Scorch Road (Scorch Series Romance Thriller Book 1)

by Toby Neal

“I never want to leave this spot. This is the best little train track camp ever. I even love the rock digging me in the back,” JT said.

  She snorted a laugh, and he much preferred that to her tears.

  “You were badass, E. I’m so proud of you.” He stroked her hair off her hot, wet face. “Tell me you’re crying because you just had the best sex of your life.”

  She sniffed and rubbed her face back and forth across his shirt. “Yeah, that’s exactly it. Third time’s the charm.” She smiled, but her gaze turned serious as she locked eyes with him. “I didn’t know anything could feel as good as being with you. You’re pretty badass, yourself, Jacob Teodoro.”

  No one but his family called him his full name. She must have heard his mother say it, and he loved how it sounded when Elizabeth did.

  So many things hung on the tip of his tongue to tell her: Come with me to the Haven. I love you. Be my family.

  But he couldn’t say any of those words. He couldn’t ask it of her.

  She had a mission, and her own family to get to. A lifestyle he could never provide. She was a princess and deserved all the fine things that went with that.

  Pain choked him. It was, apparently, his lot in life to be alone.

  He rolled away, dislodging her, then rose and set himself to rights. He zipped up his pants and buttoned away his emotions.

  They still had miles to go, and if this morning was anything to go by, they wouldn’t be easy ones.

  Elizabeth

  The sun was setting as they left the tracks and stepped back onto pavement in Washington, DC. An orange haze filtered through the layer of smoke and cloaked the city in an eerie glow.

  Elizabeth’s body vibrated with tension.

  The city of her childhood was almost unrecognizable. The energy that pulsed in the capital was gone.

  While Philadelphia had maintained a sense of life as death stole over it, the burning buildings, the wailing sirens, the trudging, belching dump trucks collecting the dead, Washington DC was still: a corpse, a soulless husk.

  “It’s too quiet.” JT said. “Spooky.”

  “Yes.”

  The townhouses were boarded up, the streetlights dark.

  “Everybody must’ve fled the city,” JT said.

  “Maybe.”

  “This is so bizarre.”

  That was the first time Elizabeth heard uncertainty in JT’s voice. This whole journey together, while he’d obviously been affected by the disaster, he had never shown surprise. He’d known this was coming. The man had prepared. To hear the bewilderment in his voice sent a new chill through Elizabeth.

  By the time they reached Elizabeth’s parents’ neighborhood, the sky was dark and the city was stirring—electricity was gone, but candles flickered in upstairs windows.

  There were still people here, they were just hiding inside.

  The rat-tat-tat of gunfire made Elizabeth jump. JT wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, pressing up against a building, tugging Pinocchio against them.

  Gunshots came from behind them. Elizabeth scanned the block and saw nothing. It must be a few streets over. A scream was followed by more gunfire, then desperate moaning.

  JT and Elizabeth broke into a run, Pinocchio loping next to them. Elizabeth’s pack bounced, the hard edge of the cryocase biting into her spine with each step, until she turned a corner and she pulled JT down the street she’d grown up on.

  Her family’s townhouse was grand and intimidating. Built of limestone and marble, it was the architectural equivalent of her family’s position in this world: solid and uncompromising.

  Elizabeth ran up the stoop, JT by her side. They reached the thick double doors and Elizabeth rang the bell, then pulled out the brass knocker, releasing it against the metal plate, the sound echoing in the big house.

  “Elizabeth.”

  She turned to JT.

  “I don’t think anybody is home.” He gestured with his chin and Elizabeth looked at the windows. They were covered by boards.

  Elizabeth sagged under the weight of her pack. Of course, it was unlikely that her parents would be waiting for her, sitting in the living room, a tumbler of Glenlivet in her father’s hand and a tulip snifter of cognac in her mother’s. But to be standing at the door with no one answering, her fears realized, was overwhelming. Tears welled in Elizabeth’s eyes and her lip trembled. She pulled it between her teeth to steady it.

  “I know a way in. It’s too late to try and figure something else for tonight.” The echo of gunfire confirmed Elizabeth’s statement. She dropped her pack next to JT and jogged back down the stoop. Stairs in the sidewalk led under the stoop to the basement entrance. A security gate protected an exterior area where they kept trash cans. Sliding her hand through the bars, Elizabeth felt around for the deadlock and pulled it up, releasing the bolt. Her parents had always left her a key under the recycling bin and she hoped that their faith in her had been strong enough to keep it there.

  It was pitch black at the basement entrance and she found the container through touch and memory. Running her hand down the side of it, she slipped her fingers underneath and discovered an envelope. She pulled it free and stood, holding the paper up so that the moonlight hit it. Her name was scrawled on it in her father’s hand.

  Her breath caught and relief surged through her. She could feel the key through the thin envelope and tore it open. A note was wrapped around the key. She shoved the note into her pocket to read once they were inside.

  JT waited for her on the street, a Glock in his hand, his attention diverted toward the sound of approaching gunfire. Elizabeth pulled the gate closed and reached through the bars to jam the bolt into place before returning to the front door.

  Inside, Pinocchio’s nails clicked on the black and white marble floor of the vestibule. JT and Elizabeth with their packs almost filled the small space. Elizabeth closed the front door and relocked it before opening the second door which led to the foyer. With the windows boarded up and the door closed there was no source of light.

  JT clicked on a flashlight and the gracious entrance was illuminated. In front of them, the stairs to the second floor arched away. To their right, the wooden pocket doors of the parlor had been pulled shut.

  Tension vibrated the air as JT gazed around without a word.

  “Welcome.” Elizabeth’s voice echoed. The front hall had never looked so ostentatious. Its high ceilings and chic gray paint, shining parquet floor, and gilded mirror hanging above the antique pier table were all reminders of a past that Elizabeth wanted to forget.

  “This is where you grew up?”

  “Mostly.” She didn’t want to tell him about their summer house on Fisher’s Island.

  “Fancy.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t see JT’s face because of the flashlight in his hand, but his voice was cold. She closed the space between them, needing to feel him, needing the difference of their backgrounds not to matter. Everyone was the same.

  She touched his wrist and ran her hand up his forearm, over his bicep, feeling the rippling muscle and the goose bumps that her touch raised on his skin. Her hand found his neck and then curved up to the back of his solid skull, her fingers diving into his hair as she pulled him down for a kiss. His mouth moved over hers, that attraction between them finding expression in the hungry sound he made. He still wanted her.

  But he pulled away too soon. “We should make sure the rest of the house is secure.”

  JT followed Elizabeth through the mansion, lighting her way as they checked the entry points.

  They started with the parlor, Elizabeth opening the pocket doors. JT’s light scanned across the white couches and antique coffee table moving to the marble fireplace mantel, adorned with a scarlet glass vase from Venice—the only color in the otherwise gray-and-white room.

  The beam moved toward the windows, flashing over the grand piano, its top covered with silver framed photos of Elizabeth’s family, her father shaking hands with presidents and dignit
aries, her mother standing next to him with a wide smile on her picture-perfect face. The light found the windows with their silk drapes, and JT crossed the room to them, inspecting the security measures.

  “This was done by professionals.”

  “I’m sure it was.”

  “Are there more windows in the back?”

  “Yes.” Elizabeth led the way through the dining room past the table for eighteen into the kitchen. The back windows and door were as secured as the front. JT’s light flashed over the copper pots and pans, the gold flecked granite countertops and the six-burner stove. “This is a professional kitchen.”

  “They have a cook.” Elizabeth said.

  “Of course they do.” JT’s voice was flat as he walked back toward the stairs.

  JT’s silence said more than any words could as they checked the remaining three floors. When they reached Elizabeth’s room he stopped in the doorway. His light scanned over the Laura Ashley wallpaper, the canopy bed, the sitting area with its two chairs and a loveseat all covered in pink striped satin.

  “We can stay here tonight.” Elizabeth took his hand and pulled him towards the bed, but JT resisted at the doorway. He turned toward the sound of gunshots outside. “I have a note from my father I need to read.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was in the envelope with the key. Will you sit with me while I read it?”

  He nodded reluctantly. She pulled him into her bedroom and sat on the bed as he held the flashlight for her. She unfolded the single piece of paper and read aloud.

  “My dearest Elizabeth,

  I have faith that you will find this letter. Your mother and I will not grieve for you because we are sure that you are alive.

  We are headed to a safe house. The President and other legislators who are healthy will ride out the infection there as we try to find a cure.

  It’s in that place we celebrated your birthday last year. When you arrive tell the guards your name. They are expecting you. And they understand the cargo you carry is vitally important.

  Your mother and I pray for you every morning and night. We know that you will be with us soon.

  Love always, Mom and Dad.”

  Her voice wobbled. A tear dripped onto the page, smearing the ink.

  “This location. Where is he talking about?” JT asked.

  “It’s a club.” She sniffled. “Men only, until recently. He took me to lunch there for my birthday last year. Like you, he knew something like this was possible.”

  “The difference is that he had the power to stop it.”

  “No one had the power to stop this, JT.” Elizabeth’s voice was thick with tears, rising with anger. “You can’t blame my father for something that nature did.”

  “Whatever.” JT stood. “I’m going downstairs. I’ll sleep on the couch and make sure no one comes in. This place looks secure but we don’t want to be lazy about it. It’s an awfully ripe target.”

  He pulled away from her and headed back down the steps, leaving her alone in the dark.

  “JT, wait!” Elizabeth ran after him.

  “Really, you should get some rest. Tomorrow is a big day. We’ve got to–”

  Elizabeth cut him off. “Don’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “You’re leaving me alone in the dark. What’s wrong with you?” She grabbed his arm. “Why are you pulling away from me?

  “It’s over, Elizabeth.” His voice was low, emotionless, terrifying.

  “We have tonight.” She was pleading, pathetic, her gut clenched and heart aching.

  “Why delay the inevitable? Here’s the light.” He pushed the flashlight into her hand. She turned it on him and he held up a hand blocking the beam, and her view of his eyes.

  “You want to spend our last night apart?” Her voice trembled and she could hardly breathe with the pain. JT didn’t answer. She placed a hand on his cheek and tried to turn him toward her, but he stepped away. “What’s wrong?”

  “You’ll be safe with your parents soon, where you belong. You were a nice distraction.”

  “Distraction?”

  “Don’t pretend it was more for you. I hope you had fun slumming it.”

  “Slumming it? I gave you my . . . you’re disgusting!”

  “That’s right, princess, I am. Just a redneck Italian prepper from South Philly.”

  “Fine, then. Go sleep downstairs, if that’s what will make you happy.” Her voice was rising as hurt morphed into anger.

  He laughed, the sound hollow. “I’ll be happy once I’ve delivered you to your parents safe and sound.”

  “Delivered me? Like a package, a burden? Screw you, JT. I helped you get to Philadelphia and you know it. I saved your life!”

  “You almost got me killed, is more like it.”

  “Then why did you bring me here?”

  “For the cure. Even though it won’t work.”

  Elizabeth slapped him, his head whipping to the side. He touched a spot of blood on his lip as she stood mute before him.

  “Kitten has some claws.” He said, looking at the red stain on his fingers.

  He turned to leave again, but Elizabeth grabbed his arm, finding her voice again. “You’re lying, JT, I know you’re lying. It was more to you than just ‘a distraction!’” She dug her fingers into the meat of his arm. “Look at me!”

  JT refused to meet her gaze. Elizabeth released an inarticulate cry, her breath heaving in sobs of rage and anguish. She let go of his arm and raised her fists, beating at his chest. He captured her wrists easily and thrust her backward hard enough that she sat on the bed.

  And then he walked out, disappearing into the darkness of the hall.

  Elizabeth reached into her pocket and grabbed at her switchblade, stroking it. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest was on fire and her throat burned. She was hyperventilating and dizzy. Get it together.

  She put her head down between her knees. So hum, so hum, so hum.

  She stared down at the carpeting, trying to control her panicked breathing and not pass out. These powerful feelings couldn’t be just one-sided. It was impossible.

  But what did she know about love? She was just a former virgin with a stained past. She’d fallen hard and fast for a man who couldn’t love her back. Elizabeth tipped over, burying her head into the pile of pillows and wailed her pain into them. There was no one to care.

  Chapter Nineteen

  JT

  The smoky dawn was broken by the rattle of gunfire as they reached a blockade the next morning, a solid wall of sandbags. The club where her parents were hidden was on the other side, according to Elizabeth. The bulletproof vests had been heavy and hot to wear on the tracks, but now in the chill dawn, with so much firepower nearby, he was glad of the Kevlar—and doubly glad of it covering Elizabeth.

  He peered around a brick building, holding up a hand to keep her back as he assessed the street ahead. “Only another block, you say?”

  “Yeah. It’s got a big brick wall. Says Washington Club on a plaque.” Her voice was chilly. Elizabeth had refused to look at him or talk to him this morning, and it was a relief of sorts, but another kind of pain. They’d made a rough breakfast of granola bars and beef jerky under the prisms of her family’s chandelier at the polished dining room table.

  That chandelier said it all.

  He’d conveniently forgotten where she came from, but her parents’ house had been a forceful reminder that they were from different worlds. He’d never have anything like what she’d grown up with, nor would he want to. He despised crystal chandeliers and everything they stood for, and he hated politicians.

  Elizabeth was all wrong for him, for a life in a former bomb shelter using her scientist’s lily-white hands to milk nanny goats. Better this thing with her was over before it got started—and how he wished that it had never got started.

  She was in his blood, now, and it hurt like hell.

  The bone-chilling scream she’d unleashed followed
by the sound of her muffled sobs in the room above, the fact that his words, his lies, had caused her that much pain, hurt him even more. Lying on the couch, knowing that he could have been with her, inside her, had made for a very long, sleepless night. But why prolong the agony? It was better she left angry with him. She’d get over him faster. As for him . . . he already knew the taste of grief too well.

  A bullet whizzed by and buried itself three inches from JT’s face, nailing his cheekbone with a sliver of brick.

  He ducked behind cover.

  Daydreaming was going to get them both killed.

  “There’s some sort of sandbag barrier around the gate and wall up ahead. It looks like they’re under attack.”

  “You’re hit!” Elizabeth exclaimed, touching his cheek. Her fingertips came away red.

  He jerked back, frowning. “Did you hear me? We need some way to communicate who you are or we’re going to get our heads shot off by your parents’ people!” It felt good to say “your parents’ people” because hell if they were his people, walled up in their country club, protected by the National Guard!

  His people were left in their neighborhood to get decimated by the plague, and defend their homes with baseball bats.

  “Who’s attacking?”

  “I can’t get a good view, but there’s shooting coming from that overturned Hummer at the next building.” JT squatted with his back to the wall. He checked his weapons: a fully-loaded automatic, the pair of Glocks at hip and shoulder, ankle rig, and two grenades in his pockets.

  “If I take out whoever’s shooting at them, that will show our good intentions. You got that napkin?” He’d had Elizabeth pack one of the white linen napkins from the dining room as an impromptu surrender flag.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Find something to tie it to. I’m going to backtrack to the next block and come up from the rear and take out whoever’s attacking the club. Then you come out with the surrender flag. Hopefully your parents did what they said they would and circulated your picture at the gate, or something.” He kept his eyes on his hands, checking the Glocks’ magazines.

  “What about you?” Elizabeth’s voice quavered.