Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.
That refrain had pounded through Sloane Armstrong’s head as she sprawled across Preston Byron’s still body. While they were trapped in the coffin. An actual, hellish coffin.
He’d been tossed inside. She’d woken up just as she was being carried to the big, freaking hole in the ground. She’d clawed at the man who held her. Big, strong, wearing all black. Even with a black ski mask covering his face. He’d blended with the growing night around him, but…
The lights from the van had lit the scene. Had shown her the grave that had been dug. The wooden coffin. The mound of earth near the hole in the ground.
She’d ripped part of his shirt. Managed to rake her nails across his stomach right before he’d dropped her in the coffin that waited inside that giant hole.
She’d landed on top of Preston. He hadn’t even grunted.
And he’d been so still. Sloane had no idea what had been in the syringe.
Back at Preston’s place, the jerk in the ski mask had plunged a needle into Preston’s neck.
Preston had crumpled, and he’d been out cold and the bastard had put them in the ground—
“Follow my orders exactly or I will shoot you here and now.”
His words had been low. Rasping. No accent.
She’d stared up at him. Big. Menacing. “Don’t do this,” a plea.
He’d laughed. Then ordered, “Get on top of him. Your chest to his. Face down, sweetheart. Face down.”
Why? Because he hadn’t wanted to look at her as he sealed her in?
But the gun was on her, and she’d had to follow his orders.
It was follow his orders or get a bullet to the brain.
Before she’d been tossed into that grave, Sloane had seen the gun on his hip.
A 9 mm Glock. Yes, she knew her weapons.
She’d actually been trying to grab the Glock when she tore his shirt.
He had a weapon. She had no choice.
Slowly, Sloane had turned her body. She’d eased her legs between Preston’s. Put her body directly over his. Chest to chest.
She’d wondered if the jerk with the gun would shoot her before he buried them. Was that the real plan? But…he hadn’t.
“Take a deep breath, sweetheart,” he’d told her, voice mocking. “Pray it won’t be your last.”
Then…
The lid of the coffin. It had covered her and Preston.
The dirt had come down. Thump. Thump. Thump.
She’d shuddered with fear and horror every single time she heard the terrible thump of dirt hitting the coffin lid above her.
She’d grabbed for the bracelet on her right wrist. A bracelet that had been a gift from her very best friend in the world, Lily Gallo.
Well, technically Lily Gallo-Bennett now.
Lily had gifted her with the bracelet one month before, on Sloane’s birthday. A 14k gold bangle bracelet, one adorned with leaves and beautiful, delicate roses.
Sloane had always loved roses. Their smell. Their beauty.
The way the petals looked like blood when they were tossed onto the ground…
Luckily, the bracelet was still in place.
And, more wonderful luck, she had soon discovered that she was not, in fact, sprawled on a dead man.
Preston had woken up, she’d tried to calm him, and, acting on instinct, she’d kissed the man.
She’d been completely caught off guard by the explosive reaction that had occurred within her body when her lips touched his.
Heat whipped through every vein and cell.
She’d been hoping to help him, hoping to distract her own self, too, but kissing him…
Wow.
And now he was digging them out. Or, correction, trying to dig them out.
More dirt seemed to rain down on them. No, not rain.
Too heavy for that. Boards were breaking.
Shattering as Preston battered them with seemingly inhuman strength.
There was so little room in the cramped space, but she tried to help.
To yank at the wood. To shove away the pouring dirt and put it near their feet so they could have more room but the dirt kept coming.
Faster and faster, and he was grabbing her with one hand and trying to yank her with him as he attempted to surge up and out of the coffin.
Sloane took a deep breath.
Preston hauled her up with him. Into the dirt. Through the dirt. The dirt…
Dirt. Everywhere. All over her body. In her mouth. Her eyes. Her nose. Her ears. Beneath her nails. In her shirt. Between her teeth. She’d kept her mouth closed, hadn’t she? How had the dirt gotten past her lips?
Or was her mouth open? Was she screaming?
How long had she been in the dirt? Was she moving upward? Was the dirt pouring down?
Was she screaming?
Was she breathing?
Where was Preston? He’d had her wrist moments ago, his fingers strong around her as he yanked her from the coffin. Or tried to yank her. But maybe it hadn’t been moments before. Maybe it had been longer.
She kicked at the dirt. Clawed and fisted it with her fingers as she tried to—
A warm, strong hand closed around her left wrist. And suddenly, she was being yanked up. Hard.
Another hand grabbed her right wrist. So hard that…
She felt the bracelet break against her skin.
No! No! She needed that bracelet. If she was going to be found, she had to have— “No!” The cry tore from her lips.
And then she sucked in a deep, heaving haul of air.
Air. Precious, amazing, beautiful air. Her eyes opened.
Dirt stung them, sending tears streaming down her cheeks, but when her eyes opened, she saw light.
So much bright, gorgeous, streaming light.
Coming from every direction because there were gigantic lights set up all around her.
And there were lights from SUVs and cars and from the fire truck nearby and from—
“Sloane.” A man’s voice. Deep and dark and commanding.
She was hauled fully out of the dirt. Her broken bracelet fell. The man was holding her wrists, and he yanked her up and against him. A tall, strong man. Powerful.
Not Preston. Preston had not hauled her from the grave.
But over the man’s shoulder, she saw Preston. Two uniformed deputies and a woman who appeared to be an EMT were grabbing his arms and trying to hold him back as he fought to get…
To me.
Preston stared at her with wild eyes. Dirt covered him, and Sloane knew she had to look the same way he did. Dirt everywhere. She was coughing and spitting out dirt as her rescuer held her in a death grip.
“I was so worried,” Atlas Bennett confessed as he hugged her. Normally, Atlas was not a hugger. Not unless he was hugging his wife, Lily. “I was afraid we wouldn’t get you out in time.”
“Sloane!” A feminine voice, screaming out in the night.
And then…Lily was there. Lily Gallo-Bennett shoved her husband to the side, and she grabbed Sloane and held her tightly.
Sloane choked out a sob. She locked her arms around Lily even as her knees gave way. I knew Lily would find me. Because Lily never gave up. Not ever. Because Lily was never afraid of anything or anyone.
“Get EMTs over here!” Atlas thundered. “She needs help!”
He was used to barking orders and having them instantly obeyed. When Atlas said jump, people flew. That was the benefit of being super ridiculously wealthy.
Two EMTs—one holding a bag—rushed toward Sloane.
A man and a woman. Lily started to step back, but Sloane tightened her grip, just for a moment.
She wasn’t ready to let Lily go. Not yet.
“Knew you’d find me,” Sloane told her friend.
“Have I told you that the bracelet you gave me is my favorite gift ever?”
But then she realized that…the bracelet was gone. She didn’t see it on the ground around her. Not in all that deep, dark dirt.
The EMTs were pulling her away from Lily, but Sloane jerked from their grip.
She whipped around, staring at the looming hole in the ground.
Shovels everywhere. Mounds of dirt. While she and Preston had been trying to get out, Lily and Atlas and their rescue group had been trying to get in.
She looked at all that dirt, and for a moment, her body swayed.
Buried alive.
Okay, yes, she’d tried to fight the terror. The rising claustrophobia. The body-numbing desperation as she’d realized that if she didn’t get out in time, there wouldn’t be enough air. She’d die in that coffin.
Die with Preston.
Sloane tried to take a step, and she tripped on something.
Her feet were bare. Sloane had no idea where her shoes had gone.
Maybe they were still in the coffin? But she tripped—or perhaps her weak knees wobbled too much—and she started to go down.
Pinpricks of heat filled her face, and with dawning horror, Sloane realized that she might be fainting.
Strong arms caught her. She was scooped up against a powerful chest. A powerful, dirt-covered chest. “Got you.” A dark, hard rumble.
She blinked. She still had damn dirt on her eyelashes.
The dirt fluttered to her cheeks as she found herself looking up at Preston.
He’d caught her. He held her in a fierce grip, and he was spinning away from a gaping Lily and a glaring Atlas and hurrying with Sloane toward a waiting ambulance even as the two attendants scrambled to keep up with them.
One of Sloane’s arms looped behind Preston’s neck. “Told you…” Her lips felt too dry so she wet them and just tasted more freaking dirt. “People would come for us. I wouldn’t just disappear.”
The lights from the ambulance swirled. He jumped into the back of the vehicle without letting her go.
A pretty impressive feat. One of those mobile stretchers waited, and he put her on top of it.
The white sheet quickly became covered in dirt as the earth fell from her clothes.
“You won’t disappear.” A vow from Preston.
Then… “How the fuck are you involved with Atlas Bennett?”
The EMTs scurried around him. Her. They were asking Sloane a flurry of questions even as they checked her out. Tried to check out Preston.