by Naima Simone
“What’s wrong?” Mal barked, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“That was the hospital. Aslyn’s been in a car accident. I need to get over there right away. Shit. Where’re my keys? Goddamnit,” he growled, thrusting his fingers through his hair. “My truck. My—”
Truck.
He froze. But his mind whirled, the conversation with the nurse tumbling over and over. Serious car accident. Emergency contact.
He’d known Aslyn for less than a week. Why would she have him listed for an emergency contact instead of her manager? Or someone else close to her? Also, she didn’t have his cell phone number—a situation he would rectify ASAP, but he’d never given it to her. So how did the hospital come by it? He shifted his attention to the ground and the puddle under the tire.
A seed, insidious and ugly, burrowed in his head and refused to be uprooted.
“Chay?” Mal snapped. “What’s up? C’mon, I’ll take you there now.”
“No,” he murmured. Mal’s head snapped back as if Chay had clipped him in the jaw, but Chay shook his head. “No,” he repeated. “Something’s not right about this.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Hold on.” He redialed the number for the call he’d just received. The other end rang four, five, six times before someone answered. Unlike the person he’d just spoken with, the voice was female and hesitant.
“Hello?”
“I just received a call from this number. Is this the nurse’s desk for the emergency room?”
A pause. “Huh?”
He gritted his teeth, swallowing the sharp retort hovering on his tongue. “This is Mass General, right? Is this the number to the emergency room?”
“Uh, no,” the woman, who sounded more like a young girl, replied. “This is the pay phone outside the hospital. It was ringing, so I just picked it up.”
Absently thanking the girl, he ended the call. Dread crawled through him. A phony call from the hospital. A call that would’ve had him driving at a high rate of speed during a busy time of day with a faulty brake line.
“What’s going on?” Mal demanded,
“Other than I think someone just tried to have me seriously injured or killed?” he asked, the flippant note belying the rage boiling in his chest. “Nothing much.”
Chapter Thirteen
“If you’re going to follow me around the store like a damn shadow, the least you could do is help with these bags. I’m just saying,” Aslyn grumbled, shooting a glare at the nondescript sedan several parking spaces down with the not-so-nondescript men in the driver and passenger seats. She groaned, loading the last paper bag filled with food into her trunk. Good God, the boy who’d packed her groceries must’ve believed she was freaking Hulk Hogan.
Shutting the lid, she wriggled her fingers at the men in the sedan. The one in the driver’s side—the shadow in the grocery store—smirked, but otherwise didn’t respond. Chay’s men. They really were excellent at the whole following-without-being-seen thing; she hadn’t detected either bodyguard before today. The only reason she’d noticed him now was that she’d caught him loitering first in the shampoo and smell-goods aisle and then the feminine hygiene area after she’d visited both. Smell-goods? Okay, she could go with it. Maybe he had a girlfriend who enjoyed vanilla- or apple-scented lotions and body sprays. But pads and panty liners? Nope. Definitely fishy.
She started her car and jabbed the air conditioning button. She moaned at the flow of semi-cool air. Not icebox cold yet, but better than the sweltering early afternoon heat beating her like she stole something. Throwing the car into reverse, she backed out of the spot and headed toward the grocery store exit. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed her tail not too far behind. She snatched up her bottle of soda—forget that Diet crap—twisted the cap off, and downed a deep gulp. She’d intended to drink it with the family-size bag of chips she’d bought, but with the heat burning the top layer of her epidermis off, she couldn’t wait.
Chips, cookie dough ice cream, chocolate—three of the major food groups. And she intended to eat all of them tonight while watching a Snapped marathon. No chick flicks for her. At least her pity-party-of-one would include homicidal females, murder, and men who left women high and dry after treating them to mind-blowing orgasms getting what they had coming to ’em…
Okay, she might’ve been projecting on that last part just a little.
Sighing, she slowed to a halt at the red light. Yes, drifting to sleep last night, she’d suspected Chay probably wouldn’t be there when she woke. But acknowledging it and experiencing it? Two different things. She’d recognized his probable desertion as she’d been in the midst of post-oral coitus bliss. But when she’d actually awakened, she’d been cold and alone. As cold and alone as the man who’d gifted her with such pleasure.
Demons rode Chay. Used him like his name was Hidalgo.
His lips had been on hers. His fingers had stroked and caressed her skin and flesh until she trembled in his arms. He’d introduced her to a desire and ecstasy she’d never realized existed—at least not for her. He’d completely debunked her myth of her being frigid. He’d redefined how she viewed herself sexually, as a woman.
And yet, the entire time, the darkness—the same shadows that had stained his eyes when she’d gone to his house earlier—had never abandoned his gaze. It’d skulked right beneath the bright blaze of hunger like an oil slick. He’d given to her—God, how he’d given—but he’d taken nothing. Hadn’t allowed her to touch him in return. To offer him the pleasure he’d granted her.
“I won’t add using you to the list.”
He refused to use her. But he had no problem with her using him.
Because in his mind, he didn’t deserve more. Or any better.
The shadows had something to do with what he discussed with the court-appointed counselor. Could she state it with a certainty? No. But… The cornered-animal look when he’d ordered her out of his house before kissing the ever lovin’ hell out of her. The pain in his voice when he’d mentioned the session. Yeah, no proof, but whatever he spoke about in those meetings—and she had a damn good idea what it was—had something to do with the demons and the darkness.
And the reason he wouldn’t allow her in.
A horn beeped behind her, breaking into her thoughts with the force and pleasantness of a sledgehammer.
“All right,” she snapped, noting the change of light from red to green and the source of the other driver’s irritation. “No need to be rude.” She glared into the rearview mirror—
A scarred, twisted face framed in a black hoodie sneered at her from the backseat.
She screamed, slamming the brake to the floor.
A hard, punishing hand grabbed her throat and squeezed.
“Shut up, whore,” a muffled voice growled in her ear—a muffled, electronic voice. Dear God. Something flashed in the light pouring through the windshield, and she glimpsed the silver blade of a knife out of her peripheral vision. In a second, the past sucked her through the wormhole. Once again she sat at a vanity in her dressing room, prisoner to a madman and another knife. “Drive. And if you do anything to try and alert the assholes tailing you, I’ll slit your throat.”
Mouth dry, she eased off the brake pedal and steered through the intersection. The impatient driver behind her swerved into the next lane the moment she cleared the junction, passing her with another blast of his horn. She jumped and a hot lick of pain lashed her. A warm, metallic scent invaded her nose and sticky fluid trickled from where the blade nicked the skin under her chin. She whimpered.
“Look what you made me do,” her assailant mumbled. The petulant, harsh tone belied the almost tender caress as he rubbed the side of his face against her temple. Hard plastic lightly scraped her flesh. A mask. The inane thought pierced through the white noise of terror and panic. The disfigured face in the mirror had been a mask. Why did that knowledge shoot an arrow of relief through her? That sh
e wasn’t being carjacked by Michael Myers didn’t eliminate the fact she was still being carjacked.
“You pushed me into his,” he muttered. Rough and fast breaths boomed in her ear like harsh bellows, magnified by the voice synthesizer and plastic. “I hadn’t planned on us meeting yet. Not yet. But then you let him put his dirty hands all over you.” The grip on her throat tightened. “You whored for him,” he rasped. His anger and, more terrifying, his hurt reached past the mask to beat at her. “You shouldn’t have let him touch you, Aslyn. You’re mine. No one can have you but me.”
Nausea churned in her stomach. Her gaze darted to the left and right. Cars zoomed past her on either side, in both directions. Why didn’t anyone notice that a masked psycho threatened her at knifepoint? Why didn’t one person unglue their attention from their fucking phones or conversations and realize their neighbor was being kidnapped?
She glanced in the rearview mirror again. But she didn’t glimpse the sedan. A sob swelled up from her chest, lodging in her throat.
“Don’t slow down for this light,” he commanded as she braked for the yellow light several feet ahead of her. “Go through it. Now!” he barked.
She jammed the accelerator, and the car shot through the light like a bullet. The yellow switched to red as she cleared the intersection. Behind her, tires squealed and horns blared. The cry wedged in her throat broke free, reverberating in the car. Jesus Christ, we’re going to die.
“Good. That’s good.” Satisfaction oozed from his voice. “Turn left here.”
She obeyed, but inside she quaked. Canton wasn’t downtown Boston. A couple more turns and they would leave the business district and enter the more residential areas. The chances of her receiving help in the quieter, more secluded neighborhoods would reduce from maybe to not-a-chance-in-hell.
Think, damn it! Think.
She burrowed past the debilitating fear and for the first time since the masked figure appeared in her mirror, spoke.
“Where are we going?” Buy time. Keep him talking. Maybe her scrambled thoughts could settle long enough to come up with…something. Anything. “I don’t know where to go—”
“Shut up. I’ll tell you where to go and what to do. Don’t you worry about that,” he murmured. “Here. Make this left.”
Her heart pounded in her chest like a brass drum section. Ahead stretched the road leading to one of the upscale gated communities. If she turned at this corner, she would be dead. Or worse.
One more light to go through.
Damn it. Green. Think. Talk. Do something…
“I said turn here,” he snapped, momentarily shifting the blade away from her throat to jab at the windshield. “Go—”
Slam.
She punched the brake pedal to the mat.
Fire blazed along her jaw, but she ignored it, jerking the gear into park. A roar resounded from the backseat, filling the interior. She fumbled with the seat belt, animal-like whimpers escaping her throat. Like she was trapped in a horrible nightmare, she moved as if submerged in water. Slow. Clumsy. With a cry, she finally unsnapped the belt, and she yanked on the handle.
Cruel fingers clamped down on her shoulder.
She wrenched free, tumbled from the open car door, and hit the pavement. Pain bit into her shoulder, but she scrambled to her hands and knees. And bolted.
A car charged toward her. Veered at the last second, horn blowing.
“No!” he roared. But she didn’t stop to check and see if he pursued her. Didn’t stop to glance over her shoulder and gauge if she’d made a clean getaway.
She just didn’t stop.
Chapter Fourteen
What in the hell was taking so long?
Chay leaned against the wall of the Canton Police Department’s lobby, arms crossed. He stared at the wall behind the front desk. Somewhere behind that wall, Aslyn sat at the desk of a detective being interrogated about today’s near kidnapping.
He gritted his teeth. Jared and Riley had called hours ago to relay what happened. Aslyn almost kidnapped. Cut by her attacker. Almost ran over by a car. Damn. He dug his fingers into his arms. She could’ve been killed.
On his watch.
A dull ache bloomed along his jawline. The fear, the utter terror she must’ve suffered… Goddamn, he just needed to see her. To determine for himself she was okay, whole. Here.
How long did an interview take?
He pushed off the wall.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Rafe said from beside him. “They have guns and jail cells and aren’t afraid to use them.”
Getting arrested for disorderly conduct wouldn’t bring Aslyn out any faster. Not to mention an arrest would be counterproductive to protecting her. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned to stare out the window.
The residual flavor of terror lingered in his mouth. No Tic Tac could get rid of this aftertaste. Though he hadn’t been there, the images he’d conjured as he raced to the scene and then the police station had hounded him.
Her car peeling through the yellow light, leaving her tail far behind.
Her stumbling out of her car and almost being hit by another. Which had promptly fled the scene, freaking Boston drivers.
His guys, who had hauled ass to catch up with her, had witnessed her tumble and near hit-and-run. Unfortunately, by the time they’d reached her side, Aslyn’s attacker had bolted. No one—not Chay’s men or the police—had been able to locate the bastard.
He’d failed her.
“Shut up,” Rafe growled.
Chay glanced over at his friend. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Not out loud,” he snapped. “But your mental ass-kicking is loud and annoying as hell.”
Chay snorted, shaking his head. “Why did I bring you with me? A pit bull would’ve been more comfort. And less distracting. Hell, the cop behind the desk keeps looking at you like you’re about to go all Terminator on his ass.”
Rafe arched a pierced eyebrow. “A. I brought you. Not the other way around. You don’t have a car right now, remember? And B. Would a pit bull love you enough to tell you to cut out the self-castration bullshit, that this isn’t your fault? I think not. The pit bull would’ve just pissed on your leg and then humped it.”
A corner of Chay’s mouth quirked. The man definitely had a way with words. But as soon as the humor appeared, it disappeared. He rubbed a hand across his forehead, frustrated.
“I may not have been on the security detail, but she was under my protection. It’s my job to foresee the danger and plan for it.”
“I get that.” Rafe nodded. “But who could’ve predicted this rate of escalation? Hell, in four days this guy has gone from Peeping Tom to kidnapper and attempted murderer. This shit usually takes months, even years to escalate. Not less than a week.”
Rafe had a point. In one day, the bastard had tried to take Chay out and abduct Aslyn. One damn day. Yeah, in Chay and Rafe’s experience, this kind of acceleration in aggression and violence in so short a time was almost unheard of.
But at the moment, with Aslyn hurt and terrified, time frame and method didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered except her safety.
“She can’t go back to her house,” he murmured. “She isn’t safe there. After today, it’s clear this asshole has no boundaries. I wouldn’t put it past him to try and snatch her from the house.”
“I wouldn’t, either. Even with the security system in place, I agree the house is no longer secure. You think she’d go along with moving?”
God, he hoped so. But could he say for certain? No. She’d left her home in L.A. and moved across the country. Now he would ask her to relocate yet again. He hated imposing more change in her life, but her protection trumped that worry.
“She’s a client,” he said flatly. “I don’t know if she’s going to be happy about it, but at this point if I have to kidnap her myself, I’m not above it.” Anything. He’d do anything. Imagining her body violated, her laughter silenced, a
nd her spirit dimmed punched him in the chest, driving the breath from his lungs. “I can move her to one of our safe houses. Maybe the Charlestown condo. The building has its own security, and then our added system makes it very secure. I won’t chance going back to the house for her clothes and risk being followed, so when we leave here, we’ll need to stop and purchase things for her.”
“Sounds good. I’ll call Riley and Jared to follow and make sure you don’t pick up a tail.” Rafe straightened from his lounge on the wall and dipped his chin. “Hey. There’s your girl.”
Before the words had cleared Rafe’s mouth, Chay pivoted, his gaze fixed on the door from which Aslyn emerged. He didn’t bother denying the “your girl.” It resonated inside him, and something primal inside him roared a “hell yeah.”
She shook hands with the detective who’d escorted her through the door and then turned.
Pale. Scraped. Disheveled. Bruised.
And so beautiful, a shudder rippled through him.
One step. Two. Another, and he was on her, dragging her within the shelter of his arms, not noticing if she clung to him or not. Relief poured through him, weakening his knees in a manner he was certain should have him relegated to the pussy brigade. But right now, he didn’t give a damn. Because right now, in his embrace, no stalker could hold a knife to her throat. No danger could touch her.
“Oh yeah, just another client.” Rafe’s low murmur meant for Chay’s ears only came from behind him. Before Chay could snap at Rafe to kiss his ass, Aslyn lifted her head from where he’d tucked it under his chin. The wry twist of Rafe’s mouth softened, his eyes losing their wicked gleam. “Hey, highbrow,” he said softly. “Next time, tuck and roll.”
She stiffened, but then her snicker vibrated against Chay’s chest. He tightened his arms around her, heat that had nothing to do with her curvy body flooding through his veins, warming him from the inside out.
Aslyn might leave for L.A. in the very near future, but when she did, it wouldn’t be with another obsessed asshole stalking her, hunting her down like an animal. He’d catch this son of a bitch and cage him instead. Freedom and healing would be his gift to her when she returned to her normal life. When she left Boston. And him.