Wicked Innocence
By
Missy Johnson
Copyright © 2014 Missy Johnson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems,
without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a
reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either
are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.
Cover: Redbird Designs
Edited by: Lauren McKellar and Kristen Lands
Proofread by Amy Jackson
Songs written by authors Melissa Mcknight and Jennifer Stevens
ISBN 9780992466558
First Printing: August 2014
Other books by Missy Johnson
Always You
Out of Reach
Tease series
Beautiful Rose series
Provoke
Desire
Wildcard (coming September)
Prologue
I stood outside the door and checked the crumbled bit of paper clutched in my shaking hand. Room twenty. With a glance down the deserted hallway, I gently knocked. What was I thinking, agreeing to meet him here, at his apartment? I knew nothing about this guy, except that for an obscene amount of money he was going to change my whole life. It served me right if I ended up raped, murdered, and dumped in a trashcan.
I should’ve insisted on meeting in a public place.
But it was too late now.
I swallowed passed the growing lump in my throat as the footsteps on the other side came closer to the door. When it swung open, I stepped back, my heart racing.
He looked like the type of person who was selling fake IDs: creepy and dirty. His stringy reddish brown hair was thinning on top and there was an odor so intense that I had to hold my breath. The edge of his mouth twitched up into a smile. He slouched over and leaned on the door jamb, with one hand shoved in his pocket as he leered at me.
“Well, hello there,” he drawled. His voice sported a strong southern accent. “Come in.” He held the door open for me as I hesitantly slipped inside.
I coughed, the strong stench of body odor and weed almost suffocating me. My mind screamed at me to run. Nothing was worth risking your life for…was it? Silencing the voice, I stepped inside, holding my shaking hands behind my back.
Can he tell how freaking terrified I am right now?
“Do you have the cash?” he asked, shamelessly staring at me.
I nodded, and reached into my pocket to retrieve the envelope.
“You know, there are other ways that you can pay for this,” he murmured, his gaze moving slowly over my body. “I don’t offer that to everyone, either. You should be flattered you make me feel so horny.”
I cringed. Whatever he was thinking, there was no way in hell it was going to happen. I wouldn’t touch this guy for all the money in the world.
“Sixteen hundred, right? It’s all there,” I said, handing him the thick wad of cash, careful not to make contact with his grubby, dirty fingers.
He smirked and shook his head. “Too bad. You’re a pretty little thing.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a passport and birth certificate. “Though I’m guessing you’re not really eighteen. This is a lot of trouble to go to for a new identity. I gotta say, I’m curious. What’s your story, little one?”
I felt sick, and I knew this creep would probably be even more turned on if he knew I was only fourteen. He held the documents out and I reached forward, taking them. Relief rushed through me as I examined my new identity. My heart pounded as I realized how close I was to my new life. So close I could almost taste it.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, backing out.
“Going so soon? Come on, let’s have us a little fun,” he smiled, sweeping in front of me and blocking my escape. I began to panic. What if this was it?
No. Stop it. I was not going to let this creep lay a finger on me.
“Get out of my way or I swear to God I’ll have every cop in the fucking state banging on your door. Do you think I was stupid enough to come here alone? Look out your window. Two very large men are waiting in the black Fiat across the road. How long do you think before they come looking for me?” I challenged, praying to God he didn’t call my bluff.
He backed off, his dark eyes not leaving mine. And then I saw it: a flicker of fear. It wasn’t much—just enough to give me the confidence to fight my way out of this situation. I stalked toward the door, my heart thumping uncontrollably in my chest.
Only once I was outside did I let myself breathe. I folded over, my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. Glancing across the road, I smiled at the empty black Fiat, still in shock that my ruse had worked.
Holy shit, I did it.
I was Micah Lawson, eighteen years old, and about to start my life.
Mikayla Hale was gone forever, and so were all the bad memories. I’d let down the only important person in my world, and I was damned if I was going to let that happen again. There was nothing left for me in the past, only the guilt and regrets that had plagued me for so long. I’d experienced things in my fourteen years that people should never have to go through. But, that was all over now.
This was my new beginning.
From here on in, I would only look forward, and I would do everything in my power to experience life, and not just live it.
This is for you, Pete. It’s all for you.
Chapter One
Three years later
Micah
This is it.
I took a deep breath and pushed through the double wooden doors, my three-inch black heels clicking as I strutted across the floor. I stopped in front of them and smiled, trying not to show just how much I was shitting myself—which, by the way, was a lot.
“What’s your name?” The guy on the end—who I recognized as the drummer of the band, Kam—didn’t even look up as he spoke to me. His scruffy, dark hair hung around his shoulders, and it looked like it hadn’t met a brush in years. He also sported a beard almost the same length.
“Micah,” I replied, flicking my dark hair back behind my shoulders. I ran my hands down the sides of my thighs, the sweat that had built up on my palms seeping into my skinny jeans. God, I’m shaking. I was so nervous. What if I made a fool out of myself?
Music was everything to me. It was the one thing in my life that hadn’t let me down. It was one of the few memories I had with my father, a small-time musician who had been killed in a car crash when I was four. It’s funny, some days I struggled to remember what he looked like, but I could close my eyes and still hear his voice, singing me to sleep. It was weird how the mind worked.
“When you’re ready, Micah.”
I looked up and into the eyes of Harry Cunningham. He gave me an encouraging smile. At least he was friendly. The others looked uninterested, like they couldn’t care less how badly I wanted this.
defense, I guess they had been there all day, listening to person after person, all just like me, convinced they were perfect for the band. I was the last person to audition, which gave me the opportunity to leave some kind of an impression on them.
This was my chance at being that rich, decadent chocolate mousse that is all you think about for the rest of the night. Because that’s what it came down to: no matter how good the rest of the meal was, it was the dessert you remembered, right?
“Micah?”
Shit. Right. I was there to sing, not daydream. I took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to calm the nerves that were threatening to overcome me. I closed my eyes and began to sing “Wonderwall” by Oasis.
It was the worst ninety seconds of my life.
What the hell was that?
I stood there, mortified. My voice had been so pitchy and out of tune it was almost comical—well, it would’ve been funny if it were someone else. It was like an audition right out of American Idol, but not the good kind. The kind where you cringe and feel sorry for the poor idiot making a fool of themselves.
“Uh, okay then.” Harry forced a smile.
The others didn’t even bother trying to be polite. One was snorting back laughter while the others stared down at the table, their shoulders silently shaking. My face went red. I was so embarrassed, that all I wanted to do was run out of the room.
“We’ll talk it over and give you a call. Thanks, Micah,” Harry said. The worst thing was, he looked embarrassed for me.
They weren’t going to call. I could hear it in his voice. I could see it in the way they exchanged ‘that’ look—and, of course, the laughing. The laughter was a bit of a giveaway at how badly things had gone.
Weeks of preparation had led me here, and I’d fucked it up completely. This was not how it was supposed to have gone. I was ready for this. Or at least I thought I had been. They stood up and began shuffling their paperwork together. I bit my lip, trying to come up with a way to fix this. My chance was slipping away. If I was going to do something, it had to be now.
“Wait,” I yelled. My voice echoed through the near empty room, startling even me. The four of them stopped and turned back to me. “Please, I can do so much better than that. Give me another chance. Please.”
Harry sighed, glancing at the sexy, lanky blond guy who stood next to him—Liam Marx, bass guitarist. I saw the slight shake of his head and my heart sank.
“Look, I’m sorry. But if you can’t handle the pressure of a casual audition, how are you going to be performing for a packed club? We need someone with experience. Someone who is going to stop people in their tracks and demand their attention.” Liam shrugged apologetically. “It’s nothing personal. Good luck on your journey.”
Anger surged through me. They could tell during a two-minute audition that I wasn’t the person they were looking for? Okay, I’d fucked up big time, but I wanted this so badly. I clenched my fists as I watched them walk toward the door. Taking a deep breath, I began to sing.
“When there’s nothing to hold onto, and there’s nowhere left to turn…”
I closed my eyes and let the sound float out of my lungs. I was born for this. I needed this. I could do this.
“…even loving hands can’t hold on,
even good intentions tend to burn,
not even hope can be that strong,
I tried to fix you when you hurt
make you feel good when you where low
but even all my dreams and hopes and wishes
will not trump what my soul knows…”
Opening my eyes, I sighed, relieved to see they were still there. I’d half expected to find myself singing to an empty room. My heart pounded as I waited for one of them to speak.
Come on. Please, please give me a shot.
Finally, Liam cleared his throat.
“Okay, that was better,” he admitted, flashing a glance at the other guys, who looked as stunned as he did. “Much better.” His brow creased as he tapped his finger against his thigh. He looked flustered.
“Good enough for a second chance?” I asked nervously, my eyes glued to his, willing him on. He and Harry exchanged another look. I could see they were weakening. Just say yes. Come on . . .
“We’re playing tomorrow at The Bell Center. It’s nothing big, just a private party we’ve been hired for. Impress, and you have the job. Sound fair?” Harry asked.
I nodded and blinked back tears. Why the hell was I crying? I laughed, which earned me a funny look from Liam, but I didn’t care. I was so messed up. I didn’t cry at funerals or during some of the darkest moments of my life, but a chance to be in a band? That made the floodgates open?
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I said, unable to wipe the stupid grin off my face. My hands flew to my face as I brushed away the tears.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned with a smile. “You haven’t met our manager. And you still need to impress tomorrow. This isn’t a done deal, okay? It’s a second chance. That’s it.”
I nodded. I have a real shot at this.
Holy shit. I was one performance away from being in a band. A rush of excitement poured through me as I realized how big this was. And this wasn’t just some no-name group, this was Resurrection—one of the hottest indie bands in LA at the moment.
Yeah, I wasn’t getting ahead of myself at all.
Chapter Two
Micah
“Wow,” I muttered under my breath. “Holy fucking shit.” I couldn’t believe I’d convinced them to give me another chance.
I stood outside The Melrose Hotel with my hands behind my head, trying to let the last few minutes sink in. People gave me a wide berth as they walked past—probably something to do with the insane laughter that was tumbling out of my mouth—but I didn’t care. By tomorrow night I could be the newest lead vocalist for Resurrection.
This was insane! It was—
Shit.
I glanced at my phone and realized I had less than five minutes to get to work. I picked up my pace, dodging my way around the crowds of people that only seemed to be there to get in my way.
The diner where I worked as a waitress was over on the other side of the city, and even running the entire way, I pushed my way through the door nearly a quarter of an hour late. If there was one thing my boss hated, it was tardiness. But then again, Marlon hated everything.
“You’re late.”
I jumped around the counter and grabbed my apron. Marlon scowled at me from in front of the grill, his chubby fingers curled around the spatula he was using to flip burger patties. I rolled my eyes and pasted a smile on my face as I turned to face him.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I had an appointment and it ran longer than I expected. I’ll stay an extra ten minutes after my shift,” I offered as I tied my hair back in a loose bun. He grunted in response and I knew that was as I was going to get to a yes.
“Table five has been waiting for ages,” he said gruffly.
I nodded brightly. Grabbing my ordering pad, I strode over to table five, cringing when I saw it was a group of seven young guys packed into the four-person booth. I just knew they were going to be a pain in my ass. Packs of guys always were. There was always one or two that would try and impress their friends by trying to pick me up or objectify me.
“What can I get for you?” I asked, pen poised.
“How about your number?” That was from the hotshot in the corner who looked like he’d used an entire container of hair gel.
“Sorry, I was talking about the menu,” I said sweetly. “I can highly recommend the pancakes with maple syrup.” That was our special of the day. We always had to pimp the special, because it usually meant Marlon had ingredients that were close to the ‘use by’ date.
“I’ve got something sweet and sticky you might enjoy.” He grinned as his friends sniggered. Ugh. This guy had to be kidding.
I wonder how many times that line had gotten him punched in the balls?
Most of the time I enjoyed my job. The majority of customers were friendly regulars who tipped well and the rest of the staff were great. But I found myself having to bite my tongue when it came to immature assholes who thought they were funny. Like these guys.
“I don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate that.” I nodded over my shoulder to Marlon. “He’s sticky and sweet enough for me,” I added with a wink, running my tongue over my bottom lip for extra effect.
“That’s your boyfriend?�
� sputtered the dark-haired guy who sat on the end closest to me. Out of all of them, he was the only one I’d actually consider cute. He looked from me to Marlon and back to me, his eyes wide.
I held back my laughter and nodded. Marlon must have been in his sixties. He was huge, hairy and somewhat resembled a less appealing version of Hagrid from Harry Potter. His looks were the most appealing thing about him, which spoke volumes about his engaging personality.
“Is there a problem?” I asked innocently. “I can get him over here to take your order if you like,” I added, hiding my grin.
“Uh no, that’s fine. I’ll have the open steak sandwich and a Coke,” he muttered.
“Good choice,” I smirked.
I took the rest of their orders and strode back over to Marlon, handing him the ticket. I sidled up close to him so our shoulders were almost touching, aware the guys were watching me.
“Here you go,” I said sweetly.
Marlon glared at me. “The tables aren’t going to clean themselves,” he growled.
I chuckled and grabbed the caddy, pushing it toward three empty booths at the back of the room.
“What’s so funny?”
I smiled at Dee. In my haste to start my shift I hadn’t even realized she was working. Dee and I had clicked right away when I’d started at the diner two years earlier. At nineteen, she was two years older than me, but, like everyone else, she thought I was twenty-one and two years older than her. Confusing, right? I had trouble keeping things straight in my own head.
“The guys at table five were hassling me so I told them Marlon was my boyfriend,” I giggled.
Dee laughed, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. She was gorgeous—like supermodel beautiful. With her tall, slim figure and striking dark eyes, I felt like a blimp standing next to her. I was so damn short. Apparently my lack of height was another thing I’d gotten from my father.
“Idiots,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “But can you imagine being lucky enough to wake up to that every morning?” she said, nodding toward Marlon.
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