Slow Burn (6 page)

Max held up a hand.

Derrick huffed and sat back down. He hated this part. He
wasn’t trained in hostage negotiations. He led ground assault teams into
rescues only
after
all terms were agreed upon and the plans were set in
motion. Max always handled negotiations.

Tension poured off him in waves. He gripped the chair,
gritted his teeth, and tried to remain quiet.

Max tapped a few keys on the laptop but continued to talk to
the screen. “Where is the drop point?”

The Russian appeared onscreen again. “We need five million
for her. We will be in touch. Remember, have money ready in twenty-four hours.
Or we start ripping off fingers and limbs. She only needs her voice to be of
use, right?” The screen went blank.

“Dammit!” Derrick stood and pounded the desk. “What are we
going to do?”

“Well.” Max took a deep breath. “We are supposed to come up
with several million dollars for her release. She is the biggest thing in the
music scene and they probably know that.” He inhaled his cigar, blew out a
thick cloud of smoke.

The puma inside Derrick swished its tail back and forth. “I
have access to funds but it’ll take more than twenty-four hours for me to liquidate
that sort of cash.”

“Relax.” Max held up a hand. He ran his thumb and forefinger
along the body of the cigar. “We’re not going to come up with that much money.
In fact, we’re going to pull the same tactic on them that they did on us.”

Derrick arched his brow. What connections did Max still
have? He never bothered to talk about work. Three-letter organizations rarely
let anyone talk about information they deemed classified, but Derrick knew
Max’s reserves well enough to know things might be handled off the books. Good,
because this needed to be kept quiet. The media didn’t need to know about it.
More public actions would only bring out more obvious threats.

Max looked collected sitting in his chair.

“A snatch and grab? Are you fucking mad?”

“No.” Max laughed, stroking his goatee. “I’ve picked up his
location. They’re in an old abandoned neighborhood not far from here. We’re
going to go get your girl. There’s a tracker in your trench coat.”

Dread and relief filled Derrick. “She’s not my girl.”

Max didn’t bother to hide his dopey grin. “Dude, I saw how
you looked at her.”

Derrick grunted.

“You can’t fool a spy.” He leaned back, set his hands behind
his head, and closed his eyes.

Derrick wanted to knock the smug look off Max’s face.

“Look.” Max picked up his cigar from the ashtray. “You’re
familiar with her. You heard how Erick talked about her when you mentioned her.
When Erick speaks—”

“Yeah, I know.” One of the oldest pumas around, Erick just
seemed to know things. It was definitely creepy. He had told Derrick to let the
girl into his world, so for now that’s all he was doing. “So what’s our move?”

“We get a few friends, sneak in under the cover of darkness,
do the ole snatch and grab, and get out unseen.”

Derrick snorted. The animal in him wanted blood and would
get it eventually, at any cost. But he had to be rational; that’s what
separated man from beast. Except with shifters. That war always remained
present, worsening when both man and animal wanted the same thing. In the end,
Derrick realized a plan like this would take time to execute. “You make it
sound so simple.”

Max nodded, drummed his fingers on the desk, and looked
Derrick dead in the eyes. “That’s because it is.”

* * *

“You did good. Maybe you won’t have to die after all.” Those
were the last words she heard before she was blindfolded and led back into the
same room as earlier.

Sonja’s heart wanted to break. When the image cleared, she
saw two figures. Max, the puma shifter from earlier, had been sitting in a
chair. Beside him sat Derrick, looking sexy as hell even with the amount of
anger he was probably trying to hide.

Why were they the ones that answered whatever call these
terrorists had put out? What is going on?

At least this time the shackles around her ankles weren’t as
tight. She could work herself free of them instantly and escape.

During the recording, she lost some control of her power.
Her body shook just as soon as the camera was turned off, and she burst into
tears.

The butt of a gun made her cry even more, but pissed her off
at the same time. She would only need to sing a single note—a scream of pure
agony—to make the men holding her captive envision their worst fears.

Then they’d all commit suicide.

She’d been afraid to use her voice for that. Death carried a
lot of negative energy, and when people died, they often released all of their
unfiltered foul baggage into the universe. If a death was a suicide or a victim
who died not of their own volition, tormented anger stuck to her.

As time passed, it became harder for her to scrub it off
with magic and even more difficult to release, so she absorbed more and more
negative energy.

The thought tore at her heart and solidified her vow never
to use her voice for anything but the greater good.

All that blood couldn’t be washed off the soul.

But she could try to absolve it through kind acts. When she
performed with Ark-KaotiK, she eased the pain of so many teens and adults with
her soothing voice and death-like screams that it justified the cost.

She’d written lyrics so pain-filled that the goddess herself
would weep if she were to hear them.

Controlling that power took a heavy toll on her body.

Seeing Derrick last night broke something in her. Not only
had he been a steady source of tranquility when she felt her world spinning out
of control, but he shattered a barrier she’d put up so long ago she couldn’t
remember what caused her to erect it.

He comforted her even through the wash of his own bullshit.
When she touched him, the connection between them was more than sexual; it ran deeper.
It would have chilled her if it hadn’t heated her soul. The second he realized
the need to pull back and guard his emotions so she could breathe, he endeared
himself to her.

His strength astounded her.

The frustrated look on Derrick’s face only backed up her
thoughts. Staring into those fierce eyes let her know he had a haunted past;
she didn’t need magic to see that. It tormented him—whatever it was—and made
him the man he faced in the mirror each day. Once he had a path, a goal, he
took action. Without anything more than the demands given to them by the
terrorists, he had only one goal today.

It angered her that her fight would become his.

Reaching behind her to cup her head, she felt sticky blood
in her hair. That fucker with the gun had clocked her a good one, and that
pissed her off even more.

She shouldn’t be sitting here chained to a bed when she
could free herself and leave!

Her eyes darted around the room, scanning for extra sets of
eyes.

No cameras. No spaces for hidden guns.

Nothing.

“Shit.”

She gathered enough energy to heal the wound, then turned
her magic on the weakest piece of the chain. Focusing on the thin point in the
link, she sent energy directly to it, imagining the molecules snapping apart.

Air settled around her like a heavy cloak. Built-up power
funneled in front of her before she redirected it to the chain’s weakness.

CRACK! Metal split and fell to the sides of her legs.

She whispered a silent prayer of thanks to the goddess, then
realized that if she left the shackles on, her captors could reattach a
stronger metal to her and restrain her again.

A few seconds later, the metal cracked before it split down
the center and fell apart.

She pumped her fist and slid off the bed.

“Now to get out of here.”

A glance out the window told her night had fallen. There was
no moonlight, but Sonja knew the beautiful goddess hung in the sky and provided
light for those who believed in her.

She had to tell Derrick she’d escaped so he wouldn’t come
looking for her. He couldn’t be caught up in this mess. It was her fight, not
his. The saddest part of it all was that this was normal for her. It only
reinforced the idea that she couldn’t have a relationship with him.

Ever.

She made her way to the door and tried the handle. Locked,
of course.

If she used more energy, it would wear her out, so she opted
to pick the lock. She reached behind her head and found a hairpin.

Sonja knelt before the door, slid the hairpin in, and began
fumbling with the tumblers. After a few seconds, the lock clicked open.

She set a hand on the frame and slowly pulled the wooden
door open. Then she listened.

No sound.

Dingy yellow lights illuminated cracked paint on the walls
in the hallway. She pulled the door open a little more and waited. Still no
noise.

She pulled the door open further and stepped into the
hallway. The creaking of hardwood floors ripped through the silence—that noise
would give her away.

Sonja shrugged. Her heart began to thunder against her
ribcage. Another presence in the air caressed her like a soft feather.

Or fur.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

She listened again, waiting for the telltale signs of
whatever approached this house. Her captors were human, but this…

She swallowed hard. Sweat broke on her brow.

Off in the distance, she heard the sound of a puma snarling.

Derrick!
It had to be him, and he’d brought others.
Her pulse sped now. She stomped down the hallway toward what might be an exit.
The noise would alert her captors, but she proceeded anyway. She had to get out
fast, then disappear back to her home.

The door opened and a soldier emerged with a rifle pointed
at her. “Don’t move.”

“Fuck that shit.” In a split second, Sonja gathered enough
magic to let out a soothing howl that caused the man to fall forward. He hit
the ground with a loud thud. He wasn’t dead, just knocked out.

Quickly, she picked up his rifle and continued through the
door.

Another hallway opened into a main room with only a few
pieces of furniture. Curtains were drawn shut over most of the windows. Large white
wooden doors blocked the way to freedom and probably fresh air.

Sonja spun around, aimed the gun into the hallway she’d just
come from, and then backed into the doors. With her free hand, she twisted the
handle, opened the door, and took off at a run into the night.

Gunshots filled the air along with the sound of violent
growling. The yell of another shifter nearby directed her away from the others.

Unkempt bushes and hedges provided loose cover. A stone
fountain in the center of the concrete patio with numerous cracks held only
rainwater.

Sonja pushed through the hedges and jumped over the short
wall, crunching leaves when she landed.

Kneeling, she looked around, aimed the gun at the house
through the hedges, and fired off a few shots to draw attention away from her
potential rescuers.

When sparks flew, she knew she’d hit her target. The spicy
smell of wood burning drifted in the air, wafting up as the wood around
whatever outlet she’d hit caught fire. In a few moments, the house would be
burned to the ground.

No trace of her having ever been kidnapped, captured, or
held here would remain, thanks to the cleansing power of fire.

Shots were fired and bullets punctured the wood near her
head, sending splinters and dust everywhere.

“Shit.” She moved off to one side, brushed back the trench
coat, remembering it wasn’t technically hers.

A small smile turned her lips upward.

She supposed she could buy Derrick another one.

Crouching low, she looked around, taking care to keep close
to the ground. Ahead of her lay vast land and tall grass. She could follow the
dirt road just within running distance and make her escape, though Goddess only
knew where she was.

A large explosion shook the ground, sending glass, wood, and
debris flying everywhere.

Sonja dove for the ground and covered her head to avoid harm
from the mess. She landed on the rifle and grunted when the butt of the gun
struck her ribs.

Gripping her side, she looked up to see a part of the house
had exploded. She smelled at least one electrical fire starting in another part
of the dilapidated building. Hopefully, her captors would get out. She grew
sick at the thought that she’d taken lives—she remembered the one guard she’d
knocked out and how his comrades would probably leave him to die. The sound of
voices yelling over the chaos prompted Sonja to get a move on. Gun in hand, she
ran along the fence, keeping close to it to avoid being seen.

She spotted her captors and stopped.

Heavy boots crunched gravel and dirt behind her. The click
of a gun sounded loudly.

She spun around to face the tall, nameless Russian. Sorrow
filled his eyes. “We have been outnumbered by our attackers. You must die and
not fall into their hands.”

“No!” Derrick’s voice came from out of nowhere.

In a split second, Sonja’s eyes widened and she saw the
Russian’s finger squeeze the trigger. Her vision narrowed down to the bullet
loading in the chamber and the tiny explosion from the firing pin, forcing the
gun to jump and the man’s muscle memory to kick in and hold the aim steady.

In the back of her mind, an angry puma cried. And the flash
of light that went off disappeared just afterward.

Something knocked her on her ass, forcing the breath out of
her. She shook her head, opened her eyes, and saw Derrick. “Come on, let’s go.”
He offered his hand.

She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. She
blinked.

Six others had surrounded her, some with blood on their
faces, others with scratches and cuts. Tattered clothing hung from the frail
bodies of her foreign captors. She realized in that split second that she was
right. The one she’d knocked out was probably dead.