Of course. Her excitement fizzled. “Then what has Henry’s spy been doing all this time?”
“Reporting Roy’s activities to Henry, who is waiting for…hell, I don’t know. A slip-up, I guess.” He rubbed his forehead, leaving red streaks from the pressure of his fingers. “Henry contacted me yesterday to tell me about the spotter. Seeing your whereabouts in the news prompted him to loop me in. He doesn’t know you, but he knows about you. He wants to do what he can to keep you safe from Roy.”
As part of Roy’s security team, Henry’s spotter would’ve seen her on the cameras. She swallowed and asked the question she’d feared the answer to since the day she escaped. “Has Henry’s guy reported other women? Other slaves?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and stared at his shoes. “That was the call I received this morning.” He squatted before her. “Roy picked up a girl on the way home from the airfield last night. First girl he’d brought back to the penthouse since you left. We don’t know who she was.”
Was. The temperature in the room soared. Saliva pooled in her mouth. She remembered the look on Roy’s face when they drove away from her apartment. Returning to San Francisco empty-handed, his fury would’ve known no bounds.
A warm pair of hands gripped hers. Not Nathan’s hands. Jay’s. He was a silent, comforting presence against her back.
Distress radiated from Nathan’s eyes as he looked at her. “He bludgeoned her to death in his stockroom.”
Blood drained from her face and limbs, chilling her. Images of the devices hanging on the stockroom wall flickered through her mind. The aluminum side-handle baton. The old police nightstick. The rattan cane. Charlee had felt the cuts and bruises from all of them. “It should’ve been me.”
“Bullshit.” Jay jumped from the chair, lifting her with him, knocking Nathan out of the way.
Cradled against his chest, she watched the walls blur by. Was he spinning? Or was the room spinning? Nausea bubbled up. “I’m going to be sick.”
More spinning and a trashcan was shoved under her chin. Holding the can, Faye blinked glassy eyes at her.
Too much coddling. Too much protection. She was inconveniencing these people’s lives. And she definitely didn’t deserve their sympathy. She wriggled in the cradle of Jay’s arms. “Put me down.”
He let her legs drop, but didn’t let up on his squeezing embrace around her waist. She gripped the edges of the can and dry-heaved. A few noisy gags and nothing came out.
“You don’t have anything in your fucking stomach.” His voice strummed with anger. “Fine fucking job I’m doing taking care of you.”
She handed the can back to Faye and nodded her thanks. Then she turned to Jay and cupped his jaw. “Don’t do that. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
The muscles beneath her fingers flexed and his attention zeroed in on Nathan. “She’s going with me tonight.”
“No fucking way.”
Jay grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms around his hips, tucking her close. “She doesn’t leave my sight. If she stays here, I stay here. End. Of.”
The rest of the band crowded close, their faces stretched in shock and helplessness.
Laz shook his head at the floor. “Since you sing from the outfield, she could be riding your cock and fingering your ass and no one would be the wiser.” He looked at Jay. “We can’t perform the show without you, man. I say she goes.”
Wil nodded. “I agree. She goes where we go.” Rio echoed him.
“No, no, no.” Nathan threw up his hands and paced a tight circle. “This isn’t a fucking democracy.”
Tony touched Nathan’s arm and gave him a look. Charlee didn’t know what that look meant, but Nathan dropped his head back and said to the ceiling, “Christ in heaven. Call a fucking meeting with the protective team. We’ve got a lot of preparation to do.”
As everyone parted ways, Charlee stared at the TV’s blank screen. As much as she wanted to go to the concert, her wants now felt so fucking petty.
Jay hadn’t left her side, and she could feel him watching her. A few voices mumbled in the kitchen, but they were otherwise alone.
Her thumb made a swipe over his hip bone beneath his shirt and his trigger remained dormant. “What are you thinking with regard to Roy and your label?”
“I’m not. In fact, it’s the furthest thing from my mind.” His timbre was low, drifting over her.
“Oh.” She followed the indention between his hip and the bricks of his abs. Goose bumps cropped up around the path of her thumb. “And the closest thing to your mind?”
“The 9mm I bought and practiced with this morning. Thinking about how I’d use it without hesitation to protect you.”
His early morning errand was indirectly for her. If she weren’t so grateful, she’d be ashamed he gave up his sleep for her.
“And those black bags on the counter.” He pointed at kitchen. “Thinking about how I’ll use their contents to bring you to orgasm.”
Holy shit, he’d been busy. A sex shop before eleven in the morning? A hum charged her body. It electrified as he wrapped his himself around her, around something inside her that desperately needed him, something she didn’t even know was there.
“The biggest thing on my mind”—his lips brushed the shell of her ear—“is how very, very serious I am when I say you will not leave my sight. There’s a pair of handcuffs in one of those bags.”
Oh God. The past twenty minutes blurred away with the rumble of his words, his breath on her neck, and his hands stretching over her ass.
“Yeah, you’re hearing me. I’m going to be so far up in your business, you’re going to get sick of looking at my ass. You may very well feel like you’ve lost your freedom again.”
She climbed up his chest and hugged his hips with her thighs. She was lucky enough to find her way into his life. Twice. She had to find the courage to keep him. “I’d rather be imprisoned by you than by him. In truth, I’m looking forward to it.” She scattered kisses over his jaw. “And I’ll never get sick of looking at your ass.” She covered his mouth with hers and let him feel the trust behind her words.
Chapter Sixty
‡
Filtered light bled through the black canvas behind the main stage. The din of twenty thousand people in the indoor arena energized the atmosphere and hiked up Jay’s blood pressure. Kicking off the tour with a concert in their hometown would reap millions of dollars.
And he could give a shit. He’d rather be at home writing music or in bed with Charlee.
She hadn’t let go of his hand since they exited the SUV and hurried through the backdoor entrance. Her eyes were wide and glittery in the bated light as she took in the racks of guitars and the mayhem of speaker cabinets, amp heads, and sound boards.
They stood in the crossover space, concealed from the view of the audience by the drapery. The crew of roadies, technicians, and sound engineers swung in a fast pace around them, carting and testing equipment. Thankfully, the journalists were sequestered by the arena’s security staff in the backroom, waiting with their slew of intrusive questions. The guys could deal with that.
Charlee passed a thumb over his knuckles. “Don’t you need to be in the dressing room, getting ready, or doing whatever it is you do before a show?”
He needed to warm up his voice, but he wasn’t taking her anywhere near the dressing room. His bandmates would raise hell if he tried to kick the groupies out. No doubt Felica would be there, along with the many other women he used in the past to take the edge off before and after his shows.
She twisted her fingers in her hair and wobbled on her heels. Was the dissonant sound of thousands in wait making her nervous? Or maybe she was worried Roy lurked among them.
A shiver skittered from his neck to his toes. His nerves were common in this setting, made worse by Charlee’s situation. He didn’t want her sharing that fear. He brushed his lips over hers, tried to take it away. “Don’t be nervous.”
Her head jerked back, lips
in a heart-shaped pout. “I’m not nervous. It’s just…” She glanced down at her tight tank top, denim mini skirt, and sexy black heels with strappy things that wrapped around her ankles.
Hot damn for the hundredth time that night. He definitely owed Faye a raise for picking out an outfit that bared her gorgeous legs.
“It feels suspiciously like we’re in the one place your groupies aren’t.”
Perceptive brat. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”
“Do you know how…avoiding-ful you are?”
A laugh exploded from his chest. “Avoiding-ful?”
She released the hair around her finger and tugged at the hem of her skirt. She didn’t look comfortable. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so pushy about her wearing something that gave him such a stunning view of her legs. But Christ, they went on and on and on—
She touched his jaw and pushed it closed. “You’ve looked at my legs a lot since we left the house and every time feels like the first time you’ve seen them. That alone gives me the confidence to stare down some bitches.” She lifted a knee and hooked an ankle around him.
Fuck, she was perfect. Compassionate, but she didn’t put up with people’s shit. Mature, yet she glowed with youthful energy. Her inner beauty alone outshone every single woman. His hand flew to the back of her thigh, her skin like velvet under his fingertips. How the hell did she keep her legs so soft? He couldn’t stop from stroking along the toned lines and reaching under the skirt.
Over her shoulder, Nathan tossed him a glare that raised his hackles and brought the cockblockalypse down upon him. They needed a secluded corner, pronto. That spot right there between the double-stack of Anvil cases and the wall—
“Jay! You’re needed in the media room,” Faye shouted from the stage wing. “Meet and greet time. Get a move on.”
His heart pounded, and the hustle of people around him closed in, smothering. Damned pre-show signings. How would he manage without his usual distractions of drugs and mindless lays? Not that he wanted the latter, but the tightness in his throat made him desperate for anything that would spare him the looming panic attack.
Charlee dropped her leg and stepped back, swinging their hands between them. “You going to be okay?”
Jesus, she must have thought he was the biggest pussy. “Yeah. Great. Let’s do this.”
He led her through the storage of sets, past the technician work area, down a fluorescent-lit corridor, and backstage—the back-of-house. Scrutinizing every face, every shifty hand of the passing crew members, his alertness spiked. Roy’s goons could be anywhere.
Following the clamor of voices, he stopped outside the media dining room. Sweat beaded on his brow and his stomach ached.
A hand slipped over his groin and squeezed. A surge of arousal rushed to her grip. Hello, distraction. He groaned as she dug in her fingers. Fuck.
She blinked up at him with eyes that haunted his dreams. “What can I do?”
Rub harder. Don’t stop. “Stop. Or else I’ll scare off the fans with a massive boner.”
Her hand fell away, and a mischievous smile curled her lips. “I think I’ve got a rubber band in here somewhere.” She opened the bag strapped across her chest.
God help him, she was adorable. “No rubber bands. I’d like to go in there with at least some of my dignity left.”
A glance behind him confirmed Nathan was on their heels. Jay reluctantly handed her over to her bodyguard. “She stays in my sight.” Girding his spine, he walked through the door.
Chapter Sixty-One
‡
The room erupted in high-pitched screeches, flapping papers, and flashbulbs. The rest of the band stood behind stanchions and velvet rope, signing posters and CD jackets. The rope wouldn’t stop an enthusiastic fan, but it served as a reminder that the dozen security staff provided by the arena would remove a line-jumper without hesitation.
Numbness tingled through Jay’s fingers and toes as he approached the energetic mob of fifty or more. Arms reached over the line, fingers wiggling and band paraphernalia waving.
He reminded himself the adorers appreciated his music and that very moment might be the most memorable in their lives. Idolatry and all of that. He got it. He would’ve been the first in line had Jimi Hendrix risen from the grave.
Faye appeared at his side and handed him a black marker. Having his own pen helped him maintain minimal contact with the fans.
Nathan guided Charlee to the back wall, his eyes alert and posture rigid. Good.
A probe through the room would’ve probably revealed his ten-man protective team, but Jay’s attention was ripped away by the doe-eyed girl before him.
“I love you so much, Jay.” She shoved a portrait of his airbrushed face at him.
“Thank you.” He never knew what to say to them. Reciprocated love certainly didn’t make the list of automatic responses. Did that make him a dick?
“I love you, too.” Rio smiled at a girl down the line, pinching her nose and wiggling it. She bounced up and down, squealing.
Across the room, a small smile turned up the corner of Charlee’s mouth. At least she was enjoying this.
Forty-five minutes later, Jay autographed the last photo, grabbed Charlee’s hand, and pulled her out of the overheated room.
“Fifteen minutes till show time,” Faye shouted after him.
He flicked a finger over his shoulder and strode down the hall. He didn’t have to look behind him to know Nathan and Tony were on his trail. Two more of his bodyguards, Colson and Vanderschoot, swept past, blending into the stream of crew members in their jeans and t-shirts.
Hyper-aware of his security team, Jay strummed with an intense feeling of dread. Tony was usually his only shadow backstage. The extra personnel should’ve comforted him. Instead, it was a reminder of the threat against the precious woman at his side.
He scanned the halls and rooms they passed, straining to see something or someone out of place. Protecting Charlee gave him a sudden appreciation for how hard Tony’s job was.
Did Roy have access to these tightly secured areas? Of course he did. He owned their record company, which owned their production company. Jay’s dread magnified.
A man in suit pants and a collared shirt loitered outside a storage room. Who the fuck was that? An access pass hung from a lanyard around his neck.
Jay pulled Charlee close to his side and kept them moving toward the stage area.
The squeak of sneakers echoed around the bend. A wiry guy with dreadlocks skidded into view, balancing lighting equipment. Where was his badge? Was he a legitimate member of the lighting crew?
“I need to pee. Do I have time?” Charlee pointed at the restroom a few feet ahead.
Nathan moved around them and disappeared behind the door marked Women.
“Jay Mayard?”
A male voice, one startling similar to the fucker Jay heard on TV that morning. His pulse spiked as he spun and shoved the man against the wall.
An armful of CDs tumbled to the floor and a pimple-faced kid in his twenties stared up at him out of wide eyes. His overlong hair tangled around the kind of headset worn by the band’s stage crew.
Fucking hell. He’d lost his ever-loving mind. Jay jumped back, releasing the kid and crunching plastic cases underfoot. The threat of Roy, the usual pre-show jitters, and his anxious need to keep Charlee pinned to his side created a fog of dizziness that shook his knees. He searched his pockets and remembered the overflowing trash can Nathan had carried out of his room the prior night. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Tony stepped in front of him. Jay couldn’t see her face, but the kid cowered.
“I…uh…my little sister loves The Burn. I’m…I work on the backline crew and was wondering if Mr. Mayard would sign my sister’s CDs?”
“Bathroom’s clear.” Nathan held the door open for Charlee.
She slipped out of reach, eyes narrowed at Jay under lowered lashes. Was that disapproval?
Jay’s heart rate escalated, his
nerves fraying. “I’ll go in with you, Charlee.”
She looked away and slipped into the restroom. Dammit to hell. His face fevered.
“Sign your albums,” Nathan said from the doorway. “I’ve got this.”
The door shut and rattled the walls. Fuck Nathan. Jay lurched forward, fists clenched and ready. He tripped.
The kid grunted from the floor where he gathered the CDs. He shook out his fingers.
Great. Not only had Jay shoved him, he’d stepped on his hand. Feeling like an ass, he dropped to a knee and picked up the cracked cases. “What’s your name?”
“Kevin.” He lowered his voice and flicked his gaze at Tony’s back. “Brady told me to give you this.” He tugged a tiny zip-locked baggie out of his pocket and stretched his arm toward Jay. “Said if I did, you’d sign this stuff for me.”
Brady. His longest-standing roadie and hook-up for all things drug-related.
Jay dragged his eyes away from the mix of yellow and white pills. Oxycontin with a Phenergan prep for nausea. He knew it well. “No. Not interested.” His finger twitched.
Lips as red as the poor kid’s pimples curved downward, as did his bony shoulders.
“Tell you what, Kevin. Give Faye your contact information, and I’ll ship you a signed copy of every album we’ve produced. Okay?” He held out the broken CDs he’d collected.
The baggie dangled from Kevin’s trembling fingers, waiting.
Just beyond the bathroom door, Charlee was peeing under Nathan’s watchful gaze. Motherfuck, he wanted to punch something. If he hadn’t lost his shit, he would’ve been in there with her instead of her donkey-fucking hero.
In a few short minutes, Jay would be singing to thousands. So much pressure. So many people. So many notes to fuck up. And he hadn’t slept since the nap on the plane the prior day. What if he glanced at his fingers on the fret too long and Charlee disappeared from view? He was strung so tight, he wouldn’t make it through the first song without breaking down.
Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire Page 141
