The After Party (A Badboys Boxset)

by Karr, Kim

  Will bumps my shoulder. “Are you listening?”

  “Not really. I thought his speech was over?”

  He laughs. “No, not yet. Just listen. will you? He might say something you need to know later.”

  I nod and direct my attention back to the stage. “Tonight, the City Council will vote on whether or not to allow the sale of a piece of land that holds tragic memories for a lot of people . . .”

  Alex’s words hit me and despite what Will just said, I can’t help but tune him out.

  Jake looks at his watch. “I don’t think I can listen to much more of this. How much time do you think we have until the vote comes in?”

  I slam the rest of my drink back. “I was wondering the exact same thing.”

  “Great minds—” he starts to say.

  “You’re going to bail? Are you kidding me?” Will asks in astonishment.

  Jake nudges him and shifts his eyes toward me, as if I can’t see it. Memories of years gone by aren’t for right now, though. Those memories have lived locked deep inside me for far too long, and once the word passed is stamped on the amendment, I’ll figure out how to deal with them. Hoping to avoid a lecture, I answer Will with a straightforward, “No, I’m not kidding.”

  He rolls his eyes.

  I lean toward Will. “That bartender is waiting for me.” I don’t know why I add fuel to the fire, other than that’s what I seem to do best.

  My words have Jake craning his head toward the bar, trying to catch a glimpse.

  “I’m sure she has a friend, or two,” I say and glance between Will and Jake.

  “Jasper, for one night can you stop thinking about getting your dick wet?” Will hisses through gritted teeth.

  “You must be shitting me. I haven’t been out in months.” Believe it or not, it’s true. I’ve been working around the clock.

  Will makes a face.

  I pop the cherry from my drink and taste the expensive bourbon, then I look at him. “Listen, Will, three years ago I almost died. So excuse me if I have a need to live each day as if it’s my last.”

  Will rolls his eyes. “Stop with the I almost died shit, will you? It’s getting old.”

  With a pat on his back, I say, “It’s not a lie, bro. You know I only speak the truth.”

  “No, it’s not a lie, but I also know that’s not why you’re skipping out.”

  I give him a look.

  “You have to be able to talk about it.”

  “Talk about what, Will?”

  His demeanor softens.

  With a raised brow, I almost dare him to say it, but I don’t want to hear it.

  Fuck this.

  Scowling, I turn and walk away. He won’t talk about it anyway, but he will bring up the accident. And excuse me but I don’t want to talk about that either.

  I know what I did.

  Three years ago when I got behind the wheel of the first Storm prototype on a test run, I crashed it.

  And I almost died.

  My inability to listen to Max’s pleas let everyone down.

  Including myself.

  I fucked it all up.

  It cost us a lot.

  Hours of reengineering.

  Months and months of prototype rebuilding.

  Every extra dime we could spare.

  To this day, Max still claims foul play, but no one has been able to prove it or figure out why. That crash not only set us back in bringing the Storm to production, it cost me personally a lot too—six months of my life, six more months of physical therapy to rebuild strength, and every cent I had ever earned.

  But the mental anguish that I still suffer is far greater. Fear of dying behind the wheel. To this day, I have yet to get behind the wheel of a car on the track. And I have yet to push the gas pedal past 70. Psychosomatic bullshit that I can’t seem to shake.

  Still, Will is right. My need to escape right now has nothing to do with any of that and everything to do with the first eighteen years of my life—ten of which I never want to remember and the first eight I wish I could remember better.

  With Jake on my heels, I haven’t even gone five feet before I walk right into Drew and a harem of red bikini–clad girls carrying trays of shots. So that’s where he went. I should have known Drew would be looking to get the real party started. He’s a big guy who says he has big needs. And he’s not kidding.

  One of the girls steps forward. She looks certain of herself and right away I’m attracted to her. She has blond hair with blue strands, luscious-looking tits that peek out from her skimpy top, curves that never end, and vibrant green eyes. She’s a knockout.

  “Where you going?” Drew asks.

  “Nowhere now,” I say with a smile, and then give the girl who looks like she stepped out of a pinup my biggest grin. Her return smile makes me forget all about the bartender waiting for me.

  “Good, because I reserved the penthouse at the Marriott next door for the night.”

  I lick my lips at the thought of continuing this party in private with this girl. I swear she’s sticking out her chest for my benefit. She raises her tray and gives me a come-hither look.

  Who am I not to comply? “Hi, Blue,” I practically purr to her as I take what she’s offering.

  “Hi,” she returns with a flirtatious smile.

  Out of nowhere, the spotlight lands on me.

  Alex’s voice booms through the microphone. “And there he is, the man of the hour. The man who’s going to help turn things around, this city’s white knight, Jasper Storm.”

  Is he shitting me?

  White knight?

  More like tarnished punk.

  All joking aside, I don’t want anyone looking to me for anything. If no one counts on me, no one will be let down. Besides, he knows I don’t do the public thing.

  “Come on up here, Jasper, and say a few words.”

  I stand utterly still.

  Will is behind me. “Come on, man. You can do this.”

  I still don’t move.

  “You can do this, JJ,” he repeats and then adds, “Just go up there, smile, and tell everyone thank you.”

  I nod and grab another shot. “Later,” I mouth to the girl with the blue streaks in her hair, who for some reason seems to have backed out of the spotlight, and then I slowly head toward the stage.

  Alex’s voice carries through the night and I can’t block it out. “Many of you might not know this, but Jasper Storm lost his father in the explosion at the Laneworth Automotive Parts Plant. It was an explosion that none of us will ever forget. Hundreds died. And tomorrow marks the twentieth anniversary of that dark day. The day that changed Detroit forever . . .”

  I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and consider bolting.

  This time, though, it’s Will on my heels. “Don’t think about it. Just go up there and give everyone the show they’re looking for.”

  I nod. I can do this.

  I.

  Can.

  Do.

  This.

  The girl in the suit is waiting beside the stairs. She pushes her glasses up. “Mr. Storm, this way.”

  I give her a nod. Her blond hair is pulled back. She’s petite, and I can’t help but think she’s attractive in a naughty secretary kind of way. Stupid thought. She belongs to Alex, I’m sure.

  Will stops and stands right next to her. As I take the steps one by one, I glance at him. He slowly nods in support the entire time it takes me to walk across the platform.

  The applause is almost too much. I want to say, “Don’t count on me for anything,” but I know that’s no way to get them to vote yes tonight.

  Alex’s hand is outstretched.

  I grab it and give him the strong, confident shake he’s looking for, and then he steps aside and leaves the podium open for me to fill the empty space.

  With hesitation, I stand before it. “Hello, Detroit,” I say, but my voice doesn’t boom through the crowd.

  Will points to the microphone and mouths, “Raise
it.”

  I do so and then clear my throat. I didn’t pass public speaking with flying colors, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want this as much as Alex does. I do. And because I do, I let all the bullshit inside my head go and lay it all out there.

  “Let’s try this again. Hello, Detroit!”

  Everyone claps and I wait for the noise to settle.

  “Mayor Harper touched on a very dark time in Detroit’s history. I was eight the day my father died in that terrible explosion, and yes, tomorrow does mark the twentieth anniversary of that horrible day. But tomorrow can also mark the dawning of a new era, the start of something brighter for all of us. All you have to do is vote yes tonight and allow the sale of that land that forever reminds us of the loved ones we lost. Now is the time to transform that pain into something that will give us all hope.”

  I allow my gaze to wash over the crowd.

  Tears from many.

  Eyes being wiped.

  Scowls on the faces of others.

  The explosion was something no one likes to talk about. Me included, but Alex wasn’t wrong in bringing it up. Maybe everyone needs a little reminder to push past the ugly.

  “So what do you say, Detroit? Isn’t it time for a change? For our world to look a little brighter? I think so. And I hope you do too!”

  Cheers once again erupt, but there are also a lot of sneers. Just as I start to walk off the stage someone yells, “You can’t bring him back, you know. You can’t bring your father back by rebuilding on the place he died.”

  Like I don’t know that.

  It’s a female voice and for a moment, I wonder if it’s my mother. It sounds like something she’d say if she ever talked about him. But she’s not here, so whoever it is, I acknowledge the statement with only a solemn nod and then I exit the stage.

  Will’s hand is on my shoulder. “Great job.”

  I also give him a nod.

  “Mr. Storm, can I ask you a few questions?” It’s a male voice this time.

  Since I didn’t expect to be giving a speech, I’m not prepared for the onslaught of public attention. I keep walking and say nothing. This isn’t my thing.

  “Jasper, they’re calling you the city’s white knight. How does that make you feel?” This question comes from a different male voice.

  Not great.

  “Jasper Storm, can we get an interview?”

  The questions just keep coming.

  “We’ll answer questions tomorrow once the petition passes,” Will tells everyone, with a confidence in the vote he’s had since day one.

  “Jasper. I’m Eve Hepburn. I’d like to know what it feels like to rebuild on a place this city has held sacred for so long.”

  The words Fuck you sit on the tip of my tongue.

  “Keep moving,” Will prompts.

  High-heeled red shoes seem to be following me. “Let me ask my question in a different way. Why not build elsewhere?”

  I want to scream, “Because something inside me won’t let the idea go. Because my father died there. Because I don’t know the fuck why!” But I don’t. Instead, I remarkably remain silent.

  “Do you really think you’re doing the city a justice, or just yourself, by choosing that piece of property to build on?”

  This bitch just won’t stop. I don’t even look at her. It takes all I have not to flip her the bird.

  “Do you make it a habit to sleep with every woman you meet?” It’s the same voice.

  What the fuck does that have to do with anything?

  “You’re doing great. Drew and Jake are only a few feet away. Don’t say anything and just keep moving.” Will’s voice is calm. He must know I’m about to blow.

  Glancing straight ahead, I don’t look at a single one of the reporters or photographers and ignore all of their lame attempts to get my attention.

  Instead, my gaze lands on the girl with blue streaks in her hair holding a shot in each hand.

  I head her way with one thing in mind . . .

  I need to get the fuck out of here.

  CHAPTER TWO

  UNDER THE HOOD

  Charlotte

  LOOKING AT PICTURES of Jasper Storm is like exhaling a long, shaky breath. His name sounds like one, too: Jasper Jackson Storm.

  He is without a doubt a lethal mix of visceral male testosterone and rebel. With his mess of light brown hair, matching light brown eyes that just look like they could peg you where you stand, and a body that must make every female in his vicinity yearn for him, there is no mistaking him in a crowd—that’s for sure.

  The hotel room is small enough without Eve standing over my shoulder. I glance back at my roommate for the next two nights and force myself to not feel stifled.

  She’s looking at my screen as the candid photos transfer from my inexpensive Canon to my computer so I can email them to my boss. “He really is good-looking. I’ll give him that,” she comments, pulling me from my inappropriate thoughts.

  My belly flips as I turn back and continue to study the photos. “Yes, he is.”

  “I might even go as far as to say he’s hot.”

  I nod in agreement and shift uncomfortably in my chair.

  “How tall do you think he is?”

  With a shrug I answer, “Just over six feet.”

  “How much do you think he weighs?” She calls the question over her shoulder as she heads down the hallway.

  “One-ninety at the most, I’d say. He’s pretty lean.”

  She pulls the straps of her shoes down, slips them off, and looks in the mirror. “Would you say he wears boxers or briefs?”

  Making a list of what I need to accomplish, I’m not even sure how to answer her question. “I wouldn’t have a clue.”

  “I’m going to say he goes commando. He just looks like the type.”

  Pausing, I set my pen down. Now she has me wondering. “What’s with all the weird questions anyway?”

  Eve gives me one of her signature fake smiles. “Curious, that’s all.”

  My gaze returns to the pictures of him. Handsome. That’s how I’d describe him. Really handsome. Handsome as hell. Strong jaw. Sensual lips. Sharp profile. Long and lean, dressed in black slacks and a white shirt. Tie loose. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows and shoes that look brand new. Whether dressed up or down, there is no denying who he is. I swallow past the lump that forms in my throat.

  Eve ducks into the bathroom, and I use the time alone to shuffle through the photos and really look at them. A few of him smiling. Some laughing with his head tipped back. One or two where I’d say he might be brooding. Others show him deep in concentration. But regardless of the emotion captured, all of them exude a confidence that can’t be denied.

  “What do you think?”

  Clicking the screen closed, I look up. “About what?”

  “Him.” Eve has changed out of her skirt and into a pair of tight shorts that show off her long legs and curves beautifully. She’s definitely what most men would call a bombshell, and she knows it. Sauntering back into our room with her makeup bag in her hand, she stops for another glance in the mirror. “Well?”

  “He’s seems nice.”

  She starts to walk toward me but stops at the dresser and spritzes herself with her perfume. “Nice?”

  I pull my legs up onto the chair. “Yes, nice.”

  “Really, Charlotte, you’re too much. It’s just the two of us—be honest.”

  “I am being honest.”

  With a hand wave she says, “Whatever. I’m sure he’s many things, but nice isn’t a word I’d use to describe him.”

  I give her a shrug and pull my sweatshirt tighter around me.

  “I met this girl earlier who told me Jasper requested a smorgasbord of drugs to go along with the shitload of sex he was planning on having. She said it was an orgy in the making.”

  Holding back my eye roll, I say, “And she told you about his potential illegal activity why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I po
int my finger at her. “Exactly, because she’s making it up.”

  “Whatever. Don’t believe me. You will soon enough.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Anyway, tell me again what happened in this town and why this ‘yes’ vote is so significant?”

  Memories as clouded as the sky on a winter day assault me and guilt overwhelms me.

  She stops in front of the small table I’m seated at and grabs a handful of nuts from the bag I purchased in the gift shop downstairs. “Charlotte, are you even listening to me?”

  Rapidly blinking, I shift my gaze to hers and wish what I’m about to tell her wasn’t mostly true. “I already told you everything I know.”

  She sighs. “I need to interview someone who knows more.”

  No one knows I was born in this town. I need to do what I came here to do, and then get the hell out of here and back to my small apartment before anyone figures out who I am. Entirely sure our boss insisted we stay at the hotel for his own personal reasons, I sigh and pull my mass of frizzy waves to the side in order to avoid her stare. “I don’t understand what you need to know, Eve. You’re here to write about Lightning Motors and the car.”

  She passes by me and I can smell her strong perfume.

  “I think you were a little out of line earlier with your questions,” I blurt out.

  She goes to the window of our hotel room and looks out at the Detroit River. “What makes you say that?”

  “I don’t know, your tone maybe,” I say sarcastically. “I really felt the questions you asked were personal, and this isn’t a personal story.”

  Spinning around, she glares at me.

  “Eve. It’s not. It’s not about his height, his weight, his underwear preferences, or even if you like him. It’s not about him at all. The story is about the Storm and its introduction to the world.”

  With a roll of her eyes, she pulls that perfectly shiny red hair back and ties an elastic around it. “I know what my assignment is, Charlotte, but like you, I’m interested in him.”

  My features pull together. “I’m not interested in him.”

  Her smirk isn’t to be missed. “Then what’s with all the pictures?”

  “It’s my job to set the scene.”