Bedlam

by Susanna Strom

  “Help me watch the road,” I said. “And call out if you see any Allsop vehicles.”

  I turned the key and pulled onto the road, my path forward illuminated by nothing more than moonlight. Odds were no innocent survivors were out and about, but I’d still look out for pedestrians. And black SUVs. Shit. We were in for a hair-raising ride across town.

  “I’ll keep an eye out for the helicopter,” Sunny said. “Mrs. B., you look to the right. Sara, watch behind us. Rocco, look to the left.”

  “How about me?” Ever demanded.

  “You can help me watch straight ahead,” I suggested. “Two heads are better than one.”

  Ever giggled and some of the tension in my stomach eased, replaced by a calm self-possession. Maybe some of Ripper’s levelheaded stoicism finally wore off on me. Lives were on the line here, and I’d do everything in my power to see my people to safety. I touched the Glock in my shoulder holster. Better not come to a shoot-out.

  “What’s the plan?” Rocco asked quietly.

  “We need to get onto I-84 West before Allsop has time to get all of his men into position. If I were him, I’d barricade the major roadways and entry ramps to the freeways first. We’ll head west, stick to secondary streets that run parallel to the freeway. Try to get on I-84 out toward Caldwell or maybe Sand Hollow. That far out, his men should be stretched thin.”

  “Sounds good,” Rocco said.

  “Chopper at 9 o’clock,” Sunny cried.

  I pulled into the open bay of a car wash, out of sight of the helicopter when it passed overhead.

  “You don’t think the helicopter has infrared, do you?” Sara asked while we waited for it to disappear from sight.

  “If it does, we’re screwed,” Rocco said.

  “It’s a corporate helicopter, not a military one.” Sunny shot Rocco a dirty look, then angled her head toward Ever. “I saw the company name on the side. If they’d added infrared capability, I think we’d know by now.”

  Rocco glanced at Ever, looking abashed. “I bet you’re right.”

  We had a close call at an intersection downtown, when Mrs. B. spotted an SUV heading south one street over. And the helicopter got too close for comfort twice more. Our luck held. We pulled under a restaurant awning once and beneath a tree the second time. Less than ninety minutes after we began our flight from the city, we were rolling along Old Highway 30 outside of Caldwell. With no Allsop vehicles in sight, we took a left turn then merged onto I-84.

  I knew this stretch of the interstate well. It was the route I traveled several times a year, driving back and forth to college in Portland. In the summertime—once you got past the businesses offering RV storage, auto auctions, and truck equipment—you’d find yourself surrounded by bright-green cornfields. Not this year, not when the pandemic left few people alive to plant or manage crops. I didn’t need to turn the headlights on to know that dried-up browns instead of emerald green now dominated the countryside.

  Reasonably certain that we were safe, I finally turned on the truck’s headlights. It was close to midnight. Ever dozed against Mrs. B.’s shoulder, but the adults appeared wide-awake, if not wired. All except Sunny, who struggled to keep her eyes open, not surprising after the day she had. Imprisoned, threatened, rescued. The adrenaline spikes would wear anybody out.

  “I’d like to stop for the night somewhere around Baker City,” I said in a low voice. “It’s less than a hundred miles away, but far enough from Boise that we should be safe. We’ll keep our eyes open for Allsop men, but Finn didn’t say anything about them being stationed in Baker City.” Sunny stifled a yawn. “Why don’t you close your eyes and get some sleep?”

  “I think I will.” Within minutes her head lolled back against the seat.

  With the headlights on, we picked up speed, flying past a sign for military surplus vehicles. Huh. Had either Allsop or the major checked the place out? Or would they have their pick of vehicles at any military facility? I frowned. I hadn’t thought along these lines before. Were tanks just sitting around waiting to be driven away by anybody who wanted one? How about the big guns? How about nukes? Now that was a chilling prospect. But wouldn’t the government have somebody stationed underground—far away from contagion—keeping an eye on the nuclear arsenal? No clue. Great. Something new to worry about.

  We crossed into Oregon, and the freeway rose as we drove into the hills. We sped past a sign for the Lost Dutchman Mining Association and past an old cement plant. The freeway angled downhill again as we approached Baker City. I took Exit 306 and headed toward the city.

  The truck’s headlights caught the sign for Wagon Wheel Motel, one of those old-style motor courts from the middle of the last century. I turned into the parking lot and stopped the truck in front of the office. The place looked undisturbed. Most looters probably figured that a bare-bones motel wouldn’t have much worth taking.

  Rocco jumped out of the truck and fell in by my side as I approached the office door. It was locked. Rocco threw his shoulder against it, and it gave way, swinging open into a small lobby. The flashlight beam revealed nothing alarming. A chair. A dead plant. A display case full of brochures for local attractions.

  A piece of paper taped to the reception desk caught my eye. A black-and-white image of a Harley and below it the words Street Spawn Approved. The Street Spawn had to be a motorcycle club. I’d never heard of them, but I bet Ripper had.

  “Street Spawn,” I whispered, committing the name to memory, so I could tell Ripper that we slept at a motel with an MC stamp of approval.

  Keys for the motel rooms hung on hooks behind the desk, very old-school. Rocco selected keys for three consecutive rooms while I poked around behind the desk.

  “Look.” I nudged Rocco, pointing to a full five-gallon water bottle, a refill for one of those upright water dispenser stands.

  “Nice,” he muttered.

  On the shelf next to the water bottle sat a box full of trail mix snack packs and an unopened bag of dried apple slices. Looked like whoever used to work the desk had a serious case of the munchies. I tested the flashlight I found under the desk and it worked. Score, score, score.

  We took three rooms at the back of the motel. Rocco carried a sleeping Ever into the middle room that she’d share with Mrs. B. Rocco and Sara chose the room on the left, the one with two queen-size beds. Sunny and I would take the room on the right. I nudged Sunny awake, grabbed my duffel from the truck bed, and followed her into the utilitarian room.

  The rooms hadn’t been touched since May when the pandemic struck, but the beds were neatly made—if musty—and cleanish towels hung in the bathrooms. We removed the cellophane wrapping from all the disposable glasses, then filled the glasses and the three ice buckets with water.

  Sara, Rocco, Sunny, and I huddled together outside the door to our room.

  “I’m thinking we should be up and on the road by nine,” I said. “We need enough sleep so we won’t be punchy, but we want to get there as quickly as possible. We have no way of knowing if the Allsop men will be blockading the freeway, or if they’ll have given up by now. We’ll have to be ready for whatever comes.”

  “We will.” Rocco ripped open a package of trail mix and tossed a handful into his mouth.

  “Sounds good. Good night, guys,” Sara said. With a sleepy wave, she retired to her room, Rocco on her heels.

  Sunny took my hand and pulled me inside. She locked the door and tugged the curtains closed, leaving only filtered moonlight to illuminate our spartan motel room. And it truly was spartan. One bed, covered with a plaid spread. A dresser. A useless television set. A small round table and two chairs. My mom would never have consented to stay in such a humble place, but it felt like heaven to me. Sunny and I were together, safe—for now at least—and alone.

  Sunny snaked her arms around my waist and pressed her cheek against my chest, hugging me tight. After a long moment, she tilted her head back and met my eyes, her expression defiant and full of resolve.

 
“Enough is enough,” she said. “I’m not dying a virgin.”

  “What?” I barked out a startled laugh.

  “Look what happened after we decided to wait until everything was perfect.” She made air quotes around the word. “Everything went to hell. The Allsops locked me up and told you I was dead. And Brody threatened to—” Her voice hitched, and she shuddered.

  “Brody’s never getting anywhere near you,” I said firmly. “If he tries, he’s a dead man.” Simple truth there. I’d killed before and I’d do it again, especially to keep Sunny safe from a bastard like Brody.

  “My point is, we have no idea what the future might hold. We didn’t see any of this coming. The only thing that’s certain is the here and now.”

  “And right here, right now, you want to have sex?” I asked skeptically. “When you’re exhausted and traumatized?”

  “I don’t need perfect,” she said, her fingers digging into the small of my back. “I need you.” She spoke with such earnest conviction that I couldn’t point out that she’d accidentally dissed me. I knew what she meant, and this was no time to make a joke.

  “I need you, too, Sunshine,” I said, touching her cheek. Her eyes glimmered in the dim light.

  She grabbed the hem of my T-shirt, jerked it up over my head, and threw it onto the small table. Her fingers went to my belt. “Let’s do this.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Sunny

  Kyle’s hands gently closed over mine. “Hey, slow down.”

  I stilled, cursing under my breath. After Kyle expressed reservations about the timing, I’d wanted to demonstrate that I was one hundred percent ready and on board. Instead, apparently, my enthusiasm came across as inept and overzealous fumbling.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, blushing.

  “No… shit… I’m sorry,” he said. He took a step back and shoved a hand through his hair. “I was trying to say it’s not a race to the finish line, that we have time to enjoy it. Instead I made you feel self-conscious. I’m a jerk.”

  Self-doubt and self-recriminations. This was off to a promising start, wasn’t it?

  “I don’t know what to do,” I confessed.

  “Every couple has their own way of doing things, their own rhythm, their own tempo,” he said. “We’ll figure ours out together.”

  I bit my lips.

  He arched his brows. “So, you want to try again?”

  For an answer, I stepped close and twined my arms around his neck. He slid both hands around my waist, his palms warming my skin through the gauzy fabric of my peasant blouse. I brushed the fingers of one hand along his jaw. He must have showered and shaved this morning in our luxurious suite at the Allsop estate. Five o’clock shadow now darkened his jaw, the bristles a sandpaper caress against my fingertips. “I like your stubble,” I murmured. “I’ve fantasized about you dragging it across my breasts or over my thighs.”

  His fingers tightened around my waist, and his eyes hooded. “You have?”

  “Mm-hmm.” I considered all the other things I’d fantasized about Kyle doing to me—or me to him—and my face heated.

  He laughed softly. “You know, nothing’s off-limits. Well… nothing we’re both into, that is.”

  “May I touch you wherever I want?” I asked.

  “Hell, yes.” He grinned. “I’m all yours.”

  Permission to put my hands anywhere on Kyle Chamberlain. My dream come true. All the enticing possibilities rendered me momentarily mute, unable to form a coherent sentence or thought. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry.

  I’m all yours.

  Emboldened by his declaration, I stood on my toes and lightly bit his chin, my mouth soft and pliant against coarse whiskers that scraped against the delicate flesh of my parted lips. Nice. Humming in my throat, I licked under his jaw. My tongue sought the spot where his heartbeat pulsed against his skin, a violent thudding that telegraphed his growing desire.

  My breath quickened and feminine power coursed through my veins. I might lack experience, but I didn’t need to be a skilled seductress to sense Kyle’s mounting excitement.

  Arching my body against his, I nipped his earlobe. Goose bumps erupted across his shoulders and skittered down his arms. I flattened one hand against his chest, then brushed my thumb across his nipple. His pectoral muscles rippled beneath my palm. He stood stock-still, allowing me to take the lead, ceding control over these first moments of intimate contact. Through his jeans, I cupped his erection, my hand spanning the bulge. I sucked a nipple into my mouth then squeezed his cock.

  “Sunny,” he gasped.

  I lifted my head. My eyes sought his, then I threaded my fingers through his hair and yanked, angling his head to one side. It was a power move, one I saw a favorite singer perform during a concert when she marched over and tugged on her guitarist’s hair. Impressed the heck out of me at the time, and I had filed it away in my folder of Things to try someday. What would Kyle make of it? Would he indulge my little show of force?

  Curiosity tinged with a hint of amusement flickered across his face.

  “Strip me,” I ordered, feeling very worldly.

  Kyle’s head reared back and a small smile curved his lips. “Yes, ma’am.” He slowly unwound the Pucci scarf from around my neck and draped it across the back of a chair. Eyes locked on mine, his nimble fingers worked the buttons down the front of my blouse. Slipping it from my shoulders, he tossed it onto the small table next to his tee. He pulled my camisole over my head and threw it next to my blouse. With both hands on my hips, he maneuvered us over to the bed, slight pressure from his fingers urging me to sit.

  “Not on the bedspread,” I blurted out. I’d read horror stories about all the vile things that stained hotel bedspreads and didn’t want to be stripped naked on a surface covered with… well… yuck.

  Laughter erupted from his throat. “Okay, Sunshine. Not on the bedspread.” Still smiling, he peeled back the offensive coverlet and threw it onto the floor. He pushed the blanket out of the way then nudged me down onto the edge of the bed so I sat on a reasonably clean sheet. He paused, lifting one brow.

  I bowed my head graciously. Yes, this met with my approval.

  “High maintenance,” he muttered, not quite under his breath.

  Kyle dropped down on his haunches and slipped the beaded sandals from my feet. Standing, he reached for the button on the waistband of my flared jeans. I leaned back on my elbows and lifted my hips so he could tug the jeans down my legs. They joined my blouse and camisole on the table. Wearing only a white lace bra and boy shorts, I lolled back on the bed.

  What would he do next?

  Kyle toed off his shoes, then worked the buckle of his belt. He shoved his jeans and boxers down his legs and kicked them off. Naked. He was naked. I was waaay too sophisticated to gape at my first penis, so I lay back and crossed my arms beneath my head, staring resolutely at the ceiling.

  Could I be less cool?

  Good lord. I actually said that out loud.

  The mattress dipped and Kyle stretched out beside me, adopting the identical pose. We lay in silence for a long moment, studying the cracked ceiling.

  “Sunny.”

  I squirmed. “Yes?”

  He rolled on his side to face me. After a beat, I did the same.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I repeated my earlier words.

  In the movies when people had sex for the first time, they were swept away on a tide of passion, with none of this awkwardness or false starts. I wasn’t usually self-conscious. I was no prude. Maybe I should have hooked up with one of the guys from college so I wouldn’t act like such a clueless nimrod in front of the man I most wanted to impress.

  “Performance anxiety,” I added unnecessarily.

  Kyle tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Let’s see if we can get you out of your head and back into the moment.” He curved a hand around my nape. “And keep in mind that even if tonight turns out to be a complete bust—which it won’t—we’ve got forever to get i
t right.”

  Some of the tension leeched from my chest. My anxiety retreated, morphing into background noise rather than the center of my focus.

  Be in the moment.

  I reached for him again. With one finger, I traced the outline of his mouth. Kyle closed his lips around the tip of my finger and sucked it into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the point. I shivered and slowly withdrew my finger before plunging it once again into the wet heat. He lightly bit my knuckle, then released the digit.

  “Got an idea about how to get you out of your head,” he said, pressing me onto my back. He swung a leg over my hips. Straddling me, he ran a finger over the lacy edge of my bra. “Pretty, but this has to go.” I started to sit up, so I could remove my bra. He gently pushed me back down. “I got this.” He slid one hand beneath my back and undid the clasp, then pulled the straps down my arms. He tossed the bra over his shoulder. It flew across the room in a graceful arc and landed atop the lamp on the dresser. The lace cup hooked on the finial, and the straps dangled down on either side of the pleated lampshade.

  I bit back the ridiculous urge to giggle at the sight.

  “Pretty,” Kyle repeated. I turned my eyes back to his face. He stared at my breasts, his expression unreadable. I gulped in air and my chest swelled, my breasts suddenly aching. My nipples puckered, tightening into sharp points. Kyle made a noise deep in his throat. He reached with both hands out and ran his fingers over the curves of my breasts.

  I moaned, then arched my back when he scraped the rough pad of his thumb against a nipple.

  Kyle bent forward and kissed me, a long, soul-satisfying kiss that left me breathless and trembling. He smiled against my mouth, then sketched a chain of kisses along my chin and throat. He latched on to that sensitive spot where neck meets shoulder. I wriggled when his lips formed an O, and he sucked hard, so hard that capillaries had to burst beneath my skin.

  “A hickey?” I gasped. “You gave me a hickey?”

  He chuckled softly, his tongue teasing the spot. Tilting his head back, he dragged his chin over the fresh mark, the bristles raising goose bumps across my entire body. I shuddered. He shifted positions, now lying on top of me, supporting his weight on his elbows. He caught a nipple between his teeth and tugged, elongating the tip. He sucked, drawing my entire nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling the point.