Chapter One #2
Keys was born in hell and lived there for years, but he had been given gifts that he’d taken the time to develop.
He could play any instrument and had an ear for perfectly pitched music.
Truth be told, that was what landed him here.
Lyric laughed often with her customers and with him.
Her laughter was sweet most of the time, but when she laughed at—or with—him, she had the absolutely purest notes he’d ever heard.
He found himself wanting that laughter just for himself—and she gave it to him.
He had a major affinity for wood. Any wood. He touched it and read its history. He worked with wood, building beautiful things. Just touching wood could bring peace to him, just as his musical instruments did. This coffin…not so peaceful.
He and Lyric weren’t the only ones who had been inside that box, but the others weren’t alive anymore.
They’d been tortured and then died in the makeshift coffin.
The wood itself was on the flimsy side. Whoever had constructed the box had done so with haste and no pride in their work. That was good for him.
“All right, baby, I’m telling you to wake the hell up.
” Because he wasn’t a man who felt fear.
He’d lived through too much. He was a trained assassin and had been since he was a child.
He had nothing to live for, therefore he didn’t fear death.
But he did fear for her. The pain-in-his-ass woman who he couldn’t stay away from when there was absolutely no sane reason to keep her in his life.
“Your fault we’re in this predicament, darlin’, so open your eyes.
” He dipped his head and locked his teeth on her full lower lip.
That damned lip he’d spent far too much time fantasizing about.
He bit down and tugged gently before feathering his lips over hers again, just to catch her breath in his mouth.
She groaned. Tried to turn her head, but he wanted to see her eyes. Assess the damage.
“Look at me, Wildfire. Open your eyes and look at me.”
“Not yet. I can’t feel my arms. At all. I’m afraid to look.”
“Open your eyes. You were hit in the head, and you’ve been out for a while. I need to know how hurt you are.”
“Suffice it to say my head exploded and my brains have leaked out.” She murmured the words, a whisper of sound that sent a ripple of heat through him. That voice. When she was unguarded, like now, her tone played over his every nerve ending.
“Good to know you’ll rely on my judgment since you’re admitting you have no brain at the moment.”
Her lips did that now-familiar moue he found himself looking for when he was with her. That dimple that made him want to trace it with his tongue. Lately, that had been often—too often. He’d broken every rule his club had to visit her, and he still didn’t have a clue why.
“Why are you on top of me? I can barely breathe. Get off. I can’t breathe, and I can’t feel my arms. They’re trapped under me. With your weight on top of me, I can’t move them.” Her eyes remained tightly closed, as if she knew better than to examine the world around her.
“You can breathe, and you’re unable to move your arms because they’ve gone to sleep.”
The coffin slid to the left and then pitched to the right, hitting the side of the truck’s bed, shaking them both up. The road was even rougher than before. And steep. He felt her breath catch in her throat.
“That hurt you?” He detested that he couldn’t examine the wound on the back of her head.
“My head really does feel like it exploded. And I’m hot. I hate that my arms are trapped, and you have to get off of me.” She whispered it to him like she was embarrassed. “I know this sounds silly, but I have horrible claustrophobia. I don’t like the feeling that I can’t move.”
That wasn’t great news. “I’ll get us out of here.”
“Where are we?”
“At the moment we’re prisoners, and we’re being hauled up a mountain, presumably into the forest, where I believe our captors think they’re going to have fun torturing us.”
She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “I can’t say as I’m looking forward to that.”
Okay. He didn’t do cute. He didn’t have chest pains just looking at a woman’s expression. He sure as hell didn’t get all protective. He was feeling…murderous.
“I’ll keep us alive. Just don’t try your wildcat-on-fire girlie attack. Let me handle it.”
She drew an outraged breath. “I saved your life.”
“Jury’s out on that, darlin’. Open your eyes. Look at me.” He needed to see for himself just how injured she was.
“I think I’m afraid to.”
“You’re not afraid of hanging off the side of mountains or backpacking trails alone in the wilderness.
You just took on five assholes intending to kill me, and you did it with a fuckin’ blow-dryer.
I’ll need to talk to you about that once we’re out of this mess. Blow-dryers aren’t the best weapons.”
“Are you seriously trying to give me a lecture right now?”
“Someone needs to take you in hand. You’re totally out of control. I call you Wildfire for very good reasons. Now open your fuckin’ eyes and look at me.”
Why was he always on the verge of shaking her? What happened to his calm? He didn’t care about anything, so why was she able to rile him the way she did?
She squeezed her eyes closed even tighter. “I really don’t want to see our prison.”
“I think you’re afraid of facing me. It’s been obvious since the first time I met you that you can barely keep your hands off me.” Deliberately he taunted her.
The ridiculously long lashes fluttered. He hadn’t noticed those lashes at first because they were as fiery as her hair, but up close they were thick and long and turned up at the ends.
“You could be the biggest liar in the world. Or maybe you believe the crap you tell yourself. Just because you’re a hound dog doesn’t mean every woman in the world finds you attractive.”
“Hound dog?” He feathered his lips over hers, a deliberate enticement. “I can’t help it if women throw themselves at me, Wildfire.”
“You call me the most ridiculous names,” she murmured, not protesting his intimacy. “I’m not in the least bit attracted to you. You’re arrogant and self-serving. Sometimes I wonder if you’re human.”
“You are a terrible liar, Lyric.” He poured superior male amusement into his voice. “I know when a woman wants me.”
The lashes fluttered again, and then he was looking into her stunning eyes.
Drowning in a sea of emerald green. She did what she always did when he was being outrageous; she looked as if she was fighting laughter.
He loved that particular look because she normally didn’t look directly at anyone.
He’d discovered it wasn’t just him she avoided looking at—she did that to everyone, particularly men.
Still, she always greeted him as if he was special to her.
As if he meant something. He’d come to depend on that particular way she had of welcoming him.
And her perfect laughter was for him alone.
“I’ll just bet you do. Where are we? And I mean it, get off me…” Her voice trailed off as her gaze shifted from his face to the very close walls of their prison. Her entire body froze, tensed. A shudder went through her.
Keys felt the wave of utter terror emanating from her.
Felt it. Her horror was so overwhelming it filled the small space, consuming them both.
Something that deep-seated couldn’t be feigned.
She wasn’t making a bid for sympathy. She didn’t have a small fear of closed-in places; it was enormous. The fear on her face was all too real.
“We’re in a coffin.” She whispered it, the horror in her voice penetrating.
“Babe, we’re fine. Take a breath.” He had been in tight places many, many times in his life, and he’d never had such a raw, visceral reaction as he did then. It wasn’t his fear, his terror—it was hers, and he felt desperation setting in. She was panic-stricken enough for both of them.
“Just breathe. There isn’t a reason for panic. Air is coming into the box through cracks and drilled holes. We’re fine. Breathe, Wildfire. Take a breath.”
Sweat broke out on her forehead. Dotted her throat. “I can’t.” She choked. Coughed. “I can’t breathe. I can’t.” Her body heaved, trying to buck him off.
There was nowhere for him to go, not even room enough to slide to one side.
Still, he tried to get as much of his weight as possible off her slender form.
If he tried lifting his body, he struck his head on the lid of the box.
His head already hurt like a mother. He eased back down, distributing his weight as evenly as possible.
It didn’t matter; she was gone. Completely lost to him, desperately thrashing, which was nearly impossible when his body pinned hers in the close confines and her arms and hands were trapped under her.
She’d lost feeling in them, and that had to add to her terror of the situation.
Her eyes were all over the place, and then her mouth opened to scream.
“Don’t you dare,” he hissed. He bent his head to hers, his mouth covering hers in an attempt to swallow her horror.
He didn’t know if anyone was riding in the bed of the truck, but he didn’t need their enemies to know they were awake.
He also didn’t need the cut to the back of her head bleeding even more.
“Stop right now. Look at me. Eyes to mine.” He gave the command with his mouth over hers.
How the hell could she have breath that smelled like clear winter snow and strawberries when she’d been in a fight and was locked in a coffin?
Nothing about her made the least bit of sense, including her insane reaction to the situation they were in.
She climbed mountains, sometimes with little gear.
He knew because he’d been her damned stalker for the three months he’d been undercover and the last two, returning like an idiot, convincing himself he went back to her because she was the best at giving haircuts and he wanted the best.