River James (Rockers Of Steel #3)

by Mj Fields

  I hear a knock and then the door opens.

  “Why would it mean a lot to you if I smoked up?” Billy asks.

  “Never mind, man. It was stupid,” I say, smiling without opening my eyes.

  “No, what was stupid is you punching some guy in the face with a hand that is finally healing.”

  I feel the bed buckle as he sits down.

  “He was fucking with the lady,” I tell him, lazily handing over the can.

  To my surprise, he takes it.

  “Who was she?”

  “Best pussy I’ve had in fucking years.” I smirk and attempt to open my eyes. Only one cooperates.

  He takes the lighter. “I’m not sure why the hell I’m doing this,” he says before lighting it up.

  “B-man, easy on that. I’m not one to give a fucking warning, but that is some potent shit.”

  He inhales and coughs immediately.

  I can’t help chuckling. “Devil weed.”

  He hands me back the can. “You gonna see her again?”

  “Keanna? No, man, I’m not.”

  “Best pussy in years and you aren’t gonna do it again?” he asks, yawning as he crosses his arms and settles back against the headboard.

  “No. Told her I would, but I’m not. That shit can become an addiction, and well, let’s face it; I already have one or twenty of those.”

  I hit the can again, then hand it back to Billy. Then I close my eyes and lean back.

  “Why not trade one addiction for twenty?” he asks, and I hear him flick the Bic.

  “I’d rather take my chances with drugs. They don’t need me; I need them. Women, they’re way too much trouble.”

  “Memphis and Finn don’t seem to think so.”

  “Memphis and Finn aren’t like me.”

  “I beg to differ. They’re no different, River.”

  My head is in a funk-a-delic fog. “They’re better.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “They’ve never killed someone,” I mutter right before I pass the fuck out.

  *****

  I wake up to find Billy next to me, can in hand. I take it out and set it on my nightstand before getting up and walking to the kitchen to see if I left my phone there.

  Fucking phones.

  I snatch it off the counter and look at it.

  There is a message from Masterson.

  Just got back to the hotel. Hitting the bed. Long fucking night. Come on over when you get around. Suite 439.

  “Thank fuck,” I state, holding my hand to my chest.

  The Master. I snicker to myself.

  Billy walks out of my room, stretching. “The hand?”

  “No change.” I hold my hand up.

  “You played great last night,” he mentions, walking over and grabbing a K-cup from the carousel.

  “Yeah, well …” I leave it hanging.

  “When are you gonna come back?”

  “When I’m healed,” I say matter-of-factly.

  “So when are you gonna address the real issue?”

  “I’m going to therapy—”

  “With Finn.”

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  “This isn’t about your damn hand. It’s about Finn and you and that girl—”

  “Jesse. Her name was Jesse. She wasn’t some random fucking girl.” My breath becomes harder to catch.

  “Jesse. I’m sorry, man. Didn’t mean to imply—”

  “She loved him. He was good for her, and I killed her. Kind of fucking hard to fix that shit.” It all comes out fast, and I wish I could take it back, but there is something about wishes I learned a long time ago: wishes don’t come true for men like me.

  “You didn’t kill her, River. From what I understand, she was all sorts of fucked up. Mental health—”

  “I don’t want to talk about her. I don’t want to talk about it, Billy.” My chest tightens. I feel a burn in it. I need to get fucked up. I need Chilz. “I need to borrow your ride.”

  “If you’re sober, the keys are on the hook by the door,” Billy says, picking up his ready cup of coffee.

  “Good. I’m gonna shower and jet.”

  “No smoking before you drive.”

  “Of course, I would never—”

  “While you drive,” he continues like I didn’t say anything, “or while you are in possession of my vehicle.”

  “Fine … Mom,” I remark, telling him what he wants to hear as I walk toward my room.

  *****

  “What the hell do you mean she’s gone?” I snap at Masterson.

  He runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head. “I put it right fucking here by the door so you could grab it.”

  I take off through the suite, opening bedroom doors, bathroom doors. “This is not fucking happening!”

  “Chill the fuck out, man!”

  I chuck a couch cushion at him to shut him the fuck up.

  “Chill the fuck out? Chill the mother-fuck out! Fuck that!”

  “No one is here. The bowl is—”

  “Who was here? Names, numbers. Come on, man; think!” I grab him by his black, silky fucking man robe. “Last night’s ass? Come on; think!”

  “Last night’s ass was in no position to take a damn bowl,” he growls. “And you are crossing a motherfucking line by grabbing ahold of me like that.”

  “Who else!” I release him because, if I don’t, I’m going to fuck his shit up.

  “It’s not like I allow an audience. No one else was here.” He is as pissed off as I am, or at least, he thinks he is. Then his face scrunches up, and he shakes his head. “My cousin Miguel has a room key.”

  I don’t like that look.

  “Would he steal from you?”

  “No. But he would from you.”

  Before I have a chance to react, he turns and walks over to the table.

  “Now why the fuck would he steal from me?”

  When he doesn’t answer, it pisses me off.

  “Answer the fucking question, Masterson.”

  He holds up his phone.

  I walk over and read the text out loud. “Did you take the bowl?” His message pops back. “Just delivered it to Keanna. Maybe that bitch can give it to the fucking drummer.” I look at him. “What the fuck?”

  “Keanna and he …” He stops and chuckles when I apparently look confused. “The hot ass you left with last night would be Keanna.”

  “No shit. Get to the point,” I try to get him to hurry along.

  “The guy you hit last night was my cousin, Miguel.”

  “Son of a bitch.” I run my hand over my head. “Where does she live?”

  “I’ll ask.” He starts to text.

  “Don’t fucking tell him I don’t remember her address.”

  *****

  Driving to Keanna’s place, I am pretty much amped up on ‘What the Fuck?’

  What the fuck do I say about ditching this morning?

  What the fuck do I do when I see her and am instantly hard?

  What the fuck is she going to say when I ask if her ex was here with my bowl?

  What the fuck are you letting that fucker in here for?

  “What the fuck!” I hit the steering wheel.

  I park in the front and feed the meter, greedy, little bitch that she is.

  I remember the building, the stairway, and biting her ass at the top of the stairs.

  I walk up to her door and adjust myself, trying to hide the evidence. I am about ready to knock on the door when I realize this shit is not cool. I mean, I ditched. She’s a chick. She’s going to think I am a total tool when I show up, asking for a bowl.

  “Who the fuck cares?” I murmur to myself, lifting my hand to knock. “You do, dick.”

  I remember seeing a little corner store. Should I get flowers?

  I run down the stairs, fully prepared to get flowers. I mean, I appreciate that ass. Loved it as a matter-a-fact. And we all know how I feel about
Chilz. Flowers are totally appropriate, right? Fuck yes, they are.

  I grab some flowers and a steak. I promised the dog. At least, I think I did. That will also make points with the ass.

  Feed the dog, make nice with the ass, maybe even get a little kitty action.

  I am crossing the road, flowers and bag in hand, when I hear brakes squeal to a stop and look left.

  I see the bear-dog … Aw, what the fuck is her name?

  I see a cop. Then I see teeth. Big, angry bear/dog teeth.

  The fucking cop has his hand on his gun.

  That shit’s not going to happen. I just bought that thing a fucking steak!

  “TINK!” I yell. That’s her fucking name.

  I don’t have a fucking dog, so I yell what every chick wants to hear from me, hoping it works.

  “Tink, come.”

  After calling Animal Control for the tenth time, I decide it would be best to go and look for her … again.

  I look at my face in the mirror for the twentieth time, knowing there isn’t shit I can do except fix the smudged mascara underneath my eyes by wiping it away.

  I opened the door without thinking. When I saw it was Miguel and noticed the anger in his eyes, I tried to shut it, but he kicked it open and Tink immediately lunged at him. He sidestepped her, and she skid across the floor into the hall. When she turned to come back in, he kicked her, and she yelped. Then he shut the door.

  I came at him with everything I had. I landed one kick to the nuts, and he became enraged. I ran to get my phone to call for help, but he threw something glass toward me. It missed my head and hit the wall. Shards of glass flew everywhere, some hitting my face.

  “Fuck!” he yelled and started toward me.

  “Get out! Get out or I will have you arrested!”

  Thankfully, he left.

  I feel the burn in my throat again and will myself to get it together.

  “No more tears. Nothing good comes from wallowing in shit, Keanna. Get it together.”

  I walk out of the bathroom to the entry closet where I grab my vest, pull the hood up, and then zip it closed. I push my feet into my brown Uggs and grab my sunglasses off the small, wooden entry table. Then, looking out the peephole, I am immediately pissed at myself for being afraid.

  “You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.” I use Maya Angelou’s words out loud. I let them envelope me and sink in. Then I open the door without fear or self-pity.

  I walk down the stairs as quickly as I can, hoping the asshole apartment manager doesn’t hear me. I don’t want to hear how my dog should be put down, how she bit him, how he hoped I had renter’s insurance, or how he may sue me. I just want to find Tink.

  I walk out the door to see her and River crossing the street. One of his hands holds a bag in front of her nose and the other has a grip on her collar. For a brief second, I wonder why he’s here, but Tink’s return is much more important. That and his presence overwhelm me further.

  Tears form in my eyes as I watch them. She’s okay, and he … Well, he is a beautiful conundrum of gentleness and hardcore rock and roll, wearing black boots, low-riding black jeans, a charcoal Henley shirt, black vest, black baseball cap, and aviators. He is six feet of sexiness, and he is sinfully delicious. He is crude, the kind of man a good girl should run from, yet they dream about every night. He is lean muscle and badass with no fear at all. He is also the man who curled up naked in my bed this morning and is now bringing my dog home.

  I allow myself to keep staring.

  “There’s your momma, Tink,” he says as he steps up on the curb and lets her go.

  Tink barks and runs to me, and I fall to my knees, bracing myself for the hit I know damn well she will give.

  “You’re okay, baby.” I feel tears fall as I hug her big, furry neck, and she huffs and whines in my ear. “You’re okay.”

  I glance up as I stand and find River looking at me. I can’t see his eyes, but his jaw is set, and the muscles in it are tense.

  “Where was she?” I force myself to ask.

  He doesn’t answer. He reaches out and strokes the pad of his thumb across my face, wiping away tears. I flinch, and his chest expands as he pulls his hand back, taking in a deep breath.

  I hate sunglasses. I can’t see people’s eyes. I can’t read what he’s thinking when I want to know.

  I hang my head, hoping my hair hides my face, as he walks past me and opens the door.

  “Let’s go, Tink.” He nods to the door. “Ladies first.”

  I walk past him with Tink’s collar in my hand and head for the stairs.

  Opening the door that I forgot to lock, I feel a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

  He walks in ahead of me and looks around, then waves me in.

  He knows.

  I take a deep breath and walk in.

  “You must be thirsty, girl. Come on,” I talk to Tink, ignoring River.

  When I walk toward the kitchen then look back, Tink is sitting next to River’s feet.

  “Tink.” I squat down. “Come here, girl.”

  When she doesn’t come, I feel overwhelmed. Therefore, unable to control myself, I cover my face as shame, pain, embarrassment, shock—all of it mixes together and falls out in tear form.

  I hear boots, then feel arms surround me as he sinks to the floor and pulls me back between his legs, his arms holding me tight from behind.

  “I am strong,” I declare with as much strength as I can muster.

  “I know you are,” he replies gently, evenly, calmly.

  “I am.”

  “No doubt you are.” He holds the side of my head and pulls it against his chest.

  “I … I kicked him in the balls.”

  “Who? Who did you kick?”

  “My ex.”

  I feel him tense and hear a rumble in his chest. “Did he … do that to your face?”

  “I kicked him.”

  “Keanna!” he snaps then takes in a deep breath. “I’m gonna—”

  “He threw some glass thing at me, said it was yours. I ducked; it shattered.” I stop when I think I feel him shaking.

  “His address?” he growls.

  I pull away and sit up. I don’t understand why he wants to know this.

  “His address, Keanna? Surely you know where he lives if his dick was inside of you.”

  He’s angry, and after Miguel, it makes me nervous.

  “Get out.” I try to stand, but he grips me more tightly.

  “Hold the fuck up. You want to protect that asshole?”

  “No, I want the asshole here to leave.”

  “Well, just a heads up, I’ll get his fucking address whether you give it to me or not.”

  I bat the tears away and stand up. “Do you have mental issues? I mean, two seconds ago, you were comforting me—you brought flowers, for fuck’s sake—and now you want to—”

  “He fucking hurt you. If something hurts, stay the fuck away from it. What the fuck is wrong with women?” He lets go of me and stands.

  “This is my fault? You can’t be serious!”

  He shakes his head back and forth. “Look, I have no fucking clue what I’m talking about. I won’t even pretend to know what goes on inside a woman’s mind.”

  “Clearly,” I retort, walking toward the door.

  He looks at the floor then at me. “I’m gonna kick his ass, regardless. Fuck, maybe I’ll make it so he can’t fucking come back here and mess—”

  “Don’t do me any favors,” I sneer.

  I want him gone. I want my head to stop spinning, but most of all, I want peace and quiet. Instead, there’s a knock on the door.

  River quickly moves in front of me, practically pushing me aside, and flings the door open. “What?”

  “Keanna around?”

  It’s Aaron, the apartment manager, the man Tink supposedly bit when Miguel kicked her out the door. The one who threatened me and wouldn’t listen when I told him
she was scared.

  As River looks back, I hide behind the door and shake my head.

  “No,” River says without hesitation.

  “Well, when she comes back, let her know that the board wants the dog gone. He’s dangerous and—”

  “She. The dog’s a she,” River tells him.

  “Well, she needs to go now, or I will be getting a lawyer and—”

  River shuts the door in his face before he has time to finish.

  He looks at me sternly and shrugs. “The kid with the pockmarks says she has to go.”

  “I heard him!” I yell, feeling my lip quiver. “I fucking heard him.”

  “Okay, all right. Shit, don’t start crying again. I’m sure you can take her to a friend or family or—”

  I walk away while he’s talking. I can’t think when he’s around.

  He grabs my wrist, stopping me. “Wait.”

  I have no idea why I stop and look back, but I do.

  “What are you gonna do?”

  Frustration, anger, and confusion come crashing together in one big explosion.

  “I have no idea! None! This … This is all too much.” I point at him. “You are too damn much. So if you’d please just leave so I can figure it out without questioning my choices and myself and”—I throw my hands in the air—”everything else, maybe I can come up with a solution!”

  “How did Tink get outside?”

  He asks the most random questions at the most random times. It doesn’t stop the chaos from raining down on me.

  I shake my head. “River, please just—”

  “How did she get outside? It’s an easy question to answer, Keanna.”

  “He let her out. Actually, he kicked her out, okay? Now could you just leave?”

  “You got a phone?” he asks.

  “Of course I have a—”

  “Give me your digits.”

  I shake my head while he nods his.

  I see his hazel eyes scan the room before he starts walking toward the table. He grabs my phone and then grabs his, punches in something, and then sets it down.

  “I have yours, and you have mine. Now the leash thing, and I will take the bear-dog with me.”

  Stunned, I am at a loss for words. Why? Why would he do that?

  “Keanna, I’ve got the dog. When you figure it out, call me,” River says, walking toward me. “The words are thank and you.” He waits, and I still say nothing, because he’s fucking crazy, fucking insane, but I have no other choice. “And, well, I’m sorry I was a dick. Sort of. But I am gonna make sure that fucker pays for killing Chilz and fucking up your beyond beautiful face.” He leans in and gently rubs his lips across my face. “Lock the motherfucking door. Don’t let anyone in. And when your brain isn’t so twisted up, call me.”