Stolen Melody (Snow and Ash #2) (2 page)

“Diehl,” Axel supplies. The way he looks at me, I feel like I’ve been pinned to the donkey.

With heroic effort I breathe properly and shake the hand he’s extended. It’s warm. His touch sends a jolt right
there.

“Will you be staying the night, Axel?” Uncle Mike asks.

My lips part and my mouth goes dry
. No. No no no.

I fling the stranger a horror-filled look, and I swear he’s barely repressing a smile.

“Thank you, sir, but I’ve imposed on you enough. I need to be on my way, if you don’t mind.” He gives Uncle Mike this nice-guy look that is pure bullshit, but the pastor buys it.

“I understand. Well—”

“Uncle Mike, A-Axel, I hope you don’t mind. I’m going to say hello to Mrs. Glaros.”

Before either one of them can answer me, I flee across the room and park myself down next to the seventy-year-old, who stares at me in amazement. “We never talk, do we?” I smile at her. “I’ve always wanted to ask you where you got that”—I glance over her—“beautiful ring.”

I’ve been insulated from the real world since I was thirteen. First through my manager and my bodyguards, and then due to the remoteness of this town. This churchy town. Most people, here or in my pre-ash life, would be stunned if they understood how little I know of men. The only boy I ever kissed was Trevor Marks back in seventh grade. He tried to use his tongue, and I bit him. I didn’t mean to—I just wasn’t expecting it.

It’s been a full week since Axel Diehl left. I know we’ll never lay eyes on each other again, but I can’t stop thinking about him. Last night I dreamed about him. He was kissing me, and his hands were cupping my backside. I woke up to find my panties soaked. I hope, I really hope I didn’t make any sounds. God, if the pastor heard, I’d die.

Pastor North smiles my way, and that’s my cue to start the next hymn. I’m only a few bars into “There Is a Fountain Filled with Blood” when a crashing noise comes from the room behind the pulpit. I jump. Half a second later, the front doors fly back with a bang. I yelp and spin around just in time to see a string of armed men stream through. Screams erupt throughout the congregation.

I grip the sides of the piano bench like it’s the only thing keeping me safe. I don’t believe what’s happening even though I have a perfect view.

“Everybody hold it right there!” A man with a serious-looking handgun stalks forward, aiming it here and there at various people until he makes it to the pastor. He grabs Uncle Mike from behind and aims the gun at the side of his face.

My heart skips. Automatically I scan the room for a place to hide, but there’s nothing. And then I see him. Him, Axel Diehl. He’s striding down the aisle, grim-faced and with an aura of purpose. Oh God.

“Everyone shut the fuck up!” The man holding a gun to the pastor’s head adjusts himself so the gun is pressed to his captive’s temple. “I said shut up, or I’ll put a bullet through this man’s brain.”

My gaze locks with Axel’s as he strides toward the front of the room. Toward me.

My mouth goes dry, and my stomach is heavy with dread. He’s one of them. He must have been here to spy. My breaths come heavy and quick as he reaches me, grabs me by the arm, and yanks me to my feet. He, like, sniffs up my front and presses his lips to my ear. “What a beautiful Melody.”

The guy holding a gun to my uncle’s head is talking, but I’m only half-aware. No one has called me Melody in years. The room goes blurry, and the only thing I feel is a shuddering tingle of horror. That, and the tiny lick he gives my ear before he circles around and pulls me back against his chest. He points a gun to my head.

The leader, the guy with my adoptive uncle, says something about how we’re to bring this and that to the church within twenty minutes or the pastor will be the first to go.

I gasp. Not Pastor North. Anyone but him.

I feel the shift of his body. “Don’t do anything foolish, Melody.”

My mind races and I swallow the hairball at the back of my throat. “Imogen,” I breathe. “My name is Imogen.”

“To me you will always be Melody.” He caresses my arm and takes my hand. He rubs the half-moon-shaped scar on the back.

It actually burns. “That was a long time ago.”

He leans in and his lips tickle my ear. “I had a picture of you in my cell. Do you know how many times I jacked off, just looking at your face?”

Oh. My. God.

The congregation begins to spill out except for the half dozen of us held at gunpoint.

Axel urges me backward until he reaches the piano bench. He sits, legs spread, and settles me in front of him. His dick presses against my backside. I squeeze my eyes shut against the tears that threaten to spring. “I’m not like her. It was a fake. It was only to sell music.”

“That was harsh, what they did to that woman last week,” he says, ignoring my words. “I was just wondering if they know who
you
are?” He leans forward and indicates the empty pews with a nod of his head.

“Pastor North knows. I told him. He doesn’t care.”

He runs the barrel of the gun down the side of my face, down the side of my neck like it’s a caress. A cold lick of death. He shakes his head. “The townspeople, though—they don’t, I’m guessing.”

I say nothing. I think nothing. I wasn’t even fourteen the first time the media called me a whore. No one can ever know—not in Sadie’s Bend or anywhere else. Melody once dominated the top of the music charts. She dressed in black leather, sparkling gold spandex, and barely there clothes that showed off her tits. I’ve buried Melody firmly in the ash, and I’m Imogen Barrow now.

“No,” I whisper.

He breathes in, and I get the impression he’s smiling even though I can’t see. “Best day of my life.”

I feel his dick grow into a full-on erection.

The townspeople return, and one by one they’ve placed their “tax” in the vestibule. A good chunk of our harvest is sitting on the floor of the church. Several of our prized turkeys are caged for travel. They join a pile of blankets and various other objects our people think of as valuable.

“Nice work, everyone,” the leader says. He does sound pleased. “Frankly, that’s quite a bit more than I thought we’d see.”

Shoot. Churchy people and their honesty.

“Now,” he says, “just to show you how grateful I—we—are, I’m going to let the girl go.” He nods to Axel.

Axel pulls the gun from my head and releases the grip at my waist. Without even a glance at him, I spring up and make straight for Mrs. Glaros. Her seventy-year-old eyes are kind, and she wraps me to her chest.

“We’ll be needing sleeping arrangements for the night,” Leader Guy goes on. “Several of our men will stay here with the hostages. The rest of you will quarter the remaining members of our party. You’ll feed them, house them, entertain them, and when it’s time for us to leave tomorrow, all of them will report safely back here to the church.” He smiles. “Then you can have your people back.”

“What did that man say to you?” whispers Mrs. Glaros.

“He was teasing me.” I avoid her eyes. “I think he liked making me uncomfortable.”

To say the least.

“Stay away from him. These men, they’re bad for girls like you.”

I stare at her.
Ya think?

I cast one last look at Axel as Mrs. Glaros and I leave the church. He isn’t looking at me at all, and I let out a long breath.

Mrs. Glaros takes me to her house. I’m in the kitchen getting a cup of water when I hear two loud knocks on the door. Whoever it is doesn’t wait for a response. The door flies open and crashes against the wall.

“What do you think you’re—” Mrs. Glaros’s voice quivers.

“You’ll be quartering us for the night, Grandma. Now go get us a drink.”

I shrink back out of sight as hurried footsteps approach. Mrs. Glaros seizes me by the arm, a hard bead in her eye. “You get back to the rectory,” she says. “Don’t light any fires, candles, anything. Just lock the doors and use extra blankets.”

She tugs me toward the door and opens it. I nod, too frightened to speak.

She practically flings me outside. I stumble, but I manage to catch myself.

“Don’t let anyone see you!” she hisses.

I don’t need to be told twice. I don’t need to be told at all. I dodge my way back to the rectory and quickly shut the door behind me. For a moment I sag against the wood. Then I spin around and lock it. I lock the back door, too, and all the windows.

I’m dizzy, and my stomach is thick with fear. If they kill Uncle Mike, I think I’ll just curl up and die. Without him I have no one. I feel my way in the semidarkness toward the living room. Once there I press a hand against the wall and lean my forehead to the cool old-fashioned plaster.

An arm encircles my waist. “Mine.”

My heart leaps and I scream. Axel’s hand closes over my mouth, and he shushes me. Those soft lips of his brush up against my neck. “You don’t want them to hear, do you, Melody?”

I shake my head. My heart beats so hard I think it’ll explode.

“I told you,” I say when he takes his hand away, “I’m not like that. The Melody image was set up by a corporation.”

He turns me around and pins my arms to the wall. Ice-blue eyes bore into me. “I saw how pissed you were when they kicked out that woman. I saw how glazed your eyes were in that sermon. You ain’t Miss Purity.”

“I am. I swear I am.”

He smiles. “Look. I don’t care what they think of you. You’ve got a good thing going here. Not many folks have it as nice as you; I can tell you that. But I’m going to get my piece. I’m not leaving until I do.”

My chest caves. “Don’t. Please?”

“I’ll make it good for you,” he says, pressing himself closer. “Better than any of these damn idiots you call men around here.”

“It’s not—I don’t want to do it. Okay? Please don’t make me.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

His expression closes, and one of those hands of his drifts down to my neck and rests there. “Ask me to fuck you.”

I will never. My lips try to form words, but nothing comes.

“Ask me to fuck you, or I’ll tell every goddamn one of them that you’re Melody. I’ll even show them a picture.”

My breath catches, and even though I shut my eyes tight, tears squeeze out. He catches one with his tongue, and a sizzle of warmth spreads through me.

“Do you want me to die?” I ask him.

The hand around my neck tightens. “Why would you say that?”

“If you tell them about me, the pastor will be forced to send me out. If I have sex with you, they’ll send me out. I’ll die out there. You know that.”

I open my eyes.

He seems to consider my words. But then he smiles, and I know I’m wrong. “No one needs to know. Just you and me.”

“But—”

“Ask me to fuck you.” His expression is fierce, and it scares me. He’s dangerous; I know that. He could kill me, walk off, and not even think about it. There’s no way he’s the gentle type. He could really hurt me if he wanted.

I shake so hard I can barely speak. I look at the ceiling and let the tears fall openly. “Will you let me go after you’re done with me?”

He blinks and his pupils go wide. He gives a sharp nod.

“You won’t tell anyone anything.” This I need to know. I don’t want to go through it again—half the whole world looking at me like I’m garbage, the other half trying to figure out how to get in my pants. All of them calling me a whore.

He takes the hand from my neck and caresses my face. “It’ll be our little secret.”

I don’t want to die. Not when I’ve never even lived.

Back when I was on tour, my friends at home were all getting laid. This one girl, her older sister was in college. She told us about this one guy she went on a date with. He wouldn’t stop pawing her no matter what she did, so she finally let him do it, just to get it over with.

That’s all I have to do. Let him feel me up, stick his thing in me for a few minutes, and then it’ll all be over. No one will ever know.

I nod. I shake so hard that even my hair is moving.

He licks his lips and pulls me to him. He slides his hands down to my backside and presses me against the length of him. God, what am I doing?

He barely brushes his lips against mine, but I feel the tingle of it. “You didn’t say it,” he whispers. He uses his hands to massage my backside, pressing me even closer, and it feels dirty. It feels…

I can’t say it. I just can’t.

His face goes serious. He releases me and takes a step backward. “I’m sure the townspeople will understand.”

He shrugs and turns as if to go.

“Wait!”
Oh God.
I can’t believe this is happening.

He turns his head and arches a brow.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“You can h—have sex with me.”

He’s on me in an instant. He cups my face, then encircles my waist and brings me to him. His eyes are liquid ice on fire. “I’m going to make it so good.”

When he kisses me this time, it’s real. His thick, full lips cover mine and drink me in.