Rush (Roam Series, Book Four)

  Copyright © 2013 by Kimberly Adams

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or things, living or dead, locales, or events is purely coincidental.

  RUSH (ROAM SERIES, BOOK FOUR)

  Cover Design by Najla Qamber Designs

  To My Dad

  For always encouraging me to have my own point of view

  ALL MEN’S SOULS ARE IMMORTAL, BUT THE SOULS OF THE RIGHTEOUS ARE

  IMMORTAL AND DIVINE.

  SOCRATES

  Prologue

  September 2012- Russia

  “Logan. Wait.”

  His voice ignited a fresh wave of loathing as I turned. I clenched my fist, shifting my bag on my shoulder. “If you say one more goddamn word to me,” I snapped, “I’ll take her away from you.”

  I watched him gesture to an empty gathering room in the small St. Petersburg hotel. Reluctantly, I moved to the conference room, letting West close the door behind us. I fucking hated the way he towered over me. “What do you want?” I demanded.

  He stared me down. “She’ll choose me. Every time. If you help, you can save her.”

  I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “What, are you afraid you’ll choke her to death again?”

  He ignored me. “If Troy is there, I’m going to trap him there. I already arranged to have the fountain bombed. I will get her back to the fountain, and you have to be ready to grab her and take her home. You can pass through with your numbers. You will follow us tomorrow.”

  I grinned, slowly, and finally shook my head with a wry laugh. “You know what? Fuck you.”

  He sighed, pushing the sleeves of his shirt up and looking down. “Okay, let’s do this. You love her- I love her. Let’s settle this right now.”

  “What, you want to fight me?”

  “No, I want you to do whatever you need to do. Punch me if you want to. Just get it all out of your system so we can get on with this.”

  “I’m not going to punch you.” I glared at him, dropping my bag to the ground. “What’s the point? You’re immortal.”

  “Then say what you need to say, for Christ’s sake. Grow the fuck up and help me save her.”

  His face turned menacing, and I curled my fingers into my palm.

  Now I want to beat the shit out of him.

  I bit. “Tell me this. Did she want you, or did you take advantage of her? Did you hurt her?”

  The venom in my voice cut through the air like acid. He raised his eyes, having the decency to look uncomfortable. “I only hurt her- for a second.”

  When I realized that was talking about fucking her (and it took me about ten long, stupid seconds) I lost my mind. Rearing back, I curled my fist and slammed it into his face with every shred of rage that I possessed.

  To my satisfaction, he staggered, but the moment the pain in my hand crawled up my body and reached my brain, I growled, gripping my fist in agony.

  “Fuck,” he snarled, bursting forward like he was going to flatten me. Anger boiled in his expression, but he managed to restrain himself.

  My hand throbbed all the way to my elbow. “You asshole.”

  “Okay, then.” He straightened, sniffing as he brushed at the blood trickling down from his nostril. “Good. Moving on.”

  I dropped to the chair, and he walked to the vending machines in the corner. He gathered some paper towels and pressed the ice dispenser, dropping cubes into his hands.

  Assuming he was going to hold the makeshift icepack to his own eye, I watched as he walked over to hand me the towel filled with ice. Scowling, I barely raised my eyes. “Get the fuck out of my face.”

  “Put it on your hand, Logan.”

  I snatched the ice from him, reluctantly pressing the wet, cooling mass of paper to my fist. “I’m going to help you, but only for Roam.”

  “Fine. But she can’t know that you’re still here, or anything about this plan. She won’t mean to, but she’ll make Troy suspect if she’s anticipating you.”

  “Okay. Fine.”

  “Logan.” He lowered slowly into the chair across from me, and I smirked inwardly as his eye quickly began turning dark purple. “If I’m stuck there, in 1977, I need to know that Roam will be safe. I need to… know.” He looked down at his hands.

  “I can’t wait until you’re gone,” I agreed, focusing on the crease in his forehead.

  “She might be pregnant.” He lifted his face and met my eyes, his expression grave. “If she is, I need you to promise to be there for her.”

  I stared at him, exhaling with sarcasm. “You really are out of your fucking mind.”

  “You’ve killed her, again and again.” He gripped the table, and I felt the blood rush from my brain to my chest. “You know it. Centuries of torturing her. Your soul is damned, and this may your last chance to save it.”

  Scenes from my nightmares rolled through my mind; shooting her, raping her, crushing her neck in my fingers. I lowered my chin to my chest, unable to form words.

  Long minutes passed.

  Finally, I nodded once. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  “You’ll follow us tomorrow, and keep your distance. I’ll put you in another room here tonight. All you have to do is cross over behind us, and be ready to take her through. Once you’re back in Russia, get the hell out of there before the explosion. Hold on to her and don’t let her get hurt. Before you cross, I want you to call speed dial one. This person will initiate a bomb threat. I’ll give you my cell phone- it’s untraceable. He will warn the people to get out of there. Do you understand?”

  “I get it.”

  “And you’ll take care of her?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I would have, even if you didn’t ask me. I love her, and I always will.”

  He kept my stare, steady, before finally sighing.

  “You can’t possibly love her the way I do. And for that, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for you, Logan.”

  With that, he shoved back away from the table and left.

  Chapter One

  November 27, 2012

  Logan

  She hangs from the iron shackles, her red-blonde hair in matted strings on her shoulders.

  Fuck.

  The goddamn dungeon.

  I cringe as she lifts her face. Emerald eyes, so filled with sorrow, plead with me.

  Let me go.

  “I’m getting you out of here this time, Roam.” I reach for her battered wrists, and she draws back in fear. “Cam, hold still.” Torchlight bounces off the uneven walls, casting morbid shadows.

  “Our Father, who art in Heaven,” she begins, her eyes fluttering closed. Blood crusts near the corner of her mouth.

  “Stop praying and hold still so I can unlock these.” I smash the chain against the stone wall of the cell, and she jerks and moans, her full breasts rising and falling beneath the force of her hysterical tears. “If you’d stop crying for five seconds, you’d see that I’m not going to hurt you-”

  “My lord God, deliver me from this evil.”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake.” I draw my hand through my hair, the first urging sensations of suggestion slithering over my neck and contaminating my ear.

  Slap her. Clear her mind.

  I beat my open palm against her cheek before I can think; her head snaps
back and she cries, blood trickling down the soft dip beneath her nose and upper lip.

  What am I doing? Jesus Christ… “Roam, I’m sorry, please just stop-”

  “Damn you.” She turns to me, mumbling soundless words from swollen lips. “Damn you to an everlasting hell. Rot,” she hisses, dropping to her knees and letting the chains crack her delicate wrists into shards. She throws her head back and screams at the ceiling, and I cover my ears, her madness worse than her mumbling.

  I can’t do this again, I think, jarring my thumbs into my tear ducts.

  “Take her.”

  No… not him. I grind the heels of my hands into my hollow eye sockets, refusing to look at him. I can tell by her accelerated breathing that he’s touching her.

  Wake up Logan- wake the fuck up!

  She is sobbing now. “Please… please, no, please, please-”

  “Let her go,” I grumble, knowing my words are wasted. The same script, the same lines, every night, a different stage…

  “Taste this,” he says, and I turn away, my moist palms sliding down the metal bars as I fight for a grip. West is inside the cell on the stone floor, unconscious, and I want to go in and kick the motherfucking shit out of him. Get up, you asshole. Save her!

  “Let her go,” I repeat, butting my head repeatedly between the bars to stop the inevitable need now dancing, taunting… justifying.

  Take her. Just do it.

  “A virgin witch will rise again,” he chants, rhythmic, burning a path into my resistance. Always that same declaration… solemn…

  And so fucking convincing.

  “She’s not a witch- and she’s definitely not a virgin,” I snap, fumbling with the lock on the cell. The latch refuses to budge, and I smash my head against the stone, an untamed force turning me toward Roam. Pain whips through my temples like an afterthought. I’m going to have one hell of a headache tomorrow.

  “Take her now,” he commands, his bellowing voice digging into my gut and sawing me in half.

  “Shut up!” I claw at my scalp, wanting to smother my brain. Don’t do it, Logan, don’t fucking do it… you are Logan Rush, and this is a dream… a dream of madness, of ancient, dark evil.

  “Brother… she is ready for you.” His hand slides up beneath her gown, and she whimpers pathetically.

  Roaring with hatred, I turn to her, slamming her against the wall. She has no time to scream as I tear at her thin gown.

  She’s not Roam, I reason in the most abysmal way, already hard. She’s limp, resigned, her swollen lips moving in soundless prayer as I thrust into her.

  Holy hell, fuck yes.

  I am seconds from coming… and moments from killing her.

  My knuckles crack beneath the force of my grip on her neck. She has no breath to choke on, but somehow…

  She’s singing?

  “We are never, ever, ever… getting back together, Logan,” she responded, snarky.

  “Why do you sound like… Taylor Swift?”

  As my bedroom slammed into my consciousness with the force of a hurricane, I sat up, panting. My flannel sheets were soaked with sweat. Climbing to my feet, I felt my legs wobble like I’d just finished hurling.

  I smacked at my alarm clock, silencing Taylor. For long minutes after the dreams, nothing in real life felt… real. The urgency to jump back into the dream and finish what I was doing always pervaded my consciousness. You are a terrible, disgusting person, I’d resolve, sometimes staying up for hours unable to resist thinking through the rest of her death.

  God help me, I want to kill her.

  I ran my fingers over the bedside table, the headboard of the bed, and eventually grabbed my phone.

  Abby’s honey-blonde hair and smiling face filled my screen, and I absently moved a music app over her eyes. Our argument- and breakup- the night before left me feeling relieved… though I worried she was parked outside my house along the curb with a blowtorch and a can of hairspray. I cringed at the memory of her ticked-off words.

  I hate you, Logan! You think you can just sleep with me and dump me for Roam Camden again? You belong with the pregnant slut, anyway! Take care of your kid and don’t ever talk to me again!

  My kid. I sighed shakily, brushing my fingers through my damp hair. Since our lunch at Ferrante’s after she confirmed that she was pregnant, Roam had barely spoken to me. Every week I’d send her a text to ask if she needed anything, but all she’d reply was No.

  As I began noticing more and more in my dreams, I’d managed to wake up a few times and take notes. The coordinates were clear in one nightmare, as though I’d been staring at them until the moment I woke up. I scribbled them down on the C- Beowulf paper on my desk, but it wasn’t until days later when I began thinking about the fountains again.

  What if each set of coordinates, reversed, lead to another fountain?

  I’d plugged the numbers into Google Maps, but came up with some random location off the coast of Cameroon. After playing with the dashes and decimals, and adding directional numbers, I nearly shit my pants when the Cleveland Mall appeared on my laptop screen.

  Talk to her today. Ask her to Thanksgiving dinner.

  I closed my eyes and lowered back to the pillow, praying for a dreamless sleep.

  A half an hour later, I killed her for the second time that night.

  The halls of the high school were filled with the inevitable last-day-before-break excited chatter, and everyone hurried to make plans for the long weekend. I spotted Roam at her locker working with the combination. Her masses of dark, brown hair tumbled over her shoulders, and my fingers recalled the texture too vividly. I should have just taken her up on my birthday offer. Maybe she would have chosen me.

  Whatever hold West had on her, I knew that it had to be purely physical. He was the most arrogant asshole I’d ever met, and I couldn’t imagine what she possibly saw in him other than what her dreams were convincing her to see. Her hand moved to her lower back as she dropped her book bag to the floor, and I moved beside her, longing to replace her hand with mine.

  Shifting my own book bag over my shoulder, I folded into her gaze. Those eyes always made me think of the Oakland A’s jersey colors, and I noticed that they were watery and verging on tears. “Hey. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  She looks so tired. Shrugging, she looked down. “What’s up?”

  My throat went dry at the sound of her voice. After everything she did to you, you still want her. Grow a pair, Logan. I cleared my throat. “I wanted to invite you to dinner Thursday. With my parents.”

  Recollection passed over her beautiful face, and she reached for the lock again. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Still too good for me. Resentment replaced any sensitivity that I had for her situation, and I fought the urge to grab her by the shoulders and slam her face into the lockers.

  Get a hold of yourself, you psychotic piece of shit. It’s Roam, and she’s pregnant.

  “No, I’m not kidding. It’s my parent’s rule. Family only.”

  “Logan, do you really think that’s a good idea? I’m sure Abby doesn’t.”

  Her hushed, defensive accusation softened my approach. “Don’t worry about Abby.”

  “I don’t, but maybe you should.”

  There she was again, bitter. You fucked your history teacher behind my back, not the other way around! “You told me to date,” I hissed.

  “Of course I did. I told you what you wanted to hear.”

  What does that mean? Girls are crazy.

  “What in the hell does that mean?”

  “It means you weren’t asking my permission because you love me, you were asking to be nice.”

  Jesus Christ. “You wanted to be with someone else. So where did that leave me?”

  “I made choices, but I refuse to let you punish me for them for the rest of my life.”

  Great, she’s going to cry. Again. Just boss her around. She seems to like that from him. “I’ll pick you up at three. I don’t want you walki
ng down the icy roads.”

  Her nostrils flared slightly, and I knew she was pissed. “Thank you for the invitation, but no thank you.”

  Something in her expression took me back to my second nightmare. Her hair, so blonde and wavy, framing her face and just touching her shoulders. Her stomach protruding outward, indicating that she was near the end of her pregnancy. The gas station, the sound of the shotgun blast as I aimed.

  Her blood.

  “Roam.”

  She froze as I moved in front of her, and I stared into her wide eyes. Just tell her. She’s been your best friend all of your life. She’ll understand. “You can’t possibly know what it’s like to have these dreams every night. I feel like I’m going crazy. I need to spend time with you… even just as friends… before I… lose it.”

  As my fingers found hers, the heat of her touch calmed the torment churning in my soul.

  I let her process my words, my touch, waiting. The halls emptied, and I moved closer. “I told Abby I can’t see her anymore. I can’t see anyone but you.”

  Oh, and I still love you, even after all the shit you’ve put me through.

  She resisted at first, but finally, she gave in. “I’ll come over. What can I bring?”

  I thought of the last time I’d touched her, holding her as she vomited over the railing at Ferrante’s. I grinned. “Anything but fettuccini Alfredo.”

  When she smiled, it felt like the entire fucking hallelujah chorus sounded in the halls of Madison High School.

  I am hopeless.

  “See you at three.”

  Chapter Two

  December 17, 1955

  “She’s so scared.” I glanced in the rearview mirror of the Volkswagen van, scratching at the hair on my jaw. Jesus, I’m at least thirty.

  “She sounded terrified. She’s about to have that baby… naturally. No painkillers. I’d be out of my mind freaked out.” Violet edged into the back seat, tucking her white-blonde curls behind her ears. “Did you hear that? I think he’s breathing.”

  “West broke his neck an hour ago. He’s dead.” Her brows snapped together. I exhaled slowly, rolling my eyes. “Fine, I’ll check.”