Wicked Burn (35 page)

 

 

 

So far, the magical world of Ireland pretty much sucked eggs. Her dreams of rolling hills, rugged men, and wild adventures had given away to facts that tilted her universe, spun it around, and spiked it head first into the ground.

The world held too many secrets.

Tori Monzelle leaned her shoulders against the cold metal wall of the van and tried to blink through the blindfold turning the interior dark. Nothing. The carpet in the rear of the van smelled fresh and new, but she sat on the floor, her knees drawn up and her hands tied behind her back.

The sounds of drizzling rain and honking horns filtered inside, while two men breathed from the front seats. She hadn’t recognized either one of them when they’d arrived at the penthouse just an hour before. For an entire week, she’d been held hostage in various luxurious locales after having been kidnapped from Seattle.

Had it only been a week since she’d learned the world wasn’t as she’d thought?

Witches, vampires, and demons existed. As in
really existed.

They were just different species from humans, apparently. So far she’d seen witches create fireballs and throw them, and she’d met a demon who’d shown her his fangs. She had to go on faith that vampires really existed, but at this point, why not believe?

She cleared her throat. “Listen, jackasses. I’m about done with this entire kidnapping scenario.” It had to be the oddest kidnapping of all time, with her being flown across the globe and then put up in zillion dollar penthouses for a week. “I promise not to tell anybody that supernatural beings exist. Just let me go.”

A snort came from the front seat. “Supernatural,” one of the men muttered.

Her chest heated. “All right, so you think you’re natural. Then how about I refrain from announcing that your species even exists?”

Another snort.

What a dick. Fine. “Are you witches, demons, or vampires?” If she had to guess, they were witches.

No answer.

The van swerved, and she knocked her head against the side. “Damn it.” It was time to get free. “Let me go, you morons. This is international kidnapping.” Did witches care about international laws? Her shoulders shook, and a welcome anger soared through her.

The van jerked.

“What the hell?” one of the guys snapped.

They tilted.

Something sputtered. The engine?

An explosion rocked the day, and the van spun. Her temple smacked the metal, and she rolled to the other side across the carpet. Breath swooshed from her lungs. Pain pounded in her head, and she blinked behind the blindfold.

The van stopped cold, and she rolled toward the front, her legs scrambling. Her forehead brushed the carpet, and she shook her head, dislodging the blindfold.

Doors opened, and grunts sounded. Men fighting. Punches being thrown.

The back doors opened, and light flooded inside.

She turned just as hands manacled her ankles and dragged her toward the street. Kicking out, she struggled furiously, her eyes adjusting and focusing on this new threat. A ski mask completely covered the guy’s head, leaving only his eyes and mouth revealed. With the light behind him, she couldn’t even make out the color of his irises.

His strong grip didn’t relent, and he easily pulled her toward the edge, dropping her legs toward the ground.

She threw a shoulder into his rock-hard abs and stood. He was at least a foot taller than she and definitely cut hard.

Everything in her screamed to get the hell out of the area and make a run for it. She was smart, she was tough, and she could handle the situation. No time to think. Tori leaped up and shot a quick kick to his face. While he was tall and fit, he probably wasn’t expecting a fight.

He snagged her ankle an inch from his jaw, thus preventing the impact. Using her momentum to pull her forward, he manacled his other hand behind her thigh and lifted, tossing her over his shoulder in one incredibly smooth motion.

Her rib cage slammed into solid muscle, knocking the wind from her lungs.

One firm hand clamped across her thighs, and he turned, moving into a jog. The sound of men fighting behind them had her lifting her head to see more men in ski masks battling the two guys from the van.

Then her captor turned a corner and ran through an ally, easily holding her in place.

“Let me go,” she gasped, pulling on the restraints holding her hands. Cobbled stones flew by below, while cool air brushed across her skin. Rain continued to patter down, matting her hair to her face.

He didn’t answer and took two more turns, finally ending up in yet another alley next to a shiny black motorcycle. Her hair swooshed as he ducked his shoulder and planted her on her feet. Firm hands flipped her around, and something sliced through her bindings.

Blood rushed into her hands, and she winced, pivoting back around. “Who are you?” She slid one foot slightly back in an attack position.

He reached out and tugged the blindfold completely off her head before ripping off his ski mask.

Adam Dunne stood before her, legs braced, no expression on his hard face. Rain dripped from his thick black hair, and irritation glittered in his spectacular green eyes. That expression seemed to live on him. He was some sort of brilliant scientist, definitely a brainiac, and he always appeared annoyed.

She blinked twice. “Adam?”

He crossed his arms. “It has been nearly impossible to find you.”

His deep voice shot right through her to land in very private places. Then the angry tone caught her. She slammed her hands against her hips. “And that’s my fault? Your stupid people, the fucking witches,
kidnapped
me.”

Witches. Holy crap. Adam Dunne was a witch. Sure, she’d figured that out a week ago, but with him standing right in front of her, she had to face reality.

The man looked like a badass vigilante and not some brilliant otherworldly being. For the rescue, he’d worn a black T-shirt, ripped jeans, and motorcycle boots. Definitely not his usual pressed slacks and button-down silk shirt.

His sizzling green eyes darkened. “I have about an hour to get you to a plane and out of this country, so you’ll be quiet,
for once
, and you’ll follow orders.”

She pressed her lips together. No matter how badly she wanted to punch him in the face, she wanted to get out of the country even more. “Fine.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “We’re getting on the bike, heading to the airport, and then you’re flying to Seattle. You don’t know who rescued you, and you haven’t seen me in weeks.”

She swallowed. “How much trouble are you in if we get caught?”

He turned and grabbed a helmet off the bike. “Treason and death sentence.”

Everything in her softened. He’d risked his life for her. Sure, his brother was dating her sister, but even so. “Thank you.”

He turned and shoved the helmet at her. “Don’t thank me. Just do what I tell you.”

Man, what a jerk. Nearly biting through her tongue to keep from lashing out, she shoved the helmet on her head.

He did the same and swung a leg over the bike, holding out a hand to help her.

She ignored him and levered herself over the bike and into place, anger flowing through her. Why did he have to be such a dick? She’d wanted to thank him, that’s all.

He ignited the engine. It sputtered. He stiffened and tried again.

Hell. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her temper. They had to get out of there.
Work, bike. Damn it, work.
The more she tried to concentrate, the more irritated she became.

He twisted the throttle again, and this time, nothing happened.

Damn it. Why the hell did this always happen to her? What was wrong with her? “It won’t work. If it’s broken, it won’t work.” She tugged off the helmet and slid off the bike.

He turned toward her. “The bike ran just fine an hour ago.”

She shrugged, her face heating. No way was she telling him about her oddity. “I know the sound of an engine that’s not coming back to life, and so do you.”

He frowned and tried the bike again. Nothing. “All right.” He swung his leg over and stood, reaching for a buzzing cell phone and pushing a button. “I have a problem,” he said.

“The woman has been tagged,” came an urgent male voice. “There’s a tracker, and you have about five minutes until the Guard gets there.” Keys clacking echoed across the line. “Get rid of the tag and find safety. I’ll be in touch with new coordinates as soon as I can.” The line went dead.

Adam surveyed her from head to toe, reaching for her shirt.

She slapped at his hands. “What are you doing?”

He sighed. “You’ve been tagged, and I don’t know where. Strip, baby.”

Baby? Did he just call her baby? Wait a minute. “Strip?”

“Now.” A muscle ticked in his powerful jaw. “Our tags are minute and could be anywhere on you.” He dug both hands through her hair, tugging just enough to flood her with unwelcome tingles. “Not in your hair.”

“I am not stripping,” she said through clenched teeth, her body doing a full tremble.

He lowered his head until his nose almost touched hers. “Take everything off, or I’ll do it for you.”

She blinked.

He gave a barely perceptible eye roll and turned around, pulling off his T-shirt. “Drop the clothes and put this on. It’ll cover you for the time being.”

Muscles rippled in his back.

Her mouth went dry.

“Now, Victoria. We have to hurry.”

The urgency in his voice got through to her. She shucked her clothes, kicking off her socks and shoes, shivering in the light rain. The second her jeans hit the ground, she reached for his shirt and tugged it over her head. The soft material fell beneath her thighs and surrounded her with the scent of male.

He turned around, and yep. His bare chest was even more spectacular than his back. “Everything off? Bra and panties?”

Did Adam Dunne just use the word
panties
? A slightly hysterical giggle bubbled up from her abdomen, and she shoved it ruthlessly down. “Yes.”

“Good.” He took her hand. “Sorry about the bare feet, but we’ll get you replacement clothes soon. For now, we have to run.”

A car screeched to a stop outside the alley.

“Bullocks. They’re here,” he muttered, launching into a run down the alley. “Hurry, and don’t look back.”

Panic seized her, and she held firm to his hand, her bare feet slapping hard cobblestones.

A fireball careened past her, smashing into the brick building above her and raining down debris. She screamed.

Adam stopped and shoved her behind him, dark blue plasma forming down his arms as he pivoted to fight.

She gulped in air and peered around him as three men, each forming a different color plasma balls, all stalked toward them from the street.

“Run, Victoria,” Adam ordered.

Before the Scorpius Syndrome tore through North America and nearly wiped out the population, Vivienne Wellington was the FBI’s best profiler. The bacteria got her anyway. But she survived. She recovered. And when she woke up from a drug nightmare of captivity, her skills as a hunter of men had gone from merely brilliant to full-on uncanny. Her mysterious rescuer wants her to put them to the test. But no matter how tempting he is, with his angel’s eyes and devil’s tongue, Vinnie knows she shouldn’t trust him.

 

If the FBI were still around they would rate Raze Shadow as one of the bad guys. His military training can’t wipe out his association with the Mercenaries, the most feared gang in a thousand miles. His loyalties are compromised. He won’t even tell Vinnie his real name. But there’s no FBI in the new America of fear and firepower, only instinct and risk. And the way his arms wrap around her tells its own story. Whatever else Raze is concealing, he can’t hide his desire . . .

 

 

 

Available August 2016

New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author
R
EBECCA
Z
ANETTI
has worked as an art curator, Senate aide, lawyer, college professor, and a hearing examiner—only to culminate it all in stories about alpha males and the women who claim them. She writes contemporary romances, dark paranormal romances, and romantic suspense novels.

 

Growing up amid the glorious backdrops and winter wonderlands of the Pacific Northwest has given Rebecca fantastic scenery and adventures to weave into her stories. She resides in the wild north with her husband, children, and extended family who inspire her every day—or at the very least give her plenty of characters to write about.

 

Please visit Rebecca at:
www.rebeccazanetti.com
www.facebook.com/RebeccaZanetti.Author.FanPagetwitter.com/RebeccaZanetti