Ashes of Another Life (5 page)

“How far are we going?” he asked.

“A couple of miles,” she answered, exiting the lot. Randall detected irritation in her voice, as if annoyance superseded any fear she might feel.

Bitch needs to learn how to respect a man the way he deserves. How to
fear
him. But then, at least she’s not putting up a fight.

He’d been worried she would go into hysterics, drawing attention and forcing him to drive while holding her at gunpoint. But Casey Wendell hadn’t lost her composure.

The car’s interior smelled like flowers and vanilla, and he took deep, steady breaths, savoring her scent. He wasn’t sure if the laundry he’d hidden beneath had been dirty or clean, but it had smelled good. Like a
woman
.

Sinner or not, I like the smell of her. Oh, dear God, is that wrong?

He bit his lip. Here he was abducting a person, and all he could think about was how good she smelled!

Focus, focus.

“You got a lot of neighbors?” he asked. She didn’t answer, so he slid the gun up the length of her neck into the base of her skull and felt a surge of power as sweat trickled down her temple.

“N-no. Not too many. We keep to ourselves.”

Randall clenched and unclenched his jaw, thinking, twisting the tip of his gun back and forth. “If you try anything funny—like if you try to get a neighbor’s attention, or scream or cause a scene—I’ll kill you and them both, and anyone else who gets in my way.” His nostrils flared wide as he caught eyes with her in the mirror, veins swollen in his ruddy face. “Do you understand?”

She sighed through her nose. She gripped the steering wheel tight. “Yes,” she said, as if there was any other option but to agree.

Randall fought a smile. He admired her spirit. She hadn’t cried yet. Her cobalt eyes were focused on the traffic as she drove flawlessly.

The muscles in her lean neck flexed as she checked the mirror before switching lanes. The nape of it curved seductively into her slender shoulders, skin smooth and lightly tanned.

Too bad
.
Too bad she’s beautiful and she hates you already. You’re no better than the gum on her shoe. Although she probably keeps her shoes too clean for even
that
.

“So where are we heading, a house or an apartment?”

She didn’t answer.

He followed her gaze across the intersection and saw a police car approaching from the opposite direction. He shoved the gun into her side, dug it deep into her ribs. She yelped but did not scream.

“Don’t even think about it. Keep driving.”

She drove on, scowling, only stopping when they reached a red light.

“So?” he said.

“Apartment,” she responded, as if she’d been waiting all along for him to ask it again.

Casey turned on a small, two lane street.

Randall fought the unwelcome thoughts which surfaced in his brain against his will. He’d never been this close to a woman with such confidence. Shiny lipstick, traces of glitter on her neck, and that
come hither
smell.

Control your wandering thoughts, Randall. Do not follow this heathen down the path of sin.

He was thankful when she finally slowed the car and turned into a small apartment complex. He was eager to breathe the fresh air again, to get away from her sultry aroma. Her presence made him think sinful thoughts, so he pushed the gun’s muzzle even deeper into her side. She gave a high-pitched groan and looked at him, and for the first time he saw worry in her eyes.

He almost smiled. “Get out slowly. I’ll be right behind you. And remember… No funny business.”

Randall hopped over the console and followed as Casey exited the car. He panicked when he realized his gun was in plain sight and did the only thing he could think to do. He yanked Casey’s blouse from the waistline of her skirt and snaked his hand up the back of it.

She squirmed beneath his touch.

“Get going,” he growled in her ear.

He lay the gun flat against her back in hopes they would look like an intimate couple to anyone passing by. The muzzle no longer pushed into her, and he worried for a moment she might get the urge to run. But the threat of it was still there, the cold metal on her spine.

The feel of her smooth skin excited him in ways he didn’t want to address. His pants felt too tight, and the walk to her apartment seemed to drag on forever. He was fuming with impatience by the time she halted in front of a door.

“This is it,” she said as she slid the key into the lock.

The door cracked open and he shoved her inside, her shoulder slamming the door and flinging it open wide. She stumbled, but she managed to keep her balance as he shut the door, clicked the lock and turned to face her.

Casey braced her trembling body against a small table in the entryway. From her designer heels to her dry-cleaned business attire, she looked the part of a strong, sexy, professional woman. But she wasn’t so confident anymore. She looked paler than before, shaking so hard it caused the lamp on the table to teeter back and forth.

“The file. Where is her file?” He stepped closer.

She jumped, nearly toppling the table.

“Why are you so scared? Huh? I just need to find the girl and bring her home. Give me the file, and you won’t get hurt.”

“I lied,” the caseworker squeaked through quivering lips. It was faint, like a child’s whisper, and he wasn’t sure he’d heard it.

“What?”

“I—I lied.” She seemed to find the courage to say it again, but not the courage to meet his eye. “There are no files here. Only at the office.”

Randall’s face flushed. “You what?! Why would you do that? Don’t you understand the stakes here? Do you think I’m bluffing?”

“No, I don’t. And that’s just it. If you’re ruthless enough to kill me, you could harm the girl just the same. I can’t live with that on my conscience. I can’t help you find her, even if it costs me my life.”

For a long moment, the only sound was Randall’s heavy breathing, which grew steadily more aggressive as he mulled over her confession.

“What if there’s another option? A way out, for both of you.” Her voice was high and choked and filled with urgency.

“A way out of what?” he said.

“Out of the church. Out of the prophet’s control.” She drew quotation marks around the word “prophet” with her fingers, and Randall resisted the urge to slap her for the profanity in that gesture. “Away from that whole community. That’s why I brought you here. To talk about it, in private, where no one can judge you, where no one—aside from me, that is—can get hurt.” The muscles in her face tensed. “Listen… I know it’s a heavy load to bear—the oppressive rules, the constant, watchful eyes on everything you do. I’m offering you freedom. I understand the inner workings of your church. I can help. I’ve successfully relocated others like you, and they’re leading happy lives now.”

“The happy lives of apostates!” he spat through clenched teeth.

She stepped closer. Her knees shook, but a sparkle of confidence returned to her bright blue eyes. “There are others. They have left your church and come to believe that God judges each man based on his own morality and how he treats his fellow man, not just by which religion he chooses. Would a merciful God do that? Can
all
outsiders be damned? What about me? Do I deserve damnation?” She locked him in a gaze that made his already clammy skin start to sweat all over again.

All my life, I have wondered if I am damned. Others have stared at me, whispered to each other about my dark eyes and caramel skin. This is my shot. My chance to prove them wrong.

Casey’s beautiful eyes begged for mercy, pleaded for Randall to hear her out. He scowled with disdain and looked away. He didn’t want to hear what she was saying.

It was true that Randall sometimes felt suffocated by the constrictive rules set forth by the prophet, but the prophet spoke directly to God. In his heart, Randall
knew
this was true. He’d been faithful to the church his entire life. His faith was a river, deep and wide, and all other emotions—love, anger, and even lust—were only tributary streams leading back to that great river. He couldn’t picture a life without it.

He looked at Casey, eyes bloodshot and manic. She wanted to seduce him into the easy life of an apostate. And the worst part? He almost
wanted
her to.

She was so beautiful. There was something soft and tender in her voice, something so enticing about her words. She could damn him to Hell in the blink of an eye.

He clenched his fist. “That’s enough. Do not speak another word unless it is to tell me the whereabouts of Tara Jane Brewer.” Running low on patience, he tightened his grip on the weapon and kept his eyes fixed on her.

“If I may please ask one more thing.” She paused only to punctuate the sentence, not granting him a moment for rebuttal. “What’s so important? Why has it come to this? To violence? The girl… what do you want with her?”

“That was three questions, phrased as four.” He worked his jaw, finger steady on the trigger. “But in the interest of ending this, I will answer. Our concern is for the girl’s salvation. The End Times is near, and our prophet wishes to save Tara Jane from perdition. He had strong ties with her father, rest his soul.”

Her blue eyes bored into him. “The prophet wants to save her soul?”

“Yes. He will make her his bride.” Randall winced. He hadn’t meant to say so much.

No need to explain yourself to her. She’s just a pretty face. And yet she will coax the words from your mouth like a succubus. She will make you say things you regret. If you let her.

He groaned, feeling as wound-up as a hungry beast before the pounce. “Tell me where she is,” he insisted His knuckles were white around the gun, hands shaking.

“You don’t have to do this. You don’t
want
to do this.” She reached down and laid her hand over his. “Let’s just talk. Let’s get to know one another, come to understand one another. Maybe we can figure out an answer, together, a solution that works for everyone.”

Her intoxicating smell surrounded him. “I don’t even know your name,” she murmured.

Her skin was soft and warm over his knuckles. His pulse quickened at the sound of her heavy breathing and her ample breasts, heaving with anxiety. His nostrils flared, and his whole body grew hot. He jerked away from her grip.

How dare she use her sex appeal to manipulate me, all while pretending to care? How despicable. What would the prophet say?

He could hear the prophet’s voice, cool and fluid like a soothing rush of water through his overheated mind: “She is a succubus, Randall. Do what must be done.”

He’d had enough. He couldn’t stand her teasing ways any longer. He flipped the gun over in his hand and gripped the barrel. The prophet’s words coursed through him. He felt twenty feet tall. Casey looked up at him, terror-stricken eyes beseeching him to stop.

He swung the butt of the gun against her temple.

Her squeal was cut short as she tumbled to the floor. She landed with her legs sprawled open, giving Randall a view up her skirt. His manhood stiffened as a strange mix of guilt, anger, and attraction bubbled to the surface.

He knelt atop her, straddling her on the floor. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and when she opened them again Randall smiled down at her.

I should teach her a lesson. Teach her that a woman shouldn’t toy with a man’s willpower.

He held the gun to her temple and leaned close to the other side of her face. He inhaled deep lung-fulls of her scent. “Undo the buttons on that jacket,” he whispered in a gruff tone, lips close to her ear.

With trembling fingers, she struggled to do as he said. The little buttons slipped out of her grasp. Her cheeks were slick with tears, eyes glassy.

Irritated with her lack of progress, Randall savagely yanked at the buttons. Two of them popped loose and spun for a moment on the floor. He pulled again and freed the other two. Casey was down to a sheer white blouse.

He worked his fingers through the gaps between the buttons and ripped her shirt open in one brutal tug. His hands were on her in an instant, sliding over her breasts, which were partially hidden beneath the silky fabric of a bra. Her nipples hardened beneath the silk. He moaned, rubbing his sweaty cheek along the warm, fleshy mounds. He folded the cups down and sat examining her fully exposed bosom.

He’d never seen a naked woman before. An older boy had once showed him a folded page ripped from a nudey magazine, the sight of which Randall had promptly memorized, but as far as real girls, he’d never glimpsed more than their faces and hands. He felt himself drool with pleasure.

His hard member grew painfully stiff against her inner thigh. It was so warm between her legs, where his lower abdomen was touching, it drove him wild with ideas. He wanted to reach under her skirt and feel around, but—but—she wouldn’t stop crying.