by Cassie James
The man shakes his head as he turns his back to me, attention turning to the yoga equipment on the opposite wall. The room is small enough that it still means he’s only a few feet away from me.
“Fucking kids,” he mutters under his breath.
I bristle. “I hope you’re not referring to me. In case you didn’t notice, there’s nothing kid about me.” Even though he’s not looking, I drop my shoulders to emphasize my chest.
“Of course I’m referring to you.” The tone of his voice is dull, almost bored. “Breaking and entering is child’s play. Adults ask for what they want.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that.”
He glances over his shoulder at me. “It means that if you wanted to see your file, all you have to do is make a request with your therapist.”
“Uh, right.” Because the only reason someone at Banner-Hill would break into the records room would be to snoop into their own files. That’s a much better story than what I’m actually doing here.
After a second, he turns, tucking a pale blue yoga mat under one arm. There’s a small spark of recognition in his eyes when he looks at me this time. Not unusual considering the network likes to plaster my face on every square inch of media space it can get its hands on.
“Nick Barnes. Yoga instructor.” He offers me his hand, and I take it, sliding my fingers against his and trying not to think about how good the rough texture of his hands feels.
“Natalie Adams. But feel free to call me whatever you’d like in bed.”
He tenses but doesn’t pull away immediately. We shake hands for a moment longer than what’s considered polite before he clears his throat and drops my hand.
“Employees don’t sleep with guests.”
“Well, what’s the fun in that?”
I hold his gaze. The blank look on his face throws me a bit; staff or not, it’s not often any man interested in women isn’t interested in me. The combination of tits and fame is hard to resist.
Not for Nick, apparently. He rolls his eyes toward the ceiling, mouth pulling into a grimace.
“I’m not interested, kid. I’m twice your age and not into addicts.” His eyes sweep over me dispassionately, almost as if he’s trying to size up what I might be on. Asshole. I regret thinking of him as an Adonis now, he’s more like an unfairly good looking troll.
I shouldn’t react but…
“Don’t flatter yourself. If you’ve ever seen my show, then you already know I’ll fuck anyone. It doesn’t make you special, and it doesn’t actually mean I’m interested.” One of the hallmarks of my character on Adams Ever After is that I have a revolving door of men at all times. I’m obviously not fucking them on camera, but the speculation is always there.
“Show?” He eyes me even more skeptically somehow. “I’m not interested in actresses, either.”
He definitely looked at me like he recognized me when he came in, but now there’s nothing to suggest he has any idea about my reality television infamy. If that’s not sketchy as fuck, then I don’t know what is.
I make a mental note to make friends here, fast. I don’t need besties, but I do need someone who can give me the rundown on Nick Barnes. It’s a good reminder that the staff here are the last people I should trust. Murphy didn’t send me in here for no reason—he doesn’t do anything without a purpose—which means anyone here could have a connection to my father. Even the hot troll standing in front of me.
“Sorry to have bothered you,” I tell him in a voice so warm it could melt butter as I move slowly for the door.
There’s a part of me scared he’s about to block me, so I don’t let my shoulders relax until he steps out of the way to offer me a clear path out of here.
I chance a single glance back, turning my head to the side as I step into the hall so it isn’t overly obvious. I’m surprised to see Nick watching me, as much suspicion on his face as I’m sure there is on mine.
He slams the door shut between us a moment later—something I’m getting real damn tired of men doing to me.
I sulk all the way back upstairs, knowing now that I’ll have to be extra careful before sneaking back to the records office. At least now I’ve got a key. I reach into my pocket to touch the cool metal just to be sure it’s still there.
I turn into the hall where my room is, but I duck back around the corner when I see a woman at Killian’s door. It’s not like I’m surprised about women fawning all over the sexy singer-songwriter, but that doesn’t mean I want to get a front row seat, either. I close my eyes and lean against the wall out of sight. I’m close enough to hear the moment Killian’s door opens.
“Hey.”
Even from several doors down, I can hear him clearly. His raspy voice is unmistakeable.
“You know, most people come to rehab to actually stop using.” My eyes fly open at the woman’s words, spoken softer than Killian’s but still loud enough that I know I didn’t mishear her.
“If that were true, wouldn’t you be out of a job?”
A light, tinkering laugh. “I’m industrious. I have multiple revenue streams.” There’s a pause before she adds, “Now, now. Don’t start asking questions, Killian. The only thing you need to be worried about is finishing that album.”
Killian groans. “Not you, too.”
“What can I say? I like the music. Sometimes I listen to ‘Faster’ on repeat when I drop acid and it’s just—”
“Cool,” he cuts her off. “So what’d you bring me?”
Dammit, Killian.
I lean over to peek around the wall just in time to see the woman passing Killian a baggy. I can’t tell what it is from here, but based on their conversation, there’s no doubt in my mind she’s dealing to him. Out of everyone that I went to rehab with as a teenager, Killian might have been the only one I ever actually worried about. The only one that never seemed to know when to stop.
I catalogue the woman as he hands her cash. She’s pretty, with brown skin and big, black waves of hair. She’s dressed like she just stepped off a runway too, a full face of makeup and everything.
She turns in my direction, and I curse under my breath as I jerk my head back, forcing my body to relax because I’ve already had a staff run-in, I don’t want to add problems with the friendly neighborhood rehab dealer to the mix.
I make myself step around the corner before she reaches me, hoping that’s less suspicious than her stumbling upon me.
The second her big, brown eyes land on me, her steps falter. I lift my chin slightly in acknowledgement but keep moving past her. Not that it does me any good.
“Natalie Adams?”
I swallow my discomfort. “Yeah, hi.”
Her eyes go even wider as I turn to face her, her surprise making her face look downright owlish. She glances behind her like she’s worried I’m not alone. She only relaxes when she seems to realize no one is trailing me.
“I thought Sadie was full of shit when she said you were here. Sadie Harrington. You remember her?”
“Of course.”
I remember the blonde haired, blue eyed beauty well. The details escape me, but I know years ago her family was in the middle of a big scandal in her hometown. I sympathized with her, knowing how a family scandal can haunt you even if you’re not at fault.
“She’s back here, too. Wild, isn’t it? All of you back at the same time—that’s a weird coincidence.” She shakes her head. “Sorry, I should introduce myself. I’m Siobhan.” She offers me her hand before offering her last name. “Romas.”
I almost regret taking her hand the second I hear the surname.
“Like the—”
“Serial killer? Yes, Arlo Romas is my father.” Her face is nonchalant, but I’m used to holding my cards close to my chest. I recognize something in Siobhan that I have, too—a darkness that has to accept our father’s sins in order to survive.
She loosens her grip on my hand—I’m sure this is the part where most people probably pull back and express their
disgust—so I tighten my own grip. The elegant arches of her eyebrows rise.
“Eating disorder,” she says even though I didn’t ask. “You?”
This is one of the parts I always hated about rehab. People want to know you by your label so they can size you up. I’ve never had an easy answer.
“Cocaine,” I tell her since those are the pictures floating around. The way she tilts her head slightly is a dead giveaway that she doesn’t believe me. She doesn’t call me on it though.
I guess that’s what makes me brave enough to say, “What’s someone with an eating disorder doing dealing drugs in rehab?”
She surprisingly doesn’t seem to take offense to the biting words.
“Some people say I have control issues.” She laughs, the sound both sarcastic and melodic at the same time somehow. “You know what fixes that?”
“What?” Damn this woman for intriguing me.
“Always being in control.” Her lips curve into a taunting smile, and I think I might actually want to be here.
Here I am working really hard to get control of my own life while she’s got complete agency over hers. Dealing has its own issues, but I certainly can’t knock a woman for unapologetically doing whatever the hell she wants. I envy it too much to judge it.
“It was nice to meet you, Siobhan.”
I let her go and start down the hall again, though my own room is no longer my destination. There’s something else that needs to be dealt with. Immediately.
“Hey,” Siobhan calls out to me. I glance back at her, respect written in the upward tilt of her lips. “I’ve got your back if you need anything.”
I smile even though there’s no weight to the words for me. I rarely trust anyone, I don’t think I should start with the dealer helping Killian get high in rehab. Still, it’s a nice gesture from a serial killer’s daughter. Now I’m just wondering… what the fuck have I gotten myself into?
His first mistake is thinking that he doesn’t have to lock his door. I sneak in with the precision of someone who spent years tip-toeing around her own house. This morning’s initial plan might not have gone over as I hoped, but sneaking into Logan’s room is child’s play in comparison.
I make it to the bed, eyes fully adjusted to the dim lighting courtesy of the curtains being drawn. I hesitate only for a moment before adrenaline spurs me on.
Self-preservation goes out the window as I swing myself onto the bed and over Logan’s center, straddling him.
He barely gets a chance to blink his eyes open before I slap him across the face. Years of practice usually keeps my emotions in check, but not this time. Not about this.
Logan lets out a growl that echoes around the room before his hand shoots out to grab my wrist just before I hit him again. He squeezes so tight that my hand goes to pins-and-needles as he cuts off circulation.
“Hit me again and I’m going to bend you over this bed and fuck your ass raw.” Even with his voice still gravelly from sleep, the threat makes my jaw tighten.
“And here I thought after a few days to cool off maybe you wouldn’t have to threaten sexual violence against a girl to get her into bed.”
He uses my wrist to jerk me forward. “I didn’t have to do anything. You crawled in my bed all on your own. So play nice, little slut, and if you ask nicely I might give you what you came for.”
“If I didn’t like fucking you enough to stick around the first time, what makes you think I’d come back for seconds?” The words feel like sand in my mouth but I push them out anyway, needing that boundary between us again.
Logan lets out one of those dark laughs that I know too well, the sound making his chest rumble against mine and reminding me just how close the two of us are right now. My chest is flush against him, his hand still gripping my wrist with punishing force. I can also feel his morning wood between my thighs, reaching toward my ass as if to make good on Logan’s threat.
I shudder.
“Why are you sneaking into my room at the crack of dawn?”
“I—”
I should have known he wasn’t looking for an actual answer. He releases my wrist so he can put both hands on my ass. He shifts me directly over his cock, using his strength as an unfair advantage to manipulate my body so that my hips roll over him.
I grit my teeth and force out, “Well I sure as fuck didn’t come here to dry-hump you.”
“You came in here, woke me up, and climbed on top of me. If you’re not here to fuck then you need to run on back to your own room, little girl.”
Little girl. Those words remind me of Nick calling me a child, and I can feel my anger rising to make my cheeks flush. Whatever calm I’d been trying to hold onto breaks as I slam my fists into Logan’s chest.
“I am not a fucking child.” I keep hitting, ignoring the amusement on his face as the impact does next to nothing. It feels good to hit him. Like it’s been a long time coming.
“Natalie. For the last time, why the hell are you in my room?”
I brace my hands against his chest to push myself up so I’m sitting upright again, scooting forward so that I’m awkwardly sitting over his abs instead of his cock. I can’t freaking concentrate with that monster of his poking at me.
“Killian.”
“What about him?”
“You were supposed to protect him!” I hit him again with my fist, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t have to give a damn about me, but you have to give a damn about him, Logan. He shouldn’t be back here. Keeping him out was your job.”
Logan tucks his hands behind his head, his brown eyes studying my face. “I’m not a babysitter, Nat. I can’t be with him all the time, especially not when he’s on tour. Imagine what the vultures would say about that.”
“I don’t really give a damn what they say. Is your masculinity really so fragile you can’t handle a couple rumors of being gay? It’s not like it would be the first time.” I sneer down at him, but it doesn’t faze him.
“Just to be clear here—I’m getting no credit whatsoever for having his ass in rehab? I mean, half those stories about what he’s been doing aren’t even true. You know how magazines and websites stretch the truth. One hit of a joint becomes a crack addiction and brothel visit like that.” He snaps his fingers for emphasis.
“I’m not talking about celebrity news. I’m talking about seeing—with my own two eyes—Killian buying drugs. In rehab. Right here, right under your nose.”
His nose flares slightly but his eyes don’t narrow. He already knew.
“Fuck.” I slap him across the cheek again, screw his warnings. “You knew. What the fuck good is it for you to even be here playing babysitter if you’re not actually protecting him from anything?”
“Maybe I’m here for myself.”
I bark out a laugh. I spent my alone time during detox running through every possible scenario, and it came down to only one that makes sense. Logan is just here for Killian. The fact that he’s trying to play games instead of denying it from the onset is proof enough that I’m right.
“I’m not playing with you, Logan. I know you like all the mind games and shit, but this is one thing that isn’t a game to me and shouldn’t be for you, either. You are worthless if you don’t protect Killian, do you understand me?”
An arm darts out so he can wrap a hand around the back of my neck. He squeezes, making my shoulders bunch near my ears. I jerk my elbow up to push his arm away.
“If you don’t want to play games, keep your nose out of other people’s business. If you wanted Killian to be your concern then you could have stuck around to be the babysitter.” I open my mouth to protest, but he pinches the side of my thigh. “You don’t get to judge people on a job you weren’t willing to do yourself.”
He puts one of his big hands on my hip, fingers splaying out to touch a hint of skin under my shirt. I think he’s trying to make a move until he shoves me off of him. I barely catch myself before I go tumbling off the bed.
“Get out of my ro
om, Natalie.”
Or what? The words die on my lips as he pulls the cover back to show me he’s naked underneath. The last time I saw Logan’s dick I was seventeen and my boyfriend was watching us, letting us put on a show for him. Dash liked it—seeing me with his friends. He watched the entire time, groaning louder than I did when Logan thrust into me so hard it made tears gather in my eyes.
Logan is a big guy. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that his dick would be big, too, but even now the thickness of it makes my heart race.
It’s unnatural, that beast attached to him.
“I’m going,” I grumble, shooting off the bed as he lays there languidly watching me go. I pause at the door. “This conversation isn’t over.”
He stands up, still completely naked, and makes his way over to me. He puts a hand on the edge of the door I’ve barely cracked open. I try not to panic about being boxed in considering this time I’m pretty sure I could make it out of the door if necessary.
“Natalie.” Logan leans in, his mouth only a hair’s width away from mine. “This conversation ended four years ago. So get the fuck out of my room, and get the fuck out of Banner-Hill. There’s nothing left for you here.”
I would have agreed with him up until the moment Murphy told me this place held answers for me. Apparently there’s still one thing left for me here—and it looks like I desperately need to figure out what that is sooner rather than later.
I jerk the door hard, forcing Logan to move enough for me to slip out. He steps out into the hallway to watch me go, completely shameless standing naked in the hall of this place.
When I make it to my own room, I chance a glance back. Logan’s gone, his bedroom door shut again. It’s for the best, I know that as well as anyone. But I can’t help the pang in my chest as I crawl back into my own bed, slipping into a nightmare of Dash’s blood painting all the walls red.
4
Fuck this place.
There’s something heavy in the air after my confrontation with Logan. A dark cloud warning me that nothing good can come of me staying. After thirty-six more hours hiding out in my room, I drag my suitcase out of the closet and start meticulously folding my clothes away. I’m not sure why I thought this was a good idea, especially since I don’t even know what it is I’m here looking for.
