I giggle as I watch Daddy run to the porch and swing Momma around in a circle, planting a wet kiss on her lips. Despite being married for almost twenty years, they’re still clearly so much in love. I hope one day I’ll find a man to love me as much as my daddy. Unfortunately, the next winter proved to be too brutal for my fragile mother, who contracted a particularly nasty case of pneumonia. I hold Daddy’s hand tightly as I watch the plain wooden casket be lowered into the ground.

“It’s just us now,” he says gruffly, wiping away the tears of myself and my younger sister, Natalie.

I snap back to reality as a car’s headlights pass by outside the stable. Wiping away a few errant tears, I slip into the stall with Lady and pull a small cot out from beneath a bench. Dragging it beneath an alcove, I kick my sneakers off and lie back on it, pulling a warm, fleece blanket out of a drawer beside the cot. Tugging the blanket up to my chin, I allow the familiar smell of the stable to lull me into a sense of security. As the lonely tears dry on my cheeks, I finally fall asleep, dreaming of happier days.

“Well, how the hell was I supposed to know she didn’t like nicknames?” I yell as I glare up at Keets.

I’d been sitting on the couch, nursing a cold beer against my balls when Keets burst into the small house, proverbial guns blazing. The pain had somewhat eased in my undercarriage, but not to my wounded pride.

“Sometimes, your mind astounds me,” Keets says, shaking his head as he adjusts his glasses. “What made you think it was okay to call her kitten?”

“I don’t know,” I reply, my voice lowering to normal once more as I adjust the front of my jeans and swallow a mouthful of beer from the bottle I hold. “She was acting like a wildcat. I just thought it’d be funny.”

“Well, it wasn’t.” Keets sighs, dropping down on the opposite couch and propping his feet up on the coffee table, crossing his ankles.

“Make yourself at home,” I mutter, glancing at his dirty boots.

“Look,” Keets says, pointedly ignoring me. “Shan’s had a hard time, okay? A damn hard time. So cut her some slack.”

“Slack?” I echo in disbelief. “The crazy bitch kicked me in the balls, and you want me to pat her on the head and give her a cookie?”

“You fucked up her bar and didn’t turn up for your first shift,” Keets replies hotly, sitting up straight and dropping his feet to the ground. “You’re lucky your ass isn’t in jail right now!”

“I know,” I agree quietly. I’d been a jackass, and truth be told, I probably deserved to have my balls kicked up into my body until they disappeared. I never should have kissed her. And she never should have responded. I cross my legs as I feel my cock harden in memory of her soft lips. What is it about her that has me tied up in knots? She’s not even pretty, in the conventional sort of way. She’s too short, too skinny. And she has curly fucking hair. What grown woman willingly has curly hair? Certainly none I’ve ever known. They’re all about sleek, straight locks, long legs and ample curves.

“Don’t,” Keets warns.

I glance up, noting the frown on my friend’s face. “What?” I ask, innocently enough.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking, don’t do it,” Keets says. “She’s not for you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I snap, lifting the bottle to my lips and downing the rest of my beer.

“Shannon,” Keets answers, standing so quickly he almost knocks the coffee table over. “She doesn’t need your crap,” he continues in a low voice. “Just keep it in your pants around her, all right?”

I stare at him. Has he completely lost his mind? I’m not interested in Shannon . . . am I? “You’ve got it,” I say, touching the rim of the empty bottle to my temple in a brief salute.

“Look, I’m sorry, all right?” Keets apologizes, raking his hand through his short hair. “I just don’t wanna see her get hurt.”

“And you think I’d hurt her,” I reply. It’s not a question.

“Of course not,” Keets says, avoiding eye contact. “Listen, we’ll talk about this later, yeah? Get some sleep.”

“Sure,” I agree, silently willing my friend to look at me. As if reading my mind, Keets raises his eyes and stares at me for so long I start to shift uncomfortably. “No more beer,” Keets orders, narrowing his eyes as his gaze moves to the empty bottle in my hand.

“What are you, my father?” I throw my head back as I laugh at my own joke. Keets doesn’t laugh. “Okay, okay,” I say, raising one hand in surrender as the other places the empty bottle on the coffee table. I rise to my feet and eye Keets. “No beer,” I finally agree.

“Good,” Keets says with a nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget, you’re due at the bar at one p.m.”

“Got it.” I watch as Keets leaves, shutting the door behind him.

I’m left alone in the deafening silence. I hate the silence; that’s when I hear the screams in my head. I walk into the kitchen and open the fridge. My hand automatically reaches for a beer, but I force it back. I made a promise. “Fuck!” I swear savagely as I slam the fridge door shut and stomp through to my bedroom, hitting the light switch to illuminate the room. It’s sparsely decorated. A large bed stands beneath the window, covered in a black quilt, and a tall wooden dresser sits on the other side by the wall. I walk over to the bed and flick on the touch lamp that sits on the bedside table. Turning the main light back off, I return to the bed and sit on the edge, rubbing my hands over my face. Standing once again, I remove my jeans and t-shirt, sliding beneath the quilt in a pair of Calvin Klein briefs as I reach up and turn off the lamp. Settling back with my hands behind my head, I stare at the ceiling in the dark until I’m lulled to sleep.

“Please, sir, help me,” she begs. Her hand stretches out toward my hiding place. How does she know I’m here? I lost contact with my men hours ago, when I dropped my bag while running from a spray of bullets. The room is dark and dusty, and I can smell the metallic tang of blood, mixed with sweat. It smells like death. I wipe a hand over my sweaty face and peer out between the boxes. She can’t be any older than sixteen, her naked body stretched out on the cold concrete floor. A door on the far side of the darkened room opens and a group of figures walk inside, speaking in hushed tones. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but clearly she understands them because she starts crying in earnest. One of the men steps into a ray of light, and I recoil as the Arab man seems to stare right at me. I wait for them to grab me, drag me from my hiding place. Instead, the young girl’s screams grow louder. Looking out through the boxes once more, my heart thuds loudly in my chest as I watch her struggle against the ropes that hold her hands fast. The man on top of her seems to take no notice of her distress; in fact, he seems to relish it. When he’s done, he leans down and plants a loud, wet kiss against her cheek before standing and tucking his limp dick back into his pants. I watch in horror as another man takes his place above the girl, but as he rapes her, he places his large hands around her throat, cutting off her screams. I swallow hard as I hear the gurgling noise as she chokes. I can’t tear my eyes away as her head is smashed repeatedly against the cold, hard ground, until it’s no longer recognizable. I make a sound low in my throat and quickly fall back as the man looks up sharply, his eyes narrowing as he stares directly at where I’m hiding. The Arab barks orders to the remaining men, who draw knives from their boots and pants as they advance.

A hand grabs my wrist…