Sweet Temptation: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 3)

by Jaine Diamond

  I turned on him. “Was there something in that apartment?”

  Yeah. That struck gold.

  “Something that’s not there anymore?” I ventured.

  His shifty little eyes darted away. “I already told everything I know to the other bikers who came by.”

  Other bikers.

  Meaning he thought I was a biker. And he’d talked to the other bikers?

  “You mean the bikers who broke in?” He didn’t answer that, and I took a step closer, getting in his face. “You saw the guys who broke in?”

  “I…” He choked and shut right up.

  I took out my phone and pulled up an image of the West Coast Kings’ insignia, turning it to him: the notorious, skeletal king of spades. “Were they wearing this?”

  His already pale face blanched. “I already told the guy,” he said quickly. “I said I’d call him if Sanchuk came back.”

  “What guy?”

  “He gave me a number to call.”

  I stared at him. Was this guy a fucking moron, or was he that scared of the Kings?

  Both, maybe.

  “How about you give it to me,” I said slowly, so he could follow, “and I don’t call into the Vancouver Police Department to report the half-dozen obvious violations you’ve got going on in this dump. Beginning with the fact that you scrubbed down that apartment after the Kings broke in because you didn’t want the police, if they came by, to know you’d been in there yourself, poking around.”

  It was a shot, but it seemed to land. He turned an even more sickly shade of pale.

  “Let me guess,” I went on. “They missed something of interest to you, and you took it?”

  He shook his head but said nothing.

  “Or maybe you got to it first?”

  He started to breathe too loudly.

  “You don’t have to tell me. I know. It was meth, right? Or was it money?”

  He swallowed, but maybe he wasn’t as slow as I thought. Because he muttered, “Come,” and headed back into the building.

  I followed him back to his apartment. I held the door open with my boot while he went inside, and he returned seconds later with a business card and a wad of tinfoil. He held both out to me.

  I eyed the tinfoil.

  “I swear, I didn’t know it was yours,” he said.

  I just stared at him.

  I took the business card. It was blank and cheap, with a hand-written phone number scrawled on it. “This is it? No name?”

  “He said his name was Brando.”

  “Brando?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  I considered that. “What did he look like? Blond hair?”

  “It was dark,” he said, trying to back into his apartment, but I was still holding the door. “That’s all I know.” He was still holding out the wad of tinfoil to me.

  I stared him down for a minute, reading his fear. I could smell it beneath the stench of sweat and musty carpets. I really didn’t want to spend one second longer than I needed to in this place, talking to this waste of air.

  “That,” I informed him, nodding at the shit in his hand, “is not mine.”

  I turned and headed up the hall.

  “So, you’re not gonna call the cops, right?” he called after me.

  “If you don’t get rid of that stash,” I told him, “the cops are gonna be the least of your problems.”

  I pushed through the exit door and stalked back up the street to where my bike was parked. I glanced at the card in my hand.

  Brando.

  What was it with Piper Grayson and biker movies? He had some serious delusions of grandeur or something.

  Although… he was pretty much living the dream, I’d give him that.

  His dream, anyway.

  As I reached my bike, I pulled out my phone and called the number on the card.

  “Talk,” a gruff voice answered.

  “Brando?” I said. “As in Marlon Brando? The Wild One? Really?”

  “Sterling.” Piper chuckled a little. “How the fuck did you get this number?”

  “Our mutual friend, the caretaker of scumville.”

  “You tossed Sanchuk’s place? Hate to see you wasting your time like that. My boys were pretty thorough.”

  “I saw that. They put the fear of God into slumlord.”

  “They do make me proud.”

  “You scared Sanchuk off, too,” I said, because I was gonna assume that was the case. “I’m getting concerned that you and your boys may have done your job just a little too well on this one.”

  “We do set the bar real high.”

  “Yeah. Well, you lost him. You better fucking find him.”

  I could practically hear the cold-as-death look that came over his face when I spoke to him like that.

  “It’s not my job to babysit that piece of shit,” he informed me. “And I’m not sure who you think you’re talkin’ to, but you’d better check your attitude at the fuckin’ door.”

  “I never knew you were so sensitive, Jeremy.” I swung a leg over my bike. “I’ll be gentle next time I tell you you’ve fucked up.”

  There was a silent pause, and I almost regretted the attitude I was giving him.

  Almost.

  “You know, we really should catch up like this more often,” he said. “Why don’t you come on by for dinner sometime? I really don’t cook much, but we can drink. You can bring your wife. What’s-her-name?”

  Right. This again.

  “We can play some Twister or somethin’. Maybe you can bring Summer, too. Wouldn’t that be cozy?”

  Okay. What the fuck did that mean?

  “When you send the transcript of this conversation to Jude,” I told him, “make sure you say hi for me, huh?” Then I hung up on him.

  Motherfucking bikers.

  They’d been talking about me, for fucking sure. Comparing notes.

  Playing me like I was some idiot prospect in their club, doing their bidding for them. Giving me fucking orders.

  Sure, Jude was my client.

  Piper was nothing but a pain in my ass. And he and his boys were fucking up this whole situation.

  And now Jude had told him I was involved with Summer or something?

  Since when was that information on the table?

  It had to be Jude. How would Piper know that I had feelings for Summer, other than Jude’s fucking opinion on the matter? If it was that obvious to Naveen… maybe it was obvious to Jude, too…

  Unless, of course, Piper was having me watched. Or having Summer watched?

  In case Sanchuk showed up?

  Did the Kings want him that bad?

  Yeah. They wanted him. I was pretty sure Piper wouldn’t be putting up with my attitude otherwise.

  Fuck.

  I started up my bike and headed for Summer’s, watching my back. Wondering if I was being followed. I was halfway there when I remembered I had my fucking gun on me and changed course.

  I headed back to my place, locked it in the storage box and left it there. Then I burned it back to Summer’s.

  As I was pulling into her driveway, I got a call from Jude.

  I fucking sighed.

  “What took you so long?” I answered, with all the sarcasm I could muster. I had very little sense of humor where all this biker shit was concerned, and I had a feeling Jude didn’t either.

  Piper was the only one cracking jokes here.

  “Let’s see,” he said. “I was considerin’ how to word this.”

  “Speak your mind,” I said, as I got off my bike.

  “Alright. Hear you been callin’ up Piper and givin’ him orders. I’m lettin’ you know, since apparently you never got the public service announcement on this or saw the after-school special, that that is a very bad idea. No-go. You don’t tell a biker what to do, and you don’t give the VP of the West Coast Kings orders.” I looked up at the sky as he reamed me out. “He’s got some friendly feelings for you, Ronan, since the two of you go bac
k. But that won’t last long, you keep servin’ him shit.”

  “Noted.”

  “So this is how it works. Piper does his job, and trust me, he’s damn good at it. You do yours. You watch Summer’s back, and when the Kings have info for you, you’ll know.”

  “Is he having me followed?”

  “What?”

  “Does Piper have a guy on me? Is he watching me? Or Summer?”

  “Watching Summer is your job,” Jude said, and he didn’t sound amused.

  “Just wondering. It occurred to me that maybe he doesn’t trust me and he’s having me watched.”

  “Listen to me. You’re getting fuckin’ paranoid or something. Piper isn’t havin’ you followed. Just do your job and keep your nose out of his.”

  “Right.”

  I ate it, and didn’t bother arguing. Even though it pissed me off.

  I’d had enough time to reconsider my attitude, and what good it would do me, on the ride here. It wouldn’t do anyone any good, and most importantly, it wouldn’t help Summer.

  Jude hung up on me, so I figured he was mildly pissed, too.

  Maybe I was getting paranoid.

  But then again, I’d never had to protect anyone I cared about as much as I cared about her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ronan

  When I walked into Summer’s house, I found Andre in the sunroom, alone. Summer’s parents where nowhere to be seen. Their car was no longer in the driveway.

  “Where is she?” I asked him.

  “Hello to you too, boss,” Andre said. “She’s down in her studio.”

  I let him go, then headed straight down there. It was a single room in the back corner of the basement. The door was ajar and I pushed it open.

  Summer was sitting with her back to me, her headphones on.

  I slipped inside, trying not to startle her.

  I’d been inside her studio the first night I was here, but I’d never been in here while she was working. Posters and flyers from events wallpapered the walls. Performer passes from shows she’d played hung on a coat rack, and there were a lot of them. A shelving unit was stuffed with vinyl albums. One wall had several keyboards set up on an ascending rack. There were a few microphones, the kind I’d seen in recording booths in movies. And the rest was a mess of computers, both old and new, speakers and wires.

  Everything seemed to have a purpose and a place, but I couldn’t have guessed what half of it did. I’d never asked her to explain it all to me, either.

  I’d wanted to respect this as her work space, and not bother her when she was in the zone.

  I hadn’t even managed to fuck her in here yet like I wanted to. Was gonna have to remedy that, soon.

  But right now, I just needed to see her. Kiss her.

  Know she was okay.

  “I hear you creeping up on me.” She slipped off her headphones as she turned to me.

  “How’d you know it was me?”

  “You have a scent. Motorcycle exhaust and wind on leather. And sex, of course.”

  I slipped my hands onto her shoulders, under her hair, and kissed her on the forehead. “Where are your parents?”

  “They went home.”

  “They didn’t want to stay for dinner or something?” That surprised me, given how they’d reacted to the whole situation. They seemed like a close family, and they were definitely invested in their daughter’s safety.

  “We had lunch,” she said, as I leaned back against the desk where she was sitting in front of a laptop. “But they had some shopping to do before catching the ferry home, and they wanted to beat rush hour. They’re creatures of habit. Plus, you impressed my dad enough that he chilled out a bit after you left. I managed to deflect them on the whole attempted break-in thing by telling them about the wardrobe case that got stolen the night before.” She rolled her eyes.

  I raised an eyebrow. “You told your dad about the ring?”

  I knew there was a special ring, a diamond ring that Summer’s dad had given her, that was in the case that was stolen; she’d told me about it, plus I’d seen it on the itemized list for the insurance company.

  I was surprised she’d admit to him that it was stolen.

  “Yup. That was hard, but I couldn’t not tell him.”

  “How did he take it?”

  “Okay. He was upset at first. But I managed to soothe him by reminding him how safe I am now… thanks to you.” She gave me a warm look that made me feel way too pleased with myself. “I think he really likes you, Ronan.”

  “Good. Because I have a feeling you’d be getting rid of me pretty damn fast if he didn’t.”

  “And what makes you think that?”

  “You’re thirty years old, and I heard him call you both princess and honey-bunch. You tell me.”

  “Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m a daddy’s girl. And I’m not sorry. It’s an awesome thing to be.”

  “It is awesome. Maybe if all parents cherished their kids like he cherishes you, the world wouldn’t be so fucked-up.”

  “Hmm. Good point.”

  “So,” I asked, trying to be casual about it, “how long are you gonna be working here?”

  She smiled at me. “A while. Can I play you something?”

  “Uh… sure.” I was flattered she would even want to play me whatever she was working on. “Musically challenged” as I was.

  “You can sit here,” she said, moving some things off a chair for me, right next to hers.

  I sat down. Both were swivel chairs, and she spun hers to face me.

  “You need these bad boys.” She slipped a set of headphones over my head, adjusting them gently to fit my ears. Then she took my hand and laid the headphone cord across my palm, pressing my thumb to the slider on the little control piece. “Volume,” she said. “I’d recommend it as loud as you can handle it. Find the sweet spot.”

  “Okay.”

  “Ready?” she asked me, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

  “Yeah, babe.”

  Music started playing, and I slid the volume slider up. It was electronic music with what sounded like real instruments mixed in, but I really couldn’t tell for sure. I couldn’t even pick out what instruments I was hearing. Sounded like keyboards, maybe, but the sound had all been… twisted.

  Then a heavy beat kicked in, and everything started pumping, rising in intensity.

  A man’s voice started singing. Maybe chanting would’ve been the best way to describe it.

  Lift with me… lift with me… lift with me…

  Gotta give it to me.

  Over and over. The lyrics were simple, but clearly the song wasn’t about the words themselves, it was about the feeling in the words. The vibe.

  Then the beat really dropped. It was heavier now… with a twisty groove. I didn’t even know how to describe it… I’d never been a musician or particularly understood music.

  Like I’d told Summer, I knew what I liked when I heard it.

  But there was so much energy and urgency in the man’s voice, like a tribal chant that was dripping with sweat, I could practically picture a guy onstage with a microphone jumping up and down and a whole stadium of people jumping up and down with him.

  Give it to me

  Give it to me

  Summer was just sitting back in her chair, watching me.

  I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Start dancing? I wasn’t much of a dancer, and I really didn’t want Summer to have to see that.

  So I closed my eyes.

  And the pumping beat of the music, the other sounds that just kept winding and pushing everything higher and higher… it felt like it was lifting me right out of my seat.

  Then Summer’s hand wrapped gently around mine and she moved the slider, and the music faded out.

  I opened my eyes.

  She smiled at me.

  I slipped off the headphones. “Who’s voice was that?”

  “That,” she said, taking the headphones from me and
setting them aside, “was the vocal stylings of Ashley Player.”

  “He’s a great vocalist.”

  “Oh, I know. You think I’d let just any slob front my band?”

  I chuckled. “No. I can’t imagine that.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “I liked it. But I can’t say I’m your target audience.”

  She waved that off. “It’s not a finished song yet. I’m working it into my show when it’s done. I’ve been playing around with some vocals he’s laid down for me. I’m just having fun, composing, and maybe getting the world acclimated to the idea of the two of us working together forevermore. The girls go gaga at my shows when they hear his voice.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s gonna be off the hook when we hit the road with the Players and he walks out onstage.”

  “You’re excited about it.”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “Will you miss being a DJ and playing solo shows?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe? In a way. But everything in me tells me I’m headed in the right direction with my music and my career. It’s visceral, the drive to do this. I can feel it, humming in my bone marrow.”

  “Huh,” I said.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted anything down to my bone marrow.” I was looking at her when I said that. She held my gaze, and slowly smiled at me.

  My heart was beating harder, and it wasn’t the music. My whole body was pumping with warmth.

  Her.

  I wanted her like that.

  “So,” I said. “Is this a good time to admit that I don’t totally understand what you do?”

  She laughed. “You always get points for honesty, Ronan.”

  “I mean, I thought DJs mostly remixed other people’s songs, and scratched records and stuff.”

  “Oh, I do that. At my live shows. I have my own style of remixing, and I like picking songs that people might not expect and giving them the DJ Summer treatment. Live shows are a great place to experiment, try new things. Certain venues are excellent for it. It depends on the crowd and their expectations. And I love pillaging my vinyl collection and finding little gems, sampling music from old, old records, especially the really obscure stuff. But there’s a difference between what I do at a live show where people are expecting hot remixes, and the music I compose myself. I usually work both into my shows, especially when I’m headlining.” She smiled, almost shyly. “I really consider myself a creator. A composer and a producer. Even though I haven’t produced anyone but myself yet. I prefer building a song from the ground up.”