Page 1 of Last Ticket to Paradise

Prologue

The sound of the drums thumped in her chest, urging her to gyrate to its primitive beat, but she couldn’t move her body. A man’s heavy arm encircled her waist, and she leaned against him, inhaling the fresh citrus smell of his aftershave. She clung to his chest and nudged the top of her head against the stubble on his chin.

He pushed her away and growled, “Slut.”

They all called her that, but they always came back for more. Except Jake. She stumbled on unsteady legs, and the man’s grip tightened on her arm. Why couldn’t she walk? Was she that wasted?

A different man grabbed her and hoisted her over his shoulder. The ground bounced up and down beneath her. Grass, rocks, sand—all swirled together into a beige mass of confusion.

Her stomach protested, and she retched, sour vomit burning her throat. Too much booze...again. Choking, she spewed on the ground, splattering the bare legs that trudged through the sand.

The man swore and swung her back into his arms.Mmmm. That’s better.She rested her head in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. Jerking back, she gagged as the heavy smell of garlic invaded her nostrils. She preferred the other guy’s aftershave.

Heat scorched her cheeks. Her eyelids fluttered open. Flaming torches blurred in front of her watery eyes. Heads swayed in and out of her vision. She needed food. What kind of party was this without food?

Garlic Man placed her on a rock, its rough surface scratching the soles of her bare feet. She pitched forward. Somebody caught her. Two hazy figures pulled her arms away from her body and secured her wrists with rope.

A shiver spiraled up her back. When had she agreed to the kinky stuff? She closed her eyes and shook her head. How did the poolside party end up here? Where wasJean-Claude? The questions floated through her fuzzy brain without an anchor.

Rough hands grabbed the neckline of her beach cover-up. Yanking down, the hands tore the garment from her body. She pulled against the restraints holding her wrists. She hadn’t signed up for this.

Oh God. Someone ripped off her bikini. She twisted and turned her naked body, but her legs remained useless. Squinting, she tried to focus on her surroundings. A crowd of people pressed in, their mouths moving in unison, their hands shaking beads, their eyes rolled back in their heads.

Fear raced like a thousand pinpricks up her spine.

The low hum of their chanting grew louder, along with the drumbeat. The crowd undulated in time to the rhythm and began circling her. Flaming sticks jutted out in her direction from the teeming humanity swirling around her, singeing the ends of her hair, scorching her eyebrows.

One truth stabbed through the fog in her brain: She was going to die.

As the darkness closed in, she mumbled a long-forgotten prayer, stumbling over the words. The flames drew closer and closer. Oh God, she needed Jean-Claude. She needed Mom.

She neededGigi.

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