Scorch Road (Scorch Series Romance Thriller Book 1)

by Toby Neal

  A truck loaded with men rolled slowly by, eyeballing them, and JT was glad they’d moved the manhole cover back over the gas tank so their theft wasn’t easily spotted.

  “Melody!” Elizabeth cried when her friend picked up. The woman’s scream of delight was not confined by the handset. JT winced. This girl sounded like a handful. “There isn’t much time.” Melody was talking fast but Elizabeth interrupted her to tell her the basics.

  Her friend said something, and he heard Elizabeth sniffle. “I’m okay,” she whispered. A small laugh. “No, really. You know me, Mel. I can take it.” Another pause. “Of course we’ll see each other again. You and me, come on. Not even the apocalypse can keep us apart.”

  Elizabeth hung up and came to stand next to JT. He was huge next to her small frame, and every cell in it was vibrating toward her, urging him toward her. Right now. He could sense that she needed the contact as much as he did. But if he touched her, he was afraid he’d never be able to stop.

  “Thank you.” Her voice small. “I’m so glad Melody will be at your place.”

  JT wasn’t glad about it at all. He wanted Elizabeth there instead, but that wasn’t going to happen. She’d made that abundantly clear, so asking her to join him there was a waste of time. “Get back in the truck. We’ve spent way too long here already.” Yeah, his alter ego Mr. Gruff was alive and well—but growling was better than giving in and kissing Elizabeth right out in the open, leaving them both vulnerable in more ways than one.

  Chapter Twelve

  Elizabeth

  Darkness fell and they drove until JT was nodding at the wheel and Elizabeth was exhausted, the effects of the day catching up.

  “I think we’d better pull over for the night,” Elizabeth said. “We need some real rest.”

  JT pulled over onto a dirt track that ran through a corn field, the stalks taller than the Range Rover. About a half mile in, JT turned and drove straight into the corn, crunching it under the big truck and shielding the vehicle from the main road.

  The air was thick with the scent of crushed corn, sweet and earthy. Elizabeth got out of the truck and let Pinocchio out, stretching and yawning as she walked a bit to get circulation back into her legs. JT opened the hatch and seated himself on the edge of the truck under the light from the raised door. Elizabeth paused, hidden among the stalks, and watched him for a few moments.

  His head was bent as he reloaded his Glock’s magazine, slipping bullets into the cartridge holder with deft fingers. Light fell on his strong back, highlighting the curve and slope of the muscles, gleaming on his black curls. He looked like an angel to her: a fierce, protective angel with a pistol instead of a sword.

  He’d killed four men that day. And she’d killed two.

  She tried not to remember the scene, but it flashed again before her eyes. Elizabeth reached into her pocket and felt the reassuring shape of her switchblade. JT set the gun down next to him and reached into his own pocket, his hand touching something there.

  She approached, catching his gaze. His hazel eyes seemed more green than brown tonight.

  “Let me take a look at your back,” she said. “I bet some of those wounds opened up with all the activity.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “JT, come on.” She tugged at his arm and he stood up. She turned him around, and he yanked his tee off over his head.

  “I’m redoing all of this,” Elizabeth stated when she saw the twisted and dirty bandages. It took her twenty minutes to replace the damaged dressings with clean, orderly ones.

  As she laid the last piece of tape across his back she let her hand linger there for just a moment—one stolen second of her flesh against his—a comfort she needed after the day they’d endured.

  “All done.” She stepped away from him.

  JT pulled his shirt back on. “I’m starving, but it’s not a good idea to start a fire.”

  “I can make sandwiches.”

  They sat in the open hatch and ate peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat in silence.

  “Are you cold?” JT asked as the night grew darker, taking on a deepening chill. He reached into his clothing bag and pulled out a sweatshirt. “Here.”

  Elizabeth shrugged into the giant garment. It was like wearing a warm, fuzzy tent that smelled like JT, and it chased away the sound of the man she’d shot that was playing in her mind on repeat: the biker stumbling backwards, hitting the safety railing on the bridge, losing his balance, arms flying wide before he tumbled over the railing . . . then the splash. The wind in the corn sounded like water to her.

  “What’s this?” JT pulled a bottle of whiskey from the supplies.

  Elizabeth smiled. “Found it in your cabinet. Medicinal purposes.”

  “Great thinking. I’ve never needed a drink so badly in my life.”

  At seventeen, Elizabeth had been a studious little dork, and didn’t party like the other kids in her class. If she had, Elizabeth would have been drugged like Brian’s other victims—instead, she’d been very much awake for his attack after swim practice one day.

  JT opened the bottle of whiskey as she touched her throat, remembering how the rapist’s fingers had tightened around her neck as he straddled her hips, trying to rip through her Speedo swimsuit with his free hand. Brian’s face had been red with anger and exertion, his blond hair falling forward over his sweating brow as his cold eyes stared at her body, intent on subduing her. Sparks of light had burst across her vision as he choked her, and Elizabeth fumbled in the pocket of her sweatpants, feeling the weight of her grandmother’s antique knife, a recent gift. She’d flicked the blade, a sharp sound that he missed over his own excited breathing, and brought it up fast and hard. Brian’s eyes had gone wide as warm blood gushed over her hand and she shoved the knife into the hilt.

  He’d died messily on top of her, his final breaths filled with gurgled curses that burned into her ears—and her brain.

  JT took a slug of the whiskey and passed the bottle to Elizabeth.

  “This is my father’s brand. You have good taste.” Elizabeth took the bottle and ran her finger over the label. Glenlivet 15 Year, a staple in her parents’ townhouse in DC. She took a deep swallow, feeling the heat and loving it. She passed it back to JT.

  His fingers brushed hers as he took it. She folded her hands in her lap, his touch igniting a yearning inside her. She cleared her throat. “Did you ever kill anyone before . . . like in the army or something?”

  “No.” JT’s voice was quiet and she glanced over at him. Would he ask her the same? Of course not. “I’m sorry you had to see that . . . do that.”

  “That wasn’t my first time. Killing someone.”

  “What?” JT’s brow furrowed. He clearly didn’t understand. How could he?

  Elizabeth was standing on the edge of a cliff, her balance precarious, a long flat plain behind her and an endless fall in front of her.

  She didn’t want to tell JT the story . . . but she also did. The aftermath of her father trying to convince her to let him cover it up and her refusal had led to a firestorm of media and accusations. A few things had gotten her through it: therapy, Melody, and the fact that she was a virgin. It had been hard for the prosecutor to convince anyone she was “asking for it” when she’d never done “it.”

  But that hadn’t stopped Brian’s parents from trying. Their attacks had been almost as vicious as their son’s.

  Elizabeth kept the memories at the bottom of a well, surrounded by high, slimy walls—a place impossible to escape from—but the water wasn’t deep enough for the damn things to disappear into entirely.

  “Elizabeth.” JT squeezed her thigh in that way he had. “This is a lot. Do you need to sleep? It’s been a hell of a day.”

  Elizabeth shook her head, holding his gaze this time. There was no judgment, only sympathy in those hazel eyes.

  How did she start this story? Elizabeth took the knife from her pocket. It was small enough so that only the end showed when it was clenched in her f
ist. Slowly she opened her palm, revealing the iridescent pearl handle, shaped for a lady’s hand. “With this. I killed him with this.” She pushed the release and the blade exploded from its hiding place, catching the light from the hatch and reflecting it back, yellow and bright—sharp and deadly.

  Elizabeth couldn’t look at JT. She kept her gaze on the blade, her thumb stroking the mother-of-pearl. She’d insisted on getting it back from evidence after the trial. She didn’t feel safe without the knife within easy reach. “He was going to rape me. I had no choice.” Her eyes stung, but Elizabeth refused to cry. “I mean, I could have let him rape me. But that didn’t feel like one of my choices.”

  JT’s hand stroked her thigh, back and forth, soothing but firm. His breathing was harsh, but he didn’t speak. What was he thinking? She glanced at him to see.

  His eyes were almost black, his sensuous mouth set into a line of anger.

  “I’m sorry that happened to you.” His mouth tightened and his eyes glittered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been the one to kill him for you.”

  Elizabeth’s chest cracked open at his acceptance and desire to protect her. She couldn’t respond, her throat tight with emotion. JT reached over and cupped her face and she leaned into his palm, a small sigh escaping her. His thumb, big and rough, stroked over her mouth. Elizabeth felt it all the way to her toes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe today. And I’m sorry I yelled at you after.”

  “Killing those men was the right thing to do. I know it was. I’ve done a lot of therapy around that,” she smiled under his thumb. “So I know a justified kill. You did the right thing. We both did.” JT nodded, his thumb stroking her cheek now.

  Elizabeth sucked in her lip, terrified to say more. The sensation of standing on the edge of a void took hold of her again: dizziness and fear, mingling with an unquenchable urge to jump.

  “I feel safe with you, even when we’re in danger. And I want you.” The color of his eyes seemed to shift from a brown and gold to green—his beauty, his touch were overwhelming her. She was drunk on him. “I’ve never wanted anyone—not since it happened.”

  His voice was low and harsh. “I want you too, E. I want you so much.”

  They stayed like that for a long moment—sitting on the edge of the tailgate, clouds swirling across the night sky and a chilly breeze tangling in their hair, making them shiver. JT closed the distance, bringing his mouth over hers, the taste of tears and whiskey mingling in their kiss.

  Her senses were swamped instantly with his strength, touch, and smell. Elizabeth let herself go, sinking into him even as she wrapped herself around him.

  It was exquisitely right, as if everything about her fit with everything about him.

  His heart thundered against her breasts as their kiss deepened, filling the darkness of her closed eyes with the drumbeat of essential life. His free hand roamed, smoothing from her shoulder to her butt and back up again, with a pause to stroke her sensitized nipple with his thumb, eliciting a sound from her that he captured with his mouth and gave back as his own. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “So brave.”

  Elizabeth gave a breathless chuckle. “No. You are.” She let her own hands wander: stroking his thick curls, his pecs, along his ridged abs, over the corded muscles of his back, her nostrils filled with the drugging scent of him that had captured her the first day.

  Her fingertips brushed the knot of his nipple, and his whole body jerked beneath her touch as if she’d zapped him with lightning.

  She had such power beneath her hands. She affected him as much as he did her.

  Pinocchio’s bark broke them apart. Both of their bodies went rigid, readying for an attack, and JT slid forward to stand, one arm around her protectively, the other grabbing up his Glock.

  Two deer burst from the corn, leaping away, Pinocchio chasing them as they bounded into the field.

  “Whoa,” JT shouted, and Pinocchio, his tongue hanging out, froze. The dog looked back at his master and flattened his ears, before lowering his whole body to the ground in supplication, whining. He clearly knew he wasn’t supposed to chase deer.

  Elizabeth couldn’t bear to not be touching JT, and snuggled back against his hard body.

  “We should get more comfortable,” he said. The butterflies in her stomach took flight.

  “Yes.” The word she’d never imagined she’d say leapt from her lips. She was as free and wild as the deer.

  JT

  JT reached inside the truck and pulled out one of the blankets, slamming the hatch. The light inside the truck went out, dousing them in darkness.

  “I have something to tell you, too,” he said, shaking out the blanket.

  “Oh?” Her voice had gone high and a little shaky. He reached out, fumbling for her hand in the dark.

  “Yeah.” He tromped the corn down in a rough circle, keeping hold of her hand. Touching her was essential for what he had to say—it was too hard otherwise. Might be too hard anyway.

  He spread the blanket out on the crushed corn and knelt on it, drawing her down to kneel in front of him. His eyes adjusting to the dark at last, JT enjoyed moonbeams moving on her hair like light over the hood of a shiny silver car. “I was married before. A long time ago. It ended . . . sadly.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I wondered how you could be still be single. I mean . . . you’re so attractive.” She ducked her head in embarrassment even as her words stoked warmth inside him.

  A memory surfaced, of Mary’s deep brown hair, dense and dark like polished wood. It didn’t hurt this time—maybe he was finally moving on.

  “Mary was my high school sweetheart—we were very much in love.” He looked down at his hand, where his wedding ring had circled his finger for over a year after her death. “She died having our baby.” He cleared his throat as his tiny daughter’s face, sweet and painfully fragile, clouded his vision. "Zoe only lived a few days. It put me in a really dark place for a long time.”

  Elizabeth gave a soft gasp as she reached out and put her hands on his shoulders—the weight of them comforted him. “JT, I’m so sorry.” Her voice was thick with tears.

  He ran his hands up and down her firm, silky arms. Yes, touching her was essential. It kept him from flying away somewhere into the vault of diamonds above them. “I keep our rings and carry them with me. Like you keep your knife, they’re a reminder of what I had. Of what I lost.”

  He reached into his pocket and took out the rings, warm from his body. Elizabeth cupped her hands and he placed them in the bowl of her fingers, releasing more than just the rings to her. She touched them delicately, reverently and then handed them back. JT slid them into his pocket. “Like I said, it was a long time ago. But I haven’t really . . . been with anyone I cared about since. So if I seem awkward . . .”

  “You seem awkward! I’m . . .” And she stopped whatever she was going to say as he took her face in his hands, pressing his mouth to hers. She opened for him with a breathy sigh. He kissed her deep and long, his hands busily roaming her slim, firm body as hers touched his. He lifted his sweatshirt off of her, and then her tee, and then that damned tight black exercise bra that he hated so much.

  Cool night air hit the rounds of small, pointed breasts and made them peak. Her skin glowed alabaster in the moonlight.

  “Oh, yes.” He groaned, and bent to suck one of those peaks into his mouth, his tongue flicking the tasty nipple. “So beautiful. So perfect.”

  She arched, whimpering, tugging at his shirt too, and he let her pull it off over his head. Their hands roamed, learning the heights and depths of each other’s bodies as they took off their pants—and as he’d known, she wasn’t wearing any panties. Pale as milk, with the build of a slender, toned ballerina, Elizabeth’s skin was satin and every moment that passed made him coil tighter, burn hotter.

  She slowed down, hesitant. Her touches became shy, her fingertips barely brushing him through his boxers but making him harder than a stallion in spring.

  “E,
” he moaned, tearing his mouth away from hers. “Are you—ready for this?”

  “I think so.” She murmured it into his collarbone, which she was nibbling on, the minx. Who knew collarbones could feel so good? He was throbbing with need, but didn’t want to rush her—everything about her body language was telling him he needed to go slow. Thank God he still had a few condoms in the glove box left over from those sad trips to Jackson he made when he couldn’t stand being alone any more.

  “Just relax.” He pushed her gently so that they lay on the blanket facing each other. “Just get to know me. And I’ll get to know you.” He stroked her side, her flanks, her belly, her breasts. She hummed, arching her body toward him, her hands on him eager and clumsy.

  He kept that up until she was whimpering, begging with little panting pleas. “Please, JT. Really. I want you. Please.” God, it was sexy! He eased her down onto her back. She tensed and tried to close her legs.

  “Just let me—get to know you.” His throat closed at her beauty, making his voice a rasp.

  “Oh, but—I’m a virgin!” she burst out. And she covered her face, pulling away from him, contracting her legs to curl on her side.

  He froze. She’d seemed a lot younger than his thirty-four, but she was a grad student so couldn’t be that young. “Uh. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four. And . . . I mean, I’ve done things, I’ve dated people—but . . . the attack happened when I was seventeen, and I . . . “ her voice wobbled.

  “It’s okay.” JT soothed her, gentle stroking pats along her belly and thighs. “You’re so beautiful, such a gorgeous, smart, amazing woman that it’s just a bit of a surprise, that’s all. Do you mind that I’m ten years older? Such an old man, compared to you.”

  She shook her head. “No. You’re perfect.”

  “That was my line,” he said, a smile curling his lips as he looked at her.

  Elizabeth laughed a little then, and gradually she loosened up as he kept up the petting and kissing and gentling, and finally she rolled onto her back, lowering her legs. Her hands came down from her face to rest on her hips in an unconscious gesture of invitation.