by Parker, Zoey
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.
Monster copyright 2016 by Zoey Parker. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.
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A Sinful Vow
A Secret Vow
Chapter 1
Christina
“Damn it!” It’s snowing so hard I can barely see beyond the windshield. The wipers are practically useless at this point. Where the hell did this snow come from? It was bright and sunny when I woke up this morning, and just a little cloudy when I left to make the trek to my parents’. I hadn’t heard a thing about snow. I might not have grown up here but I know a “snow sky” when I see one. There wasn’t an inkling.
Now this. I’ve been struggling to so much as inch up the road for the past hour, and I know I’m not that far from town. It started snowing minutes after I left and before I knew it I was slipping and sliding. The snow was piling up fast, the winds whipping it around and nearly knocking me off the road more than once.
I have to turn around. This is hopeless. I thought I might be able to drive through the storm and get to the other side, but no such luck. Holidays or no holidays, it’s just not happening today. I’ll have to try again tomorrow.
But I can’t see. I can’t freaking see anything. I’d happily turn around if I could so much as see the road. I haven’t even been passed by another car for miles. They must have all caught the weather report I missed. I slow down, hoping to make a U-turn, but all I do is slide. I don’t have the traction.
What the hell am I supposed to do? “Fuck!” I scream, pounding on the wheel. This is just my luck. Why are things like this always happening to me? I’m not a bad person.
I have to pull over. That’s all there is to it. I’m not making any progress. I also realize, to my horror, that the car’s running out of gas. Fast. Shit! There had been half a tank when I left the house. I had been figuring on stopping once I was on the road, of course. Now there’s less than a quarter tank. And I have no idea where I am or where the next station might be.
I slow down, hoping to slide far enough off the road so as to avoid passing cars and plow trucks. I can just imagine being plowed in on top of this.
Damn, damn, damn! Now what? I’m completely unprepared for this. I know I’m supposed to have a winter survival kit in my car. I always hear about it on the news. Blankets, water, flashlight, batteries, a radio, flares. I’m not even wearing snow boots or a decent pair of gloves.
Christina, you’re an idiot.
I might as well curl up in the back seat and try to wait this out. There’s enough gas to get me to the next station once the storm passes over—I hope. But I don’t think I can make it while there’s a blizzard going on outside. But the snow can’t last forever, right?
I check my phone, realizing my parents will be flipping out before long. I’m only two hours away from them, so if they don’t hear from me soon, they’re going to lose their minds. Of course, in keeping with the rest of the day, my phone has no signal.
Could this get any worse? Now I’m getting colder by the minute and worried about my parents. They’re going to be so upset when they don’t hear from me.
But then, what about me? What happens if I’m snowed under? What happens if I can’t open the car doors by the time it stops? What if I freeze to death in this damned car?
Okay, Christina. Deep breaths. I run my hands through my long, dark hair, smoothing it down to calm myself a bit. No need to lose my cool. This will be okay. Things like this happen all the time, I’m sure. It’s not like I’m naked. I’m wearing perfectly warm clothes and while my boots aren’t made for snow they’re warm enough. My coat’s warm, too. I’ll be okay.
I lean back against the seat, thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take a nap while I wait out the worst of the weather. At least then I won’t feel so cold anymore. I check the time. It’s a little after eleven in the morning. I set the alarm on the phone for one hour. That won’t be too long. I won’t freeze up. And hopefully by then the storm will have passed and I’ll be on my way.
I close my eyes…only to have them fly open when I hear a heavy pounding on the windshield.
What the hell is this? I sit up, groggy. How can I be groggy when I just fell asleep? Wait—it’s darker outside. And much snowier. What’s happening?
I pick up my phone…which is now dead. Oh my fucking god, the battery died. How long have I been asleep, anyway?
“Hey!” I call out to whoever it is outside the car. “Help!” I realize in the back of my mind that this person, whoever they are, could be a murderer. On the other hand, I might have slept my way into oblivion if it wasn’t for them. The inside of the car is beyond freezing, and my teeth are chattering. If only I didn’t feel so groggy.
I see sheets of snow falling from the exterior of the car and realize I am nearly snowed in. Holy shit. This person is my new superhero, whoever they are.
I see a dark figure looming outside the car, beside the driver’s side door. I lean forward to unlock it and watch as it opens. An absolutely immense figure in a black hooded parka slides behind the wheel. I can’t see their face; a heavy scarf covers most of it.
“How long have you been here?” The voice is deep, resonant. Of course it’s a man; otherwise I’d be dealing with the biggest woman I’d ever known.
“Since around eleven this morning. What time is it now?”
“Way after eleven,” he replies, his voice grim. “I don’t want to alarm you, but you wouldn’t have lasted much longer out here. It’s a miracle I even saw you from my window.”
“Your window? Do you live around here?”
“Not far. Less than a quarter mile off the road. The wind died down for a little while and your car stood out against the snow.”
Thank God I went with red, I think.
“You’re nearly out of gas.”
“Yes, I know. I was going to stop to refuel along the way. I didn’t count on fighting my way down the road in this mess for hours.”
“Do you even watch the news? They’ve been talking about this storm for days.”
“They have?” I’ve been so busy at work, I completely missed the alerts. But I still don’t like the snotty tone in his voice. Whether or not he’d saved my life, he didn’t need to talk to me like I was some sort of idiot. I was doing a good enough job of talking to myself that way as it was.
“Listen. If you stay out here, you’ll freeze to death. Do you even have a blanket?” I shake my head, feeling lame. He sighs, the exasperated sound of a put-upon parent with a willful child. “I’ll take you back to my house. It’s not far; you’ll be able to walk it. I can’t in good conscience leave you out here.”
To his house? I don’t know who this guy is. He could be a serial killer or something. Maybe this is his thing, waiting for storms to roll through so he can lure young girls to his house for God only knows what.
He sees me hesitating and naturally knows why. “We can’t spend too much time before you decide whether or not I’m a serial killer. It’s fucking cold as a witch’s tit in here, and getting worse. You’re not dressed for this. Either come with me or freeze to death. Keep in mind the roads are impassable, and the car was nearly buried when I found you.”
/>
I know I don’t have a choice. It really is a matter of following him to his house of potential horrors or dying out here. I tell myself that there’s at least a chance he’s not a murderer. I have no chance out here.
“Okay,” I reply, throwing my useless phone into my purse. “Lead the way.”
I only hope I don’t live to regret this.
Chapter 2
I’d been working at the coffee shop for less than a year when I first heard about the Angels of Chaos.
It was a Sunday morning and the place was jumping, just as it always was after church let out. Amy and I were like a well-oiled machine, though, working together seamlessly to keep the line moving. I knew I’d hit the jackpot when I hired her. She needed next to no supervision, totally able to read a situation and go with it. When a shot of espresso was finished brewing, she’d start the next without asking. When a tray of muffins was running low, she’d go to the back to get a new one. She wiped down the tables as soon as customers left so new ones could sit down, kept the milk and creamers full, everything. I knew I could count on her.
This left me free to take orders and chat up the customers. “Mrs. Stephens! That’s a large no-foam skim latte and a blueberry muffin, right?” I’d ring up the sale, getting things in order while asking whether her daughter had decided on a college yet. Mr. Brown was a small black coffee and a cheese danish. His wife had just gotten one of her knees replaced, so I asked after her and told him to give her my best. The Jenkinses always brought in their three-year-old, and I gave him a special little treat while I fixed their coffee.
This was what I’d always seen myself doing: running a little place the townspeople could visit and feel as though they belonged somehow. Like I cared about them—because I did. When they walked in and heard their order being called out even before they spoke, they felt valued. That’s the sort of treatment that keeps customers coming back for more.
“How do you manage to keep it all straight?” Mrs. Hauser asked, handing me a ten dollar bill. “I’d go crazy trying to remember everything and everybody.”
“You keep track of all those soap operas you watch,” Mr. Hauser pointed out with a chuckle. “All the characters and the storylines.” I laughed along with him.
“That’s different. I’ve been watching them for years—she’s only been here six months!” They both looked at me, the picture of a cute little old couple if ever there was one.
I shrugged. “I have a good memory, I guess. It comes naturally. Plus, I like you. It helps.” I winked at Mr. Hauser, and he chuckled again.
“If I were thirty years younger…” he hinted.
Mrs. Hauser gave him a playful smack on the shoulder. “Try fifty years,” she corrected. “Besides, a pretty young thing like Christina wouldn’t have the time for you.”
Mr. Hauser rubbed his shoulder in mock pain. “See how she abuses me?” They both laughed, and I joined them half-heartedly.
“If you were young and single, Mr. Hauser, I’d give you my number for sure.” I handed them their pastries, thinking they would drop the subject now that they’d been served.
“A pretty girl like you should be married, or at least going with somebody,” Mrs. Hauser insisted.
I bit the side of my tongue to hide my distaste. One thing about living and working in a small town where you knew everybody: everybody knew you right back. At least they thought they did.
“You’re such a sweet girl, too. Don’t worry,” she patted my hand reassuringly, “the right fella is out there for you.”
“Chris, another gallon of whole milk!” Amy was working the espresso machine, steaming milk for lattes. I smiled at the Hausers and turned to help her.
“Thanks,” I whispered. “That was getting awkward.”
“Mrs. Hauser’s always trying to fix people up,” Amy explained. “She’s a sweetheart.”
I didn’t disagree. I just wished she’d let my business be my business. There wasn’t much about me I didn’t share with others, except my love life. That was off-limits.
Awkward conversations aside, I loved the work. I felt energized, accomplished, all because my customers were pleased. Once the rush died down, I went from table to table, saying hi to those I hadn’t gotten the chance to chat with, while Amy manned the register and coffee machines. All the while I reminded myself that I was making my mark on the town, which was a fantastic feeling.
It was a great little shop, too. I’d only bought it a little over six months before, when the previous owner had to pull up stakes and move across the country to care for a sick parent. Everything was in working order. All I had to do was step in and take over. The best part was, since the move was taking place in such a hurry and he didn’t want to leave the shop abandoned, I managed to get it for next to nothing.
I wiped down the tables that had just emptied, feeling proud of what we were building here. Sure, the customer base was already healthy when I took over, but now there was a feeling of family. I heard it time and again, how happy the customers were when they came in and I knew who they were. That’s what I wanted to set me apart—well, that and my baking.
“Christina, this is the best carrot cake muffin I’ve ever had,” I heard one woman say over a mouth full of food. I smiled and reminded her that I could always box up a couple for her to take home. My recipes were my babies, and I guarded them with my life. I’d always wanted to go to culinary school. Well, this was the next best thing. Besides, what was the point of culinary school but to have my own bakery one day? I’d pretty much cut out the middle man.
Good thing, since I didn’t have the money for tuition anyway.
A loud growl sounded outside, and every head turned toward the plate glass windows that looked out onto the street. It was a pretty little street, very all-American, with its shops, striped awnings and leafy trees. The sight of two dozen motorcycles traveling down the center seemed extremely out of place. Their engines roared as they passed by.
“Damn it,” I heard one of the customers grumble. “I thought they were gone for good.”
Amy came up beside me. “They’re back,” she murmured.
“Who are they?” I had never seen them before. They all rode black bikes, all dressed in denim and leather. They were a fearsome-looking bunch.
“The Angels of Chaos,” she said. I heard disgust in her voice.
“Why haven’t I heard of them before? Where did they come from?”
“Most of them were in jail, some big thing around a year ago. Destruction of property, suspected arson. They were all on probation for one reason or another, so they all got time for violation,” she explained quietly. “I never heard the specifics, but suffice it to say nobody was sorry to see them go. I guess they got out. Their clubhouse is right on the outskirts of town. They’re not allowed to do business inside.” A couple walked in just then, and Amy went back to the register to take their order.
A motorcycle club? That didn’t fit the town at all. It was like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. That’s why I settled here in the first place, just before buying the shop. I heard several customers murmuring among themselves, and I inched my way closer to them. Now that I’d heard of the club’s existence, I wanted to know more.
“She was such a sweet girl, too,” one of them was saying. “I never understood why she married him.”
“Suspicious,” another one declared, shaking their head. “Never believed it was an accidental death.”
“Of course not. Nobody mixed up with that club dies accidentally. Just because she wasn’t a member doesn’t mean she wasn’t part of it.”
“I heard that he still hasn’t gotten over it.”
“Would you? A dead wife and no answers? And the way she died…so awful.” They continued their gossip while I walked away to clear off another table.
I thought back to the men I saw riding past. I wondered which one they were talking about. Or was he even riding with the club anymore, considering that he hadn’t gotten
over his wife’s death? If somebody I loved died tragically, potentially because of what I was mixed up in, I wasn’t sure I’d want to be part of it anymore.
I hoped they stayed far away from Main Street from now on, and if they didn’t, then I hoped they weren’t in the mood for coffee when they visited. I could only imagine how quickly my customers would fly away to the big chain coffee shops if a motorcycle club started hanging around, no matter how delicious my baked goods were.
I made it a point to busy myself and stop thinking about it. After all, no sense in worrying about something that hadn’t happened yet and probably would never happen.
I didn’t need any more scary people in my life. I moved to this town to get away from scary people. Or rather, one scary person in particular.
Chapter 3
I’m being led through the snow by a tall man who looks like he could crush me if he decided to. But I don’t have a choice. It’s either this or freeze to death in the backseat of my car.
We’re actually not far from where I pulled over, I realize. He wasn’t kidding when he said it was only a quarter mile or so. When the storm was at its peak, I couldn’t see a damn thing out the windows. I could have been driving down the middle of Main Street and never would have known, unable to see more than a foot in front of me. Now, I see the house more clearly as we approach. It sits by itself, green siding stark against the gray sky, smoke curling up from the chimney. I turn to check that my car is safe where it’s sitting. I can easily see it from here, even with the flakes that are still falling fast and heavy. I guess that’s how he spotted me.
A hound dog runs alongside us, bounding through the snow. I can’t help but laugh at its absolute joy. To think I’d probably come close to dying in the same snow this dog finds so thrilling. I wonder if he lives alone, this man, or if he has a family. The idea of freezing isn’t appealing but neither is being raped and murdered in some farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere.
