Sting of Snow & Burn of Betrayal

Sting of Snow & Burn of Betrayal

Status: In Progress

Genre: Erotica

Houses:

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Erotica

Houses:

Summary

Life is no fairytale. Zurine "Snow" Tisdale, a second-year university student, knows this first hand. Upon her returned home for winter break, all hell breaks loose. Her happy life is destroyed right before her eyes in mere seconds. Someone close betrays her and sells her to a mysterious group of dangerous men. What will Snow do and how far will she go to exact her vengeance on the one who caused her ruin and despair?

Summary

Life is no fairytale. Zurine "Snow" Tisdale, a second-year university student, knows this first hand. Upon her returned home for winter break, all hell breaks loose. Her happy life is destroyed right before her eyes in mere seconds. Someone close betrays her and sells her to a mysterious group of dangerous men. What will Snow do and how far will she go to exact her vengeance on the one who caused her ruin and despair?

Chapter1 (v.1) - Rude Homecoming

Author Chapter Note

The beginning and end.... “Survival was my only hope, success my only revenge.”—Patricia Cornwell....“Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.” – Samuel Johnson

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 05, 2019

Reads: 1021

Comments: 7

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Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: January 05, 2019

A A A

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CHAPTER ONE—Rude Homecoming

 

My father, Bernard Tisdale, dipped his soup spoon in his steaming bowl of beef stew.  He blew on it before having a bite.  “Mmm,” he groaned with pleasure while chewing.  “A hint of kick to this, but delicious, Vanessa.”

My golden-haired stepmother looked flawless in black.  The wrapped blouse exposed a lot of cleavage that Dad loved considering his eyes never ventured far from it.  Joining the silky top were wide-legged pants that clung to the right places on the lower half of her curvy body.  Vanessa smirked at my dad while sipping her third glass of red wine.  She had not eaten any stew herself.

To dash the corner of my father’s mouth with her napkin, she leaned forward.  Vanessa responded with her maddening baby-talk voice, “Thank you, darling.  I made it extra special for you.  So eat up!”

With that, Dad ate another spoonful while I said nothing during this excruciating exchange where I rolled my eyes.  Before I even returned home from Mansfield, Dad shared with me how much he had been looking forward to this meal.  Vanessa, his doting wife of 11 years, made the dish at least twice a month.  Of course, that was never enough for Dad.  By far his favorite comfort food, since the weather turned nippy, he could eat it once a day if he had his way. 

A blustery gale customary off the shores of Lake Erie accompanied the late autumn that marched on toward the winter solstice.  It chilled the hearts as much as the bones of the folks inhabiting Burns City, Ohio.  Most of the leaves stripped off their branches by the wind, swirled to the ground, browned and brittle.  No longer fields of green, all had been plowed of their last harvest more than a month ago.  The farmers treated their lands with the churn of manure in preparation for next season. 

I opted out of the stew (not my favorite) and nibbled on a grilled cheese sandwich I prepared on the fresh rye bread I brought home from a popular local bakery.  Finished at uni earlier than I thought, I traveled a day ahead of schedule to surprise Dad.  The moment I drove up the driveway in my old Honda coupe, he made his way outside to greet me grinning and eyes twinkling.  He grabbed me up in a bear hug and squeezed the stuffing out of me.  It thrilled dad to see me.  The grin across my face beamed in happiness that he really missed me.  I felt the same.

Vanessa stared at us a moment, infuriated while texting on her phone.  As if I cared, right?  What mattered to me was that my dad looked more sallow over the last few weeks we skyped since I headed back to school.  I worried about him working too hard.  As usual, Dad claimed to be as strong as an ox and would be fine.

“It’s so great to have you here where you belong, Snow,” Dad said with his smile toward me across the dining room table.  “Home doesn’t feel the same without my favorite girl.”  He reached for my hand, and I gave it to him.  Dad kissed it.  I giggled noticing not for the first time the hint of jealousy on Vanessa’s pretty pouting face.  Served her right to think that she could ever replace my mother or me in my dad’s heart.

“It’s nice to be back in my home.”  I smirked loving every minute of my step-mother’s flinch. 

Yeah, I said it. My house. My home. 

Oh, Vanessa tried over the years to make it her own, but the truth was that the dwelling and surrounding property was all mine.  Dad mentioned it in his will drafted after my mom died.  Also, at my 24th birthday (a short four years away), the household in the country would be transferred to my trust when I finished school.  In the event I failed to graduate with a degree from uni, the trust would delay the release until I turned 30 to ensure I was mature enough to handle the responsibility. 

Vanessa hated that, but I loved this house.  So did Mom.  She designed every room.  Her presence filled every space.  I felt closer to my mother whenever I was there. 

“I take it you’ll meet up with your old gang, huh?” Dad asked before he took another scoop of stew.

“Yep, later.”  Because we were finished with exams for the semester, friends from high school and I itched to see each other in-person as we had over the summer.  The four of us skyped almost every week to remember how each other looked.  We texted as often to bitch over classes, the lack of anything fun to do, and being way too poor to date. 

Nothing beat hanging with the gang live, you know?  I missed my support group because if I could be honest?  Making friends at Ohio State University wasn’t easy.  The Mansfield campus was a different world although beautiful in the lay of trees located in the central part of the state.  An adjustment of sorts, it was the first time I lived away from home to the north. 

While my roommate who hailed from Chillicothe to the south was civil, I could not trust Beatrice as far as I could throw her.  A weakling, you could imagine that’s not distant. We got along fine, yet not much was said.  She stayed on her designated side of the dorm room, and I mine.

Why the bad feelings?  Well, the girl sported a shaved head and Gothic clothes.  Some of her decorations included figurines of skulls and framed sketches in detail of murdered corpses.  She never smiled, and I never saw her with friends provided she had any.  In a nutshell, Beatrice creeped me the hell out. 

What gave me the wrong vibe was when I’d find her watching me sleep.  At such times, she accused me of snoring.  I so didn’t do that.  Often, Beatrice eavesdropped on my conversations throwing shade, wanting to add commentary not invited to provide. 

Very rude and creepy.  Yeah, like a total troll.  Anyway, her comments made me turn my Facebook page private.  Hell, the only reason I stayed on Facebook was because Dad insisted on it to keep in touch with him and distant family living across the country.  My grandparents on my dad’s side still lived and retired to a senior community in Arizona.  Mom’s parents moved back to the Pacific Northwest where my grandfather spent his youth.

“So, honey, how was school this semester?” Dad inquired as he smiled at me with what could only be pride gleaming in his blue eyes. 

“You know; same old thing.”  I shrugged at him, wearing his handsome business attire.  Dad unbuttoned the top collar of his dress shirt and removed his tie.  Rolled up sleeves revealed strong forearms.  Dad didn’t learn how to pace himself.  He traveled for work frequently or put in long hours at the office downtown.  It was rare when he took time off for himself.  Too bad, I couldn’t say the same for his wife.

Next to him was my gorgeous step-mother, that fake smile of hers plastered on her face like she loved hearing any conversation that didn’t involve her.  Vain and flaky, Vanessa made it common knowledge early in her marriage to my dad that she believed shipping me off to boarding school a grand idea.  All for my benefit, of course.  Dad couldn’t be persuaded to do it. 

Comprehending that he was a decent judge of character in how he chose his business associates with great talent, it astounded me that Dad didn’t see right through my step-mother’s big boobs and small waist.  However, he loved her.  I never wanted to give him flack in his poor taste in the gold-digging woman.  Vanessa gave him the comfort I couldn’t.  I supposed that she was good for something.  Still, I didn’t have to love her.

“Awww, come on, Snow.”  Dad lowered his spoon and offered me a crooked smirk.  “I know you better than that.  Your grades are improved like you promised.”

I nodded returning the infectious upward curve of his lips.  It was difficult for me to pull his leg.  Dad understood how ambitious I was, yet the transition in being so far from home took getting used to it.  “Sure, Dad.  The best.  Last semester is a distant memory.” 

My freshmen year was nearly a bust.  Kinda shocking to Dad and me.  He gave me his usual pep talk whenever I fell in a rut.  Encouraged, I turned it around.  The critical adjustment made was to deliver what the professor asked.  Once I recognized that I wound up altering my poor performance into a B-average overall. 

My sophomore year so far piggybacked on my previous success.  I received better grades this semester for sure based on the assignments accomplished.  The Dean’s List glimmered in my future!  I worked hard for that achievement, but the truth was that I always enjoyed learning.

“That’s my girl!  I knew you could do it, and I’m so proud of you.  Tisdales never—”  Dad coughed right in the middle of his statement.  He tried to drink water and hacked again.  His face turned an alarming shade of maroon.

To myself I smiled knowing the familiar phrase Dad recited about Tisdales never quitting.  Instead, as I gawked at my father with stew dribbling out of his mouth, I abandoned my grilled cheese. 

“Dad?  What’s wrong?”

The strongest man I knew grabbed his neck with tears filling his strained blue eyes.  He stared at me with a look like he wanted to say something.  He never made even a passing glance at Vanessa before his head slumped in the hearty stew. 

I screamed leaping to my feet, “Dad!”

My step-mother rose to stand with a smug smile.  She released her napkin to the side of her untouched bowl.  Vanessa had been quietly drinking her wine while listening to our conversation without much to add.  Not that she ever cared about me.  Now her spending my dad’s money like water from an ever-flowing faucet interested her far more along with indulging in exotic getaways when the urge hit her on his private jet. 

Vanessa laughed like a loon.  “That’s what you get, you old fool!”

My gaze swerved to her in shock of what I heard.  My mouth fell open.

“Geez, it sure took long enough for that belladonna, laburnum and angel’s trumpet to do the trick.”  Vanessa grabbed my dad by the thinning gray hairs on top of his head.  His pupils were unequally dilated.  Froth streamed from his slack lips.  She laughed again.  My step-mother let his face smeared to one side with stew plop back in the bowl.  As if touching something nasty, she dusted her hands. In pleasure, she commented, “Good thing I used it all.” 

The bitch confessed to poisoning my father, a man who elevated her life from that of a hospice nurse to his jet-setting wife.  Dad never had a malevolent word for anyone.  He had no enemies.  A fair businessman in his affairs, Bernard Tisdale was a giving philanthropist to share his wealth with the less fortunate.  He never forgot where he came from, the poorer middle-class side of the city.  An only child he had dreams to escape his rough, drug-infested neighborhood and establish himself. 

Dad was an attentive father despite his personal ambitions for success.  I learned by his great example to strive for what I wanted through working hard.  You gained what you deserved in life by your actions, he always said.  I believed him up to this point.

Vanessa murdered my father with his favorite meal right in front of me!  My short legs were in motion before I knew what I was doing.  Tears blurred my vision, but my target was close.  With hands curled in the impression of claws, I leaped across the dinner table to scratch Vanessa’s green eyes out.  Unfortunately, she saw me coming.

“You evil, cow!” I screamed in a shaky voice filled with rage.

The bitch backhanded me like she swatted a fly.  I skidded across the table with some dishes.  In my attempt to grab the corner of it, I only manage to take the tablecloth crashing to the floor with me.

“Damn that felt good!”  Vanessa offered a vicious little smile as she bent over me.  I tried to stand up from the mess around me and not doing well.  I fell more than once on the spilled stew. 

“Oh, let me help you, dear,” she uttered with syrupy sweetness.  My step-mother dragged me across the living room floor by my long raven hair.

“Let go of me, bitch!” I shouted and fought her.  Vanessa’s grip was too strong.  A whole foot taller, she might as well had been a WWE wrestling diva.  In comparison, I was lithe and quite short at 4-foot 11-inches.  With my inferior size, came the snow-white skin (thus the nickname by Dad) hazel eyes flecked with a bit of blue and green, and cherry red lips.

With force, my step-mother threw open the front door.  She hauled me outside where the wind howled.

“See to her end as I never wish to look at her again,” Vanessa said over the cold air biting through my leggings and oversized tunic.

“And you won’t,” came the dark reply by one of the men in black ski masks I landed near after she hurtled me away from her. 

A bag went over my head before I could count the number of people in the driveway or escape.  Fingers dug into my shoulders and I cried out, startled.  A sharp pinch of something pressed against my neck next.  The effect was immediate in the relaxing of my tense muscles.  Someone hoisted me on a muscle-bound shoulder and walked away.  The last memory I had besides the tears trickling from my eyes was of my step-mother’s wicked laughter drowned out by the sound of my heart racing too fast.


© Copyright 2019 Amy F. Turner. All rights reserved.

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