Rescue (Ransom Book 5)

by Rachel Schurig

  “You want to get out of here?” she asks, surprising me.

  “Yeah?”

  She grins, bumping my shoulder with hers. “I’m pretty hungry. And you clearly need a break from the Ransom machine.”

  I’m surprised to hear the sound of my own laugh. I thought I was beyond laughing today.

  “Come on,” she urges, slipping her sunglasses up on top of her head. Her eyes are red rimmed and small. Definitely a hangover. And she still looks gorgeous. “I need some food.”

  “Then let’s get some food.” I hold out my hand, holding my breath. But then she takes it, grinning, and I suddenly feel a hell of a lot better.

  ***

  Three hours later, Haylee and I sneak down the hall toward her hotel room. I’m pretty hammered, to be honest, and from the way Haylee needs to stop every few minutes to giggle, I think she might be too.

  “Shh,” I say, leaning against the wall. “I told you my brothers will totally kill the vibe if they see me.” I laugh a little myself. “That’s kind of funny. That they’ve turned into the vibe killers. And I’m the one who has a vibe.”

  Haylee giggles again, holding my arm. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I snort, clapping my other hand over my mouth, and she slides her hand down from my arm to my fingers, clutching them tightly. “Let’s go.”

  Somehow we manage to get down the rest of the hall and into her room. It’s smaller than mine, just an armchair, a desk, and a bed. A really comfortable-looking bed.

  Haylee is standing against the door, breathing heavily, a huge grin on her face.

  “I feel better,” I say.

  “I know. You’ve been saying that for the last two hours.”

  I probably have. After we left the hotel, we found an open pub serving food. We ate bangers and mash, washing it down with the brown ale the city was famous for, and talked about anything except for my brothers. Something about being with her made me forget how shitty I felt only an hour before. Something in how she smiled at me, the way her eyes sparkled up at me when I made her laugh. I have spent so much of my life being the quiet one, the sullen one. What did Cash always say? Emo. It was nice to be the one making the pretty girl laugh for once.

  And the beer helped too.

  Once our tipsiness turned to sloppiness, Haylee suggested we go back to her room to raid the minibar. I didn’t tell her that getting wasted in the middle of the afternoon—on a show day, no less—was out of character for me. And definitely something my doctors at Horizons would have frowned upon. Because I didn’t want to think about that, not when Haylee was holding my hand, leaning into my shoulder, her body warm and close to mine. Not when she was laughing like that.

  “So,” she says.

  “So.”

  We stand on opposite sides of the room, watching each other. Something seems to crackle in the air between us, some energy I haven’t felt in a long time. Something like wanting. “You ready for that drink?” I finally ask, my voice husky in my ears.

  “I’m ready for something else.”

  I’ve crossed the room to her before I can even think about what I’m doing, and then she’s in my arms, her hands in my hair, and I’m kissing her.

  Holy shit, I think, the force of the current that runs from her lips to mine strong enough to cut through the alcohol haze. Her lips are soft and full below mine, but they turn insistent almost immediately, pressing back against mine as if impatient. I can barely think straight, she feels so good. Her body is soft and seems to fit against mine as if it was made to be there. My hands are in her hair, that glorious long hair, and it’s like silk between my fingers. “Lennon,” she murmurs against my mouth, her voice making my heart speed up. I run my tongue lightly along the edge of her lips, and she moans, and it’s probably the best sound I’ve ever heard in my life.

  “Is this okay?” I ask, pulling back enough to look down at her face. Her eyes are wide and a little wild.

  “Are you kidding?” she asks, her voice like a growl, and I can’t help but grin. She’s adorable.

  “You’ve been drinking.”

  “So have you.”

  “I don’t want to take advantage—”

  She grasps my shoulders, pushing me away from the door. Pushing me toward the bed. “Lennon, I want this.”

  There’s no way I can argue with that. I want it too, want it more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. And then she slips her shirt over her head, and my brain turns off entirely.

  I don’t really do relationships. Sure, I’ve had my fair share of hookups over the years. It would be hard not to, being single in a rock band as popular as ours. But those have been few and far between in the last year, and there hasn’t been anyone that I really cared about for much longer than that. There was a girl in high school, one of those super angsty teen obsessions, that broke my heart pretty bad. My brothers and Daisy always thought that was what turned me off from trying again. I let them go with that assumption—it sounds a lot better than the truth. The truth is that I’m pretty sure I’m way too fucked up to ever really be happy with someone. To make someone else happy.

  But looking down at Haylee, at the smooth column of her neck arched to meet my lips, the vivid color of her tattoos burning into my peripheral vision, I realize that I don’t feel so fucked up. I feel… alive. For the first time in ages, I feel alive and awake. Happy even. How could I not feel happy when this woman—this gorgeous, passionate woman, this woman who somehow seems to understand just what I need even though she barely knows me—is here with me, wanting me?

  We’re on the bed in a matter of seconds, our clothing tangling in hurried hands, her lips never leaving mine. “You feel so good,” I mutter, and she sighs a little, a contented sigh that makes my stomach clench. I want to hear that noise again, want to be the cause of it, so I bring my lips to her collarbone, kissing every inch of her skin I can reach, my fingers rushing to bare more of her body to me.

  Suddenly the impediment of clothes is gone as we’ve somehow managed to free each other of jeans and shirts. I look down at her, trying to catch my breath. She’s only in her bra and underwear now, both of them dark red, and I have to close my eyes before my brain explodes.

  “Lennon?”

  It’s her voice that kills me. While a moment ago she was laughing, excited, growling almost, now she sounds different. Vulnerable. Like something important rests on my reaction right now. I open my eyes and look into hers, and the haze of alcohol disappears completely. I’ve never felt more sober in my life, more awake and aware of every detail around me. Her perfect body, her skin pressed against mine, her hair fanned out on the pillow behind her head. Her lips are reddened from our kissing, her lashes impossibly dark against her pale skin. And her blue eyes are open, fixed on me, waiting.

  “You’re perfect.”

  A flush comes to her skin, and she looks away, a smile tugging on her lips. She’s shy, and it’s so cute I can’t stand it.

  “Haylee.”

  She looks back at me, and her eyes are different now. No longer vulnerable, no longer unsure. She looks up at me like I might be the best thing she’s ever seen too. “I want you,” she says.

  I’m barely breathing as I remove the last of our clothes, as my lips run across her chest, as I reach into my pocket for a condom. The look on her face as I slip it on makes me crazy, and I can’t decide if I want to go back to kissing her or—

  “Please.”

  I don’t need to hear anything else. I slide into her, and she shudders around me, her head tilted back. I’m almost afraid to move, afraid to do anything that might shatter this perfect moment. For once in my life, my body takes over, silencing my always overworking brain. I’m moving inside her, kissing her face, her neck, everything I can reach, and she’s holding me so tight, whispering my name, and I basically decide I could die right here.

  When she comes, her chest arches into me, and I decide against dying after all. Because I’m definitely going t
o need to do this again, as soon as possible. I follow her a moment after, and we lie there, wrapped up in each other, neither of us moving.

  “Wow,” I finally mutter, peering down at her. She grins at me, the most self-satisfied grin I’ve ever seen, and I laugh, rolling to my side and pulling her with me.

  “That was pretty fantastic,” she murmurs into my chest.

  Fantastic doesn’t really cover it. I’ve never felt anything like that, not ever in my life. She snuggles in a little closer, and my throat feels tight with some unknown emotion.

  I wonder, fleetingly, if I might freak out. Heavy emotional experiences are something I try to avoid at all costs. But before I can worry too much, the sound of Haylee’s even breathing carries me off to sleep.

  ***

  I wake up to the sound of knocking on the door. Pounding would be more accurate. Whoever’s out there really wants to get in. I reach for Haylee and realize that she’s already off the bed. The room is dim now—what time is it?— but I can make out the shape of her as she moves to the door, picking a shirt up from the floor.

  “What the hell, Haylee?” an angry voice asks when she opens the door.

  “Shut up,” she hisses, her voice low. She must think I’m still sleeping.

  “You want me to shut up? You disappear for hours with that guy—are you drunk?”

  “I’m not drunk.” Her voice does sound perfectly steady. “Do you need something?”

  “Why are you whispering?” There’s a pause, and then the guy—it sounds like James—swears. “Are you kidding me?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “Like hell it isn’t.” He sounds really pissed, and I’m halfway sitting, thinking I should go to the door.

  “It’s not a big deal.” Her words hit me like a punch to gut, but her tone is even worse. Completely nonchalant, unaffected.

  “Of course it is,” James snaps. “We work for him, Haylee.”

  “We work for the label.”

  “And you think the label won’t kick us right back to the States if you do something to piss off the Ransomes?”

  “We just had some fun, James, Jesus. Are you seriously going to be on my case?”

  There’s a long moment of silence, and when James speaks again his voice is more controlled. “We have sound check. We need to get to the venue.”

  “Fine. I’ll be right down.”

  “Haylee—”

  She sighs loud enough for me to hear her from here. “What?”

  “You know this is a bad idea. And you know that has nothing to do with what’s good for the band. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “I’ll deal with it,” she says, voice flat, then the door is shutting and she reappears in the room. She stops when she sees I’m awake, her entire body freezing. “Hey,” she finally says, her voice even. “Sorry he woke you up. I guess I’m late for sound check.”

  “That’s okay.” I swallow, trying to dispel the fear that’s risen up in my chest. Why is James so concerned about her being with me? Why does he think that she’ll end up hurt?

  Haylee gathers her clothes, dressing quickly. “Hey, come here,” I say, but she turns her back to me. “Haylee?”

  “I really have to run.” Her voice is bright, and it sounds all wrong.

  “Can we talk after sound check?”

  “Sure.” I feel a rush of relief, but then she continues. “I mean, we see each other every day, right? I’m sure we’ll talk at some point.”

  “I meant… talk about this. About us.” I feel stupid saying the words, but she finally turns to face me. She looks so sad my breath catches, her expression not matching her bright tone of voice at all.

  “This was really fun, Lennon, but I think it’s better if we’re just friends.”

  “What? Why? I mean—”

  “We both have a lot on our plates right now.” She scoops up her hair into a ponytail, not meeting my eyes. “I really need to focus on the band, you know?”

  “I would never ask you to lose focus on your work.”

  “Good.” She comes over and kisses my cheek, her lips barely making contact at all. “Then we’re on the same page.”

  “Haylee, wait.”

  “I really have to go,” she says, already halfway to the door. “Stay as long as you want, okay? Feel free to use the shower. I’ll see you around.”

  Before I can say another word, she’s gone.

  “What the hell?” I mutter, lying back against the pillows. I can smell her perfume in the sheets, something sweet and vanilla that surprises me. She doesn’t really seem like the vanilla type.

  I lie there for a long while, trying to figure out when in the hell I screwed this up. I couldn’t have imagined that connection, there’s no way. She was right there with me, I would bet everything on it. So what has her running so fast?

  You know this is a bad idea… I don’t want you getting hurt.

  What did James mean by that? Why did he think that being with me would hurt her? A cold fear slithers into my chest. Did he know something? Was it possible that he’d heard rumors about me, about what I did? Did he think…

  Don’t be stupid, I tell myself, standing and searching for my clothes. No one knows about Horizons except for the family.

  And the label.

  I try to push the fear away as I get dressed. My brothers are going to be freaking out, seeing as how I’ve now been unaccounted for for a good five hours. But I can’t seem to make myself care. All I can hear, over and over again in my head, is James’s voice, telling Haylee that I’ll hurt her.

  It would be a lot easier to ignore if I weren’t pretty sure he was right.

  Chapter Seven

  Haylee

  “Hay, that was your cue.”

  “Damn it,” I mutter, then I drop my pick, kicking my frustration up another level. Rehearsal is not going well. And so far that’s pretty much entirely my fault. “Shit.”

  Dylan gives me a sympathetic grimace. “No biggie. Let’s just start again.”

  I sigh, running my hands through my hair. Starting again isn’t going to help me much.

  “How about we take five,” James says, once again demonstrating his uncanny ability to read my thoughts. Usually I find it pretty annoying, but today I’m merely grateful for the break. I follow my bandmates to the minuscule sitting area to the side of our rehearsal space, accepting the beer Layla hands me with thanks.

  “So,” she says, sitting in a folding chair across from me. “What has your panties in a twist?”

  I scowl at her. “You know I hate that expression.”

  “Deal with it.” She takes a long sip of her beer before pushing her red hair out of her face. “You’ve been in a pissy mood ever since Newcastle. What’s up?”

  “You have been kind of pissy, Hay,” Dylan says from the floor in front of me, where he’s stretched out, hands behind his head. “You need to get laid?”

  “You offering?”

  He makes a big deal of shuddering. “You’re way too tough and intimidating for me.”

  I grin down at him. “That’s right. Don’t forget it.”

  “You’re still not talking,” Layla points out.

  “Maybe I just forgot how annoying it was to be on tour with you assholes.” I take another sip of my beer, blowing Lance a kiss when he flips me off.

  “Yeah, this tour has been so annoying,” Dylan says. “Packed crowds in the biggest venues we’ve ever played, flying across Europe, staying in five-star hotels, all our meals comped. God. It’s the worst.”

  Lance laughs, pointing at our guitarist. “Kid has a point.”

  Layla crosses her arms, glaring at me. “You’re sorely mistaken if you think you can distract me.”

  “Yeah, Hay,” Dylan says, kicking my shin. “She’s got her scary face on. Better just tell her what’s bothering you.”

  “It’s the weather. Who knew the U.K. would be so rainy?” It’s not even a lie. The tour opened in Stockholm, and I’
d been too jet lagged and stressed about doing well to really get my bearings. After a stop in Copenhagen we’d flown over to England, making our way through the north of the country, stopping in Manchester, Liverpool, and Leeds before heading to Glasgow. The cities were cool—we had a lot of fun being Beatles tourists in Liverpool—but it had rained steadily since our plane touched down in Manchester. I’m looking forward to the following week when we’ll move on to Spain. The weather has to turn at some point.

  Layla clearly doesn’t believe me, but she drops it when James brings up the show tonight. “What do you think about switching the set list?” he asks the group. “I think we’d get more impact on “Cry Heart” if we put it after the first break.”

  I tune out as James and Lance debate the set list order. The two of them could argue song placement for hours. I never really saw the point. Just tell me what song to sing, and I’ll do my best to nail it. But James and Lance both believe, very strongly, that song order is an art form. Unfortunately, they rarely agree on the shape that art form should take.

  “I need a ciggy break,” Layla says, standing.

  “I’ll come with,” Dylan says, but Layla places the tip of her boot on his leg, holding him in place on the floor.

  “No you won’t.” She points at me. “You can keep me company.”

  I don’t bother to stifle my groan. I should have known she would hassle me until I gave in.

  “Fine,” Dylan says as Layla and I head out. “Smoking is a filthy habit anyhow!” he calls after us.

  “He has a point,” Layla says, opening the door for me. It’s drizzling and gray—a vast improvement from the steady rain of the morning, and we huddle under the building’s minuscule awning. “You really should quit.”

  “I barely smoke. I don’t even carry cigarettes.”