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  FURY

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  FURY

  Copyright © 2012 by Tammy Coons and Michelle Pace

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  TAMMYFury is dedicated to the memory of my Mom, Mary Cutler; I miss you!!! And to the four greatest people in my life; my husband, Casey, sons Skyler and Sawyer, and my daughter, Savana. Thanks for believing in me and pushing me to get Fury done. I love you!!

  MICHELLE For my mom, Joyce. Thanks for always challenging and pushing us. You believed in us long before we did. Also, this book would never have seen the light of day if not for the patience and support of my family: my husband, Les, and my three children, Holly, Bridgette, and Kai.

  Lightening blazed across the panoramic view of Lake Michigan as Cheyenne logged off of her laptop. Though it was only five pm on a summer evening, the dark Chicago skyline made it seem like bedtime. Cheyenne yawned and her dark eyes surveyed the volatile sky. She loved watching storms, but her superstitious side whispered the weather might be a bad omen. Dismissing her negativity, she ran a hand through her dark hair and heaved a huge, cleansing sigh. Itching to get placed on a real assignment, she’d plowed through her work in record time. She was thrilled to be finished with the grueling pieces she’d been assigned for the current issue.

  She stood and stretched, stiff from hours in front of the computer screen. Shuffling across the living room to the bar, she enthusiastically poured herself a celebratory drink. This last series of music reviews had been tedious, but Cheyenne was thankful to be working in the magazine industry. Jobs like this were scarce; the internet age had caused print magazines to become nearly obsolete. Like all her fellow writers, she hoped to get assigned to the big story her boss, Adam Brier, was being so secretive about.

  Adam, the owner of The Sound Wave, claimed to be wowed by her work thus far. Cheyenne had only been working for the popular music magazine for a couple of years but she had already become one of their more active journalists. Her long hours and willingness to do any and all tasks, no matter how trivial, had distinguished her from her peers. As she sipped her glass of wine, she leaned against the bar and exhaled deeply. Though the work was sometimes mundane (and considerably less glamorous than most would imagine), she was thankful for every bit of success she had. She’d traveled a rocky path to get the position she was in, and for a fleeting moment she allowed herself to revel in how far her determination had already taken her.

  Raised in a small town in Iowa, her father passed away when she was a toddler and her mom had struggled to raise her three children alone. Cheyenne’s childhood had been pleasant, if somewhat unremarkable, and she’d always fantasized about traveling the world. She’d spent a great deal of her youth with her nose in a book, but her teenage years had been full of rebellion. At age 17, she’d fallen in with a questionable crowd and started dating an older man. Twenty-one year old Steve Jacobs had been the ultimate bad boy, with a myriad of tattoos and a motorcycle. He’d played lead guitar in a local cover band and Cheyenne was the envy of half the girls in town. Initially she’d believed he was her dream man, as young girls often do, but as weeks passed he’d become increasingly abusive and controlling. A violent drunk, his binges meant she’d spent her summer wearing long sleeves to cover the bruises. Her mother, busy working two jobs to support the family, had been slow recognizing the signs. She shivered as she recalled that he’d killed a girl not long after they’d dated. She could easily have been that girl, had it not been for her mother’s intervention.

  After ridding herself of Steve, Cheyenne refocused and went on to college a few hours from home in Chicago and majored in journalism. When she wasn’t reading, she was writing and had many half written novellas tucked away. Due to her family’s low income and her decent grades, she’d been fortunate to get grants and scholarships; however they hadn’t covered much more than tuition.

  Her college roommate, an art major, was always raving about how gorgeous Cheyenne was. She had soon convinced Cheyenne to model for her art class. The only catch: she would have to get naked. For weeks Cheyenne tried to push the idea out of her mind, but the thought of her mom working herself to death to support her academic ambitions drove her to cross that line.

  Not long after, she fell into stripping and discovered it was a quick way to support herself and pay off the rest of her school costs. Although she often felt like a dreadful cliché, she’d been elated to take the financial strain off of her mom. Stripping had also been great for her writing; she’d met a lot of interesting people. Unfortunately, she was also forced to deal with unwelcome touching and on a couple of occasions, violent customers. Her coworkers educated her that this “was just part of the drill.” The day she graduated college she found herself wearing sunglasses to hide a black eye. Though she’d never been ashamed of her choice to strip, she’d been relieved to have that era of her life behind her.

  Moving back home with her mom, Cheyenne began working for the town newspaper covering stories about farming, school activities, and local interest pieces. Though she’d been happy to be writing, this job had been far from her dream. A music buff, her ultimate goal had been to write about the music industry. In her free time Cheyenne took in all the live music she could. The bands had never seemed to mind that she hung around and absorbed the scene. Her attentive eyes missed very little and she fell in love with the atmosphere. Her penchant for being drawn to bad boys led to a couple more disappointing relationships and soon made her establish a creed: no dating anyone in a band.

  When she’d finally found the courage to return to the city, her mom fell ill. After a life of self-sacrifice and busting her ass, Cheyenne’s mom had b
een rewarded with breast cancer. Now her mother’s caretaker, Cheyenne embraced the role wholeheartedly. Watching the woman who’d been her rock deteriorate like a withering flower had been heart wrenching; even thinking back on it now, the memory pierced her heart and brought tears to her eyes. She’d often marveled that she survived the experience without losing her mind.

  Cheyenne’s mom had passed away three years ago. With no will, her older brother and sister made short work of selling all their mother’s possessions. The only thing she’d managed to save was a sapphire ring she’d given her mom years before. The ring held a special place in Cheyenne’s heart and helped keep her feeling connected to her.

  Shortly after the funeral, she packed up all of her belongings and left for Chicago, where she began working at a small newspaper. Cheyenne hadn’t returned to her hometown and never intended to. An old schoolmate hooked her up with a small music magazine and she began freelancing articles on local bands. The work was an absolute blast, but not lucrative. Waiting tables on the side, she managed to make a living but was always on the lookout for a real career in her chosen profession. Not long after, her life had taken a drastic turn, and she had been thrust into the position of her dreams.

  An empty wine glass pulled Cheyenne back to the present. As she turned to pour herself another, she looked over the bar and glanced at herself in the mirrored backsplash.

  “I look like hell,” she murmured to her own reflection. Her long hair was pulled back in a tight braid with loose pieces falling out all over the place, which she remedied. Shaking out her dark mane, she inspected her reflection hoping for improvement and grimaced. At that moment, she looked older than twenty-six; her dark eyes appeared worn and puffy from sleep deprivation. Cheyenne shook away her negative thoughts. She often got emotional when she was tired and this was a time for celebration. She wanted company, and went in search of her roommate.

  “Stephanie!” she called, but heard no answer. Wandering the large apartment, she called her name again. The penthouse was well decorated, modern and tasteful. Under closer inspection, one would notice the missing pieces of artwork Kevin, Stephanie’s ex, had taken when he’d moved out. Cheyenne proceeded to the master bathroom that Stephanie often made her darkroom. When she read the sign on the door, she snorted:

  WORKING: DO NOT DISTURB OR I WILL BE FORCED TO KILL YOU!!!

  Cheyenne grinned and shook her head. Steph’s theatrical approach to the world rarely ceased to amuse her. Meandering back into the living room, she ordered take out from their favorite Chinese restaurant. As she waited for them to deliver, she curled up on the cozy leather couch. She felt indulgent surrounded by Steph’s beautiful things. As she watched the show Mother Nature was putting on over the lake, she recollected how life had changed dramatically since first meeting Steph.

  Roughly two years before, Cheyenne had stumbled on her big break while reading a competitor’s paper. There’d been an ad for a part-time paid internship in the journalism department at The Sound Wave. The biggest and hottest magazine in Chicago, The Sound Wave interviewed up and coming bands, popular artists, reviewed music—the works. Cheyenne remembered how her hands shook as she’d typed out her resume. After a brutal interview and a torturous week of waiting by the phone, she’d been offered the position. During Cheyenne’s second week at The Sound Wave she’d met Adam Brier, a middle aged, auburn haired Irishman. Cheyenne towered over him in heels and she was only 5’8. Adam was a jovial fellow with a reputation for losing his temper in spectacular fashion. Owner and editor in chief, Adam had been around the music scene for decades and counted many rock legends as his personal friends. Even so, he insisted on personally meeting every new writer and giving them a tour.

  As he’d guided Cheyenne on her tour, he’d mentioned his daughter Stephanie was working in one of the studios that morning. With no shortage of fatherly pride, he’d gushed that she was one of the best photographers The Sound Wave had.

  Cheyenne was already all too familiar with Stephanie Brier’s reputation. The other interns had loved to tell stories about Steph’s talent and her temper, which she’d apparently inherited from her father. Stephanie only worked part time for The Sound Wave, she freelanced the rest. At the tender age of 25, she was already a bit of an industry legend, and had often been referred to her as a prodigy. Steph’s mother had been a world renowned rock and roll photographer, and Steph had been weaned on the art form. Tagging along since before she could walk or talk, she knew practically everyone noteworthy in the business. As Adam had ushered Cheyenne through the studio door that day, she’d felt butterflies as she’d anticipated her introduction to the young woman she’d heard so much about.

  “We must be very quiet,” Adam had whispered to Cheyenne as they entered the dark studio. He’d sounded a bit like Elmer Fudd and Cheyenne had been forced to bite her lip to stifle a laugh, “She gets a little testy when interrupted.”

  Cheyenne palms had been sweaty so she’d wiped them on her dark pants; many of Stephanie’s CD covers were in her own collection. Loud music had pulsed throughout the room and Cheyenne had struggled not to cough as they’d walked through a wall of manmade fog. “That’s Steph.” Adam had beamed, as he’d pointed to a petite red head yelling at frazzled client.

  “Yo, Johnny!” Stephanie dropped her camera from her face with a scowl and placed a hand on her hip. “I said put the snake around your neck.”

  “But I didn’t want the snake. I wanted a tiger,” Johnny had whined in a thick Scottish accent.

  “Sorry, the local tiger-for-rent is unavailable, so you’re out of luck. But Gerald thinks the snake makes you look like a badass, don’t you?” Steph had looked to Gerald, her assistant, who’d nodded his bald head as if he had never seen such a marvelous site. Stephanie crossed to the actor and hoisted the huge snake around his neck, leaving Cheyenne marveling at the strength of the small woman. On Steph’s way back to the camera she’d waved at Cheyenne and Adam.

  “God, I hate snakes.” Stephanie winced as she held her temple. Gerald appeared at her side, and Steph handed him her camera. .

  “Take over, would you?” Gerald nodded and Stephanie made her way to where her father and Cheyenne sat. Unapologetically, she’d looked Cheyenne up and down.

  “Are you the model for the 3:00 shoot? Steph had asked. Cheyenne’s response had been simply to grin through gritted teeth. Some people thought good looks gave women an edge in the business world; Cheyenne often felt the opposite was true. In the early days of her career, she downplayed her looks in order to be taken more seriously. By the time she joined The Sound Wave, she’d given up such endeavors.

  “No, Stephanie. This is Cheyenne Carson. She’s the latest addition to the writing staff. This is my daughter.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Cheyenne had shaken Steph’s hand enthusiastically.

  “Likewise.” A woman handed Steph pills and a glass of water.

  In the background Johnny had cried out, “Ah, I think this snake is squeezing me!”

  From their first encounter, Steph and Cheyenne had become fast friends. Like Cheyenne, Steph was a survivor, though the cards she’d had been dealt seemed altogether easier to play than Cheyenne’s.

  Steph had been working for the magazine for years and she was only 25. The staff resented her; most claimed she lacked education and only worked there because her father was the owner. Cheyenne knew this notion was preposterous. With a portfolio like hers, she could have worked anywhere she chose. Steph didn’t socialize at the magazine; the one exception was her assistant, Gerald. Soon Cheyenne joined in on Ger and Steph’s nights on the town. The latest gossip was that Cheyenne had been hired because Adam wanted to sleep with her, so she was already a bit of a social pariah at The Sound Wave. Cheyenne was thrilled to finally have a clique.

  Incredibly flamboyant, Gerald was always great for a laugh. Steph turned out to be the driest, most sarcastic person Cheyenne had ever encountered. On the three misfits’ outings, the topics of conversation w
ere typically one of the following: work, fashion, Gerald’s latest sexual conquests, and Steph’s on-again, off-again relationship with a movie star. Soon Steph and Cheyenne were going out without Gerald, who was newly ‘in love’. The two outcasts began having lengthy conversations over dinner and drinks. Steph’s live in boyfriend was often either “in the doghouse” or out of town on location. Though her outer veneer proved tough as nails, Steph seemed lonely.

  Despite the fact she’d been raised with money and privilege, Steph had experienced her share of tragedy. Like Cheyenne, she’d also lost her mother . Her only brother, Cedric, lived in Europe and had no interest in the family business. Adam was hell bent on grooming her to take over The Sound Wave, but business was not Steph’s strong suit due to her blatant contempt for most human beings. She’d told Cheyenne she’d done her best to play the role Adam had thrust upon her, and had spent her early career being used by social climbers and sycophants. It was obvious that years of work politics had bruised and hardened her, but watching her with her father and hearing her discuss her brother, Cheyenne believed that underneath Steph’s bristly exterior, lived a fiercely loyal girl.

  A slamming door interrupted Cheyenne’s musing, and Steph strutted in, making a grand entrance as always.

  “Well, Hells Bells! I didn’t get more than two shots of Alice Rae that don’t make her look like Pippy Longstocking.” As diminutive as Steph was, her presence in a room seemed mammoth.

  “They say the camera doesn’t lie. I guess you’ll just have to use those two pictures,” Cheyenne stated matter-of-factly, and took a sip of her drink.

  “Yeah, I guess…” Steph grumbled, sinking onto the couch. Her angelic features looked drawn and she seemed pensive and distracted.

  “What’s bothering you?” Cheyenne could read Steph like a book and didn’t like what she was seeing.

  “It’s this friggin mystery story. Dad’s acting like it’s a top secret conspiracy.”