Page 27 of The House Beyond the Dunes

I know the score. If I get in the truck, I’m screwed. It’s not going to end well. The alley opens onto the beach road on the east end and a small sidestreet to the west. I’m smaller than this guy, and I can run fast. And that’s what I do. I twist free of his grip, turn, and run.

My heart pounds in my chest as my feet hammer the pavement. I’ve no idea where I’m going, but away from here—them—is the goal.

I make it until the end of the alley when strong arms band around my waist, and a hand clamps over my mouth. I’m kicking as I try to bite thick, dusty fingers. He drags me back to the truck, tosses me onto the back seat, slides in beside me, and slams the door. The other guy puts the truck in gear and drives.

Scrambling toward the other door, I’m ready to jump out of a moving vehicle, but the guy grabs my arm and sandwiches my body between his and the worn seat.

I bite his hand. He grabs a fistful of my hair and smashes my face several times against the seat. “That wasn’t very nice.”

Blood trickles from my nose. “Let me go.”

“Not yet. We got a party to get to.”

What comes next is a forty-minute drive up the beach road until the tires leave the hard surface for rough sand. The truck rocks and jolts, and the longer we drive, the deeper I draw within myself. I’m not afraid. I can’t afford fear.

When the truck finally stops, I am sick to my stomach. If I can just get a second or two break, I can run. This time I’ll be faster.

I get that second, and I am faster, but not quick enough. Strong arms again band around my waist, and a calloused hand clamps over my mouth. They drag me to a ramshackle beach cottage, up the stairs, and through the front door.

“I can do whatever I want to you. I own you,” one of the men says.

When the door slams behind me, I know I’m not escaping. The goal now is to survive.

Moonlight shines through the car windows. I hug my bat closer as I stare at the soft top ceiling.

I haven’t forgotten how those two men smelled, the feel of their hands, or the way the big guy laughed at me when I refused to showpain. He did his best to make me cry. He liked hurting me. But I never gave him the satisfaction.

I lost track of time. Finally, they left me tied to a bed. They were hungry. Needed a break before round two.

It took me nearly an hour to free a wrist. When I did, I was able to unknot my bindings. I found my pants, shirt, shoes, and backpack all discarded on the floor.

As I’m leaving the house, a third man appears. My heart catches, and I’m seconds away from begging for freedom.

He turns his back on me. I’m not sure if he understands what’s happened, and I don’t ask. I run, following a sandy road to the beach, and slip through a small fence opening. I walk toward lights on the horizon for at least ten miles until I get hold of a phone and call my foster mother. She’s mad but resolved and tells me to wait in front of the gas station. An hour later, she picks me up south of Norfolk and takes me to the hospital.

I arrive at Joey’s at 4:30, ready to work and keep busy. Nikki is late, so I prep the bar, and when the doors open at 6:00, I’m ready to work.

The crowd is jazzed, but it’s still the holiday weekend. Revelers have arrived with cash and credit cards ready to spend. It’s their time to drink too much, eat crap food, or hook up.

Always amusing to see star-crossed, horny lovers lock eyes and slowly migrate closer. What happens on vacation stays, right?

Nikki arrives at 7:00. Her skin is slightly flushed, and she’s grinning like a kid. She looks pleased with herself and doesn’t seem to care that Joey is pissed. She gets to work, and the Fourth of July weekend is so crazy busy, we don’t have time to talk.

“Over under,” Nikki says when we finally get a lull around 9:00. “Mr.Blue Button-Down at the end of the bar scores with the redhead three seats down from him.”

“Blue Button-Down isn’t going for the redhead,” I say. “He’s got eyes for the blonde. He keeps sneaking peeks at her.”

“Maybe.” She fills a mug.

No maybes about it. “How did the date go?”

“It went really well. He treated me like a queen.”

“Did Bourbon give you his name?” I’m curious about the guy and wonder if I’ll recognize the name.

Nikki giggles. “We were too busy to really think about names.”

“Where’d you go?” Not sure why I’m pressing, but I can’t shake the fear that the kid is walking into a bear trap.

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