G STREET CHRONICLES PRESENTS
HEELS OF LOVE
“From Love to Loathe Series”
by
Phoenix Rayne
Copyright 2013 Phoenix Rayne
Published by:
G Street Chronicles, LLC
P.O. Box 1822
Jonesboro, GA 30237-1822
www.gstreetchronicles.com
[email protected]
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without prior written consent from both the author, and publisher G Street Chronicles, except brief quotes used in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. It is not meant to depict, portray or represent any particular real person. All the characters, incidents, and dialogues are the products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any references or similarities to actual events, entities, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, entities, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author/publisher.
Cover Design
Hot Book Covers
www.hotbookcovers.com
Join our social networks
Like us on Facebook
G Street Chronicles
G Street Chronicles CEO Exclusive Readers Group
Follow us on Twitter
@GStreetChronicl
I dedicate this book to my fans!
Chapter 1
The Meet and Greet
I was in another one of my “trying to find myself” states, and I had just broken off my third and absolutely final engagement. I am so sick and tired of living my life for someone else, and I am so very glad I woke up from this one before I was in too deep. I wasn’t sure where I was heading to this time, but I knew I wanted to be as far away from the south as possible.
I was driving downtown absentmindedly when I called Chelle and she, as usual, invited me out to the Pacific Northwest to stay with her. She lived forty-two hours away from my old life, and it just didn’t seem far enough. I arrived on Wednesday, and I was starting the new job that Chelle set up for me on Monday. Chelle had to work the rest of the week, and I wanted to do some major sightseeing. I had never been this far west before, and I wanted to see all I could see. Plus, one of my favorite writers had a series about Vampires in the Pacific Northwest. I had to see the areas she wrote about, and check out a couple of the reservations in this area.
So I woke up bright and early my first day in the Pacific Northwest the next morning, bought a map at the 7-11, and started my journey. There was so much water here, and I had never set foot on a beach before. So I went searching for all the beaches I could find in a three hundred-mile radius. I came across the town the author wrote about in the vampire series. It looked just like my hometown, nothing too spectacular but still nice to see, and I saw the reservation from the books as well. It was nice to see the places she wrote about and all the signs the town and reservation had up promoting the author and the series.
However, I went to four different beaches, and I was not impressed. I was all set to take lots and lots of pictures, but it never happened. Everything was so depressing and cold here. My vision of beaches was hot sunny days with people jogging across the shoreline, but no one jogged across any shorelines here. It was a little past 3:00 p.m. and I thought that since I was about three hours away I had better start heading back. I filled up at a little gas station, and the elderly attendant behind the counter asked me if I was a tourist.
“Well, yes and no.”
He laughed, and I explained that I was sight-seeing but was now also a resident of the Pacific Northwest.
“What sites have you seen?”
“Beautiful beaches.”
He asked what beaches I had visited, and I told him.
“Well, there’s about three more thirty minutes from here that are pretty nice. They are up by reservation country, and you cannot miss them. You can do some major thinking over there. It’s worth the drive, and the scenery on the way is breathtaking.” He showed me exactly where the beaches were on the map and it was pretty much a straight shot to get there. I had about four more hours of light left, according to my new friend, and I thought that would be just fine. I thanked him, bought a few more snacks, and headed up the highway.
The old man was right: the scenery was breathtaking, and the drive was completely soothing to me. I made it to the beach about forty-five minutes later. It was nice, not crowded at all. There were a few couples there, but other than that, all I could hear was the ocean. I stayed for twenty minutes or so; I took some pictures and collected a few colorful stones.
Suddenly, all hell broke loose; rain started pouring down. The few couples on the beach were now running to their cars, and so did I. Just a few seconds ago, the sun had been beaming, and now it was completely gone and the sky was grey. This was scary because everything was dark here now. There was not a pole light in sight, and the other cars were racing away down the highway. Since I am on the fluffier size of life, I couldn’t run as fast as the others could. I made it to the car drenched and heaving for air. I slammed down into the car seat and tried to catch my breath. I pushed several buttons trying to find the windshield wipers in the rental but then pushed the wrong button and the convertible top came down soaking everything in the car and me…again. I tried to stop the top, but I didn’t know which button I pushed to make it come down. I jabbed at everything I could find. The car alarm was going off, and the radio was blasting making this scene even worse. Finally, I pushed the right button and the top started coming back up. I will have to remember the button behind the wipers will be forbidden from here on out.
I looked out the windshield, and the rain was pouring down so hard I couldn’t even see the beach anymore. I backed up and high beamed it off the beach. I made it a few miles up the highway before I saw a car’s headlights coming once they got almost right up on me. They were over in my lane heading straight for me. I slammed down on my horn, and then the car started swerving all over the two-lane highway. Trying to get out of the way, I ran off the side of the road, hit a mailbox, and drove into somebody’s yard. The other car kept going.
I looked over and saw a tiny house with a missing screen door and no light on. I grabbed my jacket, put it over my head, and ran to the door. I knocked, but no one came. I ran back to the car and thought I could leave my name and number so I could replace the mailbox. However, there was nowhere to leave a note. I thought about getting the mailbox, but it was in the small ditch next to me floating in water. I pulled out my cell phone and had no signal. I wrote the house number down and figured I could find another house or a store or something where I could call for help.
I drove and drove but never saw another house. I saw a sign pointing up the road that said “Station 1 mile,” so I followed the side road. I went up a hill and saw a guard station but no guard. The rail was up to pass on through, so I did. I saw identical houses on both sides of the street. All the houses were in a straight line like the military. It felt like I was on an Army ba
se.
I made it a few more feet up the block and saw a giant boulder. Then I saw the dead end sign. I put the car in reverse and looked behind for oncoming traffic. The street was clear. I looked back up towards the dead end sign, and there sat a man on the boulder. I jumped and gasped; no one had been there a few seconds ago. I turned around to reverse again and backed up as far as I could go. When I faced forward towards the man, he was not on the boulder anymore. I looked out the passenger window, and nothing was there. I turned around to the driver’s side window, and there he stood right in front of my driver’s side window. I screeched this time and slammed on the gas. The car was screeching too, but it wouldn’t move; it was deep in mud. I tried it again, and the car still wouldn’t budge.
The man stood and didn’t say a word. He came over towards the car with a ready-for-war stance. His walk was hard and rough, his shoulders never moved. It looked as though they were trained to be still. Both of his arms were hanging straight down on both sides of his body. His hands were bald up into a tight fist and his veins looked as though they wanted to burst through his skin. He had long, jet-black hair that draped over his eyes, a strong jaw, and a clenched fist. He wore a white Henley shirt that stuck to his chiseled chest and dark denim jeans that were dripping. He just stood there, and I couldn’t look at him; I imagined him with a hatchet and a long black raincoat. Damn, Ms. Meyers and her stupid vampire books, and curse me for going sightseeing.
I texted Chelle, “I went sight-seeing like I told you I would this morning, and now my car is stuck in the stupid mud. I am on this reservation, and there is someone outside the car staring at me through my driver’s side window. I just wanted you to know where I was.”
I ended the fierce text and laid the phone down on the passenger’s side car seat. The man at the window started tapping, but I wouldn’t look at him. I couldn’t help but picture him with a hatchet. Making it this many years alone, I’ve learned if you don’t stare at people in their eyes, don’t remember their features, and definitely don’t remember their emotions, they will more than likely let you live.
The man tapped on the window again, but I still didn’t look at him. The rain had completely stopped now, and there was a hint of the sun coming back out. I tried to get a side view glance at him, but at the angle he was standing, it was impossible. I imagined him with a dozen tribal tattoos and piercings everywhere. I unhooked my seat belt, pulled my purse open and yanked out my mace. I was not going out without a fight. If he tried to rape me, I would spray him in the face with mace and try to break off his dick. I grabbed my cell phone again, still no signal.
The man tapped one last time at the window. “Get the hell away from me, psycho,” I screamed at him.
“Your phone isn’t going to work up here,” he said in a deep voice.
“Please just leave me alone; I’m just passing through and I got lost,” I told him.
“I’m not going to hurt you; I’m trying to help you,” he said. “You cannot be here; you are on private property. Visitors, who have not been cleared, are not allowed.”
Oh dear God, I am going to have to fight this whole damn neighborhood.
“I live right up the street. I’m going to get help. Don’t move. And don’t try to pull out anymore; you’re only making it worse,” he said in his psycho voice.
I nodded, still not making eye contact with him. I still hadn’t seen his face, so maybe he wouldn’t hurt me.
As the psycho walked away, I noticed he didn’t have his hatchet anymore or his malice. I must have imagined them both, but they seemed so real. My eyes followed him, and I saw exactly what house he went into. As soon as he walked in, I slammed on the gas again and heard nothing but grinding noises. I tried it repeatedly and still nothing.
A thought came to me then, maybe I wasn’t that stuck, he could have been lying. Maybe he was going to get other people to help him kill me or maybe he was going to get a garbage bag to put my body parts in after he was done with me. I gave up; I swallowed my fears and just opened the car door to take a look for myself. I could barely see the wheels now; they were really stuck in some deep mud. I looked around and there was nothing I could do, there was nothing around to try to wedge the wheels out of the mud. I heard voices coming from across the street, I yanked my head back up, and there stood the psycho and three more psychos with him. I slammed the door back shut, locking it. They would have to bust the windows open and yank me from the steering wheel. I started saying the Bible verses of the 23rd Psalm; I cursed myself for not remembering all the verses.
The psycho and the other three psychos made it back to the car. Still not making eye contact with any of them, I looked straight ahead. I noticed one of the psychos had a bright red Mohawk and several tattoos. They mumbled something to each other, and then I heard one of them say, “I told her,” and I thought they were probably talking about me. Psycho #1 told me not to move, and I am sure he could tell I tried getting out the mud again.
Just then, Psycho #1 shouted at me to gun it; I didn’t see any of the psychos anymore. I froze for a minute. “Go!!!” someone yelled out. I gunned it and nothing. “Stop!” I heard someone yell now. So I froze again not saying or doing anything. “Go!” someone yelled again. I gunned it again, and then I could feel some moving under the car. “Stop!” someone yelled again, and I stopped, and then all of sudden I felt a burst of relief. The psychos were not psychos at all; they were really trying to help me get out of the mud. I felt terrible; I had called the man on the boulder a psycho to his face. Well, from the side of my face that is.
“Okay, again! This tone was more pleasant. I did as he commanded, and then the car eased up onto the street. I threw my head back onto the seat, trying to catch my breath. I had done absolutely nothing, but I felt the warm relief from not being a victim of a vicious attack.
The three men walked away from the car. Mud covered them from head to toe. When I woke from my shock of relief, I pushed two of the window buttons accidentally pushing the one behind the wipers, the forbidden one. Both windows rolled down plus the top again. I yelled, “THANK YOU!!!” One of them threw their hand up and the others just kept walking towards the house.
“Do you think you can find your way out now?” he asked. I turned slowly and there stood a bare-chested mud god. Now that his shirt was off, I noticed just how ripped his body was. His jeans were covered in grit and grime, but he was a sexy being.
“Now you need to leave, you people act as though you can’t read the sign that says, ‘Private Property.’ You do not belong here and you’re not welcome.” My mud god spoke again, but these words were harsh; he talked down to me as if I was a peasant. I frowned at him, and then the anger welled up in me. He said “Your kind.”
“My kind!” Now I knew from my college classes on American History that a lot of Native Americans didn’t care for Christopher Columbus; I mean, he did take their land; but God, I didn’t take it and why was he being all rude to me now. Doesn’t he understand how “You people” sounds to an African-American person? It’s like a slap in the face; he might as well have called me a colored girl. I was slowly realizing now he only helped me so I could get out of here because “My kind” didn’t belong. How racist was this? He treated me like an old whore on the streets, and that pissed me the fuck off.
“Wait, that came out wrong,” he begged, and that was all it took for the hurricane in my body to start. I screamed at him from the top of my lungs. I told him about the stupid vampire books and then about the beach and then the mailbox. I told him I just moved to the PNW and that I hated it and I hated him. I called him a racist, and then I told him I needed to let the people know I would pay for their mailbox. He was grinning at me now and that just pissed me off even more. I screamed at him, asking if he knew the people in the little house, and then he laughed and said yes.
I watched his face and then the fury in me rose. He looked like he was about to bolt away from the car. “Well, if you’re done laughing at me, Jackass, w
hy don’t you tell me who the family is so I can contact them about the mailbox so that “My kind!” can leave this warped world.
“Hey, there is no need to--”
I interrupted him. “No need? Did you really just say, ‘No need?’ You racist son of a bitch…kiss my fat ass. I’m a minority just like you. Our skin is the same color almost and...you know what? Screw this and screw you! Where is the closest police station?”
“Ma’am, I’m real sorry if I offended you, but I really didn’t mean it like that. I was only-”
I interrupted again, “POLICE STATION!” I demanded him, looking straight ahead now. There was nothing but silence for a long moment.
He bent down, and then he rested his arms on the window seal. “There is a ranger station three miles up to the left.”
I slammed on the gas and bolted out of there. I made it down the hill and saw the guard station was well secured with two guards now. They tried to flag me down, and I just flipped them the bird and gunned it some more. I dove about two miles up the road and saw the sign for the ranger station. I turned into the well-lit parking lot. As soon as I parked in the parking lot, my phone started buzzing and chiming like crazy. I guess I was back in signal range now.
I yanked my purse and phone out of the passenger’s seat. I walked up to the door of the ranger station and pulled it open. There was a woman sitting behind the desk painting her nails and two guys in brown matching uniforms, playing chess. When they heard the bell ring, they all shifted as a kid would in school when the principal was coming. They all watched me.
I walked straight to the woman and said, “Excuse me, Ms.,” trying to hold back my anger as much as possible and fighting back tears with every word.
“It’s alright now. Don’t make a fuss,” she said while getting up and coming around the counter. She pulled two tissues out the box on the counter and wrapped her arms around me. “Lil Samson up from the reservation already called and filled us in. He’s a really nice boy, and he was just all torn up about what had happened.” Her words really made me break down now. She pulled me over to a chair and patted me on my shoulder. “There now, it’s okay. J.P., go and get her some water,” she told one of the men at the little table.
Heels of Love (G Street Chronicles Presents From Love to Loathe Series) Page 1