Rockin' the Heart (Hot Wired)

by Miller, Gracen

  “It’s him. Fang, show some mercy and talk to the girl,” Sam said as she pushed away from her reclined position and elbowed the mom. “You got paper and pen so he can give her his John Hancock?”

  He should’ve expected this attitude. She was big on engaging their fans.

  “You a fan of Hot Wired?”

  The girl nodded as a blush crept along her cheeks.

  “What’s your favorite song?”

  “Justified… Just Say the Word… no, um… all of them.” She giggled. “Oh-M-Gee!” The girl executed a high-pitched squeal that might’ve fractured his eardrums. “Mom, Kathryn and Nely will never believe I met Fang from Hot Wired.”

  Sam wiggled her finger in her ear and blinked. Heath chuckled. “Got a cell? Sam here’ll take a photo, and then your friends can’t disbelieve ya.”

  The girl squealed again, and Sam made an owl-eyed face at him. He grinned as the girl tossed the phone at Sam. Thank goodness for her quick reflexes. In the next breath she flattened herself against his side hugging him like a monkey. Sam snapped off several shots, even made the mother submit to a few photos.

  “Gonna text a few to myself.” Sam’s digits whipped over the keypad. A normal person would be upset by her boldness, but not a fan. “I’ll post them on Hot Wired’s official FaceMe fan page when I get home.” She offered the girl the phone and then pressed pen and paper into his grasp. He wasn’t sure when she’d acquired the items. “Tag yourself in them when you get a chance. Oh, and what’s your name, sweetie, so Fang can give ya his signature?”

  “Angela. My name’s Angela.”

  Heath scribbled:

  Angela,

  Keep rockin!

  Love,

  Fang

  “You look familiar. Are you his girlfriend?” Angela clutched his signature to her heart, but gaped at Sam.

  “No!” She shook her head. “I’m Jase’s sister—”

  Another deafening scream. Sam winced.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” One of the girl’s hands fluttered over her mouth. “You’re my idol. I wanna be just like you.”

  “Not a good role model,” the comment spilled out before Heath could reel it in. Sam shot him an exasperated glare.

  The censure in Mom’s voice was evident when she said, “That’s what I keep telling her. And why we’re here.” She gave Sam a pointed glower.

  “Let me guess, Fang was here bailing you out of jail?” The girl didn’t have to sound in awe over it.

  “Something like that.” Sam crossed her arms beneath her breasts, her cheeks slightly pink beneath her olive complexion.

  “Our stop,” the mother said when the elevator doors reopened on the second floor.

  “You two look good together. You should hook up.” The girl waived the paper with his signature on it. “Thanks again.”

  Awkwardness descended once the doors slid shut. Just two floors to go and they’d exit the cage.

  You two look good together. You should hook up.

  Innocent words from the lips of a babe, but Sam wasn’t the hook up type. At least not with him.

  She stared at the elevator numbers highlighted in red. “That girl could rival your screams.”

  Doubtful. He could hold a note for a while. “Thanks.”

  Her gaze crashed with his. “For what? That wasn’t a compliment.”

  “For making that girl’s life.” He winked.

  She snorted, but he saw the tenseness leave her shoulders. “You’re so cocky it makes me crazy.”

  “I can’t help all the girls think I’m hot.”

  The doors slid open. Without a stutter, she stared him straight in the eye and said, “Just an FYI, Fang, you’re not all that and a box of crackers.”

  Ouch!

  Ego crushed, he followed her into the underground parking deck.

  Jase cracked open an eye. Bright light haloed the curtains on either side like fissures in a cave wall. He groaned at the pounding in his head and surveyed the clock through bleary vision. The numbers swam, but he thought it neared two-thirty in the afternoon. Damn. He’d overslept and reneged on his promise to meet Fang to go over some tracks. Odd that his band mate hadn’t woken him.

  He scratched his belly and stretched beneath the sheet. With a yawn, he scooted to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over the side of the mattress.

  Naughty memories from last night invaded his recollection. Good times with an impish duo of gals. He’d tried to invite Fang to join him, but all his calls went straight to voicemail. Maybe his buddy had hooked up without him. Or spent one of his boring nights reading a book in the mansion.

  Fang was the only rocker he knew that liked to read. The only time he thought of him as Heath was when he had his nose stuck in a novel. If Jase never opened another book again, he would be a very happy man.

  He palmed his cell. Eight text messages.

  Terrible omen.

  With a tap to the message icon, his mood went from stellar to shit.

  Six were from known tabloid reporters. He groaned, and his belly protested with a roll.

  Two were from the other Hot Wired band members, well-intentioned messages with snapshots of the morning’s headlines. He jabbed Keys’ message with his thumb and then clicked on the link to a ViewTube vid. He froze as he watched the stolen red Maserati highlighted by the beam of what looked like several helicopter lights. A good ten minutes elapsed as he held his breath and the stolen car weaved in and out of traffic at breakneck speed. Cut off at an exit ramp, the car fishtailed when the driver slammed on the brakes to avoid smashing into the officers. A swat load of motherfucking cops converged on the car like the occupant was on the FBI’s top ten most wanted terrorist list. The door was wrenched open and his sister dragged from the driver seat. She grinned and gave the helicopters the one-finger salute.

  Jesus, that was my sister evading the law in a stolen Mase-fucking-rati!

  Jase’s grip tightened on the cell, his knuckles whitening. Her blasé attitude tipped him from terrified for her safety to enraged by her stupidity.

  In a matter of moments the cops flung her face first against the vehicle with her wrists bracketed in handcuffs, and she still smiled like a goddamn lunatic! Was she trying to kill his career or just give him a damned heart attack? Didn’t she understand if something happened to her, they might as well put him in the coffin with her? Sam was all he had.

  What the fuck had gotten into his baby sister? It’d started with base jumping and escalated to bar brawls, and knifing chicks—to name a few of her more scandalous moments. Now, apparently carjacking was her latest hoorah. If she were fifteen he’d know how to handle her—start by cutting off her cell. But she was twenty and had a fucking fortune in a trust fund he’d gifted to her on her eighteenth birthday. He couldn’t cut off jack-shit any longer.

  For the love of Christ, he wasn’t sure how he’d get her out of this mess.

  He chucked his phone across the room as hard as he could. The device hit the wall and splintered into pieces.

  Elbows resting on his knees, he dropped his face into his palms. After the bar fight she said she wanted to return home to Alabama and escape Hollywood. Thanks to his rise to fame, she’d never be able to dodge celebrity status regardless of where she resided.

  The last time he bailed her out he’d told her not to call him the next time she got arrested. Of course the statement had been a threat and only an intimidation tactic he’d hoped would scare her straight.

  Should he let her sit in jail contemplating the seriousness of his statement or go bail out her ungrateful ass?

  Come to think of it why hadn’t she called Fang or one of the other band members, Keys and Derringer? Any of the three would’ve picked her up. Unless one of the cops had gotten tired of her bullshit too and decided to teach her a lesson. Someone needed to!

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. Best to find out where they stood this go round and what favors he’d have to promise to get her out of hot wa
ter. He dressed in a pair of gray sweat pants and a T-shirt from his closet.

  Barefoot, he finally located Fang sitting at the piano working out the notes to a new song. When he strolled in, his best friend and lead singer of Hot Wired halted. Fang’s wary gaze watched him approach.

  “Do I look like I’m about to explode?” Jase scratched his jaw. Unlike Fang, he disliked facial hair and needed to shave everyday.

  “Not really.” His buddy shrugged. “I figured if you watched the ViewTube video Keys sent, you might implode.”

  He almost had. “Any news which precinct has her locked up?”

  “That’d be us.” Fang placed his pencil on top of the piano. “I picked her up last night before you got home.”

  “Why didn’t you call?”

  “I did. Check your messages.”

  “I kinda smashed my cell after I watched Sam’s high-speed, cop chase.” He ran his palm across his nape. Recalling that video sent shivers of unease down his spine. “I can’t imagine what’s gotten into her.”

  “Think about it, Jase. She doesn’t know who she is or what she wants to do. Paparazzi hound her. The only real friend she has is from her youth, all the others just want a piece of us.”

  “I’m her friend! You’re her friend.”

  “You’re her brother. Big difference. I’m… yeah, I’m her friend, but I guess kinda like her brother too. It’s not like I’ve ever taken her with me to socialize.” Fang swiveled on the bench and straddled the seat. “Think about the last girlfriend she went shopping with.”

  “Brittany.” His former, longish-term two month girlfriend had forced Sam to ‘shop until we drop’ at the mall.

  “Exactly. Over a year ago and we both know how that turned out.”

  Jase laughed. Sam had threatened to cut his dick off if he forced her to go off with Brittany again. Then had detailed how ‘Brittany whored herself to the press’. She’d been right. He’d known his girlfriend was interested only in his money and the gig that came with being the eye-candy on his arm. But she’d been a good lay, up for anything, so he’d kept her around.

  “I don’t know what to do with her.” Thinking of that damn video sobered him fast. “If she goes back to Bama she’ll be more accessible to the press. At least here in LA we protect her.”

  “I’ve got an idea.” Fang licked his lips. Was his buddy nervous about something? “Let me deal with her for a while. You focus on being her supportive brother. I’ll be her… friend.”

  Something about the way Fang said the word ‘friend’ hit Jase wrong. It didn’t help that Fang refused to meet his gaze.

  Jase found his hell raiser sister in the kitchen doing her second favorite thing… cooking. What a mundane hobby in comparison to her newest adrenaline rush of catastrophic idiocy she engaged in.

  Sam glanced up when he walked into the room. “Hey,” she said in soft voice.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Her jaw dropped, and he grinned to himself for taking her by surprise. “You on drugs or something? I expected a bitching.”

  “You know better. Just tell me when your court date is.”

  Tossing him a wary glance, she went back to mixing the stir-fry. “No court date. Apparently Heath sold his soul or something.”

  “You owe him.” He sat on the barstool, propped his elbow on the counter, and settled his chin in his palm. “I smashed my phone. You owe me a new one.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Right. Let me dip into my trust fund, and you can buy yourself a new one with the money you gave me.”

  “Goddamn it, how many times do I need to tell you that’s your money?”

  Food abandoned, she turned to glare at him. She shook the spatula at him. “Probably as many times as I have to tell you I want to go home.”

  “Shut up,” Fang snapped, strolling into the kitchen. “Your bitching gets on my last fucking nerve. Both of you drop the money issue. And the home issue. Ever heard of old news?”

  “Piss off.” Sam turned back to the stir-fry.

  “Sam, I have a party to attend tomorrow night in Hollywood Hills.” Fang straddled the barstool next to Jase.

  “I was gonna cook your favorite meal tomorrow, but I can put that off to the next night.” Sam rolled her shoulders like they ached. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “I want you to go with me.”

  Jase watched as his sister’s entire body went tense at Fang’s statement.

  “Why?” She didn’t even look in Fang’s direction, but mistrust was evident in her cautious tone.

  “You need to get out, meet some people that don’t give two-fucks who you are. They’re more famous than you.”

  “Great. A pity party. Fuck you very much, Heath.”

  His best friend grinned. “Think of it as intervention. You either go, or I call the Judge, and the grand theft auto charges can be reinstated.”

  Fang’s cat, Big Al, meowed and wove around her ankles begging for offerings.

  Gaze narrowed on his friend, Sam hissed, “You wouldn’t.”

  Fang pulled his cell out of his jean pocket and fiddled with the phone before flipping the device around to show her the lit screen. “Judge Moody. Should I make the call?”

  Oh, Fang is good. Calling her bluff with a straight face. At least he thought his friend called her bluff. No wonder he always lost at poker to Fang when they played.

  Crinkles fanned outward from the corners of her eyes. “That’s blackmail.”

  “That’s intervention, brat.”

  With little details to go on for the evening’s events, Sam bought the most provocative dress she could wear without being labeled indecent. Heath would loathe the garb, and so would Jase. That’d teach them to railroad her into a social event disguised as intervention. Pfft…

  Intervention my ass! This sufficed as Heath’s attempt at refocusing her attention. She didn’t have any friends—unless she counted the band members, her childhood friend, Nessa, and Omega, but he was also her lover—because everyone wanted something from her. Trust was a fickle bitch in her world.

  One good thing that would come of this party, no one would care that Jase was her brother. Or that she was Heath’s date. Blending in and going unnoticed held appeal, but admitting that to him felt like she capitulated without any effort to win an argument. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  She stood in front of her body-length mirror and surveyed her appearance. Make-up heavier than normal, she’d gone for the smoky-eye look, and red lipstick rounded out her cosmetics. She’d left her hair down, which went a long way in disguising the backless dress. The black form-fitting garment made of peep show lace concealed only her nipples, crotch, and the line of her ass, and rested a couple of inches below the curve of her bottom. The hard peaks of her nipples were exposed beneath the flimsy fabric. The evidence of their firmness teased a satisfied grin from her.

  Something else for Heath to loathe.

  She couldn’t have planned their visibility better if she’d tried. The red Prada platform, quarter strap stilettos lent an additional edge to her rebellious attitude, while adding over five inches to her height.

  Sam hoped she looked fuckable. Not being on par with the beauty that was sure to surround her tonight would be a killer blow to her pride. As much as she disliked being the center of attention, she equally detested being a wallflower. She supposed that made her a mess of contradictions. Her therapist had had difficulties figuring her out as well.

  She curled the pink streak in her hair around a finger. Time to see how her guys reacted to her attire.

  Making her way out of her bedroom and down the hall, she heard Heath and Jase chatting in the game room, the sound of revving engines loud. As she entered, she put an extra sway in her step.

  Silence detonated like a bomb. Even the game’s noise was muzzled.

  Heath gaped but remained mute. Slouched on the sofa, his long, leather-clad legs were stretched out in front of him. The gray button-up,
fitted shirt brought out the amazing shade of his silver eyes. His black hair was fashionably shaggy, with long strands swishing over his eyes. Diamonds glinted through the lengthy locks from his ears. On his right wrist his diamond encrusted gold Rolex gleamed.

  Heath was lethal to her libido, turning her horny every time she got near him. He was her definition of forbidden fruit.

  Jase pointed the controller at her. “No.”

  “No, what?” No way she pulled off the innocent act she pantomimed.

  “You know what.” Her brother rubbed his eyes. “You’ll be the death of me. In a new way this time. Every man there is gonna want you.”

  Sam snorted and sashayed further into the room, noting Heath’s focus on her hips. They moved to her nipples and his mouth parted. Good. She had both of their attention. “Last time I checked I’m a bit chubby for Hollywood’s anorexic standards.”

  Heath chuckled. “If this is you doing chubby, I’d hate to see your rendition of sexy-as-fuck.”

  Sam smiled. His approval warmed her more than it should.

  Jase smacked him in the chest. “That’s my sister!”

  Without apology, Heath shrugged. “I didn’t dress her. Blame God for her curves.”

  “Fang, I should punch you in the mouth.”

  “Seriously, Jase, you’re acting ridiculous.” She peered at Heath—play it cool, Sam!—and hoped her thrill at his compliment didn’t show. “You ready?”

  Her brother clenched the long strands of his brown hair and stared at the ceiling. “Why couldn’t I have had a brother instead of a pain in the ass sister?”

  “I gotta agree with Sam on this one.” Her date for the evening gave his controller to her drama-king sibling and pushed to his feet. “You’ve seen her dressed way worse.”

  He has?

  “When?” Jase challenged.

  “Two words…String. Bikini.”

  “Good point.”

  Sam rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to point out they loved string bikinis on women that interested them.

  God save me from hypocritical men.

  When Heath neared, he said in a stage whisper, “Don’t tell Jase, but I like your string bikinis.”