Burnt Road: Dante

by Neal, Toby

  She stayed on the porch, watching her friend with JT’s arms wrapped around her. She had not had much of a chance to talk with Dante’s tall, good-looking older brother, but the obvious love he shared with Elizabeth filled Melody with a joy she’d never known before. She sighed with deep contentment as her gaze returned to Dante and Paul at the table, neither speaking as they concentrated on their task. Dante’s dark head bent near the boy’s shaggy brown one, and once again Melody was struck by his beauty. Inside and out, her Superman Spock was beautiful.

  How did she get to be so lucky?

  Dante spotted her watching him and put down his peeler. He said something to Paul and then stood. Melody’s body hummed with awareness as he joined her on the porch.

  Dante didn’t say a word as he reached up, cupping her cheek. His lips came down on hers, warm and soft, gentle yet demanding. He’d given her so much. Her eyes overflowed.

  “I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “I love you so much.”

  They kissed again, the taste of tears mingling in their mouths.

  The end of the world had brought Melody fully to life. She’d been half dead without even realizing it. Now, as the fresh night air caressed her skin and Dante, her future husband, kissed her with tenderness and passion, Melody understood what it was to truly experience the world around her.

  Love had helped them survive. And with the rest of his family and their friends, they’d build a new world.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Dante

  Dante settled into the comfortable office chair in the underground room in the bunker below the Haven filled with tech equipment that JT had nicknamed the Command Center. The room was dim and cool, optimal for the computers, surveillance, and communication equipment that filled every corner but one.

  A Bach sonata filled the air and soothed Dante’s nerves. Ever since their arrival, Dante felt like he’d been adapting and adjusting to one thing after the next: the devastating news of Nando’s death. All the friends and family at the Haven and their invasive and welcoming love. But here in the Command Center, he was comfortable, and king.

  He hadn’t realized how much he missed his optimal environment until he was back in it.

  Three monitors glowed around him in the dim light. Dante cracked his knuckles and leaned in to check the feeds.

  JT had listened to him when he bought the Haven, and had invested in top-end satellite wireless internet as well as TV and radio equipment. A ham radio unit, turned down low, emitted an occasional squawk from its place on a shelf by the door.

  They’d been at the Haven for a week now. Melody, Dante and Paul had been allocated a “family style” suite with two bedrooms and a small kitchen and living area. Melody and Paul had immediately taken to the busy, outdoor life of the farm, and Dante had disappeared into the Command Center to monitor the equipment and catch up on world events.

  The news, when he tapped into it, wasn’t good. The government was in disarray, the country in shambles, the evil preyed on the weak, and the death toll was beyond counting.

  But here at the Haven, life was tranquil and filled with love and laughter.

  Dante checked the video surveillance feeds of the compound: two cameras along the road covered approaches. Deep in the woods, there was a camera in the back wall. Another focused on the secret “hatch” leading out of the compound in case of emergency.

  Inside the compound, a camera overlooked each of the two entry gates, and another one scanned the fields.

  The level of external security was high due to the Haven’s former incarnation as a military facility, but all the equipment had been outdated when JT bought the place. “I set all the new equipment up, but I’m too busy out in the community working with the Sheriff and overseeing the farm to spend any time down here,” JT had told Dante after the initial tour of the bunker. “I’m expecting you’ll take things over.”

  “Sure, but we need to set up shifts to have someone watching the feeds at all times. There are a lot of bad people who won’t hesitate to take and destroy everything we have.”

  JT frowned and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah. We ran into some on our road trip. But it sounds like you have firsthand experience, Dante. Anything you want to tell me?”

  “No.” Dante sat down in the command chair and turned his back on his closest brother. No one but Melody would ever know what happened to him, and her total acceptance paired with her healing touch were wiping it further from his mind every day. “We had a rough time on the road, as have many. It was par for the course. I’ll set up a schedule of four-hour shifts and every adult can take one.”

  “I wouldn’t count your kid Paul out.” JT stood, coiling up some blue internet cable. “He’s sharp and takes his work seriously.”

  Dante opened his mouth to respond that Paul wasn’t “his” kid, but closed it again.

  Paul was his and Melody’s.

  The extremity of their experiences had bonded the three with a love that felt unbreakable. Seeing Paul bloom under Mama’s firm, loving direction in the kitchen, where he showed an aptitude, and watching him leave for the forest with JT’s friend Roan to hunt, Dante felt a fatherly pride. Teaching Paul to code in their little family suite was the tomato gravy on the pasta of the good things he was experiencing.

  Tweaking the direction of one of the surveillance cameras, Dante realized how much his autism symptoms had decreased. He’d been flooded with overstimulation from the moment he’d left his secure fortress in the Hollywood Hills. His neural pathways, emotions and body needed to adjust, or be broken beneath that overload.

  And he’d almost been broken in that house outside of Vegas.

  Without Melody, he never would have recovered from Bent and Snake.

  But Melody was his, and he was hers, and they’d healed each other. Maybe they’d even have a child someday, and give Paul a brother or sister.

  Looking around the room filled with the kind of controlled sensory stimulation and addicting information stream that he’d loved at one time, a niggling, unpleasant sensation bothered Dante.

  This was his ideal environment, but it didn’t feel good anymore.

  Melody was missing.

  She was outside, working in the gardens and with the animals. That work suited her and she loved it, but he didn’t like not seeing her all day.

  Did she miss him too? Or was she okay with just seeing him at night in their suite when the day’s work was done? She was always loving and seemed happy to be in his arms, but hadn’t said anything about missing him.

  Alone just didn’t have the appeal it once had.

  Maybe there was something he could do.

  Dante got up from the command chair with an abrupt, determined movement.

  * * *

  Days later, Dante led Melody by the hand down the hall of the underground bunker. She giggled, clutching him. “What’s with the blindfold, Dante? Seriously, it’s not like I haven’t seen everything down here before.”

  “You haven’t seen this.” Dante reached the door of the Command Center, opened it, and led her inside.

  He hit the lights. “Okay, you can take your blindfold off.”

  Melody pushed the handkerchief up onto her head and stepped forward. “Wow. Dante, where did you get all this?”

  “Here and there.” Dante shrugged, elaborately casual. “JT helped. Paul, too. And Lucy.”

  Melody walked forward to look into the one corner of the room not filled with tech equipment.

  He had made it into a lounge area. A low shelf defined one side with colored Christmas lights and plants brightening it as they wound around a TV. Big, fat, brightly colored pillows were piled on a sheepskin rug for seating. Along the other side of the nook, a purple mat, blocks, and a hanging suspension harness created a yoga practice area.

  “I made the yoga suspension harness for you from a Google diagram,” Dante explained. “Lucy sewed the pillows, and JT gave me the sheepskin.” The TV with a DVD player res
ted on the shelf, beneath which were stacked collections of every season of Star Trek, and a huge library of superhero films. “I sent some of my favorite DVDs to JT before the Scorch Flu,” Dante explained, “when I thought I might end up coming out here.” Nervousness tightened his throat.

  “I can’t believe this.” Melody was facing away so that Dante couldn’t see her face, but her voice sounded tight and small.

  Maybe she didn’t like it.

  There was only one way to tell. He had to see her face. Her eyes never lied.

  He took Melody by the shoulders and turned her around.

  Green eyes that had once reminded him of a feral cat were shiny with tears and full of love.

  “I missed you too, Dante,” Melody whispered. “I didn’t like being away from you all day. I’ll come down and hang out with you as often as I can.”

  Dante smiled in relief. “We can take work breaks and watch all the Star Treks. In order. From the beginning.”

  “You have the best ideas, my darling Spock.” Melody took his hand and led him into the little nest he’d made for her. “Let’s go try out this sheepskin rug.”

  Melody laughed, and Dante knew it was because she was happy.

  THE END

  Dear Readers!

  Thanks for staying on the journey with us through the roller coaster of Burnt Road!

  We really broke some romance stereotypes in this book! Toby’s background as a therapist working with autistic children and adults gave her a vision to write a lovable, sizzling hot hero with autism (definition: a mental condition, present from early childhood, characterized by difficulty in communicating and forming relationships with other people and in using language and abstract concepts.) Emily’s love and practice of all things yoga gave her a vision for Melody’s inner and outer beauty, and her recovery from rape using that mind/body practice.

  Burnt Road started out almost too easy, a classic “opposites attract” story, but it was in that abandoned house outside of Vegas, when first Melody, then Dante, fell into the hands of evil men, that things took a turn into total darkness. Both Melody and Dante had to face their deepest and most terrible fears, and overcome them.

  (If you are curious about autism and its treatment, there are many fine resources online, including this from the National Institutes of Health.)

  We want to continue to show the power of our chosen themes through the stories of overcoming in the Scorch Series: We are better together. Love heals. We can rebuild the world with love. No matter what we face, when we love each other unconditionally, change and growth can happen. Dante and Melody and their powerful, healing love embody this.

  We hope you will continue the journey with us! Read on for a sample from Flame Road, Cash and Jolene’s story.

  With love,

  Toby & Emily

  Click HERE to join the Toby & Emily newsletter, and never miss another of their stories!

  Click HERE for more of Emily’s writing!

  Click HERE for more of Toby’s writing!

  FLAME ROAD

  A Scorch Series Romance Thriller # 5, Cash

  Panic fluttered at the edges of the woman’s mind as she tried to remember how she got here, but nothing would come. She simply was, and everything hurt.

  She dragged herself up onto her knees in the musty-smelling leaves. Bright light filtered through a canopy of leaves above and stung her eyes. Throbbing pain radiated from her forehead. She raised a heavy white arm. Whose arm was it? She had no idea.

  She forced her fingers to touch the sore spot on her forehead, and a shock of pain thundered through her skull and down her neck, vibrating through her entire body, clenching her stomach with nausea.

  She closed her eyes and hunched down, breathing deeply and letting the pain pass. She finally opened her eyes again, and looked down at her hands. They were riddled with crisscrossed scratches. Her gaze traveled up her arms, to her chest. She was wearing a long-sleeved, ripped white top, mottled with dirt and fat drops of dried blood, probably from the wound on her head.

  In front of her was a rock, jagged and sharp and stained with the rust of blood.

  She must have fallen and hit her head.

  The insight was a clue, and it felt good to realize that she could think and solve the mystery of what was going on. Hope gave her the energy to push herself up, clinging to a nearby sapling. She rose, her heartbeat quickening even as her head swam. Alone with amnesia in the middle of a forest. Another insight, but this one brought more terror. She looked down, trying to find more clues.

  The top was actually a dress, and the skirt was pockmarked with small tears, as if she'd been running through the woods, the loose material catching and ripping on underbrush. Forest surrounded her, towering trees decorated with yellow, orange and red leaves: it was fall.

  The woman looked down at her body again; she did not recognize the full breasts and wide hips. The dress was ill-fitting, bunching at her waist, tight at her thighs. She turned her head and felt stinging at the back of it. The woman raised her hand and felt gently across a shorn scalp to find a scab, tender but healing. She traced the lines of it on the back of her head. It felt like some kind of symbol.

  Her head was shaved and something had been carved into her skull.

  “How weird.” Her voice sounded unfamiliar too, breathy and small. She looked around the forest, scanning the trees, hearing birds and the scuffling of small creatures. The sound of water, soft and bubbling, filtered through the air.

  She was very thirsty.

  The woman clung to the sapling to steady herself. Her leg muscles quivered, and placing weight on her left ankle made her wince. She pulled up the skirt and looked down at the milky white skin of her legs, slashed with scratches. They must've happened when she was running through the woods.

  Her feet were clad in sturdy hiking boots. They didn't make sense with the dress.

  None of it made any sense.

  Her thirst drove her forward, toward the sound of the river, and she leaned on trees to hold some of her weight.

  Through the growth she saw glimmers of light twinkling on water. She hurried forward and broke from the trees onto the pebbly shore. The stream was shallow but wide, icy water rushing over colored pebbles under a blue sky. She stumbled to the water's edge, dropping to her knees and cupping the crystal clear liquid in her palms.

  It might not be safe to drink. There could be parasites. She should boil the water.

  How did she know that?

  She didn’t have the luxury of worrying about parasites.

  Bringing the cold water to her parched mouth, she drank deeply, the chilly water filling her stomach. She was hungry, but hunger was nothing compared to the thirst and pain.

  The woman washed her hands, pushing the dress up and splashing up to her elbows, rinsing away the dirt and blood. She splashed water on her face and felt the tiny cuts stinging. Gently she dipped the hem of her skirt into the water and then dabbed at the wound on her forehead, hissing between her teeth at the sharp sting.

  She must've been running from something or someone. Five dark spots marked where someone had grabbed her left forearm.

  She unbuttoned the dress. Full breasts were supported by a matronly bra. She pulled the bra aside and looked at the round, creamy white balloon with a pink nipple. What did it mean, that she didn’t recognize her own body?

  She pulled up her skirt, exposing pale, fleshy thighs. Clearly, she had not spent much time in the sun recently, but it felt good now, warming her even as the chilly water refreshed her.

  Her body, her wounds, all were familiar and yet not, as if her memories were mountains on the other side of a storm. She couldn't see through thick, dark clouds to the clear peaks of her knowledge, but the information was there, as solid and real as a mountain range. She scooped up another handful of sweet water.

  A low growl caught her attention and she looked up.

  Across the shallow little river, not quite twenty yards wide, stood a gray
wolf. Lean and long-legged, shaggy and tough, tall as her waist, the animal’s black lip lifted above razor teeth as menace emanated from its chest.

  Fear and adrenaline surged through the woman, freezing her as cold as the crystal-clear water rushing over the colorful stones.

  The wolf’s ruff raised as it stalked toward her into the water. Its snarl lifted the hair on her neck.

  * * *

  Cash

  Tiny wouldn't get off the scent, even though Cash could tell by the broken foliage and footprints that the creature they’d followed for the last few hours was a man, guessing by the heavy, medium-sized prints left in the mud. Cash had spent enough time tracking to recognize signs of a forest tenderfoot who didn't know where he was going.

  Tiny stopped in front of a jagged stone, sniffing it and whimpering anxiously. Cash squatted, frowning. A brown stain of blood marked where the man had fallen and been injured.

  The sound of water bubbled nearby. The hiker had probably made his way to the river, but Tiny’s interest didn’t make that person someone that Cash wanted to meet.

  A lot of people sick with the pandemic Scorch Flu took to the woods, desperate and lost. Others were heavily armed and dangerous. Most of them didn’t last long before returning to what passed as civilization, but Cash had spent weeks hiking and camping through the woods already on his way to Idaho. The days since he got the call from his brother, Dante, to meet him and the rest of the Lucianos at the Haven, their brother JT’s survival compound in Idaho, had blurred.

  Cash traveled light, carrying a backpack, his compound bow, slingshot and two knives at his waist. He had also achieved black belts in three different schools of martial arts, but none of those things would stop a bullet.

  Cash didn't like guns and wouldn’t touch them, which made caution a good policy.

  Cash snapped his fingers, and Tiny pressed against his side, her back reaching almost to his waist, her thick fur warm and deep. The fact that Tiny was a one-hundred-and-seventy-pound Japanese bear dog appealed to Cash’s sense of humor.