Chapter One

Darkness.

“You just woke up, didn’t you? I can tell. Your body went all tense and extra hard.”

A woman. Her voice—soft and husky in the darkness. She was…on top of him? He could feel her curves pressed against him. Could smell her scent. Strawberries.

“I’m going to need you not to panic. Panicking will not help us in this situation.”

Who the fuck was she? Where the fuck was he?

She was on top of him, he was below her, his body spread on something hard. Felt like a damn board.  

“You don’t know me, but my name is Sloane.”

Sloane. 

“And it’s going to be all right,” she assured him.

He liked her voice. He didn’t like the cobwebs in his mind. 

“Try to keep your breathing nice and slow,” she encouraged him. “Because we are going to make it out of here. I, um, don’t know how much air we have and how long it will last so I’m just trying to⁠—”

“What. The. Fuck?” How much air they had?

Her breath blew lightly across his cheek. 

His hands lifted to curl around her waist. He was gonna move her off him. But, when his hands moved, his knuckles slammed into something hard. As hard as the board beneath him.

Wait a damn minute…

A board below him.

Boards on the both sides of him.

Darkness all around.  

“I can’t get off you,” she said, sounding apologetic. “There’s just nowhere for me to go.”

Rage twisted inside of him. “What is happening?”

A soft sigh. “I’m afraid…that we’ve been buried alive. Together.”

He opened his mouth.

And she kissed him. Her lips were cool. Soft. Plump. Her breath tasted of peppermint and when her tongue dipped into his mouth, when she teased him with the sensual skim of her lips, a sudden, surging bolt of desire burned through him.

“Kiss me back,” she urged against his lips.

He…did.

Instinct. Need. Desperation. They all thundered through his veins. His hands grabbed to her, locking around her hips, as his mouth opened wider. Her taste—the feel of her against him… Lust blazed. Erupted. Consumed. They were in the dark. They were in hell, he knew it. Knew it because he’d been there before. He’d been to hell and back, but he’d been there alone before.

He wasn’t alone this time. She was with him. An angel in the darkness. Kissing him. Her body so soft against him as she sprawled over him. Over his body…

In hell.

“No.” Her mouth lifted. “I know you can do better than that.” A husky admonishment. “You think a woman doesn’t know when a man isn’t focused one hundred percent on her? I want you to kiss me. Kiss me as if nothing else matters.” Her head lowered. “Kiss me.” A plea. Frayed at the edges.

She was afraid. He heard it in her voice, and something in him reacted to her fear.

Can’t let her be afraid. Won’t.

His mouth took hers. He drove his tongue past her lips, greedily taking and tasting every drop of her. She met him. Kissed him back with sensual skill tinted with the hint of desperation. His hold tightened on her hips. She was flush against him…Wait, her legs were between his. She had to feel the growing dick shoving hard against her, not like there was any place where he could hide his erection. She was soft and warm, and the fresh scent of strawberries seemed to cling to her skin. A sweet scent.

In hell. We are in hell. Trapped.

Her mouth slid away from his. Skimmed his jaw. “You’re doing it again,” she chided. “Focus on me. Breathe with me. Feel my body against yours. Feel me as I take a breath in, then let it out. Nice and slow, okay? Feel me. Breathe with me. Focus on me.”

She pulled in a soft breath. Let it out.

He felt her breath. Felt it as her chest pulled in, then pressed out.

He…

Breathed with her. In and out.

Again.

Not desperate, heaving breaths. She wasn’t doing that. She was breathing slowly. Carefully. Because she didn’t know how much damn air they had. Because she knows that we are buried in a fucking coffin. Buried alive.

His breath rushed out.

She kissed him again. A quick slide of her tongue. A caress that had his dick hardening even more and had him instantly focusing on her once again.

“Every time you panic, I’m kissing you,” she said. “Be warned. My mouth will find yours. You’re going to get awful addicted to me and my kisses before we’re rescued.” A teasing note had entered her voice.

A warm, sexy voice. One that he thought might have just held the faintest trace of a southern accent. But he didn’t really care about her accent. Instead, he was focused on what she’d just said…Before we’re rescued. “No one will come to save us,” he rasped. They would not.

Soft laughter. Light. Husky. “Of course, they will.”

He shook his head, and the back of his skull seemed to bang against the wood beneath him. “We’re buried in a coffin.” His hands remained on her. He’d rather touch her than the hard wood around him.

“Preston…” She breathed his name like a prayer.

Preston. He swallowed. Twice. He didn’t know his mystery lady in the dark, but she knew him.

I’m Preston Byron, and I’ve been thrown into hell again. Fucking again.

But he wasn’t alone. Not this time.

“You noticed the coffin, huh?” Again, that slightly teasing note even as her voice tried to fray around the edges.

How the hell could she tease when they were going to die?

“What gave it away?” she asked him. “The wood or the small size? Because you’re bigger than me…let’s see, you’re probably around six-foot-three? Maybe six-four?”

He was six-four.

“This coffin has to be tighter for you. Are your feet hitting the wooden slat near them?”

Yes, they were.

“Or maybe it was the darkness that gave things away. Was that one of the big clues? Because you woke up and you knew instantly where you were and what was happening.”

He wanted her mouth back on his. When her mouth was on his, he had sweetness in hell. “Been…here before.” Gritted, rough words. Brutal in their savagery.

“You’ve been buried alive before.” Not a question. More of a statement.

But he still answered. “Yes.”

“Most people go forever and never get buried alive, not even once. And this happened twice to you.”

“Just call me an unlucky bastard.” But it wasn’t about being unlucky, was it? It was about being targeted. Hunted. I escaped him once before. I escaped. I got out. I can do it again. “Been here before,” he gritted out once more.

“Not with me, you haven’t.”

No. He’d been alone in the dark when he’d been a teen. “No one…coming to save…”

“No one saved you before? Well, if you were in the dark before, how did you get out?” A careful question.

Another swallow. He was far too conscious of the movement of his Adam’s apple. Of the softness of her body against his. Of the slight trembles that shook her every few moments.

She is not as brave as she appears.

“Preston?”

He liked how his name sounded on her lips. A strange thought to have but…

“How did you get out before?” she pushed.

“Loose piece of wood.” He’d gotten lucky. The coffin had been handmade. Not the kind you went to a funeral home and bought. Because that kind would have been traceable. “Was able to pry a few nail free, able to break that board.” His breath heaved at the memory. “Then all the dirt came crashing in⁠—”

She kissed him again.

Every time you panic, I’m kissing you. His fingers pressed tightly to her waist. Too tightly? Was he hurting her? Because he was kissing her hard, with too much force, and he had to hold back. He didn’t want to hurt her.

But we’re both going to die in this hell.

“We aren’t dying.” She’d raised her head off his. Not far, because there wasn’t very far for her to go. “We are going to get out. You got out before. We’ll get out now.”

He’d had to dig his way out of his own grave before. He’d barely made it. His fingers and forearms had been bloody, ripped to shreds. He’d choked on dirt. Had spat it out over and over again, but the dirt had gotten in his nose. It had gotten stuck between his teeth. He’d had the taste of it on his tongue⁠—

Peppermint.

She kissed him again, and he tasted peppermint.

“Trust me.” She nipped his lower lip. “We are not dying here. This is not how I’m going out. We are going to be rescued.”

“How can…” Too rough. Too snarling. He tried again, “How can we be rescued when no one knows where we are?”

“You and I don’t get to just vanish. There are people in this world who will look for us.” A pause. “I have friends who will not stop until they find me.”

Yeah, but they might find her lifeless body, sprawled on top of his.

You have to save her. Protect her. Get her out of here.

They couldn’t just stay in the dark, kissing whenever he fucking panicked. And the very fact that he had panicked? That he’d let the old ghosts rise up to choke him? Something that both infuriated and embarrassed Preston. But he needed that rage. He needed it to fuel him as he pounded his way out of this nightmare.

I will break the coffin. I will dig us out of this grave. I will get her to safety.

He might deserve to die. His angel didn’t. “Tell me your name again.” A gruff demand. Preston thought he remembered, but when he’d first woken up, his mind had been cloudy. Too cloudy. Still was, in some ways. What happened to me?

“Sloane.” Just that. A first name. No last name. Musical. Mysterious.

Kind of like the woman on top of him. A woman he hadn’t seen. He couldn’t. It was absolutely pitch black in their grave. No matter how his eyes strained, he would never see anything but the darkness.

He eased in a slow breath.

“You seem calmer,” she noted. Cautious optimism whispered through her words. “Is that calmness due to my incredible kissing talent?”

He found himself almost smiling, but then Preston caught himself. He shouldn’t smile when they were trapped. He shouldn’t smile when they could be dying. How in the hell had she made him want to smile right then and there? Another slow breath. Easy. Not too deep. Not too fast. Preston didn’t know how much air they had. Didn’t know how long they’d already been in the coffin.

Did she know?

How in the world had she ever gotten trapped with him?

How had he gotten trapped?

One of her hands rose and trailed lightly over his throat. The move caught him off guard, and Preston flinched.

He wasn’t used to people touching him. In fact, he tended to only touch someone when he fucked. A rather necessary situation.

But she’d been sprawled over him the whole time. She’d kissed him. And he hadn’t flinched.

Until now.

“Easy,” she whispered. “I will not hurt you.”

Why did her words sound like a vow?

Her soft fingertips fluttered over the pulse that raced along the side of his neck. “Your heartbeat is so fast.”

His fingers skimmed up her back. A delicate back. One covered by a light, silky shirt. His fingers eased round her body. Kept sliding and sliding…

And he touched her throat, too. His fingers curved around the delicate column of her neck. Sloane didn’t flinch when he stroked her. She didn’t tense. She remained loose and relaxed on top of him…buried in a coffin.

But…

She wasn’t really relaxed. He could feel the frantic drumming of her pulse beneath his touch. Far too fast. She was panicked. Terrified. Yet she was doing one incredible job of hiding her fear from him.

Admiration filled him. “I will not hurt you,” Preston heard himself say. His words were just as much of a vow as hers had been.

His fingers didn’t stay on her neck. They rose. Callused fingertips. Probably rough against her skin. Her touch had only been softness. He knew too little of softness.

His fingers glided along her jaw. Edged upward to curve under her chin. Then his fingers extended to feel the plumpness of her lips. He traced her lips with his index finger. Bow-shaped. Full.

She licked the tip of his finger.

“Sorry,” she murmured. Then, “Nah. Not sorry.”

He wasn’t sorry, either. His dick shoved hard against her. He wanted in her. To fuck his angel before he died⁠—

We are not dying.

His fingers skimmed along her cheekbones. High cheekbones. Did she suck in a breath when he touched her left cheekbone? He thought that she had. Why?

His fingers eased away from her left cheekbone. Drifted over the delicate line of her nose. He couldn’t see her with his eyes, but he could feel her with his touch. “Beautiful,” he said.

She laughed. “I bet you say that to every woman that you meet in the dark.”

How could she be laughing?

His hand went back to her throat. Felt that too fast racing of her heart. His fingers lingered on her. “How did we get here?”

Her pulse jerked beneath his touch.

In the dark, his eyes narrowed.

Then…she moved. Easing her body a little to the side, arranging herself so that her face was over his right shoulder. She sort of nestled against him. Not like there was a ton of room in their prison, and he realized that in her former position, she’d been craning her head that whole time.

Instantly, his hand moved to the back of her nape. Preston began to massage her.

She tensed. Then seemed to melt against him. He liked it when she melted.

I am going to get her out of here. I will not let her die in this prison with me.

“I saw him jam a needle into your neck.”

What? The bastard had put a needle in him? Drugged him? That would explain the cobwebs in his head. Cobwebs that were slowly clearing.

“I rushed to help, screaming for him to let you go even as he shoved you into the back of a van. He didn’t let you go. He…took me with you.”

She’d tried to save him? And been tossed into a grave for her effort?

“He knocked me out,” Sloane confessed.

“With the same drug he gave to me?” Preston strained to remember the events around his attack. He’d been going jogging. His usual, early evening run. No, no, he’d finished the jog. He’d finished the run, and he’d been sweaty and⁠—

I still have on my jogging shorts. My running shoes. No shirt. She’d been pressing against him, against his bare chest. Her fingers had skimmed over his bare arms, and he hadn’t even realized that he still wore only the jogging shorts. For just a moment, Preston became acutely conscious of the socks and tennis shoes around his feet. Seeming to squeeze tightly. And then aware of the shorts around his hips. Hell, no wonder his dick was surging toward her. The shorts weren’t going to contain him.

And…

The run. I went for my run. Took my usual route. Came back around the house, on my private property⁠—

What had she been doing on his property?

“He didn’t drug me. He punched me.”

Preston remembered that she’d sucked in a breath when he touched her left cheek. A dark, savage rage bubbled just beneath his control. The control that held by a thread. The bastard had punched Sloane? “He’s dead.”

“Better him than us,” she muttered.

Preston had not been bluffing. When he got out—and he would get out—he would find the bastard. He would kill him.

Maybe he’d bury the sonofabitch alive.

“I woke up and…it was dark. I was on top of you. And…for a moment…I thought you were dead.” Her words trembled.

“I’m not dead. We’re not dead. We’re getting the hell out of here, angel.”

“I’m not an angel.” So low that he almost didn’t hear her. “And I told you, we will be rescued⁠—”

“We’re saving ourselves. We’re getting out of here. Now.” Because they could not waste more air. His panic was gone. She’d soothed him, spellbound him. Now he was locked on her. The bastard punched her. He hurt her. He buried her alive.

Preston would make him pay.

He’d get out. He’d get her out. They would survive.

And then I will find you, you sonofabitch. I will hunt you down. I will make you wish for death.

“How do you think we’re going to save ourselves? How do you think we’re getting out of here?” Soft. Curious. Not panicked.

She’d controlled her fear and panic all along.

He rubbed her nape once more. Then his hand slid from her. “The same way I got out before.” His nostrils flared as he greedily drank in her scent. Strawberries. He’d always loved the sweetness of a strawberry. The scent clung to her. A body lotion? Shampoo? It was a nice scent to have in the air around him. A sensual, tempting scent. When he’d been buried before, all he’d smelled had been the dank earth that poured in on him.

In my mouth. My nose. Onto my chest. “Not like it’s my first time to be buried alive.” A mocking laugh. Look at that. He could laugh in hell, just like she did. “I got out before. I will get us out again. But I should warn you, it’s going to be bad.”

“Not like it’s been good up until this point.” A brief hesitation. “Except for kissing you. That part was good.”

Even in the dark, he closed his eyes. Preston pulled her words in deep. She had no idea how dangerous he was. Probably because she was seeing him as a victim. She’d come to save him, hadn’t she? Rushed to the rescue?

Why was she on my property? Why did she try to help?

Because she was good? A good person? He hadn’t met a whole lot of those in his life.

Good people seemed to know that they should avoid him and the darkness that he carried so heavily. The darkness that was pushing hard against his control. Driving him. Splintering within him.

I will hunt down the monster who did this. I will not stop until he is dead.

He’d fought against the darkness inside of himself for years. Ever since he’d been a fourteen-year-old boy, and he’d felt the first stirrings inside. The urges that told him…

Destroy.

Hunt.

Kill.

He’d fought those urges. He’d invented rules for himself. Routines to follow. He’d been so very careful. Never getting involved too closely with anyone. Never letting anyone know his real secrets. Never giving in to those low whispers that would slide into his mind.

But someone had put him into hell once again.

And this time, Preston feared that he would not be strong enough to keep the darkness chained inside himself.

This time, he feared it would consume him completely.

“Help will come,” Sloane assured him. “People will hunt for me.”

People. Did Sloane have a lover at home, someone waiting for her? A devoted husband? Jealousy stirred. Irrational rage burned.

No, no, she wouldn’t have kissed me. She wouldn’t have kissed me if she had a husband at home. A partner waiting.

But he didn’t know her.

He didn’t…

I want her. I want her because she comforted me in hell.

“How long will it take your people to find us?” Preston growled.

“I…” Sloane stopped.

No answer.

“We’re in a coffin.” Like she’d needed the reminder.

He caught the rasp of her breathing. Then, “It took him…a while to bury us.” A shiver skated over her. “At first, I heard all the thumps of the dirt hitting us. Every single one. I screamed for him to stop, for help, but…”

Silence.

She shivered on top of him. He felt the movement along his body. “He didn’t stop,” Sloane murmured. “After a while, I couldn’t hear the thumps because so much dirt was on top of us. Because we were buried so deeply.”

Fucking hell. “If we don’t get ourselves out, we are dead.”

“How? How do you think we are going to get out on our own?”

“Easy, angel. We dig ourselves out of the grave that he made for us.”

“That is not going to be easy. There is not exactly a lot of room for us to start punching in here as we try to break the wood”

“If it’s like before, then the bastard made the coffin himself. There can be loose boards. Loose nails. Shoddy fucking craftsmanship.”

What could have been a sob but might have been a laugh spilled from her.

“I’ll find a weak spot,” Preston promised her. “If the dirt above us is loose enough, we’ll have a shot at digging out.” He’d been lucky before. Back then, the bastard hadn’t buried him too deeply. But this time…

She heard the thump of the dirt hitting us. Until it was so thick that she couldn’t hear the sounds any more.

Shit, how long did they have left? He could not waste more time. He had to find a weak board. A loose nail. Something and then… “The dirt will come in. Be prepared. It will weigh down on you. It will cover your face and your nose, and you’ll feel it everywhere. Do not give up. Fight until…” Preston stopped.

“Until what?” Sloane asked, voice catching.

“Until you see light. Until we’re free.” But it was a long shot. Dammit, they might just suffocate when the dirt came tumbling down on them. If they could even break some boards or dislodge them or…

Just get her the fuck out. You can’t let Sloane die down here. She’s only in this mess because she tried to save you.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” Her head moved again. Came close to his. Right over him.

His lips pressed to her—not her mouth. He’d missed her mouth. Her cheek. And then he edged downward until he touched her mouth. A soft kiss. “For coming to save me.” That was a novelty.

He wouldn’t let her die for trying to save him.

“When the dirt first starts trickling in, take some breaths.” Because there wouldn’t be any more breaths once that soil collapsed on them. “Take a deep breath…”

Pray it’s not your last.

His hands began to search the coffin. He searched and stretched and felt her doing the same. Smooth wood everywhere. No give. No give at all and…

A nail cut into his palm.

A loose nail.

A loose board. To the right. Above his head.

Take a deep breath. He began to claw at the nail. He wrenched it. Twisted it. Heaved. In that fucking tight space, he heaved and got the nail out.

The board became looser.

Sloane shifted to his side, giving him more room. Helping him as they hit at the board and grabbed it as best they could.

Dirt began to drift into the coffin. He felt it feathering over his skin.

Take a deep breath.

They worked and worked and worked with that loose board.

He made a fist and drove the back of his hand and his forearm and his elbow against that wood. He fought and fought and…

More dirt.

Splintering wood.

“Take a deep breath,” he said again, the words no more than a whisper.

Dirt poured onto his chest.

“Pray it’s not your last.” Words so low that Sloane would not be able to hear them.

Those words had first been said to him so long ago. Back when he’d been fourteen years old, and a twisted, psychotic bastard had kidnapped Preston from his home. Had taken him deep into the woods. Buried him. Right before the creep had closed the coffin lid over his face, he’d spoken those words to Preston.

Take a deep breath. Pray it’s not your last.

More dirt rained down on Preston and Sloane.

He broke through another board.

More fucking dirt. Too much.

Pouring down, down… In his face. His mouth…

He missed the taste of peppermint.