Kneel

Chapter ONE

She was running. She always was. He was coming, out of the swamps, surrounded by alligators and wild pigs, a human form in the shape of dark mud, something out of a kid's nightmare drawing. But she wasn't a kid. She was alone and stuck and she could hear him, mud squelching as he dragged himself closer, calling her name while birds overhead continuously screeched her location back to him, she was running but also stuck in the mud like quicksand, this was finally it and she screamed for someone, anyone, knowing no one was left to save her—

Sam sat up with a start, her scream still echoing in the RV's tin interior. Sweat dripped down her face, matting her hair to her forehead and the back of her neck. Breathing heavily, she gathered her senses, eyes darting around the small space, dark and quiet while the old hound beside her snored loudly. Rolling her eyes, she glanced at the glowing clock above the minuscule kitchen sink. 4:59 a.m.

So much for sleeping in, she thought, flopping back with a groan, listening to the early morning sounds just outside the thin wall—birds chirping, wildlife rustling through the dark North Carolina woods, stream water slapping against moss-covered rocks before it ran downstream to a larger creek, and then a larger creek, and then a river, over and over until finally flowing into the mouth of the Atlantic, somewhere around Charleston.

Her breathing still rapid in her chest, Sam forced herself through the calming exercises she knew by heart. Deep breath in, hold. Release. Hold. Touch something. Her hand went to the patchy fur of the dog sleeping beside her as her other brought a pillow over her face, the cool cotton a shock to her fair skin. She breathed deeply again against the pillow, inhaling the still-present masculine scent of the previous owner of the old trailer.

His scent lingered throughout the tiny living space, no matter how many times she replaced the simple furnishings and washed the sheets. Expensive candles filled what little counter space there was (a sure firetrap if she ever lit them all at the same time), usually preferring to leave them unlit and covered, the odor unable to be masked anyway. If she was honest with herself, she found she was attached to it now, the smell of masculine adrenaline mixed with woodsmoke, pine, and something else catching in her senses at random times, forcing her to pause and sniff the air deeply. At night, restless and exhausted from long shifts at the bar, unable to settle or sleep even after using all of her best tricks and ideas, she would find herself lying face down on the sheets, wrapping herself in the indescribable scent of man before reaching for her reliable vibrator and tiring herself out enough to finally find a few hours rest.

This morning, and every morning after nightmares of similar scope, the faint smell of the pillow comforted her, helping to bring her body still again as she mentally reminded herself she was safe and preformed mental checklists of the makeshift perimeter fence she had hidden around the exterior of the trailer. Small and subtle boobytraps, tripwires, and other distinct noisemakers were in enough places that anything larger than a dog wouldn't be able to easily approach in silence unless they knew the terrain well, hopefully giving Samantha enough notice to figure out if friend or foe, and enough time to reach for one of the many small weapons tactfully hidden around the camper.

No new noises interrupted the mornings waking noises, other than some horses neighing and huffing in the distance. Samantha both loved and hated the silence here, sure she'd never get used to it either way.

Tossing the pillow off with a huff, she pushed herself out of bed, taking only a small step before she was standing in front of the kitchen sink, quickly splashing cold water on her face after filling the small coffee maker's basin, her attempts to conserve the water in the trailers small tank always feeble at best. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't give up enjoying life's basic luxuries to its fullest—good coffee, long hot showers, splurging on a good haircut now and then, really good sex even less often. Without measuring, she dumped her favorite strong coffee into a cheap filter, the earthy and caramel tones seeping into the small space before she had even clicked the machine on. Eyes still red from being chased by nighttime demons, she refused to look too long at herself in the trailers one tiny mirror, a rare longing for an old life and the few small luxuries it provided hanging heavily on her shoulders before the coffeemaker chirped and she shook the feeling away. Samantha reached for the hook above the little kitchen sink, grabbing the trailer's sole coffee cup and filling it to the brim with steaming black coffee, unable to resist burning her tongue by impatiently taking one small slurp, wincing as she placed it back on the counter to cool.