by Sadie Hart
And Tegan wanted to know what her hair felt like. For the night to feel normal.
Club Metro would let just about anyone in as long as they were wearing clothes, but Tegan wanted to see her without the dirt, in clean clothes, with all that hair loosely draped over her shoulders. Actually, he’d have liked to meet her without the possibility of Kanon getting arrested looming overhead. It was hard not to like her and if things went bad she wasn’t going to walk away.
Not when she caught Kanon’s hand, so ready to fight. He’d invaded her space and damn, but she didn’t yield an inch. But it was more than that. She didn’t berate Kanon for touching her hair, didn’t suddenly decide to go back to trying to arrest him. She held her ground, almost as if she’d already figured out that he was just dealing with the situation the best way he could. Laugh or cry, right?
Tegan let out a low rumble, almost akin to a purr, and stepped closer, trapping her between them and the dining room. She could run, but she’d have to back down for that. Lennox Donnelly looked like she’d rather shoot them both first.
But she was still trying to be the nice Hound. “I thought you wanted help.”
Kanon looked her up and down from head to toe. “You’re filthy. Your hair is a mess. You have dirt smudged on your cheeks.”
Kanon licked a finger and reached out to swab a spot when she jerked back, a laugh floating from her.
“Is that your game? Seduce the Hound meant to drag you in?”
“No, Tegan actually intends to take you to the bar.”
Her gaze flitted back to Kanon. “And you?”
Kanon lifted his shoulders in a shrug, his grin growing wider. “We can go to the bar.”
“We are going to the bar. Unless your witnesses are fake. If that’s the case, then we’re all going down to Enforcement.”
“They’re real,” Tegan whispered, heard the warmth in his own voice. She didn’t have to do this, didn’t have to tolerate any of this, and for a moment, he really thought of stopping Kanon. But hell, if the shit hit the fan tonight, he’d be damned if he didn’t get something good out of the night too. He reached forward and snatched a piece of her hair, giving it a small tug. “Then you should probably clean up. I can show you to the bathroom.”
Her death glare would have been enough to make most men cower. It only turned Tegan on more. “I’m going as is.”
Fighting back a laugh, Tegan let her hair go with a shrug. “Might as well roll you in a few mud puddles first.”
Kanon snorted. “Or dump her down a manhole along the way.”
“She does stink a little.”
“Like wet dog.” Kanon edged closer, his hand finding the back of her neck just as she flattened her palm against his chest. A smile touched her lips, half amused, half warning.
“All right. Enough. Where’s the bathroom?”
That was something Tegan had no problem showing her. They scooted her up the stairs and into the guest bathroom, even letting her shut the door and lock them out. He didn’t think for one second she’d run. She wasn’t the tuck-tail-and-bolt kind of girl.
Tegan shook his head at the sound of the lock turning over, and with it, the night’s earlier play and joking faded, hard reality flooding back in. He glanced at Kanon. “She has the patience of a fucking saint.”
Tegan watched the lines around Kanon’s eyes deepen as his partner looked away, stress no doubt eating at him. “Hey. Don’t. Tristan, Caro, the staff, they’ll clear you.”
“You think it’ll be enough for her?”
He hoped so. Tegan glanced back at the closed door between them and the Hound. He’d come too damn close to losing Kanon tonight, and the thought left him hollow. Exhausted.
“I think we have the best shot with her. No other Hound would have let you get away with half that shit.”
“It was stupid.” But Kanon smiled anyway, a tight, worn smile, but one nonetheless. Kanon closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Tegan’s waist, holding him tight.
“We got lucky,” Tegan murmured, knowing damn well Lennox could hear everything. “Though you should probably stop the stress flirting.”
“Maybe.” Kanon pressed a kiss to the crook of his neck, then trailed several more across his collarbone, nipping over his pulse.
“Kanon,” Tegan whispered, his voice drying up as Kanon leaned in to steal a kiss. The tap water in the bathroom stopped.
Kanon pulled back “I figure in case she reneges on our deal and turns me in, I might as well get you one last time.”
“It’s not going to happen.”
“Having you, or her breaking the deal?”
“She won’t break her word.” Tegan pressed a kiss to the corner of Kanon’s lips. “And you always have me.”
Kanon gave a satisfied groan, and cuddled closer.
“You are not screwing each other outside this door.”
Tegan smiled. They probably had given her that impression.
Kanon called out, teasing, “Not yet, honey, care to join?”
Tegan closed his eyes and shook his head, but he could feel Kanon tensing, reality creeping back in, and he bit back the lecture.
“I would rather jump out the window. Put your pants on so I can come out.”
“Damn,” Kanon said. “Reckon we should take them off first?”
The bathroom door jerked open and Lennox stumbled straight into them, catching herself on their shoulders. Lennox gave a small growl, stepping back, startled. “You all have no sense of...” Her voice died in her throat and she turned away, lips pursed. “Let’s go to the bar. Now.”
Lennox stepped around them both and headed for the stairs. “I’ll meet you at my car. It’s by the billboard for that new grocery store in town. Behind a few bushes. And I’ll be watching, so don’t try and run.”
Her sultry tone turned dark, as she glanced between them, and then met Tegan’s gaze. She’d heard everything. “I hope you’re right and you can clear your partner’s name.”
A shadow slipped over her face as she headed down the stairs.
Tegan’s gut twisted.
She hadn’t looked very confident.
Now Available
Resisting Velocity by Xoe Xanders and Trinity Evans
Chapter One
He lived for this, the roar of the crowd, girls screaming their names, holding up huge poster board signs with bold letters and glitter. The pulse of Micah’s drums behind him, all staccato beats and the crash of the cymbals. The rock-steady rhythm of the bass, strings plucked by Benji’s deft fingers. And the weight of the Fender in his grip, fingers pressing against frets as he spiraled into a solo that would’ve given Lucifer himself a run for his money—if the devil was the frontman of a rock band.
The lyrics leapt forward like powerful horses, led by the siren’s call of the music, and somewhere in his throat they went from simple words to something beautiful, his voice husky and soft in the echo of the microphone. He crooned the words and he could’ve sworn a woman in the front row fainted. Cocky, sure, but it was true.
Zane Alexander knew how to sing, and sing well. The music thundered around him, shooting straight through to his veins, stronger than any street drug. His nostrils flared at the tinge of sweat dripping from the crowd, wolf senses heightened by adrenaline. In that moment, he was a sponge, absorbing the pulse of body heat and the zing of excitement. Their band—his beautiful brain child—was selling, and selling well. High Velocity’s second album had gone double platinum in a matter of days. Their Kiss and Tell tour was sold out.
His heartbeat was a steady thump-thump in his chest, a blend of pride and excitement nearly burning him alive. His spirit was floating around somewhere up on cloud nine. It was amazing, being the top dog—something Zane had only ever achieved in his dreams.
Their final song dwindled down to gentle acoustics before ending with the shrill of an electric guitar, loud enough to make his ears ring. The crowd screamed as the lights dimmed and a haze of fog spread
across the stage like ghostly fingers, reaching for them. Under the mask of darkness, the members of High Velocity bounded backstage, adrenaline still riding them hard.
“You kicked ass tonight, man.” Micah Tate’s beefy hand slapped down on Zane’s shoulder, drawing a grin and a chuckle out of the other man. Zane handed his guitar off to the only assistant he trusted to take care of the custom Fender.
“We all did. We really blew them away. Another damn-near perfect performance, if I do say so myself.”
“Cocky.”
“True.” Zane’s lips quirked into a lopsided grin. He ran a hand through his hair and spun around in a tight circle. Excitement burned through him and he yearned for a run, yearned for release. He set his jaw and shook it off. Not yet. Be patient. The beast that slumbered deep within his soul, a beautiful white wolf that was his second half, twisted beneath his skin. Patience is a virtue. But one look around his band mates—his fellow pack mates—told Zane that the other werewolves were just as eager to stretch their legs as he was.
“Whaddaya say, Zane?” Parker Wilde’s voice made him glance up. The keyboardist’s long fingers tapped impatiently on the edge of a Coke can and Zane tilted his head. Parker sighed, as if exasperated. “Expensive booze and cheap girls after the big romp tonight? Let loose and celebrate a little?”
“Like we don’t do it enough?” Benji gave a hoot and pumped his fist, his bass still slung around his neck. He was a little paranoid in that regard. He always put his instrument away himself; he didn’t even trust Zane with it. “I’m in.”
“In,” agreed Micah.
The three of them turned to look at Zane, expectant, waiting. They looked up to him, followed his lead. Maybe it was the fact that his parents were the alphas of Elysium Pack, that Zane himself was their named heir to the throne whenever he was ready to step up and take it. Even if he had no desire to lead anything besides leading High Velocity to fame and fortune.
But how could he say no to good alcohol and beautiful women? A slow grin spread across his face. “In,” he said and the guys crowed. Zane held up a hand. “And I’ll even buy, how’s that?” Another round of cheers.
“Besides, I heard Lola was looking for you.” Parker winked in an exaggerated way.
Oh, Lola… Innocent flair, blonde ringlet curls, and all that smooth, pale skin. No man could forget a face like Lola’s, but while she had him locked in her sights, he was interested in someone else. He’d always been interested in someone else.
Women were Zane’s not-so-secret pleasure. He loved them. All shapes and sizes, all colors and races; black hair, brown hair—it didn’t matter. If they had curves and a nice ass, they were fair game, and the best part of being a rock star was that the women loved him just as much as he loved them. It was win-win.
Except that none of them filled the spot that Charlie did, with those baby-blue eyes, cool and confident, and that mane of thick black curls, always stuffed up in a prim little bun, always daring him to tug at it, stroke it… He shook his head, warring with his thoughts.
As the guys turned to go off in different directions, amped about the following evening, Zane moved to do the same. Yet…something stopped him. A whiff of the air, and over the smell of the fog maker and the sweat lingering there, he breathed her in. Wildflowers and blueberries, she was beautiful, unique, wolf…
And oh so untouchable. She’d made that part clear as day.
He craned his neck, his wolf suddenly alert and aware, and his nostrils flared. “Wait.” The one word rumbled from him as he raised a hand. Parker stopped first, but then they turned, looking to him. He took another breath in, want making him damn near crazy. She’d appear, any minute now.
Zane was content to wait.
***
Just one night.
Just one blessed night without having to listen to the screams of the crowd, of raging fans and groupies alike, shouting the guys’ names like it would make a difference this time, like it would make High Velocity look their way. It was driving her damn near crazy.
Once this tour ended, so did she. Figuring out how to tell the band wasn’t something that she particularly looked forward to, but it had to be done. Tonight.
Charlie Banks stood and surveyed the area, enjoying the slow decline in volume around her. She had to be vigilant until the final member of the crew reported that they were clear for the night. Having been with High Velocity since they’d started climbing the ladder of fame, she knew the guys in and out and knew almost all the tricks that fans would try to get in close with “their idol.”
Her normal schedule was to stand guard backstage, keeping up communication with the other members of security detail, to just ensure that everything ran smoothly. But something about tonight had taken its toll on her. Her feet ached, her head hurt. She just wanted to go home and take a long, luxurious soak in the tub. She could almost smell the flowery scent of her favorite bath salts…
While Zane, Micah, Parker, and Benji had had their fun on stage as usual, she’d spent the evening flashing her badge and foiling the groupies’ plots. People attempted just about anything in desperation to get a single touch from one of the guys. Some nights it seemed like five hundred pizza delivery girls showed up to give a specialty pie to whichever band member they deemed the most worthy of laying them. Ha—the little hussies would screw any of the guys if given half a chance. Fans weren’t exceptionally picky.
Charlie’s mental tirade ended on an abrupt note when her ear piece buzzed with a message. “Touchdown, Char. Stadium clear.” Her shoulders nearly drooped with exhaustion, but instead she straightened, braced herself, and headed to her next task—to be briefed by the boys as to where they were going, with who, and when they’d be back. She was the shepherd and they were her sheep.
God, she was only twenty-seven years old and she played babysitter to a group of rich brats. Okay, so she actually liked them—most of the time—but after a show, when their adrenaline ran rampant and the voices screaming for more still echoed in their eardrums, she loathed every one of them.
Shrewd blue eyes scanned the crowd and zeroed in on the quartet, still coiled together in a little pack. Good, they were gonna make it easy on her. The wolf inside of her tensed and tugged for freedom. More and more often, she’d been having a hard time fighting the animal down until she could shapeshift and have a little relief. The physical pain was punishment as well as motivation to give her notice to quit, to go live her own quiet life, away from sexy smiles and ripped bodies that she’d love to spend licking every inch of—
Whoa. Back up the lick-train, what was wrong with her? Why, all of a sudden, did the very idea of screwing Mr. “I’m Sexy and I Know It” appeal like nothing ever else had?
“Hey, Lieutenant Uptight! Come give us our orders. I’ve gotta go get my party on!” came Parker’s catcall from across the room, his hands cupped around his mouth.
Charlie felt her wolf bristle and bunch up. She wanted so badly to snarl and assert her dominance over the snot-nosed little wolf egging her on. With copper curls and an ever-present smirk, Parker Wilde was the youngest member of the group and took joy in annoying her in more ways than one. Charlie allowed it because he was part of the reason for her paycheck.
As she marched towards them, the once-crisp double polyester suit she wore now clung to her curves in an irritating, itchy manner. She was hot, sweaty, and ready to go home. Well, as “home” as a trailer could be while travelling through the states on tour.
“Hello Parker, it’s nice to see you too.”
Her gaze grazed over the group. She tried her best not to look directly at Zane, the leader of the band, but she was drawn to him, a moth to a wicked flame. With sun-kissed skin, broad shoulders, and blue-black hair that stuck up in perfectly disheveled spikes, he looked every bit the part of rock star. Her stomach flipped over, nerves getting the best of her as she quickly looked away. Three years of working for High Velocity and Zane had always somehow had the ability to look straight thro
ugh to her soul. That, and he had a wicked smile that always made her burn.
Enough was most definitely enough.
Flashing a quick sliver of a smile, she gave them a brief rundown. “All clear here. Everything ran smoothly, so I don’t have much to report. If there’s nothing else, you can call on Conner. He’ll be taking over my usual post tonight.”
Charlie braced for their protests, knowing none of them were going to be happy with what she had to say, but for her sanity, she had to go. She couldn’t keep doing this. It was starting to eat at her, little by little.
“What?” one of the men barked, the others jumping in.
“You feeling all right, Char?”
She took a deep breath in and patiently waited for the quartet to settle down before she continued. “Conner’s going to take over tonight. He’s been in training for awhile now. He can handle it. He’s stepping up to take over my position.” She paused. “I’m going to be leaving you guys.”
The looks they shot her were sharp and drilled straight through to her nerves. The mix of confusion and surprise that etched across their features nearly made her reconsider, made her stay here where everything was familiar. In a way, they were family… Instead, she steeled herself and forged on. “As part of that, Conner is ready to take over the after show security.”
“How soon are we talking?” Zane’s voice was quiet, calm, but she could feel the intensity behind his words.
She took a breath. This wasn’t going to be easy. “In twenty-four hours, I’ll be off the clock. For good. I’ve already put my notice in.” She’d gotten that out of the way two weeks ago. She was actually surprised none of them had picked up on it before now, but they’d been busy with the tour. Too busy with the after-show parties.
There was silence for a heartbeat. “You can’t go, Charlie. None of the other security guards have an ass like yours,” Parker said with a wink. Micah frowned, lines etched between his brows, but he had never been much of one to react, so it wasn’t a big surprise when he said nothing.
