Текст книги "The Rocker Who Betrays Me"
Автор книги: Terri Browning
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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
“It’s not my fault his dick didn’t stay in his pants. He got what he deserved.” He had, but I was sure I would hear from my father about this and maybe Uncle Vino. However, I wouldn’t change what I had done to that sorry ass. I was only a little pissed at myself for allowing him to leave with his balls still intact.
“Dammit, you think I don’t know that? I just hate this drama shit.” I couldn’t see any of the men in my life being pissed at me. If anything, they would rip Antonio apart, so I was in the clear for the most part. Business-wise, I didn’t work alongside any of them to know what that outcome would be.
“Hi, Ace.” I winked at the man who’s been by my brother’s side since we were kids.
“Hey, babe. How you been?” Ace’s sexy voice fell over the room as he slowly walked closer to me.
I wouldn’t deny for a second that I found Ace dreamy as shit. With his dark hair, deep chocolate eyes, and a body built like an Italian rock, I throbbed every time I saw the man. Problem was, he had a girl and had since high school—Beth.
“Great. Who’s your friend?” I nodded toward him, sweeping my gaze over to the man with sharp denim eyes boring holes right through me, sending shivers down my spine.
Now Ace was hot, but this guy tipped the hot-o-meter by another twenty plus. Broad shoulders pulled his V-neck, black shirt tight, showing every ripple underneath of muscular perfection and giving a glimpse of a slight dusting of dark chest hair. Not the long kind, but the kind that looks like he cut it short, and it was sexy as hell. Tattoos lined his arms and snuck under the sleeves of his shirt, making my mouth water from wanting to lick up and down every muscle. His face was like something chiseled from a damn sculpture, and his beard and slight stash made my thighs quiver. I wouldn’t mind a little rug burn.
“This is Jag.”
Jag’s eyes continued to set me on fire as they raked up and down my body, taking in every inch of me. I was not a small woman, but I had been told my curves were what set me apart from others. All ass and tits, one man had told me. Even better, I loved every one of them.
“You done eye-fucking me?” I boldly asked, smirking, before hearing my brother’s exasperated sigh beside me.
“Not yet.” His deep baritone voice glided over my skin like a silky glove just waiting to slide on. His terse words caused every sense in my body to come to full alert, and the hair rose on the back of my neck like a shock wave. My heart pounded in my chest, but I kept my breathing slow, not allowing any signs show.
“No, she’s my sister. Off limits,” my brother said.
I turned and glared at him, standing with my hip cocked and my hand resting on it. “Don’t you dare, Val. No wonder the only men I hook up with are fucking douches.”
My brother gave nothing except fury at my words that had never been truer. I could name five guys off the top of my head whom Val had played a role in making disappear from my life, and I’d had enough.
Val stepped in my space, getting close to my face, his hot breath bouncing off my nose. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I told your ass to get rid of Antonio as soon as I heard you were dating him.”
I stared, my nostrils flaring in rebellion, clenching my fists at my sides. Not the most attractive sight, but it got my don’t-fuck-with-me vibe going. The sad thing was, it hadn’t intimidated him since we were kids, but I refused to be walked over.
“I was hoping it would work. I was wrong. Better I learned that for my damn self instead of my overbearing brother getting in my damn business every time I turn around!” My voice rose, bringing more attention to our conversation as the guards took a step forward. “What the hell do you want from me? Just to live with Kiera for the rest of my life, have random fucks with men, and never find my one?” I had lost control by letting the last part slip out, but it was out there. Time to deal.
“First, no random fucks. Ever.”
I blew out an exasperated breath, trying to calm myself as I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling it tersely.
“Second, living with Kiera keeps you both safe. Third, what the fuck is this ‘one’ bullshit. Don’t tell me your little clock is ticking, and you need to find a man.” He chuckled sardonically, actually making fun of me.
Blood boiled in my veins as I stepped closer. Even with my heels, I had to tilt my head to connect with his eyes. I needed to get my point across and have his full, undivided attention. Inside, I vibrated, pulsing with anger that fled through every cell of my body, eating away at me like a virus.
“This damn bubble you and Daddy have me in is about to burst. I am a grown-ass woman you all have taught well. I run a damn business with Kiera, so I am not fucking stupid. Antonio was a poor choice, but with your dictation, my choices are pretty damn limited. I’m sick of this shit. Done. You keep this up and you will not like the results.” I stepped away.
Our close-knit group was quiet, waiting for his reaction, but I didn’t wait for it, didn’t care what it was.
“I’m leaving,” I announced to the room, moving to the door, the alcohol no longer having a hold on me. Fights with Val always seemed to sober me.
“Scraper,” I called to the man still standing at the entrance of the VIP, his arms crossed, looking mean.
He nodded yet said nothing as I grabbed my purse from the red velvet chair and looked into Kiera’s glowing eyes filled with concern.
“Sorry, babe. I just can’t do this anymore. You coming or you gonna stay?”
“I’ve gotta go meet with my brothers. I just got a text.” She held up her phone, dangling it in front of me. “I’ll be home in a bit.” Compassion laced her eyes, but she knew I had been on the brink of my family’s meddling for a while now. The breaking point had to come sometime.
She nodded, calling her guards over as she walked out of the small room with them.
“Wait.” My brother scowled, grabbing my arm tightly and pulling on me.
I yanked it back as I seethed with anger. How dare his ass put his hands on me?
“Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me.” I bit out with what was left of my self-control, but he didn’t relent. Instead, he pulled me more firmly to him, making me gasp and no doubt leaving a mark on my body.
“You know we love you. We just want to protect you. If you’d listen to what we said about Antonio, I wouldn’t be here, cleaning up your fucking mess.”
A red, hazy film covered my eyes as I used every ounce of strength to rip my arm out of his firm grasp. He stood there in shock, looking at his hand like he couldn’t believe I had actually been able to get away from him. Apparently, I was stronger than I looked. He’d do best to remember that.
“You go clean up my mess, brother,” I snapped even though Scraper had said it was handled. I was just pissed he had made the comment in the first place. “That is your job, after all,” I sassed, leaving quickly with Scraper and my Ghost—who had come into play during the altercation—on my heels.
I just caught the smirk that played on Jag’s face as I breezed by him and Ace.
Outside, Scraper opened the car door for me, and I climbed into the passenger seat of the sleek, black automobile, feeling the coolness of the leather on my thighs. It did nothing to cool down the raging inferno inside of me, though. I only wanted to go home.
I replayed the night in my head on a loop, the alcohol simmering in my veins. My brother was at the forefront of the raging thoughts. He couldn’t expect me to continue on like this, being under this thumb, crushing me. He had flat out told Jag I was off limits. What right did he have to do that? None.
Before I could finish my thoughts, we were home.
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JAG
by
Stevie J. Cole
C HAPTER 1
My mouth was dry like someone had shoved a fistful of cheap off-brand cotton balls in it. I ran my tongue over my teeth to wipe the film of bourbon off. Yawning, I rolled onto my back and stretched out in the king-sized bed before lifting the sheets back over my body. The smell of detergent floated up to my nose, and my lips curled up. No matter how nice the suite was, the sheets always smelled like that damn hotel laundry detergent. I couldn’t stand that smell.
I heard someone next to me pull in a deep breath, and then the covers shifted off my body. Seconds later, I felt warm skin against mine as a hand wrapped around my stiff-ass dick. Fingers skimmed along its length, stopping to play with the metal bar lodged through the head.
I slowly opened my eyes. The sun was beaming in through one of the windows, and all I could see out of it was an overly crowded skyline. The sun glinted from the windows of the concrete skyscrapers competing for space; only a few slivers of blue sky managed to peep between them. I’d almost forgotten that I was in New York City. I couldn’t really recall how she’d ended up with me, and I certainly had no idea what her fucking name was. To the best of my knowledge, I guessed she’d been at the club the night before. It wasn’t out of the usual at all for me to wake up with an unknown woman beside me. It was habitual. One day, I’d probably luck out and bring back a psycho that’d try to off me, but I’d worry about that when it happened. Most of the time the sex was worth that small risk—at least it usually was when I could remember it.
Do Iwant to look over and see what she looks like, or not? That’s one of the pluses about not letting them stay with you– you don’t have to look poor judgment in the face.
Her grip tightened, and she gently stroked me in her hand. “Good morning,” she whispered.
I grunted and closed my eyes again. I hated when they ended up staying the night. That was never the plan because it was so fucking awkward the next morning when I was sober and trying to piece together what all we’d done. I hated having to talk to them, having to listen to them go on and on about what a big fan they were. They’d all say fucking me was the most amazing thing that’d ever happened to them. Worst of all, I hated having them ask me if they could post the pictures from the night before on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Fangirls, they’re just dying to brag about having been bent over backwards and rammed by me, and rightfully so. It was quite the achievement.
Peeping through one halfway-opened eye, I saw a woman. Okay. Well, at least I got that right despite being completely wasted. She looked to be about twenty-four. And thank God. She’s legal. Her platinum blonde hair stuck up in all directions, and black rings of mascara were smudged underneath her eyes. This girl was an absolute mess. It was obvious I’d been there and had a good time marking my territory.
Don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t bad looking, but she was absolutely no different than the rest of the other privileged rich girls whose daddies bought their horny daughters’ way into the VIP areas. When she smiled, nothing on her face moved. When she abruptly sat up and slid her way down to my dick, her unnaturally round tits didn’t budge either. It was evident she’d already started with the plastic surgery addiction. This was the kind of girl I was used to: fake, horny, and willing to do anything for a brush with fame.
A slight giggle bounced from her lips as she tugged the covers off my naked body.Her warm, slimy tongue, coated with morning breath germs traced up my shaft. The sensation sent a small tingle shooting up from my groin. I looked down to find her staring up at me, her eyes locked intimately on mine as she sucked half of me back into her throat.
I let out a short sigh. Leaning back, I shut my eyes, no hint of a smile on my face. The way she wrapppped her tongue around me felt damn good. Even though I had no interest in her being there, I wasn’t going to deprive her of the joy she’d get from watching me get off one more time. I tried not to be selfish with that privilege.
After just a few minutes of her head bobbing up and down, her hand twisting at just the right moments, and her choking on my length a few times, I felt my body relax. My legs stiffened up, and then my entire body heated from the overwhelming rush of endorphins coursing through me. It’s amazing how quickly orgasms come when you’re not strung out on coke, or a bottle of oxycodone, or speed. Quicker, but weak compared to the euphoria that drugs granted me.
When that initial warm and fuzzy feeling wore off, I was ready to get her the hell out of my hotel room. Sitting up, I said, “Thanks for the great blow job. Pretty sure the door’s still unlocked,” and I flung my naked ass back down across the bed.
I watched her blink a couple of times, shocked at how rude I was being. I mean, she had just given me the gift of oral pleasure, and who knows what I told her the night before. I may have promised her she could go on tour with us. She narrowed her eyes. Here comes the ‘OMG, I can’t believe what a bastard he is’ huff that chicks are so good at in 3, 2, 1... A loud breath flew out of her collagen plumped lips, and the springs of the mattress bounced as she hopped up. She mumbled to herself while gathering her things. I just laid there, staring up at the ceiling.
I tapped my finger in beat with her heels as they clicked across the tiled floors, and then they stopped. Raising my head from the pillow, I glanced up at her, arching one brow in disinterest. The girl, whose name I’d never bothered to ask for, glared at me for a minute before a smile inched across her face.
“I can’t believe this!” She fell silent and shook her head, then covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m,” she paused. “Getting kicked out of Jag Steele’s hotel room. OMG! This. Is. Amazing!” she squealed, and pulled her phone to her face, her fingers typing furiously and her grin growing wider by the second. My guess was she had to check in on Foursquare and let everyone know she’d just become the one-thousand, five hundred and sixty-seventh woman to have her tonsils rammed by me—or some number close to that. I sure as hell didn’t try to keep count anymore.
Her eyes darted up to me, and I could tell she was considering something. I caught her pointer finger creeping down the side of her phone, and I cleared my throat. “If you take a photo of me like this and post it, my lawyers will be in touch with you.” I shot the biggest, most asshole-ish smile I could shape over at her. “Got that, princess?”
Her excited expression relaxed. She managed to huff out a dejected, “Uh, yeah,” as she lowered her phone and dropped it into her purse. And there she stood, frozen, by the door.
Still nude, I rose and brushed past her, opening the door and circling my finger in the air before pointing directly out into the hallway. “Enjoy the rest of your day,” I said.
Ms. No-Name skirted through, taking one last glance at me over her shoulder before I shut the door.
Rubbing my hands over my face, I made my way to the bathroom. I flipped the light switch and gave my eyes a minute to adjust to the artificial light. Sometimes I felt guilty after I kicked a girl out like that. I didn’t use to be such a jackass. And during my fleeting moments of sobriety, I could recall that at one time I was actually nice, sometimes even shy. Funny how well-rehearsed you can become at being who everyone thinks you should be. There was no doubt that I was a different guy.
At this point, life just annoyed the shit out of me.
A few hours later I was leaning against a doorway, watching the interns scamper around with lattes and double shot espressos. My eyes traced over the black cords running from the cameras, and then up at the canned lights hanging from the ceiling. The bustling New York City crowd was visible through the large window at the far end of the room, constant movement of people going through their mundane daily routines. Every so often someone would stop, cup their hands around their face, and peer into the studio.
Two more hours until I had to be in front of those cameras, and my nerves were already tightly bundled up, my stomach uneasy. All I could think about was running to the bathroom and snorting a few lines real quick. The only problem with that was I didn’t have any coke—oh, and I was supposed to be clean.
I hated being interviewed, especially when it required me to rehash all the ridiculous shit that had happened over the past few years. Really, the biggest problem I had at that moment was my sobriety. I’d never done an interview sober, and I doubted that I could make it through this one.
“Excuse me, Jag.” One of the hipster interns attempted to get my attention. Not saying a word, I turned to face him.The intern didn’t glance up from his pad as he continued. “They need you to come back to the dressing room, do some makeup before they start.”
I pushed myself away from the door frame, then followed him down the slender white hallway.
He glanced back at me, a slight grin shaping his lips. “Man. I know I’m supposed to act all chill and stuff, but I can’t help it. Pandemic Sorrow is my favorite band. You’re a legend.”
Shoving my shades through my hair, I forced my lips to curve up. I’d been told in rehab that I needed to act more appreciative, but when you’re as numb and arrogant as I am, sometimes it’s hard to act thankful about anything.
I answered with what I’d been told was an appropriate response. “Thanks, man. Really appreciate that.”
The guy stopped, dropping his clipboard down by his side and staring at me through his thick, black-rimmed Buddy Holly glasses. He shook his head and looked me dead in the eyes. “You guys aren’t really done, are you? Those are just rumors?”
“Nah. We can’t go nowhere. Music’s all we know.”
Pleased with that response, he turned and continued to the dressing room.
About seven months ago I’d almost made my heart explode, or almost overdosed, if you want to get technical with it. I think the exploding heart thing sounds much better, less accusing. I had been forced into rehab, kicking and screaming because I didn’t have a fucking problem. I just got a little too excited, a little too carried away, and snorted one too many lines. That’s not a problem, that’s an accident. Right after I finished my treatment and was told I was “cured” from my “habit,” I threatened and swore that I was going to leave Hollywood behind in an effort to stay clean. Of course, when that happened, people thought the band was done for. I hadn’t threatened that because I wanted to stay clean—honestly, it all just sounded like a hassle—but more so that I wanted to get the fuck away and have some privacy. The idea of fading into the background, of having a life where each damn breath I drew wouldn’t be scrutinized and slapped across the front page of every tabloid in existence, well, sometimes that just seemed abso-fucking-lutely amazing.
We stopped outside the dressing room, and I grabbed the intern’s shoulder before he walked away. “What’s your name?” I asked.
“Jay.”
One side of my mouth flipped up in a halfhearted grin, and I said, “Why do you work here, Jay?”
A ridge formed on his brow as he stared at me, not exactly sure why the hell I was asking him that question.
“What do you want to get from this place? From working at MTV? Fame? Is that what you’re running after?” I pointed back to the studio. “You want to eventually end up in front of that camera?”
Nodding, he said, “Well, yeah. I mean, who doesn’t want to be famous?”
I shook my head in disgust and turned to enter the dressing room as I mumbled, “Yeah. Well, some people that are famous just wish they weren’t.”
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