Page 3 of Forbidden Confessions, Volume 2 (The Forbidden Volumes #1)

Since I haven’t heard any more gunfire, I suspect the shooter has closed up shop and is doing his best to blend in with the crowd.

We need to do the same, so I lead Sophie out onto the sidewalk.

Then we jog across the street. If she was anyone but a well-known star, I’d pull her into the drugstore—one of the few businesses open during the holiday—and wait for the area to be cleared.

But her face is liable to cause a commotion, which is the last thing we need.

And just because I don’t see anyone on our asses now doesn’t mean we’re in the clear.

The shooter could be blending in to hunt her down.

At the back of the drugstore’s parking lot, I spot a horse-drawn buggy with a traditional canopy.

The entire thing is decorated in red, white, and blue streamers for the parade.

A teenage boy hovers beside it nervously, watching everything around him.

His eyes go wide with fear when I approach, gun in hand.

“I’m not here to hurt you. Fifty bucks to let me borrow your ride.” I drag a bill from my pocket.

The kid swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply. “I-I can’t. It’s my grandpa’s. I promised I’d bring it back.”

“A hundred bucks for ten minutes. I won’t take it far.” We have to get out of the vicinity. It’s about a mile to my truck. Once we’re there, we can get anywhere.

The teenager opens his mouth to reply, then his stare falls on Sophie. And his eyes go wide with recognition. “Oh, my god! You’re?—”

“Keep it quiet,” I hiss.

“Please.” Sophie grabs his hands. “I need to get out of here safely.”

“I’ll take you,” he insists in a rush, head bobbing.

My first instinct is to refuse. I don’t want to deal with amateurs or risk this kid with so much life in front of him, but if he won’t lend me his buggy and I don’t have another way out of this place, I have to compromise.

“You’re sure?” I ask. “It could be dangerous.”

“I-I’m not afraid.”

Clearly, he is and doesn’t want to seem scared in front of Sophie.

“You don’t have to play hero, kid.”

He scowls at me. “My name is Dustin, and I’m eighteen.”

So he’s touchy about being an adult. Got it.

I hold up my hands. “Sorry.”

Maybe this kid’s stubbornness is a good thing. If the shooter sees him, he has no reason to connect Dustin with us.

Sophie squeezes his fingers. “You don’t have to get involved.”

“Were the shots for you?” he asks her.

I nod.

“I’ve got an idea.” The guy bends down and flips up a lid to a compartment tucked beneath, then produces a blanket. He hands it to me. “You can cover up with this.”

It’s a hundred fucking degrees, but this is another way to hide. “Good thinking.” I tell Dustin the intersection where I parked my truck. “Get us as close as you can.” I turn to Sophie. “Up you go.”

She nods, and I lift her into the buggy. When she’s settled on the black leather seat, I hop in beside her, spread the blanket over us, and urge her to hunker down. I pull the blanket over our heads as the teenager hops onto the driver’s seat and gives the reins a flick.

The horse takes off, and the buggy clambers down the street, maneuvering between terrorized dads, stricken mothers, and crying kids still running for their lives. I hear the terror in their rapid footfalls.

“I got this,” Dustin assures. “Sit back.”

There’s nothing else we can do.

I turn to Sophie. She’s still breathing hard. It’s hot and humid as fuck under this scrap of wool. Our faces are inches apart. Her lips open softly. Her breath is sweet. Her stare is direct.

“Do you have any idea why this is happening?”

“Do you?” I counter. “Have you received any death threats?”

“Not recently. Nothing credible, anyway.”

But the fact she receives them at all fucking bothers me. Why would anyone want to hurt Sophie?

“Can you think of a reason someone would have anything against you?”

“Except angry moms who chastise me for not singing wholesome music anymore or stalkers berating me for swinging my hips and singing about sex because they’re convinced I belong to them, no.”

What a creepy world she lives in. I can’t imagine people feeling so entitled or delusional that, despite being strangers, they genuinely believe they can control an artist. But I’m not shocked. There are a lot of unhinged loons out there.

“But no specific threats recently?”

“Unless David knows something I don’t…” She shakes her head.

Sophie brings up an interesting point, and I’ll get to him later, but for now I just nod. “Did you have another appearance scheduled tonight?”

“No. I’m on a break until the album drops next month.”

Good. She’s less likely to be missed, so that gives us more time to get to the bottom of this.

Then she bites her lip, mouth pressing into a grim line that tells me she’s fighting tears. “I’m afraid.”

She’s right to be.

I squeeze her hand. “Ever been shot at?”

“No.” And the look on her face tells me she can’t imagine why anyone would want her dead.

“You’ve never been a threat, so this kind of malice makes no sense to you.”

She nods. “I’ve only tried to make the world a happier place with my songs.”

At that, she falls apart. It’s not unexpected. She feels betrayed by violence coming from people she tried to entertain. Plus, the adrenaline crash is a bitch.

Against me, her whole body trembles. I press her closer and wrap an arm around her. I don’t say anything. Empty assurances are pointless. I can’t promise her I can get her out of this mess in one piece; I can only promise to try my damnedest.

We stay that way for so long we begin to sweat together.

Neither of us cares. She lays her head on my chest. Her bent knee creeps onto my leg.

It seems automatic to take her bare thigh in my grip and pull her closer.

The slow motion of the buggy rolls our bodies rhythmically against each other.

She probably feels every inch of my reaction to having her so close.

I’m harder than I ever fucking remember.

Sophie is lost in her own fear, and I’m a heel for even noticing how beautiful she is, much less entertaining thoughts of sex.

But I can’t help wanting her. It’s agonizing.

I grit my teeth and suffer in silence.

Finally, Dustin slows the horse-drawn wagon. “There’s a group of cops ahead. What do you want me to do?”

“Stay under the blanket,” I murmur to Sophie, then cautiously peek out.

Just like he said, we’re a hundred feet from the barricades originally set for the parade. They’re not allowing any vehicles in or out. Fuck.

“Get us as close as you can without attracting attention. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Okay.”

Moments later, the cart rolls to a stop. It’s nothing Dustin says or does, but it’s obvious he’s panicked. “They’re staring.”

And he doesn’t know what to do. Any moment, they’ll approach and tell him he can’t go through the barricade without being interrogated. I can’t claim that either Sophie or I need medical attention. They’ll rustle up an EMT, who will debunk our excuse for leaving the area.

I have to come up with a Plan B.

“What’s going on?” Sophie asks from under the blanket.

“You better now?”

“Somewhat. Thanks. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. We have a problem. We have to get away from here fast…and I only have one idea how.”

“What is it?” she breathes.

I hesitate, jaw clenching, praying I’m not about to make one of the biggest mistakes of my life. “Play along.”