Obsession (Endurance) Read online

  OBSESSION

  Some passions are meant to consume.

  Shayne McClendon

  Copyright © 2013 Shayne McClendon

  Published by Always the Good Girl LLC

  www.alwaysthegoodgirl.com

  Cover Design by Allegra Strategy

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author and publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Shayne McClendon

  The Barter System

  Yes to Everything

  Damaged

  In the Service of Women

  Being Delightful

  The Hermit

  Permission to Come Aboard - The Great Outdoors

  Special Delivery – The Great Outdoors

  A Sunny Heart – The Great Outdoors

  Embrace the Wild – The Great Outdoors

  Revenge is Best Served Hot – Doorways

  Woman’s Best Friend – Doorways

  Ready to Rumble – Love of the Game

  Somebody – A Little Bit Country

  Dedication

  I have three children and very different relationships with each of them.

  My son gave me new direction when he entered my life unexpectedly at age 24. He is brilliant and funny and the child most like me when it comes to how we interpret “big ideas” and belief systems. We can talk for hours about one subject or hop all over to cover ten. He is the one person I can talk to when something in the world at large upsets me. I know doesn’t judge the way I think.

  My oldest daughter is most like me in temperament. She doesn’t take crap and looks at the world with a combination of common sense and sarcastic realism. When I doubt myself, she is the first to say, “Um, you’re awesome.” She tells me my characters are good examples for girls her age. Only my two best friends “get” me as well as she does. The term old soul doesn’t do her justice.

  My youngest daughter is one of the hardest working people you will ever meet. If she wants something, she doesn’t care how much she has to sweat to get it. Like me, she is comfortable with serious multi-tasking and works our kitchen like a pro. If she gets bored, we have chocolate cheesecake or Eggs Benedict with everything made from scratch. She kills the rest of us with “pop” music that could make your teeth rot out…but there is no better gutter fighter to have on your side if you’re against the wall.

  Being a mom is my single greatest accomplishment. They are the “point” of my trying to make a living on my writing – so they know doing what they love is the greatest gift they can give themselves and don’t waste time like I did. They make the world a better place. I dedicate this book to them. I love you guys so much. Thank you for believing in me.

  Mom

  Author’s Note

  Trigger Warning:

  These stories feature themes which include implied sexual violence. There are no graphic scenes of play-by-play violence but Ellie’s attack is referred to throughout the book. The story begins after her brutalization and is crucial to the rest of the narrative.

  This is the first in a series of stand-alone stories called Endurance.

  Obsession

  last chance for…

  Turn Into the Spin

  These stories are all about overcoming obstacles so traumatic that many would give up, unable to go on. You’ll meet characters who take the evil that happens to them – and make it their bitch.

  Welcome to “survival erotica” – a phrase several of my readers have used to describe my writing when it ventures into darkness. As an abuse and rape survivor, I take these events – as well as my characters’ recovery and healing – very seriously. Many of you have told me your stories.

  May you find your happily ever after.

  Shayne

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  About Shayne McClendon

  Prologue

  May

  Why am I in so much pain?

  Where am I?

  How did I get here?

  What is the last thing I remember?

  My name is Elliana Fields…right? Yes. Elliana Monica Fields. My family calls me Ellie.

  It smells musty here. It’s dark as night but that doesn’t seem right. Why doesn’t it seem right?

  Come on, Ellie. How many episodes of Criminal Minds have you watched? Too many hours to be healthy. Think, damn it!

  The last thing…I was jogging.

  Yes, I was jogging my usual trail around the municipal airfield and community park. I stopped at the halfway point to hydrate and stretch. Running again…I remember the sound of two small planes taking off. One was likely a crop duster from the sound. The other was a rich man’s toy.

  A small dog running full out for the main entrance as a little girl in pigtails tried to catch his leash. Her winded mom couldn’t believe I caught the hellion of a Shih Tzu who would have surely become a fluffy greasy spot on the blacktop. The little girl going on and on about me saving little Biscuit’s life like a hero.

  Laughing and calling goodbye before running again. I passed Little League practice where boys were working on sliding home. They were the age Preston would be now. Maybe a bit older. Thinking of Preston always makes me smile even as my heart hurts.

  Banishing my sad thoughts, I ran for the woods that surrounded the park on three sides and loomed ahead. Shade and cooler temperatures beckoned and I stayed on the path as it wound through the greenery.

  I took out one of the ear buds to my MP3 when I noticed a shadow behind and to my left.

  Turning…

  A flash of pain then darkness.

  I’m lying on dirt, I think. I can’t see. I can’t tell if it’s dark or my eyes simply aren’t working. I try to lift my arm but searing pain brings tears to my eyes. I think it may be broken.

  Carefully, I try the other arm. Pain but not so bad I can’t move it slowly towards my head. My face is wet and dirty, horribly swollen around my cheeks and eyes. A huge lump is seeping warm and sticky blood behind my ear.

  “Hello?” There is no way anyone will have heard that. My throat is raw and there is a foul taste in my mouth. It is something completely alien to me but I recognize it anyway and suddenly I’m frozen. I know what has happened to my body though my mind does not remember the details.

  The realization causes my focus to clear with a snap and I take in the world around me.

  I can hear the faint sounds of metal bats hitting baseballs. Further away, the sound of a dog barking. I’m still in the municipal park.

  In the wooded section of the park there are large steel sheds that contain sprinkler pumps, electrical boxes for the field lights, and one that contains the landscaping equipment used to maintain the popular spot for families, couples, and joggers. I’m in one of those buildings. Landscaping, I think. I smell fresh grass and wood mulch.

  Running my hand over my torso, I confirm my nudity and a
shudder of revulsion wracks my frame.

  “Hyde?” I manage to whisper. There is no answer and dread fills me.

  Swallowing, which is the reverse of what my body is screaming I do, I take as much air in my lungs as possible and shout, “Help!” Though it is still not as loud as I would like, the steel walls around me help to magnify my voice.

  Resting only a few seconds, I gather my strength and try again. And again. And again.

  From outside, I hear a young boy’s voice ask, “Mom? Did you hear that?”

  I shout again, desperate now. So tired and hating my weakness.

  “Mom, someone’s calling for help!”

  “Ricky, are you sure? I didn’t hear anything. I don’t think you should be playing by these buildings, honey.”

  This time, I put everything I have left into a scream for help that translates to sheer agony throughout my entire body. I hear the mother of my savior trying to open the heavy door of the building I’m in. The scraping of the metal is both beautiful and horrific. I can see a lightening on the other side of my eyelids so I believe it is still daylight.

  She is closer now and I hear her gasp, “Oh my sweet god, no.” Two steps back to the door and she yells to her son, “Ricky, stay back, honey. Run and get Daddy right now and have him call 911. Go, baby. As fast as you can.”

  Then the woman is kneeling by my side. She takes the hand of the arm that isn’t broken in hers and just holds it. “My name is Jamie Vasquez. We’re going to get you help. I don’t want to frighten you but I’m going to lay my jacket over your body. I can’t move you, I’m sorry. But I’ll stay with you until help comes.” The woman has a slight Hispanic accent and seconds later I feel fabric settle over my breasts and upper thighs. “Can you tell me your name, honey?”

  I hear the pounding of many feet on the hard-packed dirt path where I’d been jogging. I know they’re coming closer. With effort, because I have no resources left to draw on, I tell her, “My family calls me Ellie. Don’t let anyone disturb the scene.”

  “Okay, I’ll do everything I can, I promise. Are you a police officer, Ellie?”

  “Criminal Minds.” Then blackness reaches out for me and I’m thankful, so fucking thankful, to slide into it. “Find…Hyde. He’s hurt. He must be hurt so bad.”

  Chapter One

  Mid-July

  After my attack in the park, there were two things I was most grateful for. One, living in a small town an hour’s drive from a major metropolis. Two, being rich as Midas. The money my estate threw at the local media could have built a hospital wing and very likely did.

  My parents would have preferred me at home, under their watchful eyes and loving attention. Instead, I booked my room in the hospital and paid for three months in advance. I wasn’t leaving until the casts came off and my physical therapy had me back on my own two feet.

  The hospital administrator came to visit after two weeks, explaining that they’d stabilized my condition and recuperation from home was my best option.

  I smiled and said, “You obviously haven’t met my parents. I’ll be recuperating here, thank you very much. I’ve scared enough years off their life.”

  My parents are great. They don’t mean to smother me. They were in their forties when they had me. They’d adopted a little boy a decade before I was born but he’d died of leukemia when he was just a toddler.

  Afraid to risk losing another child, they’d resigned themselves to a life of childlessness and threw themselves into their businesses and charities.

  I was such a surprise to my thought-to-be-going-through-early-menopause mother that she was five months along before they considered giving her a pregnancy test.

  As their only child and heir to the positively massive fortunes they held individually and as a couple, highly protective did not begin to cover it.

  Being allowed to go to a college in another state had been a battle of epic proportions that had worn me down the summer before I embarked on my first sojourn outside their protection. I was in the second semester of my freshman year when I realized the man I’d begun to notice watching me was a bodyguard they’d hired.

  I figured it out when a group of men waylaid me on my jog from the library to my dorm across campus.

  I am highly trained in self defense. Since I could walk, the panicked discussions of ‘stranger danger’ between my parents ensured I was capable of assisting in my own protection. However, the sheer number of large males intent on making the rich little virgin play nice would have overwhelmed me eventually.

  Hyde landed in their midst, sweaty from his jog not far behind me. He wore running shoes and basketball shorts. I found myself strangely stunned by his bare chest as he took down the rest of my attackers. All told, I’d dispatched three with blows to balls, knees, and throat.

  Their mistake was in initially coming at me one at a time. Idiots. That never works in Kung Fu movies. For Hyde though, the remaining four swarmed. They’d sensed the level of threat he represented and descended on him en masse, attempting to wrestle him to the ground.

  He had been magnificent to watch that day and every day since.

  Only when all seven were cuffed with zip ties pulled from an ankle pouch did he call campus security. They arrived and took my statement. Hyde took me by the arm and guided me bodily to my dorm room.

  As he made calls and kept me away from windows and doors, I took my time studying his physique. Stunning was the only word that came to mind. He was chiseled with a beautiful golden glow over his skin.

  His voice was like honey. I couldn’t place his accent but I knew from the beginning I’d never get tired of staring at him or listening to him.

  Four hours later my parents arrived – just in time to witness the police photographer taking photos of what bruises and scrapes I’d sustained during the attack. I wore a sport bra and form fitting bike shorts but felt completely naked as my mother cried and my father barely contained his fury.

  Glancing away from them, my eyes met Hyde’s. It was the first time he’d held my gaze fully and I was unable to breathe as my face blushed hot.

  Within one week I was ensconced in a five bedroom high-security penthouse with Hyde as my live-in companion. There were additional members of my personal staff that lived with me. A driver named Fiaaz, a cook named Si Ling who was better with knives than the profession honestly called for, and a housekeeper named Bianca who made as much use of the in-home gym as I did.

  My assistant Padme had worked with me daily for three years before I’d left for college and she was once again a permanent fixture. I pretended not to know she was even more proficient with guns than she was with technology.

  A few months later, the full weight of my parents’ wealth and influence was further brought to bear when the seven men were charged. The unspoken deal was that if the men pled guilty to the crime they’d committed, my parents would not make it their life’s work to destroy them.

  If it went to trial, I knew none of them would survive…convicted or not. My folks were apoplectic at the thought of me being subjected to an open courtroom, complete with police photos of my partially unclothed, battered body.

  Since two of the seven had already died, one in a horrific car crash and another from drug overdose, the rest were convinced that doing the right thing – belatedly – was the correct course of action. The men were sentenced to the maximum but since I’d not sustained any severe injuries or technically been raped, they were out within months after my college graduation.

  And so it was that almost five years after the first attack, now age twenty-three, I’d been jumped at a park near the Fields estate that I had used for my daily run a thousand times.

  The three surviving members of the recently paroled group had figured out they had quite a bit in common when it came to how they thought about women. Since I had ruined their lives they thought to try out their ideas on me.

  Two of their friends hadn’t survived prison and I’m still uncertain if my parents ha
d anything to do with that or not. I’d received threats before they were released and my parents may have neutralized the perceived threat.

  When it came to me, cold-blooded didn’t come close to describing Monica and Samuel Fields.

  Justice could be swift but not very effective sometimes. Time in prison had accomplished nothing for the three men who came after me other than make them even more vicious and misogynistic than they’d been before.

  At this moment there was a privately paid army of mercenaries searching for the three men who’d hit me in the head with a rock, dragged me into the storage shed, beaten me so badly my own mother was unable to recognize me, and spent hours raping me separately and together.

  I can think about this, talk about it even, because so far I don’t remember anything. It’s like it happened to someone else. They hit me harder than they’d intended and ended up fracturing my skull. I’m lucky I didn’t sustain permanent brain damage; though the headaches make me want to claw out the inside of my head sometimes.

  Once I get to the blackness on that wooded path, I remember nothing until waking hours after the fact. I was unconscious through all of it.

  I made the hospital put me in the geriatric wing. I didn’t want to chance being near children or other women. They didn’t need to be touched by the violence of my situation or frightened by the armed men stationed outside my door twenty-four hours a day.

  Besides, I love the elderly. Talking to a kind older woman who watched three of her six children starve to death during the Great Depression puts my own life in perspective.

  A visit from a man who talks about being a young concentration camp victim guided to safety after WWII – the only member of his large family left alive – reminds me that life can be, and often is, worse.

  Not that the elderly friends I’ve made here are depressing. Far from it. They’ve lived through it all and have stories about the first television, what drive-ins were like in a ’58 Chevy convertible with your boyfriend, and how granola saved them from food poisoning during Woodstock.