TANTRIC (Book 3 of the Soundcrush Series)

Chapter 45: Hippie Chics Get Captured

I'm not sure if I should give a trigger warning.  If stalker fear or assault trauma is a concern for you, please be aware that this chapter has some imagery associated with these circumstances, but  ultimately there is no graphic violence involved in this chapter...

Ashlynn

For the tenth time, I turn my attention from my phone and watch a lone car pass by, its glossy topcoat splashed with orange sheen from the street lamps above.

My driver has already made it through the snaking lines of headlights on the LA highways, and residential Calabasas is a ghost town at 3am. That's not the reason I feel slightly lonely, though. Since my text to Leed six hours ago, telling him I was boarding the jet to LA, and he sent me a big smile emoji and a thumbs up, I haven't heard from him, despite the fact that I sent him several follow ups. I stopped texting two hours ago, figuring he was asleep.

"Have you decided, Miss?" the driver calls back on the intercom.

I bite my lip. I'm not sure where I should go—to my apartment, or to his house. Instinct is driving me to Leed's bed, but then again...he didn't exactly invite me over. 

Do I need an invitation?

At the cabin, I felt so...one, with him. I never once gave any thought about what would happen logistically when we returned to LA. It didn't seem important. Frankly, it didn't seem at all desirable to sleep apart from him, ever again.

But now, I'm back in LA and the truth is...Leed's home is not my home.

I give the driver my address and ten minutes later, I'm stripping off my jeans and sweater, dropping into my bed in panties and a camisole. My body thinks its 7am, after all, and I've been running at the low end of my need for sleep all week. I surround myself with pillows—a thing I've been doing all week to try to compensate for Leed at my back, but it's a poor substitute to his warm form curling to mine.

I take comfort in the fact that I'll see him tomorrow and fall asleep planning the pattern of kisses I want to place on his tats...

I come awake suddenly, in the gray dawn, my heart pounding, my head aching slightly, my throat dry and craving water. My phone is dead, I don't know what time it is, but I can tell from the very dim light around the shades, it's early. My body is craving more sleep, yet I'm alarmingly alert.

The darkening vise beginning to squeeze my brain only increases the pounding in my chest.

No, no, no.

Not a headache.

I did so well all week, under stressful circumstances. Not now.

Please, I beg my body. Not on my time with Leed.

I hold my head, breathing, trying to slow my heart, trying to formulate a plan. I'm wide awake; I might as well hydrate, and do some yoga. Possibly, a relaxing practicing might let me nap a little in shavasana and stop my headache in its tracks. I roll my head slowly, stretching my neck, pressing my fingers low against the back of my head, trying to relieve the tension. I flex my ankles, psyching myself up to get out of bed. I'm chilled, but fortunately a bleary scramble on the bench at the and of my bed yields me a long fuzzy sweater duster.

The downstairs is dark as I make my way through the small living room to the kitchen. Somewhere past the couch, I pause, the feeling that I'm being watched causing me to pivot, and scan the room again.

I can see no movement, nothing out of place, and the room is silent, except for the whir of the a/c unit and the hum of the refrigerator. Still, anxiety flares—the memory of his flunkie following me, appearing from nowhere to thwart my will at every turn.