Without Mercy

by Lisa Jackson

  He’d never spoken to her again.

  Refused eye contact.

  After all, he’d been the victim, right?

  Oh, Lissa, sexy little seductress, payback stings like a bitch.

  Lissa had been his first, and she’d opened so many doors for him. Some portals to ecstasy, others doorways to hell.

  He’d made a few mistakes.

  He couldn’t afford another, no matter how he was tempted.

  He had only to think of Lauren Conway and feel the burn of his own foolishness climb up the back of his neck.

  Through the falling snow, he caught a glimpse of movement, a shadow tracking along the wall of the rec building.

  What the hell?

  Who would be out at this time of night? More importantly, why? He felt a tingle of anticipation sing through his blood.

  On silent footsteps he followed.

  Nona ducked beneath the frigid leaves of a rhododendron and along the well-trodden path away from the heart of the campus to the barns. Here, it was tricky. She had to be super quiet. Any noise would wake the dogs, and they’d start baying, barking, and raising hell. That could wake all the stupid animals in the sheds—God, those chickens! Squawking, noisy, dirty things. Although she gave the kennels a wide berth, one of the dogs barked sharply and another took up the cause.

  No, no, no!

  Curling her fists, she waited by a storage shed, mentally counting off the seconds as the dogs growled a bit, then settled back to sleep. She gave them a good ten minutes or more as she shivered in the dark. Maybe they’d heard her … but she’d been so careful.

  Not you, Nona. They heard him! He’s never as cautious as you are, you know that. Don’t be a ninny.

  She gave the dogs another minute or so, then crept stealthily to the stable. All the while, she had the odd feeling that she was being watched.

  Her scalp crinkled with gooseflesh, and she glanced over her shoulder.

  Nothing seemed out of place.

  No dark figure was huddled against the cedar walls of the rec room or hiding in the overhang of the garage. It was just her own nervousness getting the better of her.

  She reminded herself: He was here somewhere, too.

  Nothing to worry about.

  And yet …

  Did she hear footsteps?

  Breathing?

  Her insides curdled and she froze, ears straining, eyes searching the darkness. There was the tiniest light in the chapel, behind the soaring windows, but that light was always visible, supposed to represent Jesus’s claims of being the “light of the world,” a quote that was similar from the book of John.

  She kept walking, her skin freezing, her mind running in circles of anticipation and fear. No one was following her, of course not. She was just anxious because she knew she was breaking the rules.

  The kennels remained silent as she reached the stable. Without a second’s hesitation, she opened the creaking door and stepped inside.

  Greeted by the warm air smelling of horses and dung, dust, and oiled leather, she turned on her flashlight again, careful to keep the beam away from the windows.

  A few of the geldings and mares moved in their stalls, hooves rustling the straw. She heard an occasional disturbed huff from nostrils as she passed, and one soft nicker of disapproval reminded her she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

  She reached the ladder to the hayloft and started climbing. “Hey,” she whispered, pausing on the fifth rung. “Are you here?”

  She waited, ears straining.

  Nothing. She squinted in the darkness, daring to run her flashlight over the floorboards and around the barrels of feed and slats of the stall rails.

  More disgruntled snorting.

  “It’s me, Nona,” she hissed.

  Damn it, he was always playing games with her. Stretching her patience, making her wait, often jumping out at her to startle her and get a reaction. Tonight, she wasn’t in the mood. She just wanted him to grab her and kiss her hard and rip her clothes off so he could nibble at her breasts. Oh, God, she was getting herself hot just thinking about what he would do to her.

  She climbed up the remaining rungs and hoisted herself upward. Hay bales were stacked high, nearly to the rafters. Above the tallest stacks, a single round window was cracked to let in a breath of frigid air and what little light the night sky had to offer. She heard the sudden, wild flap of wings. A barn owl? Or … what? Desperately, she tried to hold on to her cool, to keep herself from freaking out.

  Damn it, you ninny, it was just a bird.

  But what had made it panic and flutter so crazily?

  Who knows, probably you! It’s just an owl, Nona. It’s what they do. For the love of Christ, pull yourself together! He’s not interested in a silly goose of a girl. Take off your clothes. Surprise him. Show him you’re a real woman.

  She crawled up to the top of the hay bales, to the false front, behind which he had carved out an impression, like kids did when they made a hay fort. Bales were stacked all around her, creating walls around the old sleeping bag that was tucked over the floor of their little nest. Inside the hideaway, she killed the flashlight and waited. Where was he?

  On her knees, she tossed off the cap and sweater. Then she unhooked her hated bra and slithered out of it. Lord, she had to buy something sexier, one of those push-ups from Victoria’s Secret if she could ever get out of this place. They would both leave Blue Rock Academy and be together forever….

  She heard his muffled footsteps below as she bit her lip and wiggled out of her jeans, tossing them and her cotton panties onto the heap of clothes.

  “Hey.” His voice. So close.

  But … how did he get up here so quickly?

  “I like this,” he said, and suddenly he was in front of her, completely dressed, his face barely discernible in the darkness. He ran a hand down her side and she trembled.

  “Wait,” she whispered.

  “Nuh-uh. I’ve waited too long as it is.” He pulled her close, a big hand splaying over her back, fingers digging into the flesh around her spine as his lips found hers, and he kissed her hard.

  His tongue pushed past her teeth, and his free hand grabbed her breast, moving it, mashing it, kneading it. She gasped as he pushed her back onto the hay. Down, down, down. They tumbled onto the sleeping bag, and she closed her eyes, reveling in his touch, loving the way he explored her.

  “You taste so sweet,” he said, and bit at the corner of her mouth before sliding lower, kissing her breast, sucking on her nipple, teeth scraping her skin.

  God, she was ready for him.

  Though a virgin, she knew that this was desire; she felt it lick at her very core. Her hands tore at his clothes, stripping him of his shirt, pushing his pants over his hips. Her nails scratched across his buttocks so deep he sucked in his breath.

  “You want me.” It was a statement.

  “Yes.”

  “You want it!”

  “Y–yes,” she admitted as he moved his hand across her abdomen and lower, his fingers parting her legs as he toyed with her.

  “God, you’re hot!” he whispered.

  And he was right. Heat rocketed through her body. Her blood fired through her veins, and she could barely breathe. Here, in this hayloft, she couldn’t wait for him to do it to her, to change her life forever….

  And he did. Breathing heavily, rubbing himself on her, he said, “I can’t wait any longer.”

  “I know.”

  She felt his knees push hers aside. “Oh, baby,” he whispered, his hunger evident in his voice, his first thrust so painful she cried out. But he didn’t stop. Just kept moving inside her, creating friction, making heat, so damned much heat. She heard herself moan over his grunts and rapid, shallow breaths. She clung to him as the world spun out of control.

  “You like this, don’t ya?” His voice was low, guttural. He thrust harder. Faster. “Tell me.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, oooohh.” The pain was still there, a bur
ning deep inside, but there was pleasure, too, an ache being salved.

  She couldn’t think, could barely catch her breath.

  The world centered on his hard, nearly vicious thrusts.

  Closing her eyes, Nona moved with him, ignoring the pain, losing herself in the moment.

  She felt him stiffen and cry out. In ecstasy?

  From the floor below, one of the horses nickered nervously, then stomped a hoof.

  “What was that?” he asked breathlessly, turning his head, his body suddenly still. “What the fu—”

  Clunk!

  What?

  Something cracked and Nona blinked beneath him, trying to see. She called out his name as he fell against her. “Ooof,” he moaned, slumping forward, pinning her, a dead weight.

  “Hey!” she cried, her face pressed against his neck. “Are you okay?” She reached up to cradle his head, her fingers threading through his hair and coming away wet and warm and sticky.

  Blood?

  What?

  Her insides crawled. She attempted to push him off her. Tried to scream, but suddenly hands were at her throat. Squeezing. Cutting off her air.

  What was this?

  Panic jettisoned through her. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be. But even as denial swept over her, she was fighting. Kicking. Clawing. What the hell … Oh, God, she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t draw a damned breath.

  How? Why? Questions piled with sheer, dark terror assailed her.

  She was trapped. Her boyfriend was unmoving. She tried to roll away, squeeze out from under him. As she did, she caught a glimpse of the person whose hands circled her neck, cutting off her air.

  Squeezing!

  Tighter and tighter!

  No!

  Thumbs dug deep into the hollow of her throat. Pressing. The world spun, the smells of horses, dust, and dung deep in her nostrils, the fear of death clawing at her brain.

  Using all her strength, Nona arched her spine. Tried to roll away.

  Her boyfriend slid off of her, or was kicked aside; she didn’t know which, couldn’t think. Her head was exploding, darkness rising before her eyes.

  Fight, Nona! Save yourself! Oh, Jesus!

  She scrabbled, trying to dig at her attacker’s wrists, force him off her, gain a little room so that she could drag in a breath. Just one. Anything!

  But it was no use. The horrid hands tightened.

  Help me. Please, someone help me.

  Her lungs were on fire. Silently shrieking for air.

  No! No! No!

  Nona tried to yell, to scream, but no sound escaped, the air in her airway trapped and burning like all hell. She needed to breathe! To gasp. To cough! Anything!

  If only someone would hear her, but the noises coming from her throat were only sick, frightening gurgles.

  She writhed, frantically trying to buck the maniac off her, the sleeping bag bunching beneath her, bits of hay clinging to her hair. But the more she struggled, the stronger and more determined were the fingers at her throat.

  “Die, bitch!” The words, a low growl, reverberated through the hayloft.

  Oh, God.

  No!

  Blackness swam before her eyes. Pain ripped mercilessly through her body.

  No! No! Oh, dear God, no!

  She clawed desperately. Wildly.

  Help! she silently cried, kicking, writhing. Oh, sweet Jesus, someone please, please help me!

  Pain rocketed through her. Light splintered behind her eyes. Bursts of horrid, brilliant color. Her lungs were so damned tight, and she couldn’t think, could barely flail.

  Please…

  But it was too late.

  She felt her life oozing away, blackness creeping over her.

  Her hands fell limp at her sides.

  The fingers around her throat clamped even tighter, crushing her airway.

  Somewhere high overhead, the owl hooted and flapped his great wings, but she couldn’t see or hear him. The only sound was the rush of blood in her ears. The only vision was the shadowy face of her assailant.

  In those last few seconds of consciousness, Nona Vickers realized that she’d lost more than her virginity this night; she’d also given up her life.

  CHAPTER 14

  Cooper Trent woke up in a foul mood.

  After a restless night, he gave up, rolled out of bed, and slammed shut the window he’d cracked open, thinking that the cold mountain air would help him sleep. Not that it mattered, as this old cottage was so poorly insulated that the elements tended to seep right through the walls.

  Daylight was hours from splitting the night sky, but that was just too bad. He wasn’t going to spend another second tossing and turning and wondering what the hell he was doing here. He thought about what he’d discovered in the past few months, and it wasn’t much. Something was going on beneath the surface of this institution, but he hadn’t been able to put his finger on it.

  Some of the students had opened up to him about Lauren Conway. In his phys ed classes, he’d done a few lectures about stress and relaxation, leading students to talk about things that bothered them. In two classes, the topic of Lauren’s disappearance had come up. Student opinion seemed to fall in two categories: those who thought she had been killed by the school while trying to escape, and those who’d thought she made it. “I like to think that she got away from this school and away from her parents. I can just see Lauren living in some city somewhere with a job and her own apartment. She’s living a life and laughing at Blue Rock,” Maeve Mancuso had said, and her friends Lucy and Nell had agreed.

  “Even though she was a TA and had come here voluntarily?” Trent hadn’t been able to follow Maeve’s reasoning.

  “Yeah, well, that was probably the first step into breaking away from her family.”

  “She was twenty. Of age.”

  Maeve’s frown had indicated he didn’t know anything. “Some parents run your life forever. Just ask my older sister!”

  Maeve had an unrealistic theory, one that lacked foundation. If Lauren had escaped these mountains last November, she would have been spotted by someone in a nearby town or seen hitchhiking on the interstate.

  Trent hadn’t pressed the issue with Maeve and her friends. To argue vehemently or in any way remind them that he was an authority figure would undermine their trust, and he needed the kids to open up to him if he was ever going to find out what had really happened to Lauren, which was, of course, his real reason for taking the job at Blue Rock.

  Trent had also overheard a few conversations suggesting that a group of students had formed some kind of secret club. “They meet after dark, and you have to be handpicked to join.” This he’d gathered from the buzz in the boys’ locker room. It sounded like a fraternity, but he’d found no evidence that the school was involved. Though he didn’t agree with all of Blue Rock’s policies, so far the teachers and staff seemed to be true to their mission. Blue Rock was a school dedicated to helping at-risk kids find their way back to their families and God. Some of their practices seemed extreme, but no school activity could account for Lauren Conway’s disappearance. Kidnapping and murder were not a part of the curriculum.

  And the faculty was tight-lipped. Stiff. Which didn’t help him at all.

  Trent wished he had something more definitive to report back to the Conways, since they’d hired him to find their daughter, but so far, he’d come up pretty damned empty-handed.

  Scraping a hand over his whiskered jaw, he walked to the window, then snapped the shades open. What was the story with those dogs, barking in the middle of the night? They’d shut up after a while, but they’d shot all chances of sleep to hell.

  He tossed on yesterday’s jeans and his faded flannel shirt. Then, before making a pot of coffee, he pulled on a pair of comfortable boots, worn and battered from his rodeo days years ago.

  Sometimes, when he was restless, he’d visit the animals. He would stop at the horse barn first, then wander through the pens of chickens, goats, and
pigs before stopping at the kennels. He missed having his own small herd of horses, or, at the very least, a dog. So far, he hadn’t replaced Buster, a dog that had been part German shepherd, part boxer, and God knew what else. Loyal and true, Buster had been known to be afraid of his own shadow.

  Stretching, he heard his back pop, reminding him of how many times he’d been thrown into the dirt of a rodeo ring. He missed that life. Once, living among horses, cowboys, dust, and leather had been a part of his future, but then things had changed abruptly when his femur had snapped in two places.

  So, now, here he was, living a life that wasn’t what he’d planned, lying through his teeth as he did it. His leg had healed, his wounded pride not so much, and though he was healthy, athletic again, he’d hung up his spurs.

  Who cared?

  It was all ancient history.

  Right there with Jules Delaney, and he’d been reminded of her a lot lately, what with her half sister now in his charge. What were the odds of that?

  He snagged his jacket from a peg near the door and patted a pocket out of habit, forgetting for a split second that he’d given up smoking years before.

  At Jules’s insistence.

  He felt his lips twist wryly when he thought about how he’d almost started the habit again once they’d broken up. Then sanity had prevailed. Withdrawal from nicotine was a bitch; he never wanted to go through that again.

  No stars this morning.

  No coyotes yipping or howling.

  Not even a bat flying by as he pulled on his work gloves and headed toward the darkened stable.

  Calm and peaceful, a light snow was falling in thick white flakes to drift against the buildings and catch in the eaves, where icicles had already formed. The place looked like a Christmas card.

  But that sense of serenity was short-lived.

  The second he opened the door to the horse barn, he knew something was wrong. The energy inside was all wrong. He flipped on one row of lights. The gray mare, Arizona, was snorting and shifting in her stall, and Plato, a Tennessee walker, usually a calm gelding, had pushed his head over the top rail of his box. Plato’s eyes were wide and white-rimmed, his chestnut coat quivering.