The Summer of Us: A Romance Anthology

by AJ Matthews

  “Get out of here, Dana! Run. Save yourself!” Vince's voice boomed above the roaring crowd.

  Dear God, Vince knew what was about to happen. Holding her head in her hands, she searched for him. She tried calling his name, but no voice came out.

  Knowing he was aware of his fate, all hope drained from Dana. Her legs turned to jelly. To keep from dissolving into a puddle of anguish, she sought refuge behind a gaming tent and plastered herself against the wrought iron fence. Tears streamed down her face.

  Someone from behind the fence touched her shoulder. She jumped and let out a shriek.

  “Don't cry, miss. He ain't worth it,” a female protester shouted.

  Dana turned and stared into the eyes of an elderly Caribbean woman. “You’re wrong. My husband doesn’t deserve to die. He’s a good man. I don't understand why they want to kill him. Call the police. You need to save him.”

  “It ain't gonna happen,” an old man said. He pointed at two beefy guards standing at the back of the hotel in full military garb, complete with bandolier bullet belts filled with ammunition. “No one's leavin' this place,” he added. “’Specially you and the mister.”

  “You're trapped, lady,” another man shouted.

  “Why?” she screamed. Growing dizzy, she gripped the wrought iron with both hands to keep from collapsing. She stared at the picketers, waiting for an answer.

  “Because your husband's the big catch of the day. They've already reeled him in. They don't need you yet, so you still have time to get away.”

  Dana caught sight of Vince, towering over the crowd surrounding him as he struggled to free himself from being dragged closer to the grills. “We have to stop them!” she screamed.

  “Now, why would we be doin’ that?” the old woman asked. “The folks'll be gettin' a good meal and, by the looks of it, he'll be gettin' what he deserves. Him flirtin' with the ladies and such. Don't you think that's fair?”

  Pain shot through her heart and she grabbed her chest. She shook her head. “Nonono! My husband loves me. I have to save him.”

  “If you truly believe someone needs savin’, we’ll save you,” the woman said.

  Had she heard correctly? Save her? “But what about Vince? I won’t leave without my husband.” She searched for him once more. He’d disappeared in the crowd. Her knees buckled. She fell back against the fence.

  The crowd’s chanting was drowned out by steel drums echoing louder. And louder.

  “Hurry, miss,” a man shouted, “before the guests change their minds and decide they want you, too. Follow us.”

  Doubling over, she held her stomach. “Why save me? I’m nobody?”

  From behind the fence, a middle-aged woman grabbed Dana’s arm and pulled her toward the wrought iron. “We're the elders, and we decide who we want to save. We’re powerless to stop the ritual, but we’ve been granted permission to save one person. This year we chose you.”

  Dana fought to free herself. She had to go to Vince. “What kind of monsters are they? Why are they going to kill him?”

  “Didn’t anyone tell you? This is Caribes. The carnival guests are piranhas, lady. Cannibals,” an old man explained.

  She screamed and shook her head. “No! No one told me.” She’d read about the serenity of the island in a fashion magazine. But what Vince and she were experiencing right now was anything but serene. Framed pictures of piranhas displayed in a glass case behind the car rental counter flashed in her mind. She squirmed away from the woman’s clutches, but was pulled back. Someone else held her shoulders in place against the fence.

  “It’s too late to save your man,” the old woman warned. “You’d be wise to do as your husband says. Save yourself.”

  “Somebody call the police. Please,” she yelled, scanning her gaze across the crowd of protesters. All the while, searching for Vince.

  “They can't stop this. Nobody can,” a man said.

  Dana squirmed loose and sprinted along the fence—faster and faster—staying unnoticed behind the tents. Vince was no longer visible when she heard him scream.

  Her breath stopped. He was alive. Sobbing, she started toward him. “Vince! Vince!”

  Two large men turned in unison and stared. They glanced at each other, nodded, and headed in her direction.

  “Over here,” the protestors shouted and pointed to a freshly-dug hole under the fence. “This is your way out. Hurry,” they cried. “Run.”

  Dana ran to the hole, moved her fanny pack aside, and dropped to the ground. Knowing she was leaving Vince behind, she screamed as she wriggled her way under the fence. Midway, her blouse snagged on a bolt. “Help me!”

  A young man on the freedom side of the fence grabbed her arms and pulled her the rest of the way through—and away from Vince. The bolt dug into her skin and tore the back of her blouse.

  She was free. But she’d abandoned her husband. How could she live with her decision to save herself?

  “Get up, lady.” An old man pulled her away from the fence and helped her to her feet.

  She staggered toward a palm tree and leaned against it. Then she vomited.

  “Go, lady, go!” the protestors shouted.

  Dana wiped her mouth and covered her ears, drowning out Vince’s shrieks. Or were they her own? Her face wet with tears, she fled the resort and stumbled into the street. She’d failed her husband. Helpless and alone, she stood in the middle of the street and waved an arm to flag down one of the passing cars.

  No one stopped.

  The Bentley. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Smart Alec would save her. She raced to the parking lot, and unzipped her fanny pack. With no idea where the valet had parked the car, she pulled out the keys and pressed all the buttons. Surely, one of them had to be the locator.

  An engine turned over. Tired squealed. Headlights raced toward her. She stepped aside and waited. When it stopped, she aimed the key at the driver’s side door. “Thank you, Smart Alec,”

  “You’re not Vince. Vince and His Wife can’t leave. Must stay,” Smart Alec shouted. The Bentley backed up…and charged.

  Dana screamed. She jumped out of the way and scrambled behind a parked car.

  The Bentley’s horn blared.

  Weaving her way between parked cars, Dana worked her way out of the lot and into the street.

  The Bentley followed.

  On the street…sirens. Oncoming headlights. Red flashing lights. A police car sped toward her, and she ran to meet it. Before the car reached her. The Bentley t-boned it, disabling both vehicles.

  Dana’s knees buckled and she collapsed on the pavement. Loose gravel dug into her bare legs and pierced her knees. Brakes screeched. Another vehicle. More flashing lights. More brakes. Soon, she was surrounded by squad cars. Car doors opened.

  “Mrs. King,” a familiar voice shouted. “What happened?”

  She looked up into the face of Officer DeWayne and relief swept over her. “Thank God, it’s you. You’ve got to help me,” she said, gasping for breath. “They're killing my husband.”

  As Officer DeWayne escorted Dana to an awaiting police cruiser, they passed the Bentley.

  Steam rose from its radiator. “His Wife…His Wife,” it hissed.

  DeWayne assisted Dana into the back seat of one his police cars. “Stay here where you’re safe while we rescue your husband.”

  Weapons drawn, dozens of police officers charged the gate of the resort.

  Shouts.

  Footsteps thundering.

  How could she sit idly by without attempting to save her husband? She tried leaving, but the back doors had no handles.

  Gunfire.

  “Vince!”

  Then everything went black.

  Chapter Five

  Daylight peeked into the room through partially-closed window blinds. Dana scanned the unfamiliar room, its walls painted pale green. Where was she?

  Beeping monitors? A hospital room. When did she get here? And why? As she studied her surroundings, dark clouds li
fted from her memory.

  Vince!

  She bolted upright and checked the bed next to hers. Empty.

  A tall, slim nurse entered the room. “Good mornin', Mrs. King. I’m your nurse, Beatrice. How're you feelin' today? We’re glad to see you’re doin’ better. You’ve been sleepin’ off and on for nearly two days.”

  She frowned, trying to recall details of her stay. “Why doesn’t it seem that long?”

  “You were very upset and pretty banged up when you were admitted. We gave you medication for pain and to fight infection.”

  A few seconds later, Officer DeWayne walked through the door. When he saw Dana, his face broke out in a broad smile. “Welcome back.”

  Dying to discover Vince’s fate, but too terrified to inquire, she stared at the officer through a veil of tears. Had Officer DeWayne arrived at the resort in time to rescue her husband? Or had Vince become the main entrée at the barbeque?

  She swallowed hard, ridding herself of the knot in her stomach. “Is Vince…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word that hung on her lips.

  Officer DeWayne placed his hand on her arm. “No need to fret, Mrs. King. Your husband’s doin’ just fine. He’s been askin’ for you, and you can see him, if you’re up to it.”

  Relieved Vince had survived, her hand flew to her chest. “He's alive?”

  A wide smile covered his face. “Yes, ma'am.”

  “Thank you for saving his life.” She burst into tears.

  He crossed his arms and moved closer to the bed. “Afraid I can’t take credit for that. Someone called the station anonymously, complainin’ about suspicious activity goin’ on in the vicinity, so we were nearby. But you, Mrs. King, were the one who saved your husband.”

  Looking heavenward, DeWayne blew out a breath. “If you hadn't run into the street like you did, you’d be plannin' his funeral instead of goin’ to visit him in his room. You probably saved more lives, as well. We finally shut down the resort and filled our jails with the organizers of the carnival. We’ve been tryin’ for a long time to put those devils behind bars.”

  “Why haven’t you caught them before now?” Dana asked, frowning.

  DeWayne switched from one foot to the other. “The planners are too slick. They never hold the event on the same day or month, so we usually don’t find out what’s goin’ on until the event is over.”

  “Why didn’t you warn us?” she asked, unable to hide her anger.

  “I alerted you of the possibility, but I had no way of knowin’ if the carnival was even goin’ to happen while you were here. And there’s no need to alarm the tourists if we can avoid it.”

  She leaned against the pillow. A sharp pain stabbed her in the middle of the back and brought back memories of being dragged under the fence to safety. “Thank God, the horror is over.”

  He winced and shook his head. “Unfortunately, the carnival is a very popular affair. Someone new will take over, soon enough. They’ll find another resort and host another event. Although not a carnival, the main attraction will still be the barbeque.”

  If she…and Vince…were hospitalized, what happened to their luggage? Their computers? “Our things…the hotel…”

  “We cleared out your room and are holdin’ everything in storage under lock and key. If there’s anythin’ you need, just ask and we’ll see that you get it.” He grinned. “Now, let’s go see your man.”

  Nurse Beatrice brought Dana a pale blue robe. “Here. Let’s get you covered up.” She draped the robe around Dana’s shoulders, and with Officer DeWayne’s assistance, gently moved her to the wheelchair.

  Every muscle in Dana’s body screamed in agony. As she was lowered into the wheelchair, she caught sight of the bruises on her arms from being pulled through the hole under the fence. Bandages covering her knees and legs were the result of collapsing on the road riddled with sharp stones.

  “You ready?” Beatrice asked.

  “Absolutely!” Dana was never surer of anything in her life.

  “Then let’s be on our way,” Beatrice said, leading the way out the door.

  DeWayne followed closely and guided the wheelchair down the hallway and into another wing.

  Stepping in front of an open doorway, Beatrice stopped DeWayne from pushing the wheelchair inside. “Before we go in, I must warn you,” she said. “Your husband received extensive burns and injuries.”

  “You sure you’re up to it, Mrs. King?” DeWayne asked.

  Terrified of what condition she’d find Vince in, Dana held her breath and wiped her cheeks. “I have to see my husband.”

  Officer DeWayne pushed the wheelchair into a room—identical to hers. The curtain pulled around Vince’s bed made her stomach churn.

  “You ready?” Beatrice moved in front of a curtain.

  Dana held her breath and nodded—all the while praying she could control her reaction at seeing Vince beaten and burned. The last thing she wanted was to upset him or cause him more distress than he’d already suffered.

  Nurse Beatrice pulled the curtain aside.

  The man Dana loved was swathed in bandages and lying on a narrow hospital bed hardly large enough to accommodate his tall frame. IV's were hooked up to both arms. Behind and next to his bed, monitors beeped.

  “Sweetheart.” She tried to stand.

  “Best you sit back down,” Beatrice said and wheeled her to his bedside. “I’ll leave you two alone for a bit. If you need a nurse, push the red button, and someone will be right in.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Beatrice patted Dana’s shoulder. “Enjoy your visit.” She left with Officer DeWayne.

  “Is that you, Dana?” Vince’s voice faltered.

  “Yes.” Her stomach clenched as she choked back a sob. It was hard to believe the man behind the bandages was her husband.

  “You should see the other guy.” His eyes glistened behind the gauze-mask. “I wasn't going down without a fight, and ended up with fractured ribs and dislocated shoulders. My face is pretty messed up. They even broke my damn nose. But, considering the alternative…”

  Lifting his hand gently, she brushed her lips against his palm. “You'll always be the most beautiful man I’ve ever known.”

  “I bet you say that to all the men.”

  She chuckled. “How'd you know?”

  “I hear I have you to thank.” Though his voice dimmed, he continued. “Lying here has given me lots of time to think. About us. About how much you mean to me. Our marriage. How you keep me grounded.” Tears welled in his eyes. “I’ve been a real asshole. I don't deserve you, Dana.” His voice trembled, heavy with emotion.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” She squeezed his hand and her eyes burned with unshed tears.

  “I owe you my life. Everything. I'm sorry for all the crap I’ve put you through. I don't know how I can make it up to you. But I want to try. I’ll quit drinking. We can adopt a kid…or maybe two.” A tear escaped. “I love you, Dana. I truly do. With everything that's in me...”

  “I love you too, Vince.”

  He closed his eyes and shuddered. Seemingly surrendering to the pain, he moaned.

  “Don’t leave me,” he whispered, reaching for Dana.

  She stretched forward and clasped his hand. “I’m still here.”

  “I know our vacation was a make-or-break deal for us…for you.” His voice hitched as he squeezed her hand.

  Dana’s heart dropped to the soles of her feet. Dear God, how had he found out? She hadn’t discussed or even mentioned her decision to anyone.

  “Don’t give up on me…on us. Stay,” he said.

  Those words will all she really needed to hear to make her choice. “I’m not going anywhere.” She moved closer to the bed. “Ever.”

  “Promise?” Vince whispered, then closed his eyes.

  “Promise.” She kissed her fingertips and touched his gauzed cheek.

  Beatrice stepped the room. “Looks like your husband’s gettin’ tired and I don’t want him
to overdo it,” she whispered. “Let’s get you back to your room so he can catch some sleep.”

  “All right.” Dana backed up the wheelchair, preparing to leave.

  Vince opened his eyes. "Dana?”

  “Yes?” She returned the wheelchair next to his bedside.

  “Can you do one thing for me?" Vince said softly.

  "Anything. Just name it,” Dana answered, her voice breaking.

  He yawned. "Can you get me a tape recorder? I want to document everything that happened.” His voice grew weaker. “It's going to make one hell of a screenplay."

  THE END

  About the Author

  Joyce Ward stopped stirring up trouble in the corporate world a few years ago and now satisfies her appetite for adventure by writing about second chances. She writes Contemporary Romance, Romantic Suspense, and Historical Romance where flawed heroes and heroines find their Happily Ever After.

  Copyright © 2017 by Laura Greenwood

  Cover Designer: Swoonworthy Book Covers

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review. Participation in any aspect of piracy of copyrighted materials, inclusive of the obtainment of this book through non-retail or other unauthorized means, is in actionable violation of the author’s rights.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and registered trademark owners or all branded names referenced without TM, SM, or ® symbols due to formatting restraints, and is not claiming ownership of or collaboration with said trademark brands.

  Chapter One