. I lived with my parents on the inside of the town in a small townhouse. I had never been anywhere outside of the Outer Banks, except for one road trip as a child to Cedar Point in Ohio.

  Matt was still in Wilmington. He had left me, so it was far past time for me to blow the sleepy beach city. Past time, yet here I was, stalling.

  My feet dragged as I moved toward the zipping cars and roaring trucks. The air smelled like rubber and oil, the pavement so hot I could feel it through my sandals.

  I wished I had more money.

  I wished Matt hadn’t cleaned out the accounts, taking my travel savings.

  … I wished Matt was with me, on my first big, real adventure.

  Shaking, I stuck my arm out. The sun’s rays warmed my already tan skin. Being a beach kid meant I was brown year-round. My mom called me her ‘toasted almond.’

  With more than a little hesitation, I stuck my thumb in the air. As soon as it was up, every warning I had received raced through my head. “Renee, it’s so dangerous,” my mom’s voice cried. “Honey, it isn’t just dangerous, it’s tacky.” “No one likes hitchhikers anymore. I’d be surprised if you even get a lift out of town,” my dad had tried another approach. “Murdered, drugged, and chopped up.” Brian’s voice echoed.

  Oh shit.

  I prepared to take my arm down. To head back to my folk’s place in defeat.

  But there wasn’t time--a car pulled up beside me.

  I bit my lip and walked to the passenger side as the window was rolling down.

  A teenage girl looked at me through heavy black glasses. Her friend who was driving was busy checking her flaming red nail polish.

  “You hitching?”

  “Yeah.”

  A huge grin. “That’s so cool. We’re heading to Raleigh, want in?”

  It was perfect. In Raleigh I could switch from an east-west route and head north.

  “Sure, thanks!”

  Their trunk popped and I tossed my bag in. As I entered their car my hand found its way to my chest again. The habit had started the very moment Matt had left me standing, dumbfounded, in front of the preacher. It was used to trying to rub away the sharp ache that came with thinking of Matt. Those thoughts came often.

  Now, though…

  Now it was trying to slow the rapid beat of excitement. This was it. I was doing something huge. My first big adventure.

  I looked out the back as we pulled onto I-40 and kept looking as the only city I had ever known grew smaller and smaller, and then disappeared.

  * * * *

  The girls were Mandy and Sarah. They were out of school for the summer and escaping to Raleigh to party with college boys. Their jokes made me smile, but my heart wasn’t into getting to know them. It was too busy trying to burst from my chest.

  “The guys in Raleigh are so much more sophisticated than the boys in Wilmington,” Mandy was talking while she drove. It made me nervous that she looked back at me so frequently. I would have felt better if she kept her eyes on the road.

  “Do you want to come party with us?” Sarah asked. “You’re so pretty, I bet you could get a ton of phone numbers!”

  I was grateful for the huge sunglasses I was wearing. It kept them from seeing the fresh shine of tears in my eyes. “No, thanks though. I’m trying to get to Maine.”

  This prompted a flurry of questions. Why was I trying to get to Maine? I was going to do what? Most importantly, why in God’s name was I attempting something so monumental?

  As I told my story the girls rolled their windows up to better hear me.

  “... so that’s it,” I concluded. “I’ve never been on an adventure, never done anything on my own. I had hoped to do it with someone, but maybe its better that it is just me. I’ve had help with everything in my life, even paying bills. This is on me, just me. One great, big adventure.”

  “Wow,” Sarah said. She had turned around to face me while
I had talked. Her eyes were large, like moons. “That’s so amazing.”

  I flushed with pleasure. It was, wasn’t it?

  “I haven’t done anything yet,” I reminded her.

  “Sure you did. You stuck out your thumb.”

  Those five words became a mantra in that moment. A metaphor, though I wasn’t sure it was complete yet. It would be in a few months when I hiked back into Wilmington.

  You stuck out your thumb.

  Hell yes, I did.

  * * * *

  They dropped me off just outside of the city. I figured I’d have better luck catching a ride on the highway than I would in the city.

  To say I felt high was an understatement. I had never done drugs, but I wondered if this is what it felt like. Like electricity was racing through me. Like I could not only run a marathon--I could win it. Heart thundering and smile beaming, I gave my mom a quick call.

  “Hello?”

  “You’ll never guess where I am.”

  “Renee? You’ve been gone about two and half hours. You’re probably in Raleigh.”

  I pouted. “Mom, no fun. Yes, I am officially in Raleigh, having completed my first of many hitches. Is that what I call it? A hitch?”

  “Whatever you want, baby. Who picked you up? You did what I said, right? No men--only women.”

  “Yeah, mom. It was a couple of young girls. They were nice.”

  “Well… I’m still not crazy about this idea. Why don’t I come pick you up?”

  “I’ll talk to you later, mom.”

  We said our goodbyes, her’s plainly begging me to reconsider, mine an assurance that I really, truly needed this. She understood the sentiment enough to let me go. My gut twisted as I hung up. I had promised check-ins, but not how frequently they would come. Two and a half hours…

  I resolved to not call her for a day. It wasn’t that I wanted to cause her anxiety. It was just that I needed to prove myself. To me. To her. To Matt, even if he never knew it.

  Moving close to the edge of the highway I had to bite down my fear. The cars zoomed so close to the shoulder. I would have to always be paying attention, because I would be worse than a pancake if one of them hit me.

  I stuck out my thumb, smiling.

  * * * *

  Chapter Two

  Part of the decision to hitch was obviously financial. With Matt taking all of our combined savings, I had only a little padding in my name. I had saved from my waitressing job just enough for a buffer, but not for hotels every night. Mostly just for food and, god forbid, in case of an emergency.

  But after standing on the side of the road for hours, my situation started to feel like an emergency. No one had slowed down. Most drivers wouldn’t even look at me. I had started the day all sunshine and nervous butterflies. Now I felt like a storm cloud. A filthy storm cloud at that.

  This led to the biggest mistake of my life: I checked into a motel.

  It was a small, run down motel. No name brand, half the neon lights in the “vacancy” sign burned out, cigarette butts littering the parking lot. But it was cheap, and that meant I could talk myself into spending the money.

  The room was small and smelled of old tobacco smoke. The blanket on the bed was threadbare. My body was still hyped up. This was the first time I had checked into a motel on my own. When the owner hadn’t asked for ID, I had almost wanted to insist, to let someone else know that Renee Duchampe had checked in by herself.

  As I took a hot shower in a microscopic bathroom, the decision still felt right. Being on the side of the highway in the summer heat had left me coated in grime and sweat. I reckoned it would be harder to hitch the next day if I already looked and smelled like a hot mess.

  The rivulets of water washed over me and I reveled in their heat, their cleansing power. Because I didn’t have to worry about the water bill, I stayed in extra long, until the steam in the bathroom was thick like fog.

  After I had toweled off and dressed, my curls still damp and pulled up, I made my way to the diner next to the motel. Small and family owned, it was cute in a kitschy way.

  It was a little embarrassing to squeak into the cracked leather booth alone. It was late, far past normal dinner hours. There were only a few of us in the restaurant. Other than the tired looking waitress, I was the only girl.

  There were two men that my eyes kept finding. When I looked at them I felt the hairs on my neck and arm stand up. Their skin was sallow in the diner light. They had the kind of non-descript faces and beards that would make them impossible to describe. The thing that stood out was that they were looking at me. No. They were staring. Every time I caught them looking my skin would burn and I’d look down at the rolled napkin I was twisting in my hands. But their eyes wouldn’t budge.

  “What can I get you, honey?”

  “Um, just a coke. And a burger.”

  “Its a little late to be out on your own, isn’t it?”

  “I’m, um, traveling solo.” I was twisting the napkin into tiny pieces. Her eyes passed over the pile on the table and I realized I was creating a mess she would have to clean up. I had been a waitress; I hated that.

  “...sorry.” I grinned and scooped the paper into my hands, setting it to the side to put on my plate when it came.

  “Solo? That’s pretty brave. I’ll bring your food right out.”

  As I waited, I kept stealing glances at the men. They were still staring. If they saw me looking, they’d try and smile at me. I chewed my lip until it hurt, just wanting to eat and rush back to my room.

  She brought my drink and food. Having not eaten since that morning, I gulped it down, barely tasting it. I could feel the sugar when it hit, though. I needed the jolt it gave me.

  I resisted the urge to binge and run. I knew I’d have to get used to eating alone. But I hadn’t thought about restaurants, just eating handfuls of trail mix on the trail. It was an experience I wasn’t looking forward to having to do again. Next time I’d find a grocery store and bring food to my room.

  “Renee, it just isn’t working.”

  Matt and I had been out for our last meal together, though I hadn’t known it at the time. He had taken me out for steak. That’s what passed for a fancy dinner with him. It was a chain restaurant, but he had been encouraging me to order whatever I wanted. I realized later he had been trying to pad the hurt he was going to cause with food.

  It hadn’t worked.

  “What do you mean?” Bile in my throat and I wondered if I would be able to keep the battered and fried onion we had eaten down.

  “I mean… I mean I need my ring back.”

  My hand automatically made a fist and I looked at the tiny, sparkling diamond on my finger. Instinctively my fingers closed tighter, protecting the piece of jewelry which had already started feeling like an extension of myself.

  “But I don’t understand. I thought things were going great.”

  “They aren’t bad, Renee. I’m not trying to be a jerk. But I think if you search your heart, you’ll find we don’t really love each other. Better to end it now before someone really gets hurt, right?”

  No, when I searched my heart it felt as if it were being ripped to shreds. “Really hurt” was a joke.

  He was saying he didn’t really love me, and it was killing me. The perfect life I had envisioned with him was disappearing, dissolved by a few words.

  “Is this about the sex stuff?” I blurted the question without thinking. Knowing the answer but not wanting to hear it.

  The sex stuff. I absentmindedly smeared a fry in circles in mustard. My hand shook a little as I recalled the embarrassment I had felt when, after a few glasses of wine, I had shared some of my fantasies. The darker ones.

  I had asked Matt to hurt me. Just a little. Spanking. Hair pulling.

  It hadn’t felt too shameful until I had seen Matt’s face. It was twisted, appalled. He insisted that real men could never hurt a woman. Not even for fantasy. More than that, he insinuated that any girl who liked that, who
wanted to be hurt (even just a little bit) had something wrong with her.

  Something wrong with her. With me.

  Was he right? It had felt exciting to me, to picture myself at a man’s feet, at his beck and call. To have a man hunger for me. But the memory of Matt’s reaction, of the breakup, stung anew.

  The men in the restaurant looked at me like they were hungry. It made me so nervous I gulped the rest of my soda down and dropped come crumpled bills on the table.

  Maybe my fantasies were wrong. Maybe Matt had been right.

  When I reached my hotel door, my skin began to crawl. Heart thumping hard, I looked behind me. There was nothing but the few cars parked in front of other doors. A large garbage bin. The empty and dilapidated pool. No people. Still, it felt as if someone was watching me.

  Shaking, it took me longer to shove the key in its slot. I jumped inside of my room as quickly as I could and slammed the door shut behind me. In quick succession I had relocked the door, turned the deadbolt, and slid both of the chains into place.

  It occurred to me I should have been more wary of a place that required four locks on the door.

  I waited, breathing softly, listening at the door.

  Nothing.

  After several minutes I stepped away.

  You’re going to be alone a lot on this trip, Renee. Better get used to it. Stop being such a scaredy cat.

  Laying my bedroll on top of the mattress, I let myself fall asleep. I didn’t even brush my teeth first.

  * * * *

  It was hot and sticky when I woke up. The air conditioner in the room seemed to be on the fritz. I went ahead and took another shower. I hadn’t thought this hitchhiking trip fully through and I was suddenly feeling underprepared.

  Before I left the room, I unpacked and re-packed my bag. Bedroll, sleeping bag, a few changes of clothes, several socks. Flip flops and hiking boots. A giant bag of rice and a pot to cook it in, a giant bag of trail mix, and a giant bag of beef jerky. My plan had been to make some drop off points along the Appalachian trail for food. A first aid kit, a tarp, and a small notebook and pen. A few bandanas. A wallet, a comb, and my cell phone and charger. Not that I’d be able to charge it in the mountains.