Ethan (Sand & Fog Series Book 4)

by Susan Ward

  No ring.

  Straight to voice mail.

  I check her blog and Facebook page. Her last post is us in front of the sign at the club. That was ten hours ago, and Avery usually posts at least every four, even when she’s working to meet a deadline.

  My pulse ticks up and I tell myself the thoughts I’m having are crazy. That it doesn’t mean anything that I can’t reach her and she was a no-show tonight.

  Since I dropped her at her sister’s house, I call Emmy next. I listen to the rings. At least her phone’s on. My leg bounces as I wait, anxious for her to answer.

  “Hello, this is Emmy.”

  Emmy’s tone is businesslike even at midnight.

  “You sound wide awake. I was about to say sorry for calling so late.”

  Soft giggles bubble through the speaker. “Ethan, you sound half dead, but really sexy. Your voice is gravelly. You just get off stage?”

  I slouch back against the sofa cushions. “Yeah. Tour done. Fini.”

  I hear voices in the background, and for a split-second I wonder if their dads tracked Avery down and showed up at her sister’s. It would make sense why I can’t reach her.

  “You sound busy,” I remark. “Like you’ve got people over.”

  “Ah, just a few friends. No one important. I’m never too busy to take a call from the only famous rock star I know.”

  “Hey, put Avery on. I need to speak to her.”

  “What is this? Are you two messing with me? What’s the joke? I don’t get it.”

  “No joke. Let me speak to Avery.”

  A pregnant pause through the phone. “Oh crud. Did you guys have a fight already? She looked so happy when you picked her up here. What’d you do to piss my sister off?”

  I picked her up? Reality hits me like a semitruck. Fucking Eric. Goddamn it, why did he pick up Avery from her sister’s tonight? And why can’t I reach her?

  “Ethan? Are you OK?”

  “Yeah, I’m great.”

  “Well, you don’t sound great.” And there’s a pout in her voice.

  “Just tell your sister I called, OK?”

  “Sure.”

  “Talk to you later, Emmy.”

  After clicking off the phone, I toss it aside. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach and I don’t even have the details of why she’s with him. But fuck, I don’t need to. I know Eric. And that’s enough to make my mind spin in endless ugly possible explanations. What more do I need to know? Avery blew me off tonight and is now with him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I always experience a sharp dip of mood about an hour after leaving stage. It’s why I prefer to cut out on the band and do my own thing on performance nights. But as I leave my dressing room it’s a crushing shift into something so powerfully unpleasant that I can’t describe it.

  The thoughts in my head are racing, sending random blasts of jagged emotion through my veins. Anger at Eric. Worry over Eric. Hatred of Eric…and, fuck, there it is, even guilt over Eric.

  Same shit, new day, unending.

  Well, fuck that.

  I drop-kick out of the hemisphere my usual mental gymnastics of would’ve, should’ve, could’ve, the list of what I might’ve changed to prevent Eric reaching whatever low point this is because there’s too much other junk, Ethan junk, in my head.

  Suspicions I don’t want refuse to be silenced, and none of the rational arguments I attempt not to believe—that I’ve been somehow screwed over by my brother and another girl I care for—make a bit of difference in how I’m feeling. Not even the very cogent point that Avery isn’t officially my girl so I shouldn’t get so worked up about this has any power to alter how hurt and disgusted I am. Not with having the mocking voice of Hugh in my head letting me know that Avery coming on to me this afternoon was just another Eric bullshit manipulation to achieve one of his self-serving ends.

  Eric with my girl always equals screwed-over Ethan.

  That I’m not sure how Avery fits into the weird events of Eric’s epic crisis du jour doesn’t make me wrong to believe that she’s part of some strategy. In fact, not being able to figure it out strengthens my certainty that I’m right. That’s something else I’ve come to expect from Eric: moves so illogical I can’t see them in advance and won’t ever understand them until he tries to rationalize why the fuck he did them.

  By the time I make it down the long, narrow corridor to the exit I’m feeling fed up and ready to get fucked up. A booze hangover is a must with the Eric hangover boot-kicking my temples and elsewhere.

  Fucking someone hard tonight is a second must, and I certainly can’t think of a reason not to dive headfirst into the vat of tits and pussy shoved at me while on tour. Life’s too short to give a damn about my brother or a girl who’s only could’ve been, and there are plenty of girls always willing, so why not?

  There’s a horde of groupies who travel with the tour, all hoping to get laid by a rock star tonight. I’ve had more than my usual dose of stray hands skimming my body, teasing my cock, and tits in my face because I’m Eric tonight.

  Anger’s a funny thing. It doesn’t squelch a guy’s libido, it fuels it like an accelerant. And the only way to ever douse it is by getting lost in some great pussy until what’s ripping at you no longer matters.

  That thought barely finishes when I lock eyes on Eric’s “travel accessories” lounging against the rail of the outer steps, smoking and ready to take off with him.

  Skirts up to their asses, legs that go forever like Victoria’s Secret models, tits barely covered, and with sights set on me: The Wall Banger Duo. My brother’s nickname for them since that’s pretty much what you can do with them anywhere, anytime, any position. Bang them against the wall as needed.

  They’re his blond double fuck he won in a card game from our opening act, Crank. I’m the only member of the band—probably half the crew as well—who hasn’t fucked them. And while shit like this, gambling for ownership of girls and giving them repulsive names before handling them like meat, isn’t something I’m ever on board with, my dick isn’t reserved for anyone, and unlike Avery, the Wall Bangers showed up for Eric this gig.

  Trouble is a triple cocktail—bad attitude and horny man roughly stirred with being screwed over by the people you care about.

  As soon as Gabby sees me, she sashays over with a fuck me to the moon gleam in her eyes, leans in with her tits as her hand moves to my cock, and whispers, “Just seeing you in the hall made my cunt pulse. I’m slick in my panties and ready to fly. How about you?”

  The dirty talk doesn’t do much for me, but the other girl, Margo, roaming the outline of my cock with her mouth, pushing heat through my pants in less than a second, gets me sporting a semi.

  “Let’s get out of here, dolls. There’s a party and you’re the buffet.” A sleazy Eric line I’d never say, but when in Rome and all, more than ready to get laid, it seems the right play.

  “Fucking then eating, my favorite meal.” She smirks, slipping her hand behind my neck and pulling my face to hers. She slides her warm tongue deep into my mouth, and I’m hating her flavor of cigarettes and gin, even with how she teases with that tongue of hers, before I realize there’s something in her mouth that she’s shoved down my throat.

  I jerk back and try to work it up and out.

  Too fucking late.

  Gone.

  “What the fuck did you slip me?”

  “What you asked me to bring tonight, baby,” Gabby purrs then pouts. “It’s good stuff. Don’t worry. I got it from the guy you told me to call. I do everything you ask exactly how you ask, remember?”

  Margo’s glassy eyes hold excitement. “Relax. It doesn’t take long to kick in. Then we’ll all be flying tonight together.”

  Laughing, the girls take my hands, bouncing as they drag me to the open limo door Dillon’s standing beside. They tumble into the back seat and then I climb in. Before the door is even shut, the world starts to shift and shimmer, their moans sound far away, and the
ir groping and kisses I can’t feel somehow shoot heat across my flesh.

  My head falls back against the seat, trapped between their bodies and mouths, and wrapped in their limbs. My last coherent thought is oh fuck, Dillon, have my back and don’t let me be stupid with them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Avery”

  “Eric, you’re scaring me. Why do you keep driving in circles? This is crazy. What are we doing?”

  Eric’s face snaps toward me, his eyes wild with anxiety. “I told you, Avery. I’m being watched. I don’t know by who and I’ve gotta do what I’m told if this is going to work. The guys helping to smuggle me out of the country before an arrest warrant is issued brought me the car and told me to pick you up and drive around where I can be seen until the arrangements are made to get me out of California. These guys are the best. Ex-mercenaries. Professionals. We’re driving because that’s what they told me to do and we’re waiting for them to call with the pickup location.”

  That explanation, which I’ve already heard two dozen times since I climbed into the car at Emmy’s, does nothing to lessen my nervousness, and my brows crinkle from confusion. “None of this makes sense, Eric. Why would they bring you your brother’s car? Wouldn’t driving around make it easier for someone to watch you? Why not just grab you from your place and whisk you away? How did these mysterious mercenaries know about me? And why would they want me to be a part of this?”

  He gazes at me, as if considering how to answer, and my heart skips a beat because I know without him telling me. He’s told these men he’s hired about me and my part of what happened in Houston.

  “Oh, Eric, you didn’t!”

  “I had to tell them everything,” he says finally, his voice hushed. “That you were there. A witness. They demanded the whole story before they agreed to help me, and I gave it.”

  And now I’m mad. Really mad, and hurt. “You won’t let me tell the police what I know out of fear it might put me in danger, but some men you know nothing about you trust with not only your safety, but mine. How could you do that, Eric? Trusting the wrong people is what got you into this mess.”

  “It’s not like that. These men I know. I trust them with my life, Avery. I wouldn’t have told them about you if I didn’t.”

  Men he knows? Hardly a comfort, since the types Eric surrounds himself with aren’t exactly model citizens.

  A stark silence stretches between us and I focus on the rough urban streets of South Central, wondering why, if our only objective is to drive around, we’re doing it here.

  Gangland and drugville.

  Even the cops cruise double man on Florence.

  And jeez, in this car we stand out like a sore thumb.

  Ethan’s Chevelle all but screams jack me.

  “You don’t have to run, Eric. Rochelle won’t call the police. She’s never going to file charges. They’re criminals. Blackmailers. They don’t want the police involved in anything. It’s a threat. Nothing more. I’m sure of it. Why don’t we go back to Emmy’s and think this through a bit?”

  “Nothing to think through, Avery. I can’t go to jail again. Or put my parents through a trial. Christ, it would kill my mom to even hear Rochelle’s lies. I’m not doing that to her. Or to my little girl. I can’t have Hana thinking I’m—”

  He glances at me, tears glistening in his eyes, and his jaw tightens. I slip my hand over his resting on the seat between us. “It won’t come to that. Why won’t you believe me? And even if there was a trial, your parents would rather have you here than gone forever. If you run from the law you can’t come back. That’s forever, Eric. What’s your daughter going to think of that?”

  He does fast shakes of his head, his long blond waves fluttering like startled butterflies. “I’d rather have her think I’m a shitty father than a rapist. Fuck, I am a shitty father. It’s better for her if I’m not here.”

  “No, it isn’t. You’re not a shitty father. You love Hana. That’s all kids need.”

  “According to Tara, all kids need is their monthly check, and now that I don’t have a career or money I’ll never see Hana again.”

  “Tara’s wrong. All Hana needs is a father who loves her.”

  “I can’t stay, Avery. I’ve got no choice but to leave. It’s better for my family if I disappear.”

  He sounds defeated, demoralized, and half out of his mind. Fuck, how wasted is he tonight? Is that what this insanity and despondency are? This illogical panic and car ride to nowhere. Paranoid craziness fueled by addiction.

  Is there even a plan in the works to get him into hiding? Christ, I can’t tell. He doesn’t look high but he doesn’t look rational either, so much so that I’m not sure if this is real. I shouldn’t have gotten in the car with him and should never have tried winging it alone helping him after Houston.

  My mind is snapping. I try to swallow and think, but both seem impossible. God, I wish Ethan were here. He’d know what to do.

  “We can’t just keep driving around all night,” I point out cautiously. “Have you considered these men might have lied to you and run off with your money?”

  Eric’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel. “No. They wouldn’t do that. They’re going to call. I know these guys.”

  Keeping track of him out of the corner of my eyes, I slowly try to retrieve my cell from my pocket. If I could get a text to Ethan maybe he could tell me how to manage this.

  My stomach churns in reminder that the night I hoped for with E is being held hostage by Eric and, worse, Ethan doesn’t know why I stood him up. What must he think of me? No, I don’t want to know. The mess I’m presently in is enough to manage without adding anything to it.

  “What are you doing?” he demands, alarmed, and my hand stills. “I’ve already told you. You can’t turn that on.”

  “I just want to text Ethan. I won’t tell him anything. I promise. I’ll make up an excuse why I’m not at the concert tonight.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Make up an excuse tomorrow. It won’t even take a good excuse for Ethan to forget about you blowing him off tonight. He’s so fucking hung up on you it’s nauseating.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Avery. Christ, hooking up with my brother isn’t more important than our lives.” What flashes on his face is enough to get me to move my hand from my pocket without my phone. “If you turn on your cell they can track us that way. Why do you think I bought that burner on the dash? Untraceable phone for the men to call me on. They’ve got our cell numbers. They know who we are. They can track us by our phones.”

  They?

  Rochelle and Gray are criminal slimeballs, that’s obvious at first glance, but I doubt they’re tech geniuses capable of tracking us through cell towers. They’re low-level street thugs at best. But, oh, they did do a number on Eric with their extortion scheme.

  One night there in Houston cozying up to him at a party. Then getting him in that dirtbag motel in the middle of nowhere, zonked out of his mind on drugs, before dumping him in an alley to wake up alone, worked over, and pockets emptied.

  That’s when he called me, in a panic because he hadn’t a clue where he was, or had been, or what happened. The ordeal scared him enough that in exchange for me hiding him from everyone until he recovered from the thrashing they gave him he agreed to go cold turkey on the drugs and everything.

  I hid him in my hotel suite since he was too freaked out to let anyone from the tour see him, especially Ethan, or to go to a rehab center.

  After being locked inside my bathroom for hours of violent withdrawals on his own, the threats from Rochelle via texts and photos started coming.

  Gray wanted money for them to stay silent and not tell the cops about Eric beating and raping Rochelle. Their lies terrified him enough that he’s stayed straight for a while, but he started using again long before the tour reached LA.

  We should have gone to the police when the blackmail started. I never believed their story, not once. In Eric’s worst momen
ts he couldn’t have done to any woman what I’d seen in those pictures. If only Eric had listened to me instead of hiring that terrible lawyer to fix his problem, everything wouldn’t have gone south, bringing us to this night.

  The burner cell ringing makes me jump and Eric scrambles to answer it.

  “Yes, I’m here,” he exclaims, frantic.

  The voices on the other end flow muffled into the silence of the car, but not enough that I can make out their words.

  “I understand. Yes, she’s with me. Thirty minutes. I’ll be there.” He snaps shut the phone, looking relieved and half out of his mind, and tosses the burner on the floorboard at my feet. His gaze lands on me for a moment, satisfied. “I told you they’d come through.”

  His disclosure only amplifies my fear because I’d been hoping they wouldn’t called. My gaze anxiously darts out the window and I start to hyperventilate. “I don’t want to go where you’re going. Let me out here.”

  He shakes his head, angry. “Can’t do that, Avery. I have to follow every instruction they’ve given me. If I deviate they may not go to the pickup spot to meet me.”

  He makes an abrupt turn in the middle of the road and starts heading toward the Harbor Freeway. “Where are we going?” I ask nervously.

  “Somewhere safe until it’s safe to come home.”

  My fingers slip around the door handle. At the next stoplight, I’m jumping out and running. I sweep him with a glance, and my heart drops to my stomach. As scary as this is, as frightening as he’s behaving, I can’t be a coward and abandon him.

  It’s not fair that I can’t give up trying to help him, not even now when I’m afraid of him. He looks so lost and vulnerable. Maybe if more of the people who loved him had held on he wouldn’t be at this point.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Avery”

  We drive up the dark, curving road and Eric makes a fast turn into a wide shoulder and parks the car. On the hills above blazes the Hollywood Sign and it’s so quiet I can hear his ragged breathing as I stare through the windshield.