Dirty (25 page)

“Drop it,
pendejo
.”

Oh, there he was.
 
I had to smile at my partner’s smartass remark.

When I would have turned around a muscled arm suddenly wrapped ruthlessly around my throat.

Definitely not Dawson.

My weapon was snatched before I could grab it.

When I would have fought my attacker, the cold, hard muzzle of a gun bored into my temple.

Where was Dawson?
 
No weapons discharged.
 
Even a silencer wasn’t completely noiseless.
 
No sounds of a struggle.
 
My heart started to pound.
 
He could be dead.

Stay calm.
 
Wait for an opportunity.
 
Maybe there were three or more of them to my one, but I couldn’t just surrender.
 
I twisted my head slightly in an attempt to see the guy dragging me across the cemetery.

Not only did I not get a look at the bastard squeezing off my airway as he hauled me nearer to the grave, I didn’t get a decent visual of the three men waiting in the shadows beyond the freshly mounded earth around that glaring hole in the ground.

My feet scraped across loose dirt and I dug in my heels, tried to slow the momentum toward that final destination.
 
Too late.
 
Before he released me, as if he’d wanted me to see, I got a good look at Dawson lying in that open coffin which had been tossed into the hole in the ground.

My own scream was the last thing I heard before being shoved down on top of my new partner.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Dawson!
 
Goddammit, wake up!”

If I sounded hysterical it was probably because I was.
 
Terror coursed through my veins like a paralyzing drug, short circuiting my thinking processes.

Getting buried alive apparently had that effect.

I couldn’t move much.
 
I had managed to get my arms up where I could shake Dawson’s head in hopes of rousing him.
 
I knew he wasn’t dead because I could feel the slight rise and fall of his chest beneath me.
 
I could also feel the overhead part of the coffin a little closer than it had been before all the dirt got piled on top.
 
Now I knew first hand why concrete vaults were not only a nice but also a necessary option in the better funerals.

And I couldn’t see shit.

The perpetual plunk of dirt had stopped hitting the top of the coffin, which meant one of two things...either the men had been scared off by something or they’d finished.

Whether the enemy was still hanging around or not we had to get out of here.
 
I definitely couldn’t do this alone.
 
Not with my back to the only part of the damned box that opened.
 
Scratch that...didn’t coffin’s have latches?
 
Weren’t they on the outside?
 
What do you want to bet they locked us in?

Not even factoring in all that dirt.

Then another reality hit me.
 
There would only be so much oxygen in this box.
 
My mental ranting and raving was using it up fast.
 
Any physical exertion would do the same.

Shit.

We needed help.

Think!

I had to think.

My cell phone.

I forced my arm down and behind me until my shaking fingers could angle the thing from my back pocket.

Working hard not to breathe too quickly, I pried the flip top open and almost cried out loud when the lighted display greeted me.
 
The signal was weak but it was there.

I glanced at Dawson.
 
His eyes were still closed but I didn’t see any blood.
 
He was breathing.
 
That was always a good sign.

Holding onto calm by the very skin of my teeth, I entered the home number for Hobbs and prayed that my AT&T service, even a signal this weak, wouldn’t be interrupted or abruptly stopped by something as trivial as two or three feet of dirt.

“Hello.”
 
Breathless.
 
Male.
 
Hobbs.

Thank God.

“It’s Jackie,” I said, trying not to gulp down any extra air as I spoke.
 
“I’m in trouble.”

“What’s new?”

Oh, God.
 
I didn’t have time for this.
 
Nor did I have the O2 to spare to tell him about it.

“Jackie, are you there?”

My silence proclaimed trouble just as loudly as anything I could have said.

“Come to Woodlawn Cemetery.
 
They buried us alive.
 
Hurry, Hobbs, I don’t know how long the air will hold out.”

“Holy sh—I’m on my way,” my loyal assistant promised.
 
“I’ll bring help.”

I closed the phone and quickly did the math for the time required for Hobbs to reach the cemetery then, even with help, dig us up.
 
I knew the amount of air in a particular space had something to do with cubic feet.
 
How was it that formula went?

Oh, to hell with it.

We were most likely fucked.

Dawson abruptly started to struggle beneath me.

“Don’t move, Dawson.”

He stilled at the sound of my voice but I could feel his heart pounding in his chest which meant he was sucking in more than his fair share of air.

“Don’t breathe so fast.
 
We’re buried alive.
 
Hobbs is on his way to save us.”

“Are you shitting me?”

I drew in a much needed breath of my own.
 
“Be very still and don’t talk.
 
We don’t want to run out of air before help gets here.”

As if I hadn’t said a word Dawson’s arms went up around me and he started to shove at the closed lid.
 
Even if the lid weren’t locked he would never be able to get us out with all that dirt pushing downward before he used up the available oxygen in his battle against gravity.

I pinned his shoulders down and growled like an animal, “Don’t move.
 
Don’t talk.
 
Don’t even fucking breathe.”

Of course he had to breathe, but surely he understood what I meant.
 
My mind whirled with unfeasible ideas for escaping.
 
Hysteria nipped at my flimsy hold on self-control.

“Okay,” he relented, the one word choked.

I felt him relax under me.
 
Thank God.

I don’t know how many seconds passed...maybe it was a minute but I had to relax my neck.
 
Couldn’t hold my head away from him any longer.

He made a sound when my chin settled on his shoulder.
 
I wanted to ask him how badly he was hurt but resisted the impulse in light of our current need to conserve energy.

A few seconds later and the atmosphere had evolved to a whole different level.

Okay, I know we were both thinking the same thing.
 
We might not live through this.
 
Hobbs could have an accident en route.
 
The oxygen could run out way before he got to us.
 
There might be more dirt on top of us than I’d estimated.
 
After all, I hadn’t exactly been measuring the precise distance on my way into this predicament.
 
But, somehow, things moved from the possibility of certain death to the undeniable fact that our bodies were pressed together in the most intimate places and ways.

I squeezed my eyes shut and thought about anything else.
 
The number of boyfriends and/or relationships each of my friends had gone through in the past ten years as compared to me.
 
We’d all divorced about the same time.

Okay, not a good idea.
 
That only led to how many we’d had sex with.

Sex.

Why did my entire existence always boil down to that one-syllable, three-letter word?

Oh, God.
 
I felt Dawson’s...oh, damn.
 
I resisted the urge to flex my hips.

“Sorry.”

The muttered word came out hoarse and ragged as hell.

I blocked the sensations the sound prompted.
 
I did not want to feel any of this.

Not right now.

I tried to think of my son...my mother...my uncle.
 
All the people I loved and might never see again.

It didn’t work.

My entire being focused in on the feel of Dawson’s still expanding cock as it pressed hard against my pelvis in just the right spot.

In spite of my best efforts my pulse sped up.
 
Fire kindled deep inside me.

I had to shift my position.

“Don’t move,” he warned in a low, guttural tone that lit that same fire I’d felt below in every cell of my body.
 
My breasts started to tingle.

I held perfectly still, every muscle melting against the hard, tense, incredibly masculine ones supporting me.
 
I had known he was built well, but I hadn’t known just how well.

His heart beat a little faster now.
 
But I couldn’t say anything because I knew mine did too.
 
Not to mention my brain had zeroed in on the generous size of his rock hard dick.
 
Well, at least I’d gotten a preview of what I’d missed.
 
Boy, would the girls be jealous.
 
Dawson was not only gorgeous but he was nicely hung.

I hadn’t realized until then that my fingers were knotted in his shirt.
 
I told myself to relax, but my limbs wouldn’t obey the command.
 
I could smell his skin...that hint of aftershave he’d used this morning, the one I couldn’t readily identify, and the scent of clean, male sweat.
 
I moistened my lips and counted backward from a thousand.

His hands were fisted at his sides.
 
I felt the tension radiating down those strong arms.
 
The leanness of his abdomen...the contours of his chest.

Why did I have to notice every little thing?

The brrrrr of my cell phone vibrating against the side of the coffin jerked my thoughts away from Dawson.
 
I grabbed it, flipped it open.
 
Even that movement made him groan.
 
I swallowed back a moan of my own.
 
“Hobbs?”

“We’re at the cemetery.
 
Where the hell are you?”

“The part where they bury the indigents.
 
Hurry!”

“Wait...I think I see it.”

Thank God.
 
I closed the phone.
 
“They’re here.”

“Good,” Dawson croaked.

Since help had arrived and I was still breathing, some kind of switch flipped inside me, amplifying my more primitive urges somehow.
 
I couldn’t bear the feel of him against me like this a second longer.
 
I had to move.
 
I wasn’t sure if the whimper came from him or me.

“Jesus, don’t move.”
 
His hands flattened on my butt and held me immobile.
 
“Just...don’t...move,” he pleaded.

I braced my hands on his shoulders and drew back to glare at him though I couldn’t see a damned thing.
 
“Look,” I snapped, “I can’t stay like this.
 
You’re...I’m...”
 
I felt him move against me.
 
I gasped...tensed as a wave of sensual pleasure washed over me.

“I...”
 
He didn’t finish whatever he intended to say.

“Stop it, Dawson,” I warned...my body mimicking his little move before I could halt the automatic response.

His breathing grew more rapid, more shallow...more ragged as he obviously struggled not to do that thing again.

He’d flattened his palms overhead...against the cheap silk-like fabric.
 
I knew from the trembling in his arms he did so to keep his hands away from me.
 
I couldn’t pry mine loose from his shirt...I’d stopped trying the moment his hips ground harder into mine.

My body hummed with anticipation...with the need to find release one way or another, even if it killed me.

I moistened my lips and had to draw in a deeper breath.
 
The smell of Dawson’s aroused body saturated every square inch of my insides.
 
I knew his lips were no more than an inch from mine.
 
Jesus Christ, I wanted him so damned bad.

Vibration above us dragged my attention upward.
 
Hobbs and whoever he’d brought to help were digging us up.

Thank God.

We had to hang on long enough for them to reach us.
 
It was hot and muggy in here...like my bathroom after a long, long shower.
 
I tried to focus on anything but the here and now.
 
Told myself it would only take a little while longer.

That thought flew apart when the trembling in Dawson’s arms escalated to the whole body tremors.
 
At first I worried that he was hurt worse than I realized...a seizure maybe?
 
Then he groaned helplessly and I knew that wasn’t the case.

He was coming.

My body plunged into autopilot before the thought fully assimilated in my brain.
 
I could almost hear my G-spot screaming
Wait for me!

I let it happen...had no control...undulated my hips...soaked up the pleasure of feeling how hard he was...how enormous...how I knew, without doubt, he would feel thrusting deep inside me.
 
It didn’t take much effort...took even less brain power.

His hands found my hips, pressed me downward, sending spirals of pleasure along my every nerve ending.
 
We whimpered together...helpless and at the same time somehow in control in the only way we could be given the situation.