Undercover Rockstar: A Bad Girls novel

by Ann, Jennifer

  Once I’ve come back to my senses, I pull the elastic band from her hair, massaging her scalp as dark curls fall down around her shoulders. She slowly sits back up in the passenger seat, wiping at her lips and humming. My dick hardens once again, ready to roll. Fuck me, she’s hotter than the asphalt in August.

  A wide smile stretches over her mouth. “Welcome home, babe.”

  Wrestling my dick back into my jeans, I do a double take. We’re in the kind of neighborhood where it’s standard to see BMWs in the driveways, little kids riding bikes in the street, housewives delivering homemade pies. “The fuck you talkin’ about?”

  “Remember that place you found online? The one you got all excited about because it had a big back yard?”

  I grunt out a response, aroused by the mere memory of the conversation that went down. Told her I’d build a little cabana so I’d have unlimited access to her body without the neighbors knowing our business. There are still times when I can’t believe she’s sticking around. I’ll never be completely convinced I deserve her.

  She gazes up at the old white house on a manicured lawn. It’s one of those massive Victorian style places with a porch that wraps all the way around the front, and a ton of high-quality woodwork inside.

  “I dreamed as a kid what it would be like to live in a house like this,” she confesses, glancing my way with wistful look. “You know, with a normal mom who baked cookies, a dad who read the paper on the porch after a long day of work while a big, friendly dog begged for a game of fetch at his side.”

  Sadness pinches my ribs. I wish she’d had that. Hell, I wish we both had. “You weren’t the only one with those kind of dreams, sweetheart.”

  With a smile that lights her dark eyes, she holds up a key. “Ryker pulled some strings—we’re spending the night. The agent’s meeting us here tomorrow morning with a purchase agreement.”

  I crack an unsure smile, teeth clenched. We’d talked about eventually getting a place together. Last time I brought it up, she wasn’t sure she wanted to stay in the area. “For real?”

  With a slow nod, her pretty little lips pull into an even bigger smile. “I don’t want to leave the band behind any more than you do. Declan and Vaughn have become my family as much as Ryker and Liam. The South Side will always be my home…this is where I belong.” Then she reaches into my lap, twisting her smooth fingers around mine. “You’re my home.”

  A jolt of warmth stirs in my chest. Never heard words so damn sweet.

  * * *

  It’s dark when Sasha shakes me from a heavy sleep. Almost forgot we had stayed in the master bedroom of our new digs, using a mattress set the furniture store delivered while I was being detained. She’d rattled on late into the night about what colors to paint the place, how to decorate each room, what kind of dogs I’d agree to. Didn’t pay much attention to the details—couldn’t get over the fact that she’s making plans for the future that involve me.

  “C’mon, babe,” she says, her tone demanding. “We have to go.”

  I grunt, searching the mattress for my phone. “Why? What’s happening?”

  “No time to explain.” She rises from the bed, moonlight from the double windows illuminating her soft skin. My cock begins to swell until she drops her shirt from the day before over her head, covering her bare tits. Then she motions to the floor beside me where my clothes sit in a pile. “Get dressed.”

  Hate seeing her anything other than naked and in my arms, but she’s eager to go somewhere, so I go along with it. I’ve learned not to ask a lot of questions of her when she’s this way. I’m still buttoning my jeans as she’s dragging me down the steps, so it must be urgent.

  Stone’s leaning on the railing at the bottom, mischievous eyes shining in the dark. “Mornin’, sunshine.”

  “The fuck you doin’ here?” I snarl. What the hell does Sasha have up her sleeve now?

  He claps me on the back, chuckling. “Trust me, your attitude’s about to change, brother.”

  The glib response irritates me even more. Outside, we approach an unmarked van at the curb. Stone slides the back door open for Sasha. I climb in after her and close the door while Stone jumps into the passenger’s seat next to Ryker. No one’s saying a goddamned thing—just throwing each other half-assed smiles and knowing looks. If I didn’t fully trust these three by now…

  “What is this?” I demand, grabbing onto the back of Ryker’s seat. “Where’re we going?”

  “Bentley isn’t the only one with connections,” he answers cryptically before shifting the van into drive.

  Sasha curls up against my side, providing a decent distraction. All her soft curves and intoxicating fragrance wrap around me like a blanket. We drive through the dark for a good half hour before entering an abandoned airport strip on the far end of town. A gunmetal Learjet awaits on the otherwise empty runway, taxi lights cutting through the darkness, door open. Ryker pulls up to it.

  A second later, Stone’s sliding the door back open. Defenses on edge, my gut hardens, but Sasha motions for me to slide out. Once we’re both on the asphalt, she takes my hand, leading me toward the jet. When the other two don’t follow, there’s only one thing I can assume.

  “We goin’ on a trip?” I ask.

  “You and I aren’t going anywhere. We’re here to give you closure.” Stopping at the base of the air stairs, she wraps herself around my waist, beautifully seductive eyes holding mine. “Once you get up there, you’ll understand why I can’t get involved.” Then she rises up on her toes, kissing me with a slip of the tongue. “Love you madly, Trent Risotto.”

  Hardly hear a damn word she said after closure. That can only mean one thing…

  A smooth-looking Hispanic dude appears in the doorway in a crisp button down and khakis, tailored suit jacket, squared up confidently like it’s his jet. The man’s obviously rolling in serious dough. My muscles coil as I remember what Sasha said. You’ll understand why I can’t get involved.

  “Good evening,” he calls out in a thick Spanish accent, mouth twisting with a sly smirk. “You must be Ryker’s amigo.”

  I eye him back as unease grips my spine. He must be Ryker’s drug lord amigo from Guam—Santos. What could I possibly want from him? I turn back to Sasha, but she’s no longer at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Please, come in,” Santos offers.

  With a surge of reluctance, I head past him toward the aircraft’s narrow aisle. It’s fairly new and sleek as hell, a stark contrast of black and tan. Muffled noises trickle in from the far end where two men’s backs face us. I glance over my shoulder at Santos. He gives an encouraging nod and barks out, “Hacerse a un lado.”

  The two men part.

  They have Bentley.

  He’s slumped on a leather bench.

  Head crooked to the side like his neck muscles gave out.

  Hands and feet bound.

  Gagged.

  Skin and orange jumpsuit both splattered with dried blood.

  Someone had a turn with him more recently than my episode. He’s banged up with fresh cuts and bruises everywhere. One eye’s completely swollen shut. The other’s bloodshot and trying to fixate on me.

  All at once he’s roaring into the gag while pulling on the restraints.

  Hope burns bright in the depths of my soul. So does pure, unadulterated loathing.

  Pulse kicking up a notch, I reel around to Santos. “How’d you get your hands on him?”

  Bright white teeth flash with his responding smile. “The almighty dollar goes a long way in your country. Even prison transport guards have mouths to feed.”

  “Don’t know what Ryker told you, but I don’t have the means to reimburse you for your troubles.”

  Hands slipping into his pockets, Santos chuckles in a warm, genuine sound. Can almost see why Ryker trusts him, even after only a few minutes. He’s approachable—no bullshit. “This has nothing to do with your vendetta, amigo. It was brought to my attention that Señor Bentley passed blame onto one of
my associates as part of his deal with the feds. Accordingly, he won’t be taking the easy way out via ‘Club Fed’. Instead he’ll be accompanying me back to Guam where his indiscretions will be properly accosted. I understand you have a personal interest in seeing this man pay his dues. You have my assurance that nothing about his final hours on this earth will be easy. His betrayal will not go unpunished by the cartel.”

  Bentley roars beneath the gag and thrashes around, kicking a veiled container by his feet. Screeches fill the jet.

  “Rats,” I assume.

  Maybe it was a good thing Ryker called his buddy in after all.

  “Ah, yes.” Santos bends to remove the veil. A handful of eager rodents stick their little noses through the cage, beady eyes ravenous. “Señor Bentley’s compadres for the return flight. We wanted to ensure his comfort level was tremendo.” With a full-blown smile, Santos motions to one of the other men. “Joaquín, let this man do the honors. There’s time before we’re cleared for take-off. And don’t forget to lay the plastic out this time. I just had the carpet replaced.”

  The heavier set of the two men offers me a pair of thick leather gloves while the other begins unrolling the kind of polyethylene sheeting we use on job sites.

  Bentley bucks and roars, tears streaming down his wrinkled cheeks, eyes pleading with mine. A fresh dark spot spreads across the crotch of his uniform. Can’t say there’s anything surprising bout his cowardice in the face of death.

  “Go ahead, amigo,” Santos prods. “They won’t kill him—unless, of course, he dies of shock. I intend to draw the process out for as long as possible. From what Ryker tells me, you’ve earned the right.”

  Darkness tugs at my chest. I take the worn gloves in one hand.

  Sasha didn’t want Bentley’s blood on my hands. She made that clear after the courtroom incident. But she knew a drug lord who’s already committed a fuck-ton of crimes would do the dirty work on my behalf. For all I know, she requested that I be allowed to inflict a little pain in the process.

  It’s the ultimate gift from the woman who means everything—one I couldn’t possibly return in this lifetime.

  I’ll be damned if I’m gonna pass it up.

  Sneering, I guide my hand into the worn leather, holding Bentley’s terrorized expression. “This is for Cali.”

  Epilogue

  SASHA

  Sticks gripped in my hands, a sense of euphoria washes over me as I begin to hash out the beat. For over two months, I’ve been drumming on anything and everything with my fingers, eager as hell to get back behind a kit. The vibration passing through my limbs and the reverberating sound of the snare awaken the part of me that’s been dormant since my surgery, igniting my soul.

  I look up to discover Trent watching with one of his no-longer rare, brilliant smiles that could light the entire South Side. Those smiles have been coming more and more since he gave Bentley a memorable send-off. Even more than before, I’m highly aroused by the sight of him stroking along on his guitar, knowing exactly what’s on his mind for later.

  Hot, dirty sex.

  Immediately after the doctor gave the “all clear,” we almost went at it in the hospital elevator. But we were running late for our jam session, and we’d invited Ryker and the others to get an expert opinion on the new direction we’re headed with some stuff the guys have been working on.

  Trent insisted we start slowly with one song so I wouldn’t overdo it. Sometimes his protection sends me over the edge. This time, however, I’m good with being done early. I can say with a hundred percent confidence that I’ve never been so horny in my entire existence.

  With the final note, the guys from In Disarray respond with a standing ovation. As I’m dabbing a small line of perspiration from my forehead, Ryker approaches Declan to shake his hand and clap him on the back. “That was fuckin’ tight,” he praises, beaming with a smile.

  “You guys rock with your balls all out,” Stone agrees. Then his eyes cut to me. “No offense, Sash.”

  “We all know the truth,” I call back. “My balls are bigger than yours.”

  Everyone except Trent cackles. The way his stare sears against my skin, I’m a little concerned he won’t be able to control himself much longer, and he’ll devour me in front of our friends.

  I set my sticks on the stool and join him in a huddle with everyone else. He pulls me close, looping his arms around me from behind and nuzzling my raven locks. His raging erection digs at my back, making it hard to focus on what Ryker says next.

  Arm slung around Declan’s neck, he casts a serious look around the room. “We’ve been talking, and we’d like to make your band an offer.”

  Liam grins beside him, arms crossed, chin lifted. “You have any plans starting in October for the next, say…six months?”

  As I’m braiding my fingers with Trent’s, I suck in a sharp breath. “Wait. That’s the length of your upcoming tour.”

  “You’re right,” Ryker confirms. “And we need an opening act.”

  While Declan and Vaughn respond with noises of excitement, Trent grunts in an undistinguishable reaction. We’ve just settled into our new house, and we’re trying to find a new normal together. Any free-time we have mostly involves a lot of cuddling on the couch with a proclivity for sexual acts. I don’t know that I’m ready to trade that for six months on a stinky bus with my pseudo brothers.

  Meeting Ryker’s prideful expression, I scowl. “You’d probably have to call in yet another favor with my sergeant. Sure you’re up for that?”

  His beautiful lips curve with a devilish grin. “I’ve already offered her and her family tickets to our gig in London, all expenses paid. She assured me your job would still be there when you return.”

  I slowly shake my head. Of course he did. He’s always walked a fine line between being helpful and controlling. “What if the rest of my bandmates aren't on board with the idea?”

  One of his shoulders lifts. “Then she got a great deal, and owes me another favor.”

  “What makes you think the rest of us wouldn’t jump at the opportunity?” Declan challenges me with a hard expression. “If you don’t have time for this, that’s your problem, Sasha. You may be the best drummer we’ll ever have, but you’re still replaceable.”

  Flinching, I draw my lips tight. He has yet to forgive me for betraying them. Nothing I can say will appease his mood.

  Trent's arms squeeze around my waist. “Tone that shit down,” he growls.

  Liam tenses across from me, appearing ready to throttle Declan. “You’d be lucky to find someone with even half her talent. What’s your deal, man?”

  “We’re sure as shit not replacing her,” Vaughn adds, crossing his inked arms.

  Ryker steps into the center of the circle, arms held out in a peaceful gesture. He throws me a sympathetic look before addressing the others. “We don’t need an answer right this minute. If you decide you’re in, we’ll talk numbers at that point. With the venue costs, you wouldn’t be making a killer profit, but the gig would get you hoards of new fans…maybe even a record deal. Think it over…let us know in the next week or whatever.”

  Each of my brother’s crew approaches me for a hug on their way out. Ryker reminds Trent and I that we’re invited for an end-of-summer barbecue in two days. I absolutely adore the fact that none of my brother’s friends are very far away when I need them.

  And it makes me ridiculously happy the way their families have welcomed Trent with open arms—especially their children, who tend to bring out his cuddly side. It gives me goosebumps whenever I picture him as a daddy. Kids were never a priority until I fell in love with him. Now my ovaries ache whenever I see him with Bowie and the others.

  After they’ve cleared out, Vaughn hands out bottles of locally-crafted beer from a cooler. While Trent and Vaughn hash out the pros and cons of touring with In Disarray, I wiggle free from Trent’s clutches to drag Declan aside. The fire in his expression has only slightly diminished from when he called me out
in front of everyone.

  “For the record, I never said I wasn’t in,” I tell him, tipping my bottle in his direction. “Look…I know you’re mad at me, and I’m sorry I joined this band under false pretenses. I really, truly am. I wish I could go back and do it differently. But the fact is, I can’t. Though I totally get why you’re still a little reluctant to trust me, Trent obviously got past it. Despite everything, the man can’t stop talking about us starting a family together. He tattooed my damn name on his skin, right beside his sister’s. Why the hell can’t you forgive me?”

  Declan shifts his weight, running a hand through his messed hair, honied eyes cast downward. It’s the most agitated I’ve seen him. “You lied to my boy. Anyone from my past who couldn’t tell the truth proved to be a habitual liar. I learned early on they can’t be trusted—right after my first foster mom told me it was normal for an adult to mess around with a ten-year-old.”

  “Jesus,” I mutter, stomach churning. I knew from his files that Declan struggled in foster care, but I didn’t know the full extent of his past until now. “Deec, that’s a completely different kind of lie. What I did wasn’t done maliciously—it was only part of a role I was forced to play as an assignment. If I was given a minute alone with that vile foster mom of yours…you don’t even wanna know what I’d do.” In a flash, I wrap him in my arms, holding him tighter when he shifts uncomfortably. “Now that I know you guys the way I do, I would never purposely hurt Trent, or Vaughn, or you in any way. I’ve grown to love and cherish you all like family.”

  His chest vibrates with a humph. “Does that mean we get to share you with Trent?”

  “Be my guest in asking him,” I tease, giggling.

  Finally his arms lift, wrapping around my waist. “Sorry. Guess life made me suck at this friendship shit. Gimme another chance—I’ll try harder.”