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  SLAM

  A Completion Novel

  Holly S. Roberts

  Published by Bad Luck Publishing

  Copyright 2015 Holly S. Roberts

  Holly S. Roberts

  [email protected]

  www.wickedstorytelling.com

  Slam

  A Completion Novel

  Printing History

  eBook Edition: January 2015

  Paperback Edition: January 2015

  All rights reserved including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  This is a work of fiction. ALL characters are derived from the author’s imagination.

  No person, brand, or corporation mentioned in this Book should be taken to have endorsed this Book nor should the events surrounding them be considered in any way factual.

  Slam is dedicated to the book bloggers.

  Thank you!

  Chapter One

  I was getting nowhere on the treadmill and I’m sure that was the point of the stupid contraption. When I ran, I wanted to be outdoors. As of today, I had enough time exercising inside to fill a cruise ship with sweat. Training indoors was ugly and so was my mood. The walls closed in with every step and just the noise of the machine had my temper spiking.

  I upped the speed and incline, sprinting to the sound of “Try Too Hard” by Pink pounding through my ear buds. The music usually put me in the right head space, but it wasn’t working today. This was day six of running and practicing inside—hiding. They… my security team, hired by my father, had no idea what a good backhand entailed. Bottom line, this wasn’t working.

  Fuck it. I know I promised my father to stay here where it’s safe, but I couldn’t handle this anymore. I hadn’t been to a nightclub in more than a week. Shaking my ass to a heavy beat, the smell of alcohol and sweaty bodies other than mine would at least let off some steam. I hit the off button without taking time to slow the machine. I ripped the ear buds out, flung them aside, and jumped off the treadmill.

  I looked around the large room deciding on a game plan. The security team was no slouch, and this would be tricky. One of them would check on me a few minutes from now. If I opened the doors or windows leading outside an alarm would go off. I did have a way out. It required going up to the attic. I’d been saving it in case a time came that I contemplated suicide by dumbbell. It was time and if I didn’t get out of this prison I’d go insane.

  There were nothing but a few boxes of holiday decorations stored in the attic. The window in the eave of the house was small, though, best of all, not secure. I thought I could manage it. I wasn’t small, though. My thighs were hard and muscular and not exactly today’s standard of slim. I couldn’t care less. With twelve championships and three Grand Slams in my pocket, my thighs and backhand were the money makers.

  I walked out of my temporary gym with confidence in case I ran into anyone. I had the words “bathroom break” on the tip of my tongue if someone decided to follow me. I was lucky; with no encounters, I slipped through the deathly quiet mausoleum I grew up in. The stairs to the attic were located on the second floor in an over-sized hall closet. I quietly opened the door and shut it behind me the same way. Climbing the stairs brought back memories. I played up here as a child. I liked resting in the strip of sun that warmed the wooden floorboards. That’s where I spent my childhood dreaming I was a princess—one of the few places I could actually settle down. The thought had me laughing. I was as far from a princess as anyone could be. I got where I was in my career through blood, sweat, and determination. The fact I was the “tennis darling” of the world was laughable. I could hold my own on the court but I could also hold it in bed. I was far from an innocent sweetheart, and keeping up the illusion was becoming harder.

  This time the laugh that escaped was a little louder and I bit my lip to stop the noise. My father might think of me as an innocent young girl, but I knew the truth. Hell, I lived the truth when I was at my apartment and not this God-forsaken crypt called a house.

  I tiptoed farther up the narrow stairs and entered the playground of my youth. Having a U.S. senator for a father meant I didn’t play with kids outside our social circle when I was young. The appropriate play date encompassed frilly dresses and dainty shoes that made me want to gag. If I remembered correctly, I did that a time or two to make myself puke. It got me out of playing boring Barbies on more than one occasion. From the age of six, I lived for the court. Some might think it too young to discover the love of tennis, but for me, it was the perfect age. I needed an outlet for whatever it was inside of me that kept me from sitting still. I had too much energy for adults to keep up with and tennis became my world.

  I looked around the room I hadn’t visited in years. Other than dust, it was as I remembered. No princess dreams for me today; I was getting out of this hellhole. I walked across the wooden floor to the window and struggled to pry open the latch. With a crumbly noise, caused by non-use, it finally gave way. I pushed it back and contemplated the hardest part.

  The window was several feet off the ground. It was narrow and wide. The only thing that really worried me was getting my head through, so I arched my neck sideways and stuck my head out the window, only scraping my ear a bit. I looked down and decided my plan was a go. I pulled my head back and considered the best way to tackle the problem of getting my entire body out on the ledge. I hiked my right leg up and out. I wiggled a little and one butt cheek popped outside. My other ass cheek hung up, so I bent double, almost kissing the knee that was still inside, and pushed back. I wiggled some more. Nothing budged.

  Fuck, I was stuck. I could see the headline now. “Total fail when America’s tennis darling auditions as contortionist for local circus.” Were you supposed to suck in air or breathe out all your air in these situations? I actually had to think it through. The windowsill dug into my crotch, and processing the dynamics of my position wasn’t as easy as one would think.

  I expelled the air from my lungs. Do not pass out, do not pass out, I thought to myself as lack of oxygen made me lightheaded. A lot of force and a few extra wiggles later, I squeezed myself out onto the wide ledge. If the heavens were smiling down, the security cameras didn’t have a good angle and hadn’t captured my not-so-elegant escape. If they did, the guards would have a good laugh and someone would sell it to the tabloids.

  I looked down at three stories of trellis running up the side of the house. I carefully found the footholds that would hopefully hold my weight. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on my body, but I didn’t lack for muscle. The slats cracked and groaned as I climbed down. Now was not the time to think about how the hell I would get back up. I had a feeling that knocking on the front door and coming clean about my escape might be the safer ticket.

  Near the bottom, I had to push away and jump about eight feet to the ground in order to clear the prickly bushes. The leap was nothing. Players no longer net-hopped after matches, but it didn’t mean I hadn’t practiced when bored. Again, thighs, baby—mine were powerful.

  I took a deep breath to prepare myself for the next obstacle. As soon as I left the side of the house, the security cameras would zero in on me. Hopefully, it would be too late. After a deep inhale, the mad dash was on. I focused on my favorite childhood tree and jumped to the first branch, then the second before scaling the high wall surrounding the property. A tree limb scraped my leg, but that was nothing. With concrete on the street side, I was a bit more careful in my landing. I needed my knees in good shape to stay at the top during this year’s season. I stood from my crouch and took off, stretching my legs and taking the corner in a fast sprint until my family prison was behind me.

  This is what I needed—freedom, air in my lungs and cement beneath my running shoes. No pansy-ass treadmill I’d gotten as
far as I had in my career because I pushed every fiber of my being to do one thing. Win. And winning was everything.

  The sound of a vehicle’s engine startled me and I peered over my shoulder. It was coming fast and though I didn’t recognize it, I knew it had to be the house security team. They could eat my dust. No way would they be able to jump out and catch me. I was just getting started. The white van gained on me and it seemed idiotic, but at the last second, I actually wondered if they would try to make a grab from the vehicle.

  The impact gave me no further time to think. I was airborne. Everything went into slow motion. Reflexes from years of training took over and I placed my forearms out to take part of the fall. It did little good. Impact…pain… shock. My head hit the cement and an agonizing pain in my side barely registered. I literally saw stars—black with bursts of light flashing in all directions.

  I couldn’t breathe, and somewhere in my befuddled mind I realized the wind was knocked out of me. Before I could take a full breath, someone rolled me over and lifted my torso off the ground. I couldn’t open my eyes. The backs of my running shoes bumped along the cement. Whoever had me wasn’t gentle.

  “Fucking cunt, you can’t escape me.”

  The voice caused terror and pushed back some of the pain.

  “Hey,” another man spoke. “You shouldn’t move her, I’ve called an ambulance.”

  I felt a moment of relief before my torso met the warm cement again. Two loud explosions burst through my brain. Gunshots? They were followed by... barking? Then more blasts. My stomach rebelled and vomit entered my throat. I rolled and tried to get to my knees. Nothing worked. The flashing lights going off behind my eyelids went dark.

  No floating sensation. No pain. No nothing.

  Chapter Two

  Voices.

  “Mild traumatic brain injury, several stitches, no broken bones, but a badly bruised hip. The CT showed no significant swelling of the brain, but until she’s fully conscious we won’t know if there is lasting damage. Brain injuries are tricky and we want to be optimistic, but we just don’t know yet.”

  A squeeze to my hand preceded my father’s voice filling the room. “I’m having a neurosurgeon flown in from Johns Hopkins. We aren’t taking any chances.”

  Yep, that’s my dad. Always the best of everything for his only child. I tried to form words. That didn’t work, so I tried to form just one. No luck. My hand lay limp within his. I focused and finally my fingers did what I wanted them to. His warm hand gently squeezed mine back.

  Another burning pain traveled through my head and the world went dark again.

  ***

  “Take this IV out now. The next person who pushes that bedpan beneath my ass will be wearing it. I can walk six feet to the bathroom to pee.” God, I sounded like a bitch. I’d been grouchy since my father and medical staff woke me in the middle of the night to secretly whisk me away to a private hospital.

  Someplace deemed safe that the madman couldn’t find me.

  My middle aged nurse, dressed in unappealing yellow scrubs with teddy bears better suited for the children’s-ward, wasn’t the least intimidated. “The doctor hasn’t changed his orders and I can’t allow you out of bed.” Before I snapped her head off for the “allow” comment, she continued, “You’ll see him this afternoon and maybe he’ll give his consent.”

  Her sing-song voice had me contemplating the removal of her hair by the roots. I slammed back against the pillows and winced when my head made contact. It didn’t increase my headache, but it did burn where my stitches were. I took a deep breath and refused, in a very juvenile manner, to look at the nurse. Her shoes made a soft patter noise as she left the room.

  One of my ever-present security guards, I’d dubbed this one Tweedle Dee, looked inside before quickly turning away. I’m sure he didn’t want a piece of my temper either.

  I peered at the white tape holding the IV to my arm and without another thought, unwrapped it and jerked the needle out. I used the gauze beneath the tape to apply pressure until it stopped bleeding. I was done with this shit. I swung my legs off the bed two minutes later. The room spun, so I gave myself a moment. I was walking to the damn bathroom if it killed me.

  A noise drew my gaze to the door. Tweedle Dee’s eyes were huge as he dialed his cell phone and placed it to his ear. He could go ahead and call my father. I was sitting on a toilet seat to piss if it was the last thing I ever did. I stood up, swayed, and clenched the side of the bed.

  “Ah, no Miss Stradmore, you’re going to fall,” he insisted as he ran into the room, his urgent call forgotten.

  I slapped his hand away. “Touch me and I’ll file charges. I would suggest you clear a path or I’m going through you.”

  “But…”

  “Move away and let the… lady… pass.”

  Tweedle Dee spun around and pulled his gun at the same time to face the new voice in the room.

  I looked at the door and… holy shit. I wasn’t sure if a gun would stop this guy. The man standing in the doorway was intimidating just by size alone. He filled the door’s frame, leaving less than an inch above his head. I was tall, but would be looking up at him if we were closer. Aviators covered his eyes and accented his square jaw, which sported dusty stubble. The graze of stubble emphasized his wide full lips that had me licking my parched ones. His light brown hair with sun streaks was too long for my tastes, his skin too tanned. The combination added a sense of ocean wildness to his untamed appearance. An untucked t-shirt molded his upper body, and well-worn jeans hugged his large thighs. He appeared totally unfazed by the gun pointing at his chest.

  “Name’s Brack.” His deep baritone filled the room again.

  My guard released a heavy breath. “I’ll need to see identification, sir.”

  The man slowly reached to his back pocket and came out with a wallet. “Heading your way,” he said as he tossed it to the guard. He stayed where he was until Tweedle Dee took a quick glance down and lowered his weapon.

  I actually shivered when Goliath spoke again. “You can go now; you’re officially relieved of duty.”

  Tweedle Dee couldn’t get out of my way quickly enough. Tweedle Dumb—his brawny frame meant he couldn’t have brains too—moved out of the doorway, entered the room and made it half the size it was the moment before. It killed me that I couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark glasses. “Look, I don’t know who the hell you are, but I’m going to pee on the floor if I don’t get into the bathroom.”

  He gave a partial wave to the door that caused his shirt to pull up from his waist. I could see a holstered gun on his hip, though my eyes went immediately back to the outline of his muscular chest. “No one’s stopping you,” he retorted, startling me from my ridiculous thought of feeling those muscles up close and personal.

  I pulled air into my lungs while saying a silent prayer that I didn’t fall on my face when I moved. After releasing my grasp on the bed, my first step was tentative. The room spun slowly, but it was workable. I took another step and felt the ache in my hip. No, it wasn’t broken, but the damn thing hurt. Everything hurt. There was just no way I’d show it in front of this man. And, for the life of me, I didn’t know why I cared.

  A few more steps and I managed to place my hand on the wall to keep myself upright. He was in front of me, so up until now I hadn’t worried about the gaping space at my back that displayed my bare ass. “Would you mind standing outside the door and doing your duty instead of staring at me.” I put an extra dose of bitch in my tone and waited for him to leave.

  He didn’t budge. “The puppy who left will be looking for a new job within the hour, so, yes, I mind. I’ll wait right here.”

  Puppy? The guy who left had whipped out a gun quicker than I could blink. “Look, Mr. Brackass, I know what’s required of my detail and he was doing his job.”

  Those wide lips tightened. “His job was to remain outside the room unless there was a threat inside. You…” his chin cocked up an inch, “are not a threat.
”

  I swayed and leaned a little more into the wall. “I don’t understand why he had to remain outside the room and you think you should be inside.” I wiped a dirty strand of hair from in front of my face, trying really hard not to cross my legs and do the potty dance. “I would stand here arguing if I didn’t need to pee so badly.” I clenched my teeth, which hurt my head. “Look, my ass is hanging out and I’d like a small bit of privacy, so back off.” I’d reached my limit and so had my bladder.

  “I don’t mind turning my back. I’ll also have clothes delivered. You need to be dressed in something that doesn’t display your naked ass if we leave quickly.”

  This G.I. Giant was unreal. He turned around without having a care that I might kick him in the ass. A wave of dizziness hit me and I knew my foot connecting with his backside was only a fleeting thought. I shuffled inside the small bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind me. I didn’t have time to look into the mirror because my bladder was close to bursting. I sat on the toilet seat and silently sang sweet sighs of bliss in my head. Realizing he could probably hear the long stream of saline-filled pee hitting the toilet water didn’t stop me from expelling every drop. I was far past modesty if my bare ass wasn’t involved.

  I grabbed the sink when I finished and used it to support myself while washing my hands. Glancing up into the mirror, I almost screamed. I wasn’t exactly beautiful or God-forbid cute. But, the person who stared back at me gave zombies a run for their money. My blonde shoulder-length hair was bed-head dirty brown and a tangled mess. My face, sun-kissed, was completely bleached of color and there was crust in the corners of my blue eyes. The dark rings under those same eyes emphasized my zombie appearance. I frantically looked around the bathroom. There was nothing in here that would help make me any more presentable. Well, maybe the trashcan over my head. I gave it serious thought and again wondered why the hell I cared. I’d been around other well-built men. Maybe not quite so muscular, but definitely prettier.