Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire

by Aleatha Romig

  What else would she need to accompany an agoraphobic-ish celebrity into the sights of cameras and sniper rifles?

  Courage? Any bravado she was trying to hold onto would be left behind with their luggage in the melee of the evacuation attempt. “I can’t believe you called in the paparazzi.” Her voice choked on a mass of fear. She swallowed. She understood why exposing her to the paparazzi might work. The public eye would protect her a hell of a lot better than the dark corners she’d been hiding in. But as she stood there, preparing to walk into it, she was shaking in her Doc Martens.

  He kissed the top of her head. “Yeah. I’m starting to second guess myself. How will I be able to protect you while they’re blinding me with flashbulbs? Especially when the beautiful girl at my side works them into a frenzyfuck.” He flashed a cheeky grin.

  Beautiful girl. How many times had she recoiled when Roy called her that? Yet as it filled her ears in Jay’s deep timbre, it recreated itself. “Will I have my own Wikipedia page after this?”

  The sexy rumble of his growl lifted her up on tiptoes and into the solidarity of their joining lips. She drew the flavor of his mouth into hers, drinking him in, and whispered against his exhales. “Thank you for doing this.”

  Eyes round and thoughtful, he shook his head and stroked his thumb over her jaw. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Charlee, but whatever it is melts everything else away. It’s the best feeling in the world.” A quiet seemed to collect around him. He straightened to his full height and his hand in hers stopped shaking. “Tony?”

  “We have alternate evacuation plans lined up if riots break out.” Tony positioned herself beside Jay. “And the chartered jet will be ready for our arrival. We’re waiting for your visual signal.”

  Jay captured Charlee’s lips in a quick kiss and patted his left shoulder with his right hand.

  The sudden formation of bodies boxing them in wound up her nerves to the utmost point of tension. When the forward two bodyguards—Tony called them Vanderschoot and O’Neil—moved to the door, she thought her veins might snap from over-pumping.

  He put his mouth at her ear. “Deep breath, baby.” Then it was gone with the push of the door and the flashing of bulbs.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Vanderschoot, the guard in the lead, held back the mob for O’Neil to exit. In the next heartbeat, the two bodyguards barreled through the throngs in a choreographed attack, each pushing back photographers and carving a path through the crowd.

  The vultures bumped into one another. Equipment clanked together. “Watch it. Back up. Back up.”

  “Clear.” Tony held the door for Jay.

  He released Charlee’s hand, locked his arm around her shoulders, and guided her into the hallway. Edison, Colson, and Nathan brought up the rear.

  “Go. Go. Go.” The mobs shuffled with them, squatting to snap pictures and tripping over themselves.

  “Jay Mayard. Look over here.”

  Click. Click. Flash. Flash.

  What kind of hell had she walked into? Paparazzi crammed every inch of the hall. What if the Craigs prowled amongst them? How would the guards spot them? Her heart drummed a frenzied rhythm.

  “Is that your girlfriend, Jay? What’s her name? What happened to your ear, miss?”

  She cupped her injury and blinked against the assault of blinding lights. Man, oh man, if he dealt with this every time he went out, no wonder he never wanted to leave his hotel room. She pressed closer into the mantle of his body, and his heart knocked against her cheek.

  “Give them space. Give them space.” The photographers’ questions never slowed.

  The cameras darted in and out of her face. There were so many of them. No way could the bodyguards hold them all back. Remarkably, the photographers didn’t reach out, didn’t try to touch.

  She kept her eyes on her Doc Martens, scuffing them slowly along the concrete landing to the stairs. Jay’s Chucks dragged alongside hers.

  A photographer shoved another into the wall and shouting interrogations pursued.

  At the top of the stairs, she and Jay waited behind the bar of Tony’s outstretched arm while Vanderschoot and O’Neil cleared a passageway. Their eyes swept up and down, passing over the paparazzi as if they weren’t there.

  “You’re doing well,” Jay whispered in her ear.

  “I don’t know about that. How are you doing?” His smile was small and sad and held her heart hostage in her throat. “Do the paparazzi ever touch you?”

  “It’s generally against the law to touch someone without their consent. They’re a nuisance, but they rarely break that rule.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, and he hugged her closer to his chest. “The fans are the law breakers.”

  A reminder that the worst was yet to come. The herd trailing them was mild, relative to the shouts thundering from the parking lot.

  “Clear,” one of the guards shouted from below.

  Down the stairs and around the landings they went. Tony and Nathan flanked them. Every time their eyes flicked upward, Charlee’s pulse spiked. Edison and Colson kept their positions always a floor behind.

  The paparazzi leading the slow parade walked backward, scuffling while snapping pictures, some falling down the stairs and climbing their way back up. Jay ducked his head under his free arm, squinting against the invasive flashing.

  She dug into her messenger bag and handed him the sunglasses. The way he hurriedly fumbled them on made her wish she’d never taken them.

  The closer they came to the ground, the thicker and louder the crowd grew. The security team tightened their circle and the air clotted with unease.

  They stepped off the bottom stair at the front of the building and a chorus of shrill screams rode in on the crisp breeze. Six rigid bodies backed into her and Jay, squeezing them in a tight box. Her breath came out in noisy pants. She couldn’t see a damned thing around the wall of guards.

  Jay rose on tiptoes, peering over the crowd. “Fuck. The road’s been barricaded. The SUV won’t be able to pick us up here.”

  Christ, could this get any worse? The mayhem was closing in on her. Tremors weakened her body. How close were the Craigs? Could they see her? Was one sneaking up now, only a bodyguard’s length away?

  He folded her into the V of his legs, chest to chest, trapping her hands between their bellies.

  She tensed. How would she walk like this? “Jay, my hands.”

  He rubbed his whiskers against her cheek, his body drenched in sweat. “Shhh. We’re good.”

  His voice and proximity suspended her. Strange how peace could be found at the most inopportune moment. Cocooned in the orbit of guards, pressed tightly against him, her breath began to normalize. She imbued the intimacy of their private little world. Beneath the eye of the blue sky, it was just him and her and the thunder of their hearts.

  “Doing okay?” she asked at his ear.

  “It….wa…ot.”

  The high-pitched chanting of frantic women calling out his name drowned out his response. She leaned back to read his lips. “What?”

  “I said it’s just a walk in the parking lot.”

  “Clear,” Tony said above the shrieking.

  Clear of what? Weapons? Bad guys? They certainly weren’t clear of crowds.

  The guards spread out and her private world came crashing down.

  Jay turned her back to his front and hooked his forearm across her chest. She gripped the bag’s strap at her hip to keep from grabbing him for balance. He held his other hand out in front of her to block some of the camera shots and ward back the posters, pads, and markers shoved through the guards’ line.

  Shutters snapped from every direction. Bulbs flickered against the sunlit sky. Paparazzi barked out questions, but it was submerged beneath a flood of girly piping.

  “Aaaaaah. Jay Mayard!” At least twenty women of all ages pressed against the bodyguards, screaming and sobbing. Yes, sobbing. Actual tears streaked down the make-up-smeared faces that were twisting be
hind the camera phones. Jay Mania had gripped the Village.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God. You’re so sexy.” Twenty women grew to forty or fifty. Others were running through the street, some dragging small children into the fray. Cars honked and people shouted from the windows in nearby buildings.

  She scanned the hustle of bodyguards, looking for Nathan. Too much movement. Too many identical black shirts. She’d spent three years avoiding scenes like this to evade Roy’s watchful eyes. Now, she was certain he could see her, through a camera lens or a Craig.

  Her muscles were so tight, dizziness surged over her in waves. The hard, metal weight at the small of her back was a false sense of relief. Shooting a Craig in the crowd would’ve been impossible without endangering a bystander.

  A sense of urgency, bordering panic, took over the guards and their pace picked up. By the time they reached the corner of the building, the number of screaming fiends had doubled again.

  They bounced, covered their mouths, and fanned themselves. Where did they come from? Tony had alerted the paparazzi. Not the entire state of New York.

  The arm around her held its position, despite the jostling of the guards and crowds. Jay dropped his head, his shoulders hunched, and hung his mouth open to accommodate his rapid breathing. He didn’t want this. He held his gut with his free arm as if the attention were actually hurting him. She was thankful for his sunglasses. She wasn’t sure she could’ve handled seeing pain in his eyes.

  Selfish, invasive cows. An ugly aggressive hate for these women buried its roots in her heart. If she could bargain with the devil, she would trade places with Jay. She would suck the hurt away, inhale it deep, and make it her own. Anything to ease the misery that was wrenching his body.

  And he was doing this for her.

  “OhmyGod, you’re haaaawt, Jay Maaaaayard.”

  Click. Click. Click.

  Head down, Jay led her through the masses and into the parking lot. The car wouldn’t be far, would it?

  The roar of the crowd bounced between the buildings. The guards kept a two-foot space cleared around them, but the perimeter wavered, straining inward.

  The sea of writhing people spilled into the street and to the other side. Upstretched arms held huge-lensed cameras over the push and pull of bodies. The front line reached out with wiggling fingers and blinking phones.

  Did a boob just flash in his face?

  “I love you, Jayeeeeeee. Looking good. You’re so handsome.”

  No, several boobs. Huge naked boobs. The girls elbowed each other to bend over the barricade of the guard’s arms. How far away was the damned car?

  “Can I have your autograph, Jay?”

  He kept his head sheltered beneath his arm. His other arm was a vise around her neck.

  “I want a picture. Please take a picture with me.” More crying. More bouncing nipples. And the crowd grew. Pounding footsteps and distant screaming announced more coming from the street.

  Was that the diversion they wanted? The paparazzi seemed to be losing their footing to the tizzy of desperate women, but the cameras didn’t stop clicking.

  Without warning, Tony spun toward Jay, slamming her back against his chest and dislodging his arm from Charlee’s neck.

  Oh God, no. What was happening? Charlee chased him, only to be yanked back by the shoving current of bodies.

  Tony’s mouth moved, and her eyes flicked between the roof and the crowd. What was she shouting? One word over and over. Gun?

  Charlee’s legs locked up and her mouth went dry. Something hunkered on the roof. Impossible to make out details with the sun’s glare.

  Jay swung his head back and forth. “Charlee?”

  More people rolled in, pushing her further back, blocking her view of Jay. She elbowed and kicked with the best of them, but the force of the frenzy swept her more feet away, bumping her into the grill of a parked car. “Jay!”

  She glimpsed him through the crack of bodies, five…six car lengths away. The sunglasses on his face pointed in her direction.

  His lips stretched from his clenched teeth. “Charlee!” He struggled against Tony’s grip, but something paralyzed him. He choked, curled in on himself and cupped his ears.

  Oh Jay, no. Charlee’s heart skipped, helplessness curling her nails into her palms.

  Tony bolstered most of his weight with hands on his chest and shoulders. No! Not her hands.

  Charlee doubled her effort, punching and body slamming through the crowd.

  A young girl broke from the melee. She flung herself at him, shackled her arms around his neck. Charlee watched, unable to move forward, as the girl smothered his mouth with hers.

  The swarm devoured her view. Her blood boiled, fueling her muscles and propelling her forward. An arm shoved her back. She grabbed the bitch’s ponytail and yanked her to the ground. Too many fucking people. Come on, come on, let her through. A few more elbows and she gained half the distance to him.

  Through a break in the rocking heads, she glimpsed Tony release his arms and punch the girl clinging to him. The girl went down and he stumbled back, gripping his chest and chanting something. His entire body seemed to lock up. What horror was tearing him apart inside?

  Her heart sprinted. He needed her, goddammit. “Get out of my way.” She launched herself into the wall of bodies and closed a few more feet.

  The crowd rippled behind Jay. A moment later, his SUV pushed its way through. The passenger door opened and Edison reached out, pulling Jay inside.

  Where was Nathan? Charlee whirled, probing the sea of heads. No Nathan. Oh God, anyone of those heaving bodies could be a Craig. Her heart raced.

  Jay arched his back and screamed two syllables. The distance and the shrill of the fans drowned out his voice, but she felt it in the marrow of her soul. He was suffering, buried by his nightmares. She felt him say her name, so close no matter how far. She was there. She willed him to see her.

  The remaining bodyguards climbed in on the opposite side of the SUV. Tony pushed Jay into the seat and climbed in after him. As she reached for the door, he jerked his head in Charlee’s direction.

  Were they going to leave her? Yes. She swallowed. They couldn’t wait for her to reach them. Tony had clocked a gun on the roof. She was doing her job, getting Jay out of there. “I’m with you, Jay. I’m here,” she whispered.

  The door slammed shut, and the vehicle backed out toward the street. Her heart collided with her ribs. Caged by the crowd, she was powerless to get to him. She knew he was incapacitated by his guards, and more so by his nightmares. Would he come back for her?

  Women flung themselves on the hood and against the windows, but he was safe inside. Good. That was good. His security did the right thing, her need for him be damned.

  Suck it up. Jay was safe. She felt it in the slump of her shoulders and the looseness of her neck. She rolled her head back and glanced at the roof of her building. The hunkered shape was gone. Where was the sniper? Find Nathan.

  The mob of fans and photographers thinned, spreading out as they chased the SUV down the street.

  Heart pounding, face burning, she scrutinized the lingerers for blond hair, blue eyes, and a white button-up. Where the hell was he?

  A gentle hand cupped her shoulder from behind and traveled over her collarbones to settle on her other shoulder. Oh, Nathan. She wanted to sag against him. “We need to get out of here.”

  As she turned to face him, an unmoving figure caught her eye on the far side of the lot. Blond hair. White button-up. The man beside him held his hand beneath the cover of his jacket, pointing the bulge at Nathan.

  A shiver swept through her. She lowered her eyes to the hand on her shoulder. Pale. Manicured. Cold. Her heart stumbled and her lungs seized all the air in the sky.

  A chilling whisper snaked around her neck. “We’ll be out of here soon, so I can show you just how much I’ve missed you, beautiful girl.”

  Chapter Forty

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  Charlee was an impulse away
from stuffing Roy’s cold black heart with lead. The pistol at her lower back would do a bang up job, but her revenge would have to wait until she could assure Nathan’s safety.

  Two years of slavery. A combined seven years of running. He stole nine of her twenty-five years. And he stole Noah. The burn to retaliate pumped as naturally through her veins as her blood.

  She turned in the hook of his arm, rolling her hips forward to keep the bump of the gun concealed under the drape of her shirt, and looked up.

  The baseball cap, oversized leather jacket, and jeans made him difficult to recognize. Roy Oxford did not do casual, but his countenance was its usual color of death. Icy. Bloodless. She wasn’t sure he was even breathing as he stared at her. Then he opened his mouth. “How convenient that I was only a four hour flight away when your photos went viral.” He tsked. “I thought better of you than to keep company with a litter of lowbred musicians. Though I’m not surprised to find the traitor, Nathan Winslow, amongst the trash.”

  Furious dread balled up in her throat. Traitor meant he’d connected Nathan Winslow to Matthew Linden, which also meant Nathan had little chance of surviving the next few minutes.

  “Tell me, Charlee.” The mouthwash on his breath was as aseptic as his expression. “Has he stuck his dick in you?”

  Nathan’s odds of survival dropped to zero if Roy didn’t believe her. She raised her chin and held his suffocating gaze. “No. You murdered my one and only lover.” Her body pulsed with the desire to watch his eyes empty of life.

  One of the few dependable forces of good in her world stood a parking lot away with his cover blown and a bullet pointed at his gut. She was too far away to shoot the Craig threatening Nathan. And where there was one Craig, there would be more spread out around her, their guns trained from their hiding spots.

  Though the bulk of the crowd had scattered into the street to chase Jay’s SUV, some milled about as if waiting for him to return.