Chapter 7

Chayce smelled something…weird.

He sat up, frowning deep. Fire? Was that fire?

The logical thing was to run, but he couldn't leave Waylon. That wasn't part of the deal, at all.

"Hey, babe. I smell smoke." He reached to shake Waylon awake, but no one was there.

He looked around, smoke filling the room, and panic spurted through him. Where was he? This wasn't right.

He reached over, patting the sheets. "Waylon? Waylon, where are you?" He coughed, trying to breathe. Chayce shook his head. No. Waylon wouldn't leave him, so where was he? In the bathroom? He would get down on the floor and crawl there. That was what he was supposed to do in the smoke, right?

"Waylon!" He hit the floor with a thump, shaking his head, so confused. "Waylon!"

"Chayce! Open the door." He heard a door shake as Waylon hit it. From outside?

"Waylon, help!" He was confused, scared, and he simply wasn't sure where he was.

"I'm coming, Chayce!" The door slammed open, the smoke clearing like magic. "Did you fall?" Waylon came to kneel next to him.

"There's a fire! We have to run."

"No, baby. There's no fire. But I couldn't get the door open. Even with the key. I had to bust out the jamb."

"But the smoke?" He didn't understand. Not at all.

"I think you were dreaming." Waylon frowned, peering into his eyes. "Did someone give you something to eat or drink?"

"I—There was water and a plate of fruit? Strawberries and pineapple."

"Shit. Your eyeballs… You've been drugged, baby."

Huh. He'd gone from honey to baby. He wasn't mad at that.

"Let's get you water that I know is safe and get you in the car. I want you out of here."

"Where?" He was… where was he? A benefit thing. No. No, an award show? Something. That was why he was in a weird dressing room. "I don't like this."

He wasn't happy happy drug drug boy.

"I know. Upsy-daisy." Waylon lifted him to his feet, and he could feel the tension in that strong body.

"Is anyone watching? No press?" He wasn't going to have him dancing around like a drunken bear.

"No. That pop star lady is doing some kind of snake dance on stage right now. Everyone is watching her." Waylon half carried him out, and they were back to the big black SUV. He heard the squeal of tires, and Kenny was burning out in the decoy limo, some photogs following him.

He leaned down, resting in Waylon's lap, so confused.

"I got you." Waylon stroked his hair with one hand. "I do."

"I feel gross." But at least the smoke had stopped.

"Well, you tell me if you're gonna puke." Waylon sounded amused, and he kinda wanted to bite one muscled thigh.

"Not gonna."

"Good." The engine changed pitch, the vehicle speeding up.

"Where are we heading?"

"You're officially on break. I'm taking you to your place in the mountains."

"The mountains. Okay. Okay, that's good." He didn't have his things, but he ought to be able to buy new ones. He closed his eyes against the headache that was threatening to drown him.

"You need some of that water, honey."

"Not baby?"

"Huh?" Waylon's laughter voice was back.

"You called me baby earlier." He'd liked it. A lot.

"Did I?"

"Yes. Do it again?"

"Anything you want, baby. Just stay with me, huh? No sleeping until the drug wears off. I don't want you getting super sick."

"I'll be good."

A husky laugh was his reward for that. "Oh, baby, you're always good. I swear it. But I want you healthy and whole. And when I find out who did this? They are going down."

"Oh, good deal." A wave of nausea swept over him. "Lord, Waylon, you'd better stop."

"Okay." Waylon pulled off immediately, and he spilled out the driver's side rather than the passenger one as soon as Waylon opened the door. He landed on his knees on the gravel on the side of the road, and he heaved up every bit of fruit and water he'd taken in. Jesus lord, that was nasty. Whatever they'd given him, he hoped it came back to them tenfold and made them barf it up just as violently as he had.

"Here, come on." Waylon got him up and helped him rinse his mouth out.

"Thanks. Ugh." Though he felt better now. A little clearer and a lot less sick to death.

"You want to just stay here in the air a minute? We've made some distance."

"Just let me catch my breath."

"Sure, baby." Waylon was just so damn accommodating.

"Aren't you even curious what happened?"

"Shit, yes. And I called the police and had them send someone down to sweep the room and collect anything that might help us figure out who did it."

"Cool. I don't… I don't like this. Not at all."

"I don't either." Waylon stayed close, but his eyes were on the road, watchful, protecting him from anything that might come their way. "I should never have left you alone in that damn dressing room, but I was trying to set the cars up."

"No stress. It was supposed to be secure." He felt dizzy as hell.

"It was. Come on and sit." Waylon took him back to the car but left the door open. "There's a Sprite in the cooler. I'm the only one who's touched them."

He took the bottle Waylon handed him, but he couldn't get his fingers to work to open it. So Waylon did it for him, and oh, God, that was good. The fizz cleared his throat, and it was cold and crisp.

"Thank you. Fuck. Fuck, I thought you were on fire."

"No. No fire." Waylon stroked his back. "Though I about a heart attack when I heard you shouting for me. I thought someone had gotten in there with you."

"I thought we were in the bed on the bus. I thought… I thought we were in a fire." It was confusing, upsetting to have been so far off.

"Well, you were fighting being drugged. I bet whoever it was didn't expect you to lock the door. They thought they could swoop in and carry you off. I'm also having the cops check on where your assistant was." Waylon's voice took on a grim note.

"No swooping in. No way. Nope." His heart pounded hard, rattling his ribs.

"No. Nope. A, you're mine. B, I've never lost a primary. So whoever it is who wants you? Can fuck right off." Waylon leaned down to kiss his neck, which was somehow more comforting than sexual. "Better?"

"Yeah. Let's hit the road." He wanted to get to the mountains; he wanted space between them and the bad guy. And Waylon's little possessive speech was hot as hell.

He got back into the car and buckled up, leaning back and opening the window. He was going to be okay.

He was.

Because if nothing else, at least the world wasn't burning down.