Page 64 of Beneath the Burn

The god-awful regret constricting Jay’s voice snapped when he heard the bleak acceptance in Charlee’s. “What death threat?”

Bile flooded the back of his throat. She’d already endured so much misery. His aftershow performance settled around him like a miasma. Shame constricted his heart and darkened the very fiber that made her soul shine. He did this. He was no better than Roy.

Her fingers flicked over the controls on the roof until dim light illuminated the envelope in her hand.

“What is that?” He didn’t like the way she held the corners, not opening it, as if there were a bomb inside. “Is that from Roy?”

Her shoulders twitched, and she hunched slightly to the right, toward Nathan.

Nathan touched her hand. “Want me to read it?”

She shook her head. “I’ll do it.”

So Jay was the only asshole she was ignoring. He earned it, but he didn’t have to fucking like it.

She held up the nondescript envelope to the light. White. Standard size. No writing or logos. Was it a correspondence from Roy? A swarm of hostility took over his muscles, tensing him from neck to feet. “Did you see Roy? Was he here?”

She picked at the sealed flap, shoulders bunched to her ears.

His hands clenched with the urgency to be closer, to hold her pain for her. “Vanderschoot. Switch with me.”

The guard swiveled his balding head, looking around the tight seating arrangement, probably wondering how he would maneuver a switch while the vehicle was in motion. “Right now, Mr. Mayard?”

Charlee let her head fall back and glared at the roof. “Jay, would you please just sit there—” she let out a ragged, drawn out exhale “—and shut the fuck up.”

His face caught fire, his shame reigniting. If he were perfect, she’d be too good for him. He was far from perfect. “I deserve your anger, your hate, and anything else you want to throw at me.” None of that mattered while her life was in danger. He needed to be very clear, make her understand. He couldn’t face losing her again. “My fuck up does not change your need for protection.” He shifted to the edge of the seat and the force of his breath ruffled the crimson river of hair flowing over her seat back. “I employ your protective team, so I need to know what the fuck is going on.”

He snapped his fingers at Vanderschoot. “Switch.”

The lean man folded his body and crawled to the back beside Jay.

“Thanks.” With a lot less grace and an unnecessary hand on Charlee’s shoulder, Jay tumbled into the second row.

Gorgeous blue eyes narrowed on him, stealing his breath. Her lashes fluttered closed through a deep breath. “I’m pissed. Hurt. Ashamed…Frustrated.” She glanced out the windshield and whispered, “Blue ovaries frustrated.”

Jesus, she couldn’t have hit him any harder. He’d left her unsated. Again. While one of his weakest decisions fogged his head as he climaxed. He buried his face in his hands, wanting so badly to take it all away. Too damn late. The ugliest, dirtiest side of himself had sauntered out of its hole and spread its legs in her face.

She didn’t run. Instead, she seemed willing to talk about it. He raised his head. “You want to do this right now? We can. My protective team knows all about my indiscretions. They’ve carried my unconscious ass out of more concerts than not. And maybe Nathan should hear what kind of a fuckwad he’s working for.”

Nathan drummed his fingers on his knee and stared out his window. “I’m already well-informed.”

“Be nice, Nathan.” She massaged her temple. “And Jay, please don’t insult yourself. It’s not helpful.”

Jay blew out a breath and leaned back. “The kid I shoved in the hallway slipped me forty migs of Oxycontin.”

She snapped her head toward him. The flash of passing headlights glanced off her rounded eyes.

“I wanted a light buzz, a dose of energy. Oxycontin gives me that without the appearance of being high.”

“So does Red Bull. And Starbucks.” She was back to staring out the windshield, the envelope twitching in her hand.

“Touché.” He bent his elbows on his knees. “I also needed a panic attack suppressant. I thought what I took was Oxycontin. Maybe I got the dose wrong. Maybe it was mislabeled. Because the high has…had a delusional effect. Like heroin.”

It had been only him and Charlee in that arena. No crowd. No groupies. Everything had peeled away, leaving an erotic euphoria with her at its center.

Narcotics had a way of driving him through the worst of his anxiety. A numbing appeal. But he would lose her if he didn’t take the wheel and confront his weakness head-on and sober.

“Are you delusional now?”

The single pitch in her voice vented her suspicion. He knew she was thinking if she couldn’t recognize the side effects, how would she ever know when he was high? Worse, he’d annihilated any trust he might’ve earned. “I’m clear-headed enough to know I made the second worst decision of my life tonight.”

She looked away from what he knew was desperation burning in his eyes.

“I’ll give up the tour, the shows…the band. Anything to make this right.” Yeah, he was choking with desperation. He hadn’t lied. He’d give it all up.

“Drama queen.” She flipped the envelope over and over through a weighted moment. Then she tucked her chin to her chest and asked, “What was your worst decision?”

The memory of the night he met her coiled around him, suffocating and intoxicating all at once. “St. Louis. Three years ago. Letting you walk away. If I’d delayed you, took you for coffee, kidnapped you myself…”

She cupped her mouth and closed her eyes.

Christ, he’d reminded her of Noah’s death. “Charlee—”

“It’s okay.” She dropped her hand, eyes resting on her lap. “Walking away was my worst decision, too.”

His heart flipped over. Sure, if she had joined him for coffee, Noah would’ve survived, but he told himself she was thinking of the three years she might’ve had with Jay.

“Roy’s assistant delivered this.” She shoved a finger under the seal and tore it open. Chest heaving, she unfolded the letter and held it under the dome light at an angle the three of them could read silently.

Miss Charlee Grosky

27124 Los Hermosos Way

Los Angeles, CA 90027

Dear Miss Grosky,

Oxford Security is pleased to offer you a position as Resident Artist for our organization. We are excited about the talent you would bring to our company.

Should you accept the offer, you will be working in the San Francisco penthouse, where our security teams reside. You will report directly to the CEO of Oxford Industries. Your initial task will be to sketch a portrait for one of our high-ranking security officers. The commissioned work will be presented to the officer’s niece as a gift for her nineteenth birthday.

You will be classified as an executive-level employee. Your initial compensation package includes full medical and dental coverage, and fringe benefits. In addition, Oxford Security will loan you an amount equal to all of your expenses incurred by The Burn . Should you remain with Oxford Security at least three years, the loan will be forgiven in its entirety.

We look forward to your arrival at our company and are confident your skills will play a key role in the morale of our personnel. Please sign this letter and return it to me at your earliest convenience as a written acceptance of the offer. Let me know if you have any questions or if I can do anything to make your arrival easier.

Sincerely,

Alan Patera

Executive Assistant to Roy Oxford

Oxford Industries

Jay’s stomach turned and bucked. “What the almighty fuck? He’s offering you a job?”

“The threat is here.” She traced a trembling finger over the paragraph about the nineteen-year-old niece and looked at Nathan, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m not seeing it. What am I missing?”

Nathan leaned close and slid the letter from her hand. His eyes flickered over the words as his free hand gripped hers.

Jay wasn’t sure which felt worse, his jealousy or his exclusion from their history together. He knew their shared torment was what connected the two of them in the most intimate of ways. He stuffed that to the back of his mind and focused on the letter.

She was right. Roy wouldn’t offer her a job. He’d blackmail her. “Nathan, how well did you know the high-ranking officers? Who has nieces this age?” He flicked a finger at the letter.

“I don’t know.” Nathan rubbed his brow, his tone low and deadly. “We didn’t discuss our personal lives.”

Then why would Roy mention anything about an employee’s family if Charlee and Nathan didn’t know them? “What about the undercover guy? Do you know—”

“Fuck.” Nathan pulled his phone out of his pocket, swiped the screen, and held it to his ear. “Mr. Munt…Yes. Sorry to call so late. I need to know if your contact has a nineteen-year-old niece…That’s right. If he does, he’s been compromised…I’d rather discuss it over a more secure line…Understood.” He returned the phone to his pocket and met Jay’s eyes. “He doesn’t know the spotter’s identity. He hired him through a private company. Personal details best kept personal for obvious reasons. He’ll find out and call me back.”

Jay reread the letter in Nathan’s outstretched hand. “What about the expenses incurred by The Burn ? What is he threatening with this?”

“He’s saying that if I return to him willingly for three years, he’ll forgive you by leaving your band alone.”

The buzz of Nathan’s phone cracked the tension, and everyone seemed to hold their breath as Nathan answered it.

“Mr. Munt.” Silence. “Keep me updated.” He lowered the phone, lips taut, jaw squared. “The spotter isn’t answering his phone, but this isn’t unusual given his position at the penthouse. Munt put a call into the private company that employs him to get a warning to his family. He’ll call back.”

She frowned. “See what Crane and the rest of your guys can make of the letter.” Laying her head back, she touched Jay’s knee, lingered there for a moment, and returned her hand to her lap.

Was she testing his trigger? Touching him for comfort? Did it matter? Her caress left behind a tingle that swept through his bloodstream and invigorated him with purpose. He had a lot of self-improvement to do.