Revel

by Shey Stahl

  He lets out a low whistle, wrapping his arm around a blonde who made her way to him. “Daddy’s record label, Daddy’s manager. . . she’s dangerous.”

  That’s fucking laughable. I shake my head, reaching for my flask. “Face it, Hardin. I’m dangerous to myself.”

  He doesn’t argue because we both know the validity in it.

  Behind me, I hear her laugh. I turn, but I don’t make eye contact. My eyes drift to her bodyguards. “You’re not needed.”

  The big one, well, they’re both big but the one on the right more so. Strangely enough, he reminds me of Vin Diesel. I want to ask him if he knows Michelle Rodriquez because I’d really like to be introduced to her, but something tells me this guy wouldn’t find the humor in it.

  He looks down at me like I’m some little fucking punk who doesn’t deserve to be in the same room as her. It’s arguable to an extent, but not something I’m going to let this guy get away with. “We go where Ms. Ash goes. No exceptions.”

  “Until now,” I add, smirking.

  Red shakes her head, waving them off when they grumble to her about my attitude. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t leave her with me either. “B.” She pauses, her hand on his puffed-out chest. “It’s fine.”

  He stares down at her with concern. “I don’t like this.”

  I snort, lighting up a cigarette. “I’m not going to let anything happen to her.”

  There’s not a chance in hell he believes me, but he takes a step back. “You know how to get hold of me.”

  It’s then I make eye contact with Red, and the open car door awaiting her. I give a tip of my head, the only invite I’m going to give her. If she gets in, her life will never be the same again.

  Take a look at Red. She’s wearing a tight black dress that’s midthigh. It’s low enough in the front that her goddamn tits are hanging out, but still modest enough that it’s not trashy like you’d think it might be. Now look closer for me. Past the bright green that refuse to meet the cold blue waiting on her. Do you notice the way she’s reluctant? The pause, the “I don’t know what to do”?

  She looks to her assistant for an answer. She knows what this means. She knows what I’m capable of and what being around me could possibly do to her image as the “Good girl.” Nothing good comes from me.

  I can tell by the hesitation on her face, she’s unsure about leaving without security, and two, leaving with me. I want to hook my arm around her waist, press her entire body against mine and assure her, trouble finds you anyway. I want to hide my face in her neck and breathe in princess. I don’t do any of that.

  Cruz, who’d gotten in the limo already, pops his head out the sunroof, a bottle of champagne in one hand and his cell phone in the other. “You coming too, Tinkerbella?”

  Bella grins, even though she doesn’t completely know what she’s agreeing to. “I hope to.”

  I think I like her assistant.

  Bella steps forward, her and Red sweeping past me into the limo. Princess bends to get in the car when some jackass behind us mumbles, “Nice ass.”

  I whip around, shoving him away from her before he can grab her ass, let alone say another word in her direction. But I don’t look him in the eye. I find you need to reserve eye contact for the words you want the other person to remember. Stepping closer, I ask, “What did you say?”

  “You heard me,” he says, smiling, his eyes on Red’s body.

  Take a picture, cock sucker, because it’s the last look you’re getting.

  Now I make eye contact, my face inches from his. “I’m just checking that I heard you correctly.” I shove him into Patrick, my bodyguard standing next to me. “Why the fuck would you say that?”

  Red grabs my arm over my sweatshirt but the warmth, it’s there and intense. Her hand fists, twisting the fabric as she pulls me toward her. “It’s fine. Let it go.”

  I don’t want to let it go. I want this sorry motherfucker to kneel before her and beg for her forgiveness.

  “Fuck you,” is the kid’s response. In front of a crowd, he’s playing tough guy against me, knowing I won’t do anything. I touch this kid and I’m going to jail, or a lawsuit will be thrown my way. I know the drill pretty fucking well by now.

  I have a choice, as I usually do, but I know how the one I want ends. So I swallow my pride and nod to Patrick to take care of it.

  I don’t say anything to Red when we’re in the limo. Her friend talks enough for everyone, but I’m aware of her proximity and her eyes on me. She watches my every move but keeps her distance.

  Sitting inches from me, our shoulders touch when I lean forward to retrieve a bottle of vodka on the bar next to her. I have a flask, but I need an excuse to get closer to her.

  Her breath catches, her thighs tensing. She shifts her position, uncrossing her legs, and the heat of her arousal hits me about the same time I offer the bottle her way. Still, even in a car full of people, we don’t say anything.

  Our fingers brush when she reaches for the bottle. A zip of electricity hits me.

  She twists the bottle around to read the label. “What is this?”

  Slouching toward her, I lean my weight into her shoulder. “Beluga vodka.” My eyes drift to her, a wave of anxiety hitting me. I don’t know what I’m searching for. What the fuck am I doing with her? I have no business messing around with her head like this. Believe it or not, there are women out of my league. The arrogant rock star with more money than he knows what to do with would argue that point, but the reality here is Taylan Ash is out of my fucking league. And let me tell you, reality eventually catches up, and it’s hard to know the damage it’ll cause.

  “Where are we going?” someone in the limo asks. I almost forgot we weren’t alone here. Suggestions are thrown out, security outs most of them but agree to a bar uptown where they can secure a back entrance.

  When we left the venue, I knew Red wouldn’t have anything to worry about with a bunch of tattooed rock stars and Patrick. No one messes with him. I don’t know much about Patrick other than he’s a retired Navy SEAL and one badass dude. He’s been my personal bodyguard for two years, and I wouldn’t trust anyone else. He finds drugs for me in every country, aside from South America, apparently.

  Beside me, I can sense Red’s nerves once we pull through a back alley behind the bar. She knows the moment we step out, together, it’s all over. We’ll be photographed at the same bar, getting out of the same car. Her image as the princess of pop will forever be tied to that one night she spent with the angry misfits of Revved, and more importantly, me.

  Does she want that? Hadn’t that been her intention all along? I’m not stupid. I know why she agreed to the tour against her label’s wishes. Me. My presence, my reputation. She may be out of my league, but it still doesn’t mean she belongs in mine.

  When there’s no one left in the car but the two of us, Red hesitates with her hand on the door.

  I swallow down the knot of apprehension, breathing slow and steady. Don’t bite the apple, Red. Don’t do it.

  Instead of getting out, there’s a pause, and she reaches for the vodka, smile in place, but eyes lost. She takes a drink, then hands it to me. I do the same, then set the bottle aside. Silence. Green eyes that won’t leave mine make my head pound in competition with my heartbeat.

  Her body stiffens at my touch on her hand. Her lips part and I swear her voice shakes when she asks, “Shall we?”

  I want to grab her face with my hands and force her to look at me and tell me no. That she doesn’t want anything to do with me. That she shouldn’t want anything to do with me. My hands find my own hair instead, frustrated, and I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping for blood. My chest expands. Again, I don’t say anything, but I nod to the open door. She knows what she’s doing, and me, well, I never claimed to know.

  Outside the car I guide her through the mass of people photographing our every move. Red’s sandwiched between Patrick and me, her hands on my back, her warmth undeniable.

&nbs
p; People shout out her name, mine, all trying to get our attention, but neither of us look up. Inside the bar, a table is secured in the corner and while I’m unsure what might happen next, it starts with a round of shots.

  “Is this a bad idea?” Red whispers, still clinging to my side. We’re seated in a booth and she’s practically on my lap, yet I want her closer.

  “Is what a bad idea?” I lean my head to hear her over the music, neon blue above us lighting the side of her face.

  “Us being here together and drinking.” Her breath catches when my hand glides to her thigh. My eyes move to her plump red lips I want to suck on.

  I shrug, never giving her an answer as I down the shot, and then another. It is a bad idea, but I don’t want to admit it because I like the feeling of having her next to me. As much as I hated her, now I can’t stand an inch of space between us. My stare drifts to Cruz when he cracks open a bottle of champagne.

  Red giggles, stifling her laugh with her hand. “What was your dream really about?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “What dream?”

  Her head rests against mine in an attempt to talk over the blaring bass of the music. “The dream you had about me with the champagne.”

  Leaning back against the leather bench we’re seated on, my hand falls from her thigh to the bottle of whiskey now in front of me. Courtesy of traveling with an entourage. They know what I like and I don’t even need to ask for it anymore. It’s there before I need to.

  Wrapping my arm around her, she curls into my side like she’s meant to be there. Her heat burns and tempts, stinging like her beauty when you get close. “You know, the one with whipped cream.”

  “Hmm.” I chuckle in her ear. She shivers at my words, her body tensing. “I’d have to show you.”

  Her eyes light up, hopeful for some fucking reason. “Now?”

  “No,” I laugh. “Later. Alone.”

  She chews on her lip for a moment, considering my words, and then in haste, she grabs her shot and then drinks two more she finds on the table. After the fifth, I have to ask what she’s doing. “You’re going to get sick.”

  “I’m nervous.”

  “Why?” I reach for my cigarettes and light one.

  “You make me nervous.”

  I blow smoke out. You terrify me. I don’t tell her that. I can’t. I’m fascinated by the way she’s watching me, probably waiting for the cruel words that ordinarily follow any interaction we have together. So why now? Why tonight has it changed?

  I don’t know. She’s fucking thrilling to watch and yet so destructive because she has no idea what it’s like, drawing in madness like me.

  Hours pass and Red turns to me, drunk, her passion for life a flurry of smiles and pink cheeks and cuts to my indifference. “Why are you being nice to me? It’s freaking me out. I keep thinking you’re setting me up to do something mean.”

  Fear runs through my veins. I want her here, but not her words. I want her warmth, but to be indifferent to the touch. The room fills with laughter and music, yet my mind is silent near her. Lashes lift, she catches my gaze, giving me a tentative, nervous smile. I watch as she tucks her hair behind her ears.

  “I don’t know,” I say thickly, because for now, I’m lost. My lungs squeeze and nothing’s calming inside me. Everything is crumbling to soot and cinder, the flame of her words the only survivor. “You fascinate me.”

  “Why?”

  The hunger in her stare takes me by surprise. I can’t stop myself. She begs me without saying the words. Her unspoken words consume and possess me. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  PLAYING GAMES WITH THE DEVIL

  TAYLAN

  Everything hurts the next morning. So bad. Every movement I make, another muscle screams for me to stop.

  What the heck happened last night? Did I drink too much? I usually control that. I don’t drink very often. I’ve found through my limited experience, I’m a really obnoxious drunk and completely tone deaf. I find the need to yell. Constantly. And for no reason. It’s like I think people can’t hear me. Or maybe I can’t hear myself. I’m not entirely sure.

  Shifting, I notice the way the material from the sheets slides against my skin. My eyes snap open, and I rip the sheet back. Dang it! Yep. I’m naked. No doubt about it.

  Please, oh please, don’t let some random dude be lying next to me. Or worse, him. Not that I’m sure it wouldn’t have been good, but I don’t want to not remember it, and I can tell by the soreness in my body and the fuzzy details regarding last night, I drank too much, and I won’t remember.

  Flopping my hands over my face, behind closed lids I try to recall, or even piece together, any details of the night after getting out of the limo with Revel. To my dismay, nothing comes to mind. Nothing.

  Please tell me I didn’t get a tattoo. Girl, that should be the least of your worries. Why you’re naked and where your clothes are should be number one.

  Sitting up, I yank the sheets up around under my arms to shield my breasts. Glancing around the room, I think I know why I don’t remember anything. There are numerous empty mini-liquor bottles strewn around the room and what looks to be a pizza box, empty as well, on the floor. At least I know where my clothes are now. I see them scattered across the carpet like I stripped on my way to the bed. Or someone removed them for me?

  Oh please, no!

  I palm my face, shaking my head back and forth. “What have I done?”

  That’s when I hear noises from the bathroom. I jump out of bed, still with the sheet around me and tiptoe to the door and press my ear up against it. Immediately, I regret jumping up so fast because it’s clear I’ve contributed to the tiny bottles on the floor, and maybe even responsible for the majority of them.

  The noises coming from the bathroom stop and then I hear what sounds like scratching.

  Reaching for the handle, I take a good grip on the sheet and think about opening the door. I hesitate. My hand even begins to shake, and I swallow over what feels like sand in my throat. I’ve seen The Hangover.

  Please don’t be a tiger.

  Is your heart jumping out of your chest like mine? Girl, please. I’m standing on the other side of what could possibly be a wild animal. Think of me, not yourself!

  I need something to defend myself with should it be a tiger, don’t I? My eyes make a quick sweep of the room in search of anything sharp or dull that could possibly protect me. Unless I can fight the potential tiger off with plastic bottles or my bra, I’m screwed.

  There is, however, a Zippo lighter on the dresser next to the bathroom door, so I grab that. If anything, I’ll set the entire room on fire. With a deep breath, I pull down on the handle and crack the door enough to stick my head in.

  There’s no tiger, but there is fur. A big ball of it lying on the floor. It’s white, and black, and moving around. My vision blurs. I blink, rapidly, trying to clear it and focus through the dim lighting to make out what exactly is lying on the white marble floor.

  I’m not even joking when I say it looks something similar to a very large skunk. With legs. Oh, wait. Is that a man wearing a fur coat? I do that thing that cats and dogs do when they tip their head to the side in an attempt to make sense of what they’re seeing or hearing. Shit balls. It really is a man wearing a fur coat.

  And then he shifts from his prone position on the floor, groans, and flops over.

  I know that face. I don’t have to blink rapidly to clear my vision because he’s a sight to see, bathed in honey hues of the morning sun. Revel Slade. In my hotel bathroom.

  Or am I in his? I have no clue, but why he’s wearing a fur coat and only his boxers, is another question I have. And I’m still naked, so does that mean we slept together?

  By the gentle rise and fall of his chest, I’m assuming he’s sleeping, until he opens one eye at me and lifts his head. He doesn’t say anything, but I think he makes a pass over my sheet-covered body and smirks, his head falling back against the marble. “Christ, Red. Turn the li
ght off.”

  I look over at the switch. It’s not on. “I didn’t turn it on. It’s morning, or afternoon, not sure.”

  Nodding, he swallows and sits up, propping himself up against the tub. Running his hand over his hair, then his face, he glares at the sun and then me. I’m beginning to understand he has a permanent scowl on his face most of the time. Maybe it’s not me?

  I eye the coat again. “Why are you wearing a fur coat?”

  Revel glances down at it, running his hand over the material. His eyes meet mine, and he winks. “Soft.”

  A giggle escapes my lips before I slap my hand over my mouth, and then I’m sure you can guess what happens next, yes?

  If you by chance guessed the sheet falls, you’d be right.

  Mortified, I snatch it from the floor but it’s too late, he saw. He freaking saw me naked! “Don’t look!”

  A low throaty noise comes from his chest, and I think it’s somewhere between a groan and a laugh. Damn him.

  Getting to his feet, he steps forward, towering over me. The left side of his body is bathed in gold, like the sight of a Greek god, a sight to drop to your knees before. The right side of his body, darkness, secrets…. The heat of his body wilts mine, and I fight the urge to lean into him. I raise my eyes from his chest to his sharp jawline, then his eyes.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and my heart explodes. His voice is ragged and the burst of energy his words give me shoot through my heart like fireworks, igniting my confidence. But then he says, with a smile to his words, “I see the carpet matches the drapes,” his speech slow.

  I attempt to shove him back, but he leans in close, so close, his chest against mine, his forehead resting on mine. It’s probably the most intimate we’ve ever been, unless of course, we had sex last night, but it’s looking like that probably didn’t happen. Our mouths are inches apart, so close, but too afraid to take the step and close the distance.