The Forbidden Note (Redwood Kings Book 4)

Panicked, I struggle to shove the lid off. Pushing with my arms and bumping into it with my shoulder. Nothing works.

The coffin is locked.

“No, no, no,” I whimper.

There’s no way out.

No way…

The darkness is chewing at my fingers, my toes, nibbling at my skin and tearing at my flesh.

The box is getting smaller.

Smaller.

Smaller.

My fingers claw at the top of the casket as desperation consumes me.

“Is anyone there!” I pound on the casket lid. “We’re locked in here!”

My nails rake the plush lining.

I slash through cotton and silk.

I open my mouth to yell again, but my throat closes up like someone pulling a corset tight. My brain seizes, drowning in a river of fear. Why can’t I scream? Why can’t I breathe? It’s a stab of helplessness, like I’m not even in my own body.

My eyes steer to the side and I see her.

Sloane.

Blond hair limp. Face dirty. Body crumpled.

Is this how she felt when we buried her? Is this the panic, the terror that roared through her soul?

Tears spring to my eyes.

“I can’t breathe,” I wheeze, fingers scraping down my throat.

“Hey, hey.” The gentle voice is matched by two heavy arms around my waist. The moment Zane touches me, the image of Sloane disappears.

He curls me against his chest. “Sh.” He smooths a hand down my hair. “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

I squirm, fighting him.

Frantic sobs tear out of my mouth.

The guilt and panic mingle, forming a new monster. One hell-bent on burning me to ashes.

Zane holds firm, battling the monster with every breath he exhales.

“I’m here. I’m here.”

He keeps muttering tenderly in my ear and rubbing my hair, my back, my side until the panic shrinks to the size of my palm.

“Come on, tiger. Come back to me.”

His tenderness pierces the fog and I slide back to reality in a slow descent.

For a moment, I hold him, anchoring myself in the hardness of his body. Reacquainting myself with reality through the parts of him I can feel, touch and smell.

His skin is hot.

His heartbeat is a steady rhythm.

His unique smell of leather and sandalwood fills my nose.

Warm hands round over my shoulders and down my back. “You okay now?”

“Y-yeah,” I mutter. My breathing evens out and I blink rapidly, stripped raw by a moment I wish he hadn’t witnessed.

It’s impossible to see his face in the casket. There are no openings to allow light, and yet I can feel his energy radiating in my direction. It’s different than his usual arrogance. Softer. Concerned.

“I…” I lick my lips, unsure of what to say. “I don’t like small spaces.”

“I can see that.” There’s a hint of laughter. An ease that makes my shoulders relax.

“How are you not freaking out?” I croak, my heart still beating fast. “We… we could be buried alive.”

His chuckle vibrates through his body and mine.

“You think this is funny?”

“I think you almost gave me a heart attack.” He pushes my hair away from my face.

I’m not sure how he did that so effortlessly in the dark.

“That’s weird.” There’s a note of thoughtfulness in his voice.

“What?”

“You always seem so strong.”

“Everyone looks strong from a distance.”

He’s quiet. “What do I look like from a distance?”

Like a bad decision.

Like an anxious dream.

Like a wall that I can’t ever break down.

“Like a student,” I say finally.

He scoffs, but it’s not as angry as usual.

“You better now?”

I nod and try to ease away from him. “You can let me go.”

There’s a beat where he doesn’t move and I wonder if he’ll keep holding me. I wonder if I’ll have the strength to push him away.

It’s safe in his arms. Warm.

But Zane releases me without a fight.

I roll to the bottom of the coffin, lying next to him. Awkwardness teases the air between us. The silence stretches on.

“Get Dutch on the phone. Ask him to call the funeral home and get someone to help us.”

“Good idea.” Zane takes out his cell phone. The moment he turns it on, I flinch. The light from the screen is extremely bright. My eyes adjust and I can see what I couldn’t before. Creepy white lining. A glossy wooden coffin.

We’re two dead bodies about to be buried.

My stomach roils.

I hear my breath escaping quicker and quicker.

Just as I’m about to fall into panic again, a hand descends over my eyes, blocking out the light. Callouses scrape my cheek and a hard palm grazes my sensitive lips.

Thrown into darkness, I angle toward Zane. “What are you doing?”

His voice is low, rough, but in a comforting sort of way. The heat threaded within traces like expensive velvet across my heart. “Don’t look if it scares you.”

I nod.

“Close your eyes, tiger.”

My heart flips in my chest.

“Are they closed?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and nod again.

He removes his hand. Zane’s cell phone beeps as he dials the number.

A moment later, I hear his twin pick up.

“Dutch,” Zane grunts, “call the funeral parlor. Tell them to send someone to the show room.” His voice rumbles close to my ear. “No, I’m not going to tell you why. Just call the freaking parlor and tell them to look for us.”

He hangs up.

“What did Dutch say?” I ask.

“He’ll call them.”

“Good.”

I feel Zane turn his head. The length of his arm is pressed against mine, which makes it easy to sense when he’s moving.

“Do you have any other phobias?” he asks.

“Why do you care?”

“Because I’m curious about you.” A moment later, I feel the muscular planes of his chest. His hot, hard body is flush against mine. He must have turned over on his side to face me.

My heart pounds harder and lodges in my throat.

I exhale to calm down. “Don’t be.”

His silence is sharp.

“We’re never going to be friends, Zane. You and I are just—”

“Say teacher and student. I dare you.” His voice bristles with a threat.

I tilt my chin up tensely. “Step-siblings.”

He barks out an ironic laugh.

It’s not funny.

None of this is.

Zane and I should never have crossed paths and yet here we are, tangled together in a ridiculous web of circumstances and buried under a mountain of scandal.

“I put my phone away. You can open your eyes now,” Zane whispers.

My eyelashes flicker as I slowly adjust to the pitch-black coffin.

Sheepishly, I rub my throat. “My eyes are sensitive to light.”

“Or maybe you prefer darkness.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“You ashamed?”

I can’t see him, but I can feel the smirk he’s tossing in my direction.

“The kind of darkness you’re referring to is bad.”

“Bad. Good. It’s all relative.”

I snort. “That’s something only people with a corrupt moral compass would say.”

“Darkness is where you find out who you really are.” His voice is mellow and yet his words are dangerous as hell. “It’s where all your true desires come out to play. Everything you deny yourself in the light,” he eases closer, “you can indulge in when it’s dark.”

His finger slide confidently down my face to my mouth. He traces my parted lips and I shiver.

“What would you do if you knew it would never come to the light, tiger?” he coaxes.

I breathe out. “That’s a pointless exercise.”

“Because you’re scared?”

“Because it’s not for me. Even if it hurts, I want to live in the light.”

His finger goes still.

I’m held captive by the tension between us, the many truths spilling in the quiet of the coffin.

I can’t be with you.

I won’t be with you.

I will never let the darkness overtake me.

Zane withdraws his hand and rolls away. I ache for the loss of his warmth.

“They’re going to get us out of here soon,” he says stiffly.

“How do you know…”

There’s a rustle of fabric and the coffin lid creaks.

At that moment, the top opens. The funeral director peers over us, his face tight with horror.

“Oh my. I’m so sorry.” He extends a hand to me. “Are you okay?”

“We’re fine.” I accept his hand and step out of the coffin.

It feels like we’re walking out of a nightmare.

My feet land on the ground and I start sinking. My legs fell asleep in the coffin and now a million ants are biting up my shin.

Zane wraps his fingers around my upper arms, steadying me.

I shake him off, feeling self-conscious and foolish now that the crisis is over.

“That has never happened before. Truly. Are you sure you two are okay?” He peers intently at me. I guess I look as haggard and weary as I feel.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “We should, uh, discuss the funeral arrangement now.”

“No,” Zane says stiffly.

I glance at him in shock.

He narrows his eyes at me. “You will.”

I remain in place, totally confused.

He juts his chin at the door. “I have things to do. Text me the details.”

“Are you kidding? You’re just leaving?”

Zane smiles, but it’s one of the cruel smirks. A villainous twist of his lips that makes me clench my fists.

My eyes darken in response.

“Let me remind you, tiger. We’re playing my game now.” He advances on me, blue eyes glittering. “You want to be treated like a teacher at Redwood. This is what that means.”

“Screw you,” I hiss.

His eyes are flat. His tone, cold. “You already did.”

I stiffen.

We’re locked in a challenging stare.

Two bulls clashing in the middle of a colosseum.

I remember his threat.

Do you want them to find out I touched you the way no student should touch a teacher?

He arches an eyebrow.

Jaw clenched, I glance at the funeral director. “I’ll take over from here.”

Zane stalks off without a word.

I glare in his direction. Zane Cross is the most dangerous of his brothers. He hides that wicked streak under warm charisma and a pretty smile. He lures you into feeling like a friend before he stabs you in the back.

I lick my lips, struggling to tune in to what the director is saying.

Like an idiot, I believed for a moment that Zane wasn’t half as bad a guy as he pretends to be. The way he cradled my face, calmed me down, and talked me out of my panic attack felt sincere.

But it was all a lie.

The feelings he stirred up will stay buried in that coffin.

And they’ll never see the light of day.