Page 1 of Finish Line

CHAPTER ONE

SHELBY

“Hmm.” I moan.

“Wake up!” A scream penetrates my throbbing head.

“Hannah, give her a second to wake up.”

Where the hell am I, and why does it smell like mold? Before I can think about the answer, my stomach rolls. I’m going to be sick. I barely move to my side before everything comes up.

“Eww, that is gross. Well, at least, you’re awake,” a voice says again, as they shuffle away from me.

I recognize that voice. Cracking my eyes open, I sit up, a groan escaping my parched lips.

In front of me, Hannah stands in the outfit she wore to the Black and White ball. But it isn’t white any more, dirt smudges make the color more of a dingy brown. Her hair, that was up in a perfect updo, falls loose in several places. Black streaks, a combination of dirt and old makeup, run down her face.

To clear the fog, I shake my head, placing my hands on my temples to help relieve the pressure building there. I scan the unfamiliar room. “Where are we?”

“In hell, with us?” she snorts.

“Hannah, stop it.” the male voice chastises.

With my head thumping to the beat of my ever-increasing blood pressure, I massage my temples harder, squeezing my eyes shut. Why am I having a hard time remembering? The last thing I remember is I was out searching for Hannah.

My eyes fly open. “Where have you been? We’ve been trying to find you,” I say weakly, still trying to get my bearings.

“Your psycho ex kidnaped me,” Hannah snaps.

Everything comes flying back to me, the boys, the dance. “Roger.”

A bit too quickly, I scramble to stand up, then stumble back. My hand connects with a damp cement wall. Gross. As I quickly take in my surroundings, I rub my hand down my jeans.

We’re stuck in some dank, moldy-smelling basement. The only light comes from a small window. It’s daylight, so right now, I can see reasonably well. The basement is bare short of some boxes and an old metal rack. And Hannah’s not the only one in the room.

“Cam! Oh god, how are you?” I run three steps, and my right leg jerks back. Looking down at my foot, I find myself chained to the floor.

“He has us both chained up.” Hannah rattles her leg chain.

“Where is he?” I search the room for the bastard.

“We don’t know.” Hannah throws her hands up and shrugs.

My heart sinks. I can’t reach Cam, where he lies on an old cot, smiling at me.

From where I stand and what little light we have, the color has leached from his skin, black circles frame his blue eyes, and I can’t tell if it’s because of lack of sleep or if he got punched. His button-down shirt is being held closed by one button, and a dark blob mars the blue fabric. Roger did say he was hurt.

I move as far as I can before the band cuts into my ankle. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

Cam smiles.

“Hannah why isn’t he answering me?” I turn around and pull as hard as I can on the chain. “Augh” I scream.

“Princess, please.” Cams voice comes out soft, almost inaudible.

Tears running down my face, I stop pulling the chain, turn around, and go to the end.

“Cam, were you with your dad? What did Roger do to you?” I wipe my tears away so I can see him.

---