by Cate Masters
A nod, and he strode to the front. Too late. Mal strolled along the fenced corridor as if leading a parade. No way Jackson could descend the bus steps into Mal’s direct line of sight. After that, all Mal would have to do was raise his finger and point a lethal zap in his direction.
Ducking, he crept toward the back and halted. “Layla?”
“What are you doing?” She reclined in a bunk at eye level, long legs crossed. Her dark gaze seared into his in the most delectable, beckoning way.
Another sizzle slammed to his core. “Oh, hey. There you are.” Apparently heat had singed apart his neural connections, rendering him worse than stupid.
“Get out of here,” she whispered. “Mal’s about to board.” She leaned out and pushed him. “Hurry, in the bathroom.”
The shove rattled him awake. “Right.” He practically dove behind the door and, fast as he dared, yanked it shut, easing the latch into place with a click.
Two voices separated from the crowd. Mal and a female. Make that, whining female.
“Let’s stay here.” The girl’s breathy tone left no doubt what she had in mind.
Mal laughed. “Not now, sweetness, I have a show. I’m only here to pick up my equipment.” His footsteps halted, presumably near Layla’s bed. “Ready, pet?”
The bed creaked, followed by a light thud. “As ever.”
There was disdain in Layla’s tone, and Jackson didn’t blame her one bit. The nerve of that asshole, referring to her as equipment. A thing to be used. His fists clenched, wishing he could ram them into Mal’s superstar jaw.
Mal’s guest whimpered. “Where’s your bathroom?”
Instinctively, Jackson twisted the lock, slow and silent.
The door rattled. “It’s stuck.”
Jackson’s gut clenched. Freaking whiner. How could Mal stand her?
Layla said, “Yeah, the latch stuck earlier, too. I asked the driver to take a look.”
Mal gave a sigh of exasperation. “I have no time for this.”
Stomping sounded past, and Jackson held his breath as another door opened, and after a moment, closed again. “Let’s go.”
The girl yelped. “But I can’t wait.”
Jackson eased backward in the dark, feeling his way into the shower stall. He made himself as inconspicuous as possible behind the sliding glass door.
A small explosion rattled the door.
“There.” Mal sounded triumphant. “I’m not keeping my fans waiting. Hurry up, Layla.”
“But…” Desperation came through in Layla’s voice, a last-ditch effort to stall.
The light glared, momentarily blinding Jackson. He froze as the girl stumbled inside, cursed, and then hiccupped. The thick aroma of beer wafted into the stall. Hopefully, she was too drunk to notice much, even a six-foot guy in the shower. Thank goodness for opaque glass showers and layers of soap film.
“But what?” Mal fumed. “We’re needed onstage.” He spoke as if to a foreigner, slow and distinct.
Shuffling footsteps probably meant Mal forced her ahead. Jackson seethed.
“You’re leaving her here?” Layla asked. “Alone?”
From the toilet, the girl whispered, “Stupid bitch.”
Jackson closed his eyes against rising anger.
“Mia will follow soon.” Mal’s words faded. “Now walk.”
“It’s Mina,” the girl called, then hiccupped again.
A flush mixed with the squeak of the sink faucet. Jackson eased his eyes open, and in the mirror met the reflected, fear-filled gaze of the girl.
Fuck. Me. Giddy with nervousness, he smiled. “Hey darlin’.”
She swayed slightly and blinked. “What are you doing in there?”
He remained where he stood. “I was fixing the lock when I heard Mal coming. I panicked.” He put on his best schoolboy face and shrugged.
She narrowed her glazed eyes. “Why?” Her thick tongue drew out the single syllable.
“He gets so angry if things aren’t done exactly the way he wants them. I’m new here and want to make a good impression. I can’t fix anything while someone stands over me and supervises. Especially a superstar like Mal.” He pressed his lips and nodded, pretending to affirm the idea.
Her shoulders slumped and she smiled. “He’s incredible, isn’t he?”
An incredible asshole. “You’re a lucky girl.”
Her grin turned flirty. “You’re a cutie. Even cuter than Mal.” She brought a finger to her shushing lips and giggled. “What’s your name?”
Shit. “Jimi.” Ha, he wished.
She ran her gaze across him like a CAT scan. “Need any help in there, Jimi?”
“Nah, I’m good. I could never concentrate with you around. Besides, Mal wouldn’t like us being alone. Now would he?”
Her smile went sideways. “You’re right. But I’ll save seconds for you.”
His mouth fell open in an incredulous laugh. With a wink, he pointed at her and nodded. Not in a million years.
Chapter 4
After dragging Layla off the bus, Mal glared at the stage manager, who halted them before they reached the stage. The opening band hadn’t even finished.
“Unbelievable.” Mal stormed off with the guitar.
“I agree.” She spoke loudly enough so he could hear as he vanished around the corner, though her interpretation of the word differed from his. She agreed he was unbelievable in his outbursts and arrogance and total narcissism.
An unexpected bonus of a few minutes to spare. Poor Jackson. Layla slipped outside again and into the melee, always the same chaos before a concert, the only chance she’d have to speak to him. Mal would stay in his dressing room, preoccupied with his outfit, his hair. And guarding his precious guitar. Not his. Mine. Mother had no right to magically bind her to Mal that way. Layla would take the guitar back somehow, the day she freed herself from him. She couldn’t wait for some urban-legend hero.
She caught sight of Jackson stepping off the bus. Mal’s groupie stumbled down immediately after him, straightening her clothes.
Layla’s jaw cocked uncontrollably.
After steadying the girl, he straightened at the sight of Layla, then approached. “Hey.” He glanced left and right. “I thought you went in.”
“The opening band’s still on.” She kept her voice pleasant. “I was worried about you. No need, apparently, because someone already took care of you.”
He furrowed his brow. “Her? She caught me hiding.” His mouth quirked. “I told her I was the locksmith.”
“And she bought that lie?”
He chuckled. “Yeah. Is that why you came back?”
Damn. She didn’t want to be the jealous girl, always checking up. “I came to warn you not to interfere like you tried to last night.” Imagining what might have happened to him haunted her.
“He was hurting you.”
She shook her head. “Don’t put yourself in danger like that.”
“But he was hurting you, wasn’t he?”
“You can’t help. No one can.” The pain in his eyes seemed to mirror the pain she endured. She couldn’t bear to see it, so focused instead on his hands. Large, but long fingers, perfect for playing an instrument. Calluses proved he did. He only wants Mal’s guitar. Blocking the hurtful thought, she closed her eyes.
“Are you weak again?” He clasped her shoulders and drew her behind the bus. “You should rest.” His grasp loosened.
For once, she didn’t want to be free. “I can’t. Mal needs me onstage.” Cool metal against her palm drew her attention to the bracelet he wore. Thick silver in an intricate pattern.
He tightened his grip. “If he loved you, he’d want you to take care of yourself.”
Love? She laughed. “Please don’t worry. I don’t want you to get in trouble.” She fingered his bracelet. “This is beautiful. And strong.” Like you. She looked up at him and smiled. “I love this weave in the silver.”
“A guy I met before coming here gave it to me.” He frowned at the bracelet, cocked his head as if remembering something. “Called it a teman bracelet, the Javanese word for friendship. The weave is called tulang naga. Dragon bone,” he said.
“How wonderful to have caring friends.” Who didn’t want to squeeze the last bit of life from you.
He ducked his head nearer. “Let me be yours. You need someone to look out for you.”
She dropped her gaze, but it only enhanced her awareness of him. The way he pressed close but held back. How when he looked in her eyes, he saw the real Layla, the flesh-and-blood girl with all her faults and still wanted to be with her. She would love to say yes, but… “Too dangerous. If Mal found out—”
“I don’t care about him.”
His intensity surprised her into looking up. His eyes blazed, a changing sea before a storm. What did he care about? Her? Or the guitar? She laid a palm against his cheek. “I’ve stayed too long. I have to go.”
He caught her wrist as she retreated. “Do you?”
She hated to break away, but pulled back her arm, and he released her.
She rubbed where his hand had warmed her skin. “Don’t watch the stage. Stay in the back.” Away from danger. Away from Mal.
“Layla….”
“Shh.” She held up her finger, resisting the urge to touch his lips. Full, expressive lips, curling downward.
“I’m going to check on you later.” A promise spoken like a warning.
One that filled her with warmth. “Tomorrow. I’ll find you.” She might regret it, but at least she had something to look forward to. That in itself was a kind of strength, and might even be enough to sustain her during the next few hours.
As always, she took her place in the wings, to the side of the stage, and waited as band members passed.
“Hey, Layla.” Shane, the keyboard player.
Without so much as a glance, Dog swaggered by, headed for his drum kit.
A squeeze of her shoulder. “Stay strong, girl.” Fred, the bass guitarist, and the only one who dared to be openly nice to her.
As he swept by, Mal kissed her cheek, holding his guitar by the neck. She stopped herself from asking if he intended to strangle the life from the instrument, too.
“Tonight, we make rock history.” He strode off, and when he entered the spotlight appeared to grow larger. He smiled and waved to the screaming crowd.
His words chilled her. No. Did he mean to push her to the limit even if it killed her? She braced for the musical onslaught.
After one nod to the rest of the band, Mal slammed his pick down on the strings.
The strike came like a punch to her gut, robbing her of breath. Each quiver of a guitar string resonated through her with a tremor. Each sharp note sliced into her, weakened her. The only way to get through the concert was to escape into her mind again. She closed her eyes and hugged herself, filling her mind with visions of freedom. Her riding on the back of a motorcycle, her legs snug against a guy’s, a strip of highway leading away from cities and cloying crowds.
The visions got her through the band’s first set. Someone stroked her cheek, softly called her name. She opened her eyes.
Fred crouched beside her. “Let me help you up.”
She blinked to clear her vision. “What happened?”
“You must have slumped to the floor. Mal should really—”
“Mal should what?” Mal shoved Fred. “Take your hands off her.”
Glaring, Fred rose. “But she—”
Mal gripped her arm. “I’ll take care of it.”
It. She blinked away the bitterness of the word. Did he really think of her as an inanimate object? A thing to be used? She jerked from his grasp. Dark spots filled her vision. She leaned her back against the wall and caught her breath.
Mal smirked. “See? She’s fine.”
Fred glared. “Get her a chair, for chrissakes.”
“Or, I could get a new bass player.” His sweetest tone always held the biggest threat.
A grimace, and Fred strode off.
“Now, I’ve wasted half the break.” Mal sighed. “Need anything, love?”
She swiped her damp forehead. “A drink.” And a life.
“Yes, you’re a bit sweaty. You.” Mal snapped and gestured someone over. “What’s your name again?”
“Jackson.” He emerged from the shadows with a swagger.
Mal waved. “Bring Layla whatever she desires.”
Layla held her breath. Did he truly make such an obvious mistake? Whatever I desire… The oversight could unravel the spell, give her the loophole she needed. The hole in the fence through which she could escape.
Turning, Mal paused. “To drink, I mean.” He winked. “Let’s not get carried away.”
After he was safely out of earshot, Jackson stepped closer. His essence calmed her. Energized her.
He smoothed her hair. “I know what you need—to get away from that asshole. But what can I do for you?”
Nice to hear someone else say so for a change. “I could use some fresh air.”
“A walk it is.” He guided her to the exit and outdoors, then boosted her atop an empty crate beside the bus. “I’ll be right back.”
At his retreat, her muscles trembled. She rubbed her arms to warm them. “Jackson.”
He turned. “Yes?”
“Thank you.” So inadequate, but how else could she express her gratitude?
“No need to thank me. I want you to be well.”
Thanks for that most of all. How long since anyone had cared about her well-being? She relaxed against the bus.
“You should do that more often.”
“Do what?”
His mouth pleasantly quirked. “Smile.”
She would, if she had a reason. Maybe now she did. Without having to remind herself to fake it, she was already smiling. At him.
* * * *
The joy bubbling up through Jackson nearly choked him. Back off, man. Before you hurt her worse than Mal.
He grabbed a bottle of juice from the bus fridge. She needed a friend, nothing more.
He carried the bottle outside and handed it to her. When she beamed up at him, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Almost too perfect to be real. Returning her smile, he sat beside her.
His gut twisted. Yeah, sure. Some pal. A real friend would put her safety over everything else. Would walk away. Right. Now.
But he couldn’t. “Want me to bring you inside?”
“Not yet.” Fear in her eyes, she sipped, hand trembling.
The soft plea tore him up again. “Okay.” He glanced around. He couldn’t leave her out here alone. “Feeling better?”
“Fine.” She studied the bottle. “Don’t get in trouble for me, okay?”
“I’m not worried, so you shouldn’t either.”
“This job’s not worth it. There must be plenty of others. Safer ones.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Layla.” Yeah, Malcolm Fetterman put his nerves on edge. Being near Layla more than made up for the discomfort. “How did you end up here? With him?”
She groaned. “Long story.”
“Maybe you’ll tell me some other time.” He hoped. Then he might be able to figure out how to help her.
“I should go in.” She glanced at his bracelet.
Without thinking, he unfastened the silver latch. “Here. I want you to have this.”
Her eyes widened. “No, I shouldn’t.”
“It’s a sign of friendship, remember?” He looped the chain around her wrist and locked the clasp.
She fingered the woven silver. “But your friend gave it to you.”
Not exactly a friend. The tattoo artist whose ink still burned on Jackson’s back. Grundy had struck him as a little loony, telling too many stories. Jackson hadn’t put much stock in them till now. “That’s how friendship works. He’d have wanted me to pass it on.�
� To someone who needed it more. Jackson wouldn’t mention the bracelet’s dragon-bone weave was supposed to give powerful protection to its wearer.
The light caught her eyes as she gazed up at him. “It’s beautiful.”
Not as beautiful as her. Her dark beauty entranced him. The glow in her face reminded him of another girl. Another time. “You should do more things for yourself.”
“Like what?”
Good question. He ran his fingers down his open mouth. “Whatever you like to do. Take a break from all this. Go to the mall. To the movies.”
Her nod held no conviction.
“No?” he asked.
“Not much fun doing those things by yourself.”
Man, this girl needed a friend. “I’d go with you.”
A smile lit her face. “Really? Isn’t that a bit too…normal?”
“Hey, I never was much for normal.” No going back to normal now. “But I’m willing to give it a shot if you are.” Where the hell had that come from?
She wrinkled her nose. “How long do you think you’d last?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“Who was with me.”
“And why’s that?” She was teasing him, and obviously enjoying this too much.
So was he. “Anything’s doable with the right person. Someone who’s fun. Beautiful. Intelligent.” Shut up anytime, asshole.
The loveliest shade of rose tinged her cheeks. “Don’t stop now. It’s just getting interesting.”
Yeah, and way out of line. But worthwhile to see her happy. He grinned. “Now you’re fishing for compliments.”
Smiling, she ducked her head. “Maybe a little. Can you blame me? I don’t get attention from a hot guy every day.”
Definitely out of bounds. He feigned embarrassment and checked to see who might have overheard. The others had begun to return, so the break must be nearly over. “Come on, I’ll walk you inside.”
Her hand alighted on his arm. “No, you’d better not. Mal will find out.” Like she’d flipped a switch, happiness turned to fear.
“All right. But I’m going to keep an eye on you. If you get weak or nauseous…”
