Beneath the Burn

by Pam Godwin

  “Charlee!”

  Nathan. Somewhere ahead. She tried to respond, but her voice choked. She clung to Jay’s hand and waved the other in front of her. She cracked an eye and regretted it instantly. Tears flooded down her face in a hot surge.

  “The smoke doesn’t smell right.” Nathan’s rasp was muffled and too far away. Where was everyone else? No other voices hopefully meant they’d fled the bus.

  Jay stumbled, kicked something out of the way. The clutter made their progress painfully slow, and the smoke weakened her lungs and weighted her movements.

  “Almost there.” Jay squeezed her hand, slick with sweat.

  Her boot caught the edge of a large open case. It flipped into her leg and knocked her off balance. She tottered, lurched, and a sharp prick seared through her bicep. Ouch. What the hell was that?

  Jay’s hand tightened in hers as he turned. “Charlee?”

  His voice echoed in her head. Numbness chilled her limbs and spread through her core. The cabin fell quiet, the smoke grew thinner, and something wrapped around her throat, pulled from behind. “There’s something…” Her voice slurred. Wheezing. Dizzy. There was something back there. Something there. Then, there was nothing.

  90

  Charlee’s hand ripped from Jay’s grasp, and the panic he’d tried so hard to stifle tore from his throat. “Charlee!” He gulped, toxic air scorching his insides. “Charlee!”

  No answer. Christ, did she fall? Hit her head? He fell upon his knees and shoved aside guitar cases and electronics. “Charlee? Charlee, where are you?” He raced over the floor on hands and knees, sweeping the couches, under the dining table, the seats around it.

  The heat smothered him. The smoke…so much smoke. His body locked up, and the walls closed in. The oven. Oh God, he was too big. He curled into himself, didn’t want to touch the scorching walls.

  His lungs burned, his eyes scratched and watered, and he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face through all the goddamned smoke. No. Not the oven. He was on a bus…a bus…a bus. With Charlee. He shot to his feet and stretched his arms. Fuck. “Charlee, please. Answer me.”

  “Jay?” A deep baritone.

  “Colson?” He spun toward the voice.

  “Yes, sir. You need to get off the bus. It’s going to blow.”

  Blow? His heart rate spiked, and his shoulders stiffened. “I can’t find Charlee. She was right here. She must’ve tripped. I don’t know. I can’t fucking find her.” His hands swung over the floor, slamming into furniture and bouncing off the luggage and can goods strewn over the aisle.

  “Okay,” Colson said from behind him. “I’ll search the front. You take the back.”

  She couldn’t be anywhere but right fucking there. Tears mixed with smoke and poured down his face. His lungs wheezed and labored. He crawled over the floor, dread rising with every lift of his legs. “Charlee! Charlee!” His voice shredded his raw throat. Fuck, where was she?

  “I’ve got her. I’ve got her,” Colson shouted from the front of the cabin. “I’m getting her off the bus. Hurry.”

  “You have Charlee? You’ve got her?” Jay scrambled to his feet and plowed through the shit in his way.

  “Yes, sir. I’m taking her to safety.” Colson’s voice floated in from outside the door.

  His blood pumped faster with the urgency of his strides. He crashed into the front dash and stumbled down the stairs. The billow of smoke followed him as he pitched across the asphalt, staggering to stay upright, coughing and blinking through stinging eyes. “Charlee? Colson?”

  He swung around, the landscape obscured by the pitch-black sky. No streetlights. No headlights. The road appeared deserted except for their motorcade. The Suburbans and buses angled haphazardly around him, submersed in plumes of smoke and swarmed by the silhouettes of his protective team. Charlee was nowhere amongst the mayhem.

  The door behind him swooshed closed, and the engine turned over.

  Blood drained from his face. No, no, no, no. He spun, drew his gun from his waistband. The bus rolled forward, accelerated.

  He ran, raised the gun, fired at the door. The glass cracked. Just the surface. Fucking bulletproof. His heart thrashed in his chest, and his legs burned from the exertion of his sprint. Pain exploded through his jaw from the force of his clench.

  The smokescreen within held its thickness. How the fuck could the driver see?

  The bus picked up speed, moving faster than Jay could run. He shot a tire. Another and another. They continued to spin. Too many tires. Too far away. The gun clicked. Out of ammo.

  Nausea tore through his stomach and boiled through his chest. He didn’t slow his strides. He couldn’t. Couldn’t let the taillights out of his sight. “Tony! Nathan!”

  The taunting red lights faded, vanished, swallowed by the night. His heart fractured, releasing unbearable agony. He clutched his chest, his eyes swelling, his throat constricting. No, he wouldn’t give into it, wouldn’t let his grief take the wheel and drive.

  He pulled out his phone and dialed 911, hoping the police could track a tour bus in the middle of goddamned nowhere, fucking praying they weren’t on Roy Oxford’s payroll.

  91

  Charlee’s eyes flew open and collided with Roy’s. His face hovered inches away. The pungency of his cologne set off her gag reflex, and her heart banged against her ribs.

  She jerked her arms where they stretched above her head, her hands imprisoned by rope. The leather couch creaked beneath her. Still on the bus, the only remnant of smoke was the burn lingering in her lungs.

  The strips of lights on the ceiling cast a muted glow, highlighting the creases in his pale face. He raked a hand through his black mass of hair with an uncharacteristic yank and inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. “You’re awake.” He released his breath. “I was worried. Propofol is…tricky.”

  “Propofol?” Her head spun, not with a post-drug fog, but with the will to overpower, to control how this would end.

  A hush enveloped the bus, but she refused to let her thoughts leap to the cruelest explanation for Jay and Nathan’s absence. Outside the windows, metal walls surrounded them. She’d been transported somewhere, hidden in a building.

  He brushed her hair behind her ear, sparking shivers where he touched. “The injection was Propofol. The milk of amnesia. How do you feel?”

  How did she feel? Seriously? She gave him her coldest glare. “Like you care.”

  He hung his head, and his hand crept over her belly. “I care, Charlee. I’ve always cared. Perhaps a bit too much.” His fingers whispered over the waistband of her jeans, slipped the button free, and lowered the zipper.

  Everything inside her bucked, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Where are we?”

  “Mississippi.”

  Helpful. Not. “Are we in a shed?”

  “A hangar.” His eyes followed his fingers as they slipped inside her pants.

  She recoiled uselessly into the cushion.

  “Our plane will be ready shortly.” He spread the fly open, lowered his head, and pressed his lips against her silk-covered mound.

  A violent tremble invaded her body. She could tell him Jay’s semen still coated her pussy, but the backlash might be more forceful than her bones and skin could withstand. His lips delivered light kisses over her belly button, and she tensed up, magnifying the tremors. She sucked in a breath. “There are cameras on all the vehicles that feed live footage to a remote location. They have evidence of you boarding the bus and driving it away.”

  “Oh, Charlee. So many blanks in the puzzle. What would you give me for the answers?”

  What could she stomach? “A kiss?” He’d kiss her regardless. Could she kiss him back?

  His tongue burrowed inside the opening of her pants and found her clit through the barrier of her panties. “A real kiss.”

  That was too easy. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Your bodyguard planted a hack in the recording software for me, disabled the GPS, and h
e drove the bus away.”

  Her stomach twisted, and saliva rushed through her mouth. “Who?”

  His exhale blew a sick heat over her groin. “Colson was easily bought. Three kids in private universities and an ex-wife who continues to drag him to court for more money. He couldn’t turn down the paid tuition and the quieted ex.”

  “But how?” Her head throbbed to make sense of it. “The bus was on fire, the engine destroyed.”

  “My shooters tapped the engine blocks on all the vehicles but this one.” He raised his head and propped an elbow on the cushion between her bound legs. “Colson laid the smokescreen with a phosphorus grenade and chased your friends off the bus with a warning of explosion. The distraction allowed him to pop the needle in your arm and hide you in the bathroom.”

  She closed her eyes until she could wrestle down her heart rate. “How did he drive with all the smoke?”

  “Thermal imaging goggles and a gas mask.” He gestured at the head gear tossed on the galley counter.

  “That’s a far-fetched story. The protective team wouldn’t have evacuated without me.” Jay had been an arm’s length away. He wouldn’t have let her go unless something happened to him. Dread squeezed a fist around her throat, crushing her ability to breath.

  His lips twitched and her stomach dropped. “Don’t look so sad, Charlee. Nathan Winslow and Maryanna Tony didn’t abandon you. Colson told them he’d hidden you safely in the nearby woods.” A tic jumped in his cheek. “They might still be searching for you there if Mr. Mayard hadn’t created such a disturbance.”

  The blood in her veins turned to ice. “Where is he?”

  “An hour away. Soon, he’ll be an ocean away. How does Italy sound, my beautiful girl?”

  Panic shook her body. Her blood pressure elevated with every breath. “You will not kill him.”

  “No.” He traced a line from her pubis to her bra, dragging her shirt up with his invasion. “I’ve made mistakes in the past. Some unforgivable.” He stroked her flesh, rising goose bumps across her belly.

  Her molars scraped, grinding in her ears. “Oh, you mean Noah, my father, the guard, and his niece? Did you rape her?”

  The skin around his mouth tightened, and his eyes flicked down and back up. The air congealed around him. Dense and oily, it crept the distance between them and trickled over her skin, chilling her from head to toe.

  His hand moved from her chest to her face, cupping her jaw. The movement was deliberate as though he were forcing himself to do it slowly. He bent above her, his face lowering, his eyes glazing over. “I’ll collect that kiss now.”

  Her pulse beat a ringing drum in her head. She held herself immobile as his mouth covered hers, his tongue piercing through her lips and his fingers digging into her cheek. She tongue lay limp, her stomach rolling.

  The grip on her face controlled her jaw. He was ruthless in the way he kissed her. His teeth sliced her lips. His tongue whipped and slashed.

  When a sharp, pained cry escaped her throat, he sat back, lifted his hand, and smacked her. “Kiss me like you kiss Jay Mayard, and I won’t harm him, his band, or their careers.”

  The heat from his strike rippled over her cheek, but the prick of his words was worse. How many times had Roy watched her kiss Jay through the hacked cameras at the estate? The violation was too much. No more. This ended now.

  The clamor in her head narrowed, concentrated into a plan. Intent pumped through her blood and strengthened her limbs. “Promise his safety.” The promise wasn’t needed, but it was an expected thing to ask.

  He studied her face with his uncanny ability to see everything, and his eyebrows lowered over hard eyes. “Not just one kiss, Charlee. Every kiss from now on. As long as you continue to give me that, I promise his safety.”

  Resolution settled around her heart. She nodded, knowing it would only be one kiss, because she would not be walking off that bus.

  Leaning forward, he sought her mouth, and she gave him what he wanted, a kiss she’d never given him before, one that would knock him off balance long enough to execute her plan. She drew in his bottom lip and nursed it tenderly. Licking and nibbling, her tongue pliable but demanding, she stroked deep into his mouth, tried to touch the innermost part of him.

  Rather than kissing Noah’s murderer, she told herself he was just a man. A normal man made of flesh and muscle and stable mind. His hands tangled in her hair and swept down her neck. It was both revolting and heart-wrenching the way he welcomed her gentleness, hungry for affection, moving his mouth to follow hers as if she were his oxygen.

  He broke the kiss, his cheek rubbing against hers, breath heavy and content. “I’ll do better,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you anymore.”

  Wow, real convincing, Roy. It’d been a whole two minutes since he’d raised his hand against her. “I believe you.” Because he’d never have the opportunity to do it again.

  His hands clenched on her shoulders, his gaze boring into hers. “I won’t live another day without you. Do you understand, Charlee? If something happens to you, if I lose you again, I will not go on.”

  Knew that. Counted on it. She blinked, expression blank.

  “Mr. Oxford.” The Craig’s voice carried up from the bottom of the steps. “The jet is ready.”

  “Thank you, Salvador.” His eyes never drifted from hers. “It’s important you believe me,” he said, softly. “I want you to want to be with me.”

  What fueled his change of heart? Watching her with Jay on the cameras at the estate? Seeing her plastered all over the Internet and in magazines, always on Jay’s arm, smiling and happy?

  Delusional, self-important prickadonna. He had a rather high opinion of himself to think she could ever have that with him.

  He reached for the knots at her ankles and worked them loose. “My armed guards are just outside the door. I’m taking the first step in our new relationship.” He released the ties on her wrists. That done, he rose and stared down at her, a smile bending his vile mouth.

  Holding out his hand to her, he must have thought he was making colossal progress letting her walk with him without restraints. In about thirty seconds, it would be one of the chief regrets in his life.

  She closed up her pants, grasped his hand, and tried to ignore the escalating beat of her heart. With each step to the stairs, her breathing quickened and her palms grew slicker with sweat.

  As he stepped into the stairway, she glanced at the ignition switch. No key. She grabbed the railing with her free hand and moved to follow him, slowing her pace, letting the distance stretch between them.

  The hand he held slipped as her arm went taut with the extension of his pull. She yanked it back, gripped the other handrail. Bracing her upper body with the rails on either side, she hauled up her boots and kicked the middle of his back.

  He propelled forward, missed the bottom step and rolled over the concrete. She spun and slammed her hand into the manual crank. The doors crashed closed as he launched for them, the seal catching his fingers.

  His hand recoiled, and a red tide washed over his face. “Charlee.” A restrained growl. He slammed his palm against the door, tried to pry it open. “Salvador! The key!”

  Shit, shit, shit. The electric door mechanism could be unlocked from the outside, but what about that time Rio locked out Laz when they were arguing over a video game? He’d engaged a manual override somewhere…she fumbled over the crank, up and down the handle. There. She flipped the lever and turned toward the door, hands shaking.

  Two bullet holes splintered the outside surface of the glass. Frightening images infiltrated her mind of her friends in a gun fight while she slept in oblivion on the bus.

  The Craig worked the key until Roy shoved him away and tried it himself. “Charlee, open the door.” His low, cool tone vibrated with an edge of agitation.

  His persistence guaranteed he’d find a way in. She raced down the aisle, through the drape, and scrambled over her bunk. Nathan had given her a new phone at the start
of the tour. She’d never used it, wasn’t sure if it would be charged. She dug through the pocket beside the plate of outlets and device ports. Following a white cord from the dock to the pocket, she found the phone still plugged in.

  A gale of air escaped her lungs as she swiped through the contact list. Nathan. Tony. Jay. She tapped his name and held it to her ear.

  The call connected, and Jay’s deep timbre barked through the phone. “Who is this?”

  “It’s me.” Her heart leapt to her throat. “I don’t have much time.”

  A rustle whispered over the line. “You’re on speaker. Where are you?” His breath was heavy with exertion, panic.

  “On the bus inside a hangar. A private airport, maybe. An hour from where he took me.” If Roy hadn’t lied about those details.

  “Are there any signs, anything indicating the location?” Nathan asked.

  Gun shots fired outside the bus, the echo rattling her bones.

  “Was that gun fire?” Jay’s voice thrummed with fury. “Where’s Roy?”

  She crept to the rear lounge, bent low to the ground, phone clutched to her ear. “I locked him outside the bus. Will the lock hold?”

  “The key can’t override it,” Tony said. “But he can find a way in with a few tools and a little time.”

  Peering over the nearest window, she scanned the interior of the hangar. “No signs on the walls. Doors are closed. No windows. Just the bus, the plane, and…four guards.” The sight of Colson among them curled her nails into her palm. “If this doesn’t work out, Roy said Italy was the destination.”

  “We’re working on it.” Tony sighed. “There are five airports within a hundred mile radius of our location. We don’t know which direction Colson went after he passed the nearest town. The cops…”

  “Were paid off.” Wouldn’t be Roy’s game unless he’d cheated, lied, and corrupted. She flinched as bullets plinked off both sides of the bus. “Would the tail number on the plane help?”

  “It’s doubtful he registered it.” Tony’s soft tone mimicked her doubt. “Read it off.”