By Mona Jean
Reed
Suspense/Thriller,
290 pages
Cover art by
Richard Stroud
Blurb: After they kidnapped Roz and ten
other beautiful blondes, their captors expected them to knuckle under and not
fight taking part in “Cap’s finishing school.” They intended to make all eleven
girls the ultimate cream of harem material. These exceptional harem slaves
would bring a half mill apiece, just like last year’s crop. Can Roz hold up or
will they break her spirit.
Excerpt: In the lightless cellar, or
whatever it was, Roz and the child spent another chilly time. The cold times
had to be nights. If that bit of deduction was right, then Roz had been here
most of three days. Thirst was becoming a real threat. They’d have to have
water soon, or they’d die.
Chaney, the child on the other box, cried until she made
herself hoarse and even that didn’t stop her crying entirely.
Thirst had
Roz by the throat and she still couldn’t get her chain loose from the box.
“I’m giving
up.”
“We gotta
get outta here. Don’t give up.” Chaney’s sobs grew
louder.
“I didn’t
mean that kind of give up, silly. I meant I won’t try to wreck the box, get
free and walk out of here. I’ll have to try something else.”
“What you
going to do?”
“See if I
can break enough of this wood with my hands and arms. See if I can work a rifle
loose.”
Roz felt the
box, tried to feel for a weak spot that would break easily. There were no
obvious weak spots.
“Guess the
only thing to do is just try to pull the box apart.” With a mighty grunt she
did what she said…And got nowhere, at first. Then she pulled on the break
nearest the corner and that little piece came loose in her hand. It was just
enough to allow her to pry something out of the box.
“Okay.” Both
Roz’s feet throbbed, but that didn’t matter right now. “Chaney,
now I’ve got something to work with.”
“Work!” Chaney sniveled. “I wanna go home. Don’t wanna work.” The
girl went back to crying.
“None of this
thing feels like wood,” Roz said. “Some sort of super plastic or carbon fiber,
I guess. Light enough.”
She felt
around on it, tried to identify the gun’s parts. “Nothing seems normal. The
stock, I guess this is the stock. It’s just a rounded block doesn’t seem like
it would fit on anyone’s shoulder.”
Chaney sobbed, “I wanna go home.”
Roz tried
the stock against her shoulder. “You know, it fits real good. Maybe it fits
better than our shotgun. Dad made me learn how to use that.”
After a lot
of feeling around, she found the trigger. Then she felt for the barrel, but
except for a cylinder-shaped end piece less than four inches long, the barrel
was covered with other parts that made it too clumsy to get a decent handhold.
“Some of the
parts have sharp edges. If I tried to hold the barrel like a club or a baseball
bat, I’d cut my hands, first thing. Then I couldn’t hold on well enough to hit
him with it. Besides, blood is slippery stuff.”
Chaney didn’t reply, just cried.
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