Текст книги "Finn Beckett"

Автор книги: M. J. Fields

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

I leave early so I can take in some of the late-summer-morning ocean breeze, hoping it clears my head. I love the shore, not the clubs or the tourist shit. I love the dive bars, the pubs, and the Mom and Pop places during off-peak seasons like right now. I enjoy the ocean on a hot day, on a warm day, but when there is a chill in the air, and the water is rough, I love to pull my ride over, stand back, and give it the respect it deserves.

Storms fuck with me. I’m not afraid of the lightning, the thunder, the wind, rain, snow, or hail. I know I’m bigger than them. What messes with me is the need to understand what is inside of them, where they come from, and how close I can get before they suck me in and tear me apart.

The water isn’t calm today; it’s rough. Then again, it’s peak hurricane season, so it’s expected.

I pull out the half pack of smokes Kellie left and tap one out. Then I reach in my leather jacket pocket and grab the Zippo I stole a long time ago from the woman who caused the storm that will always be simmering deep inside me. It’s a simmer that, with the heat brought on by emotions, became a rapid boil.

I was once able to pull it off the flame, away from the fire, allowing me to survive.

I walk over and lean against a rock wall closer to the ocean as I flick the Zippo open then closed, open then closed, open then closed. The waves come close to hitting my boot, but not quite as I put the unlit cigarette between my lips and flick the lighter, shielding the flame as I bring it up to light my cigarette. I smell the lighter fluid, a scent I have always enjoyed, regardless of what memories it brings back, as I suck on the brown filter lighting my smoke.

I savor the taste, the burn, the feeling it gives me as I inhale, watching the ocean intensely and witnessing the storm that is now at a slow boil.

***

I walk into Forever Four, seeing Memphis’s sister Madison on the phone at the reception station. I assume she’s making travel arrangements for the tour.

She nods to the conference room, and I head in.

“You get lost?” River asks.

I look up, my stomach turns, and I feel my lip curl. I am looking at her, the girl who has her hand on the knob, turning up the heat that urges the flames from the slow boil to a rapid one.

She looks up, her cool demeanor fueling the flame even more.

I point to her. “What the fuck is she doing here?”

“Finn, that’s enough,” Taelyn says calmly.

“Enough? That bitch tried to bite me,” I snap.

“You wouldn’t let go of my elbow,” she says, leaning back and straightening her skirt.

“You were threatening to expose my band mate’s cock all over the fucking—”

“Finn!” Xavier says loudly enough to penetrate the ringing in my ear she caused.

“What! You seriously can’t tell me—”

“She’s working for us now. Have a seat.”

“I’d rather stand.”

I am pissed—beyond pissed. I know damn well this isn’t gonna work out well, professionally or personally. The minute I’m around her, she makes it impossible to ignore her.

“That’s fine,” Xavier states. “But remember this is a team; everyone is here to help you become—”

“And to make money off my music.”

“Our music,” River says with a little ass behind his words.

I pace back and forth as they talk schedule. I don’t even give a damn.

Xavier walks over, shuts the door, and clears his throat. “Forever Four has signed Stevie and her band—” Memphis and I both begin objecting, but he holds up his hand. “It’s not up for discussion. It was necessary.”

Memphis snarls. “How is that—”

“You two both fucked her.” Xavier throws his hands in the air. “This was best—”

“I’ve fucked a lot of women,” I retort.

“Finn,” Taelyn begins, “she’s talented. It was smart business. She’s got a great following, also great business.”

“So why is she here?” I point to … her.

“She’s here to make sure Steel Total Destruction’s following grows as big, if not bigger, than Stevie’s.”

“What the hell does None-ya have to do with music?”

“Not a thing, but she is a social media genius,” Taelyn answers.

I glare at her, pissed that they have already made up their fucking minds and don’t care what their decision is doing to me.

“Well, what the—”

“Beckett, you are talking to my wife,” Xavier snaps.

I look at Taelyn, who is scowling at Xavier. “I’m assuming she can handle herself.”

“As can I.” I look at None-ya as she stands up and walks to the table. “I’m not here to interrupt your flow of genius or stop the spread of your disease. I was hired to make you look more appealing.”

“As if that’s even possible.” River chuckles.

“With our band’s name, it won’t hurt,” Billy speaks up. I look at him as he flips through his phone. “She has two point five million followers on social media. I have fifty thousand. What do you have, Finn?”

“I don’t need that shit,” I answer. “I want to make fucking music.”

“That’s perfect. You make music; I create a social media presence for you and the band,” she says, standing closer than I want her to. She looks up at me. “That’s all. Nothing to do with your music.”

Her eyes aren’t soft like her voice. There is a harshness behind them. They are lying.

I look past her at Xavier. “You trust her?”

He nods. “She has your schedules. We leave in two days. You’ll each need to meet with her so she can get some background on you and start growing your social media presence.”

Unreal. Un-fucking-real.

We sit in the conference room with None-ya for over an hour, setting up and linking profiles and passwords. She is really helpful to everyone except me, probably ’cause I don’t ask a damn question.

“Is everyone all set?” she asks finally, looking around. When her eyes land on me, I look away. “Finn? You haven’t asked for any help.” She walks over and takes my phone, just takes the shit like it’s hers. She stiffens, then sets it in front of me.

“Don’t need it,” I say, trying to ignore the way her presence fucks with me.

“The rest of you are all set. Finn, you’ll need to hang back for a while,” None-ya says nonchalantly, like it’s no big deal that I don’t want to be around her, and it’s obvious she feels the same.

“Tonight. Our place. Celebration time. Hurry it up, man,” Memphis yells over his shoulder as the three of them leave me behind … with her.

“You do need me.”

I stand up, expecting her to step back. When she doesn’t, I lean down. “I don’t need shit.”

“What is your problem?” she asks, eyeballing me.

“You. You’re my problem. Yesterday, you’re ready to fuck Memphis and Tales up for what?”

Her eyebrows rise. “A paycheck.”

“So, you have that little dignity that you’ll just sellout for whoever hands you a wad of cash?” I fucking knew she was nothing except a money-grubbing, little piece of ass who knows how to work what she has.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing? Selling your words, your …” She stops as she fumbles around with my phone and somehow hits play on a song I was working on. She stops and listens.

I reach for my phone, but she pulls it away.

“Give it back.”

She doesn’t respond, only turns her back to me.

I reach around in front of her, but she clutches it tightly.

“I’m not fucking around, None-ya. Give me the damn—”

“Why hasn’t this been released?” she asks finally, letting go of the phone.

“That’s not any of your concern,” I say as I let her scent fill me up. Bad fucking idea; she smells damn good … for a bitch.

When I don’t step back, she looks up and over her shoulder at me. “Could you move out of my way?”

“You put yourself between me and the desk, so you can get out without me moving.”

As she stares at me right in the fucking eye, not a word is said, and I see something mixed with hate, something that calls to me. Something softer, less siren, more … submissive. Or is that just my semi-erect dick thinking for me?

“Oh, I see.”

“See what?” She finally slides out from between me and the table.

“You think you can get me in bed.” I give out a low laugh. “You think I’m your next twenty Gs?” Teasing temptress.

“You think I want you?” she huffs, straightening her hair.

“Maybe not me. Maybe the paycheck, the experience. Whatever it is, it’s not gonna happen.” I would make damn sure of it.

“What the hell makes you think I would touch you for either?” she retorts, spinning on her heels.

I shake my head. “You either wanna fuck me or kill me.”

“Is that right? So you know me and my intentions? The nerve,” she huffs.

“Not nerve, recognition,” I say as I walk past her and out the door before I end up giving her what her eyes are telling me she wants… or maybe it’s the reflection of mine in hers.

Never in my life have I been this fucking riled up about a chick. Never, and I don’t like it.

Hearing her heels click against the floor quickly behind me, I stop, and she runs right into me. I turn, and for some fucking reason, I grab her elbow as her ass is about ready to kiss the ground. I pull her up, and she scowls.

“Thank you are the words you’re looking for,” I say before releasing her.

“What does recognition mean?”

I lean in and whisper in her ear, “I’m not sure if I want to fuck you or let you kill me, either.”

I march out the door, letting her take that in, half regretful and half not. It’s the goddamned truth. Dogs aren’t the only ones who can sense a storm coming.

***

The beach rental house is full of people. It’s wall-to-wall ass. Memphis and Tally have already left.

I look over to see River with a group of guys. I immediately sense Chilz is on the shelf for tonight, and shit’s about to go down.

I look for Billy. I can normally deal with the dregs of society, but not today. I know for a fact that, if I walk over there, I’m gonna end up partaking in some shit that’s not good.

I look up when Stevie Daniels and crew walk in. Kellie isn’t with ’em, which is too bad. I could go for an encore about now.

They part like the Red Sea, and when they do, I see her.

Son-of-a-bitch.

As she walks over and lays her black overcoat on the back of one of the couches then sees the bar, I watch, hoping she won’t see me. When she stiffens and looks around, I make damn sure she doesn’t see me looking. Then my eyes meet River’s, and he waves me over, so I go.

“Kipp and Ken here have some good weed.” River winks. “We aren’t going anywhere. How about you and I hit the blunt a few times?”

I look at Kipp and Ken. They are dressed preppy, but I know the type. You see, to me, the dregs aren’t the two-bit hustlers out pushing dime bags for rent to feed their kids or their habit. The dregs are these two—young guys who come from money and make a living off the pushers. They don’t get their hands dirty; they pad their pockets.

“Nah, man,” I say as he passes it to me.

Then I see her and change my mind.

I need an escape from her or an excuse for going after her.

I take a hit, holding it in my mouth, then suck in a deep breath. Its effects are immediate, and I know this isn’t just straight up pot.

I exhale, looking at Ken and Kip. “What the fuck is this laced with?”

“Just some hash oil, man, nothing harsh,” one of them says.

“No big thing, brother.” The other sets his hand on my shoulder, and I snap, pissed that they tricked me.

Pot is one thing, a stepping stone some say, but if I’m gonna step, it sure as fuck better be my choice.

I grab his hand then jack his arm up behind his back, pushing him against the wall, and he cries out. Fucking pussy.

The fog doesn’t just creep in; it rushes, getting thicker, denser. The other preppy little fuck hits me hard from behind in the side of my face. I swing his boy around and push him into the douche, making them both fall to the ground.

“That’s for me to decide, not you.”

Before I can kick the bitch who sucker punched me, I get yanked back.

“Enough, man!” Billy demands.

River dives on top of them, letting out a deep, malicious laugh, swinging like a fool. Some other guy pulls him off.

“Get the fuck out of here!” I yell as they scramble to their feet.

When I see her again, a look of shock turns to exasperation as she starts grabbing people’s phones.

“Give it back!” I hear a blonde screech.

She hits a few buttons and hands it back. “Now leave!”

“Who the fuck are you?” Blondie steps into her like she’s ready to throw down.

I pull away from Billy and step between them just as None-ya is about to get scratched up.

“She’s none-ya-business,” I say as I feel the fog start to spread, relaxing me.

The little redhead steps around me and points at blondie. “You were invited to a party, probably to be someone’s piece of ass, not as a videographer. Now get out.”

“Is she for reals?”

“For reals.” None-ya mimics. “Now go.” She then looks up at me, pissed—not angry, not hating, just pissed the fuck off. “Get your boys to the door for phone checks. And if you pray, say one now that you’re not all over social media, fighting and smoking that shit!”

I look at her like she’s crazy ’cause she kind of is. She hates me one second, and then, in the blink of an eye, she’s taking care of the situation.

Then I can’t help smiling. Yeah, I’m fucked up. Feels good, too.

Once she throws her hands up in exasperation and goes to get Billy, I grab a bottle of Jack off the coffee table, sink down onto the leather sofa, and take a swig.

River sits next to me. “Sorry, man. I didn’t know.”

“When are you gonna get sick of playing stupid?” I look at his stunned expression. “Look, I fucked up tonight, too. But seriously, brother, I want you to stick around. Shit could have been worse.”

“I’m getting the feels, the warm and fuzzies.” He chuckles as I let my head hit the back of the couch in a total state of relaxation.

I look over to see Billy and a few others at the door, taking phones as one by one they let people out.

“Billy is a good dude,” I say as my eyes wander from him to her. “None-ya, she’s a fucking trip, too.”

“Thought you hated her,” he mumbles.

“Right now, I hate no one.” I close my eyes and let the fog take its full effect.

“You two done causing trouble?”

I open one eye, seeing Kellie standing there, arms crossed and annoyed as hell.

“You couldn’t stay away, could ya?” I chuckle.

“I came for a party, not to watch a fight or get laid. You two fucked that all up.” She rolls her eyes.

“Phone.” Sonya holds out her hand to Kellie.

“You serious?” Kellie gasps.

“Quite.” She snatches it from her hand, then hands it back to her once she appears satisfied. “The band is waiting for you outside.”

I yawn. “She can stay.”

“No, I’m out. Too much drama for my liking,” Kellie says, walking away.

“You two need to get a fucking grip,” Billy snaps at us.

“Chill, Bill,” River says. “You’re derailing the buzz train.”

“And you”—I look at Sonya—“just sent away all the fun.”

“You’ve already slept with half the band,” I huff. “Two down, two to go, and hey, look, they’re with your label now. That’ll give you even more opportunity to screw the remaining two.”

Both his eyes slowly open, and a grin starts to tease his face. “None-ya, you’re jealous.”

“She is. She so is.” River chuckles, his eyes not opening to even see if this might be offensive to me.

“I hardly think so,” I huff. “And you”—I turn back to Finn—“my name is Sonya. Do you think maybe you could possibly store that in one of the two or three brain cells you may have left up there?”

He rolls his eyes, looks toward River, and lets out a deep, dark laugh that rubs me in a way that is all sorts of wrong. “If I only have two or three, I can just imagine what you have going on in that head of yours, man.”

They both laugh.

“I need a ride home.” Madison, Memphis Black’s sister, says with her hand on her hip, looking at Billy.

“Are you asking me or telling me, Madison?” he asks with a hint of sarcasm.

“Which one will get me home faster?” she asks.

“Asking. Maybe end it with a please,” he suggests, giving me the impression he is amused by her.

“Why don’t you two just fuck and get it over with?” River laughs.

I immediately feel sorry for her. Hell, my cheeks even burn red with embarrassment, but hers don’t.

“A ride home.” She pauses. “Please.”

When Billy and Madison leave, I set about trying to find my coat. I left it on the back of the couch, and now it’s not there.

I bend over the couch and look on the floor, but it’s not there, either. When I stand and hit my back on something, the scent that I want so badly to ignore fills me, and I freeze.

His arm wraps around me, a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand, his fingers wrapped around the neck of it. I feel chills run up and down my spine, and I know I should tell him to step back, but I don’t want him to.

“Take a drink, None-ya, and tell me what the deal is with you.”

“I don’t want a drink.”

Both of his hands grip the black leather of the sofa, never letting go of the bottle, caging me in. Shivers run up my spine as I feel his warm breath hit the back of my neck. Something about it relaxes me.

“I think you should. Just a sip. Take the edge off so you can tell me why you despise me.”

I can’t tell him. I can’t. I need this job, and I need to finish what I set out to do.

“I don’t despise you.”

“So it’s the other?”

“What’s the other?” I ask as I turn my body around, extremely aware I am rubbing against him as I do. I tilt my head up, my eyes meeting his, and the heat in them should frighten me. “I have a job to do.”

His eyes travel all over my face, his gaze penetrating me, wrecking me. “Which is?”

I clear my throat. “Making sure your band has a good social media following that doesn’t paint you as oversexed.”

“Rock stars are supposed to be oversexed.” His eyes travel down my throat, and the intensity of his gaze makes me burn like I have not burned in years. “Reckless.” He leans in a bit and inhales. “They’re supposed to take what they want, who they want. Rock stars seduce the crowd while onstage. They give the listener—”

“Stop,” I whisper as his hand takes mine.

“When you tell me what the deal is with you and me, I’ll stop.” He takes my other hand, the bottle now gone.

I should pull away. I should stop playing this game when it’s already clear I am in over my head.

“Whatever it is you’re doing here—”

“My job,” I say, summoning strength.

“Which is?” I feel his thumb brush across my knuckles, first my left hand then my right.

I take in a deep breath, fully prepared to be strong until he says, “Do you want to kill me or fuck me?”

The way he says it … God, the way he says it rattles me. It knocks me off my game, makes me forget the game. It makes me realize this isn’t a game. Everything has changed.

He leans in slowly, and I know it like I know the back of my hand. I know I’m … gone.

I lick my lips, readying myself for the inevitable as he leans left. The scruff of his beard softly scratches my cheek as his breath hits my ear.

I am supposed to hate him—I want to hate him—but right now, hate is not what I am feeling.

“I know you haven’t figured it out yet, Sonya, but when you do, will you let me know? You’re fucking with me, fucking with me hard. And I am telling you right now, I can’t handle wondering which one it is.”

As my head drops to his shoulder, I feel his arm pull me in closer. I feel emotions. I feel. I feel, and I don’t want to.

“I can’t find my coat,” I say as I push away from him. “My keys are in my coat. I need to—”

“Stay then. Stay here.”

Being free from his touch gives me back some of my strength. Not a lot, but a little. As a result, I shake my head.

He looks hurt or angry, possibly both.

I feel like I am betraying myself when I say, “Fine, I’ll stay. But we work.”

He looks down, confused, and then shakes his head. “You do know that wasn’t one of the choices, right?” He peers up through his insanely dark lashes and smiles a smile that, for once, feels sincere. I hate it and want it at the same time.

“You do know you’re high, right?” I retort, allowing myself to enjoy the moment as the muck clears and his eyes soften.

He holds his fingers up, pinching his thumb and pointer finger almost together. “A little.” He stands, looking at me, studying me in a way I have never been studied. “You’re not a redhead.”

My hand instinctively goes to my hair. “I am right now.”

He reaches out and touches my hair. “I like red.”

I know he does.

“I mean, I used to like red.” Like a stone being thrown onto a pond, the muck returns.

I turn away as he takes a drink.

“You wanna work, None-ya?”

I decide to take the opportunity, knowing he is too in a fog to try to get something done. “Sure.” I walk around and sit on the couch, “My coat is gone, so I don’t have my phone. I normally would take notes on it, but—”

He pulls his phone from the pocket of his black, loose-fitting jeans, reaches over the couch, and hands it to me. “You need to set up that social media shit, anyway, right?”

I nod. “Yeah.” I look back as he runs his hands through his thick, black hair. “Care to sit?”

“Probably not. I may fall asleep,” he answers, looking toward the door. “I’m gonna go have a smoke. Password is bass and the number one.”

I watch him walk to the sliding door and open it, seeming in a hurry to get away.

I know this is probably my only chance to get answers from him since his guard is down, so I get up and make my way out. I look to my right, expecting him to be sitting on the patio, but he’s not. Then I look out toward the water and see him in the moonlight, looking up, the cherry of his cigarette burns red.

I am just about to go to him when he turns around as if he knows I’m coming.

“Almost done,” he yawns out.

“Just thought I’d ask a couple questions out here, if you don’t mind?”

“Shoot,” he says, taking a slow drag off his cigarette.

“Just the normal bio stuff. Where did you grow up?”

“Ohio,” he answers on an exhale.

“Town?”

He looks at me and cocks his eyebrow.

“Is there a reason you don’t want to say?”

“It’s in the past, Sonya.”

“I can get the infor—”

“Next question,” he cuts me off.

“Date of birth?”

“November nineteenth, 1991,” he answers coldly.

I don’t want to lose him. I want to keep him engaged and comfortable, so I ask a simple question.

“Can you tell me your band members’ birthdays so I don’t have to bother them?”

He looks at me quizzically.

“I guess I could get that information from—”

“Memphis is August sixth; he’s the youngest in the band—1993. River is January twentieth, same year as me. Billy is March twenty-eighth, also ’91,” he answers without even thinking.

“Your musical inspiration?”

“Zeppelin. Memphis loves Eddie Vedder; River is a Nirvana junky, and God willing, I hope he doesn’t end like Cobain did; Billy likes all the old jazz.”

“Jazz?” I ask, almost shocked.

His lip curls up at the corner in a smirk. “Not sure this was ever in the stars for him, but I’m grateful he’s here.”

“Because he’s the responsible one?”

His head whips around, and he looks at me. “He’s one of them. I’m the other.”

“Right,” I say as I tap the notes into his phone that Finn Beckett is responsible. After all, it’s his bio, not mine.

He flicks his cigarette on the beach and kicks some sand around, covering it before he sits.

“Keep ’em coming, Sonya.” He digs his feet into the sand and places his hands behind his head, looking up at the stars.

“Hobbies include star gazing?”

He looks up at me. “I like a clear, night sky”—he points up—“and Orion, the Hunter.”

“Resident star gazer,” I confirm.

“Sure.”

“Do you have siblings?” I ask.

“Nope. You?” He looks at me, and I shake my head.

“When did you become—” I stop when a chilly night breeze captures my breath.

He stands up and smacks his hands together, ridding them of sand. “Cold?”

“Yeah.” I nod.

He reaches over his shoulder and grips his Henley, pulling it over his head. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a tattoo, a V, and light sprinklings of dark hair trailing down under the waistband of his jeans. Then he pulls down the white T-shirt, covering himself. “Here.”

“It’s okay.” I hold my hand out, stopping him from giving me his shirt.

“You’re cold, Sonya. Either go inside or put this on.” He sets it on my shoulder as he walks toward the house.

His scent devours me once again. I place the phone in my bra and pull it over my head, slowly enjoying the delicious scent that is Finn Beckett as the shirt warms my body.

I look back, hoping he hasn’t caught me, to see he is pulling a double chaise lounge toward me.

“Have a seat,” he says in a rough voice.

“I’m fine.”

“Sit or go inside, Sonya.” He sounds frustrated, annoyed.

I need this job, and not just for the paycheck, so I sit, and he sits next to me. Draped over his shoulder is a blanket, black and red plaid. He sits down and covers himself, then me.

“What else do you need to know?”

Everything. Everything and why, I think to myself.

“Did you go to college?”

He looks at me with raised eyebrows. “No, not everyone is afforded that privilege.” The way he says it is like he is judging me.

“I didn’t, either.”

“No?” He sounds shocked.

“Uh-uh,” I say, wishing I hadn’t given him that information.

“Huh.” He chuckles.

“What’s huh mean?”

“I pegged you for the spoiled, little, rich girl: Daddy’s money, Mom’s good looks, ivory tower, and an Ivy League education. I’m rarely wrong.”

“Self-confident,” I say as I type borderline arrogant and totally wrong in his phone.

Seeing what I typed, he huffs, shaking his head.

“I’m rarely wrong,” I mimic him, and he chuckles.

“You are dead wrong,” he says with humor in his voice.

“Tell me why.” I look up into his eyes. Please, I plead inside.

He looks away, grabbing the Jack Daniels bottle that sits next to the chaise. He takes a drink then hands it to me. “Have a drink with me.” It’s not a demand; it’s a request.

I grab it from him then take a drink, and its burn coats my throat.

“You want to know this for your article or so you can make a decision on how to answer my question?”

“Both,” I say then regret it immediately, so I take another drink.