by Susan Arden
Armed with a toilet plunger, her frustration and anger exploded. “FUCK OFF!”
Silence. Then scraping along the edge of the door sounded as he tugged the knob. “I can always get a screwdriver and take this handle off. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Chapter 27
Hayden clapped Rory on the back. “I’m gonna hook up with my band. We have a meeting, and I’m late. Traffic in L.A. is so fucked up compared to back home.”
“A meeting, here?” Rory glanced at the masses coming and going, not to mention the loud, ear-popping music.
“Don’t be fooled. Some serious deals are brokered in places like this.” Haden was practically hollering as they approached the front doorway. A person would need a microphone to be heard.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Rory replied, distracted by the booming music he felt thrumming in his chest. An erratic beat, out of synch with his already chaotic thoughts, irritated and reminded him of his singular desire: to go inside and find Sommer.
Haden curled his hand around his girlfriend’s arm. Sin was surrounded by a small group and he jutted his chin toward the door. “Ready?” she asked.
“Sin, stay close. We got to hustle.” Haden turned to him. “See that guy over there with neon green guitar. He’s from Vince’s band. If they’re already here, I guarantee Sommer and Ivy are around.”
“Then it’s just a matter of time. Thanks for the lift.” The muscles all over Rory’s body constricted over his bones.
“We’ll meet up later and deal with your bag,” Haden looped his arm over his girlfriend’s shoulders, pulling her closer. Sin smiled shyly up at him, reminding him of one of those fancy cats, the way her almond eyes blinked slowly.
He fist bumped Haden who turned and wove his way through the swarm of people with Sin in tow. Jesus H. Christ. He’d never been to a home this clogged with guests, and more were behind him.
Following in the wake of Haden and Sin—or in the general direction they’d disappeared, Rory walked through the house, within a stream of folks, and out to the huge patio overlooking the hazy glow of the city below. He directed his gaze across the crowd from where he’d come with the intensity of a madman, until the sea of people melded into swatches of color and sound, swirling all around him. Only over by the railing were there uncluttered spots, devoid of chatter and bodies.
Near the corner, he leaned over the railing and dialed the number from Sommer’s one and only message. After calling three times earlier without anyone answering, he’d left a short message on hearing that the cell number belonged to Ivy.
Holding the phone up to his ear, he listened to the droning ring, gritting his teeth, and scanning the crowd for any sign of Sommer. He targeted his focus on blond heads, but so far, his Pavlovian response didn’t get into the game. In a sea of blondes, none were quite the right shade. The heights of the women were off. The contours each possessed weren’t the ones branded into his brain. The mesmerizing, golden gaze unique to Sommer eluded him, face after face, ratcheting up his frustration.
Finally, the line clicked and he heard a faint, “Hello?”
Relief eased the torqued set of his jaw, but before he could say a word, a sharp ‘Holy cow! Watch it, buddy!’ filled his ear from his phone.
“Sommer?” He listened to more noise and random voices. About time he finally connected with Sommer—only this wasn’t her on the other end.
“Hello? Crap. Hold on…can you hear me now?” the girl blurted loudly.
“Yeah, Ivy,” he said, recognizing her voice.
“Rory?” Ivy’s voice was washed out by the sound of music all around him. “Is that you? Hellooo?” She sounded like she was going to hang up.
He glanced down at the bars on his phone that alternated between one and none. He lifted the phone to his cheek, and asked, “Ivy, can you hear me?”
For the last hour, he’d called and texted Sommer’s phone, which he was now convinced, was dead, then switched back to the phone number she’d called him from. He skated a fine line between wanting to howl, and needing to verify she was okay. He’d kept his cool in place by a thread. And that thread was ready to snap.
Ivy’s voice wavered. “Hey. Welcome to L.A. The city where cell reception bites it. Big time.”
“Listen, I tried calling earlier.” He cupped his phone, a grin spreading over his face. “Let me speak with Sommer.”
“Well okay. Ummm, Rory,” Ivy faltered and the smile vanished from his face. “We’re at a party and it’s insane. I can’t find her.”
“I’m here with Haden.” He straightened and scanned the crowd, looking for Sommer or Ivy. Or anyone from either of the bands.
“What did you just say?” Ivy asked, her voice rose in volume so much he grimaced.
“I’m here in Los Angeles. You’re at the blowout in the hills. Correct? I’m standing out by the pool, overlooking the valley.”
“Do you see a leopard raft in the pool?” Her voice trailed off.
Swinging his focus over to the pool, he spied slices of bright blue, water in between the cluster of guests, and walked over to the edge. Sure as shit there was a raft, resembling a drowned leopard, and two naked women were bouncing on top. People were standing around with only a few actually paying much attention to the women in the pool. Most were in small groups, their eyes shifting as though on a hunt, and prey lurked near. Another woman joined the pair in the pool. This one fully clothed, but once inside the pool, she began tearing off her top.
No wonder Ivy didn’t continue. “Confirmed. We’re at the same party,” he said.
“Don’t worry! Sommer has got to be around here somewhere. I just left her at the bar a few minutes ago. Look, I’ll do a sweep inside and you keep your eyes peeled out there. Eventually, one of us will run into her.”
The line clicked and he shoved his phone back into his pocket. Where the hell to begin? He headed over toward the bar. It seemed to be one of the hot spots, with the loud laughter of people milling around. The house hugged a large terrace, and the perimeter ran in an ‘L’ shape along two sides of the pool. He walked a line as if the patio was part of a grid and he was searching for a wayward calf back on Evermore. More like a wayward filly out in L.A. The multi-colored lights streaming over the crowds made tailing a blond head that much harder, and slowed his progress. He wove through the throng, coming up empty-handed, except he met Vince’s stare a few yards in front of him. The guy nodded as though something clicked inside his head, then he smiled and waved him over.
“Hey dude,” Vince shouted. “Heard we’re on a mission to find your girl.”
With a bottle of Jack in one hand and a cigarette in the other, Vince didn’t appear to be on any search and rescue team looking for Sommer. The guy standing next to Vince seemed memorable, possibly from Hellhound. He swayed unsteadily and looked totally wasted.
“I doubt Sommer’s inside that bottle you’re nursing,” Rory bit out.
Vince shrugged unapologetically. “This place is a madhouse. I tried, but couldn’t find Sommer. You just get here?”
“Just got off the plane,” he replied.
Vince laughed and tipped the bottle against his mouth. Anger roiled deep in Rory’s gut as he continued scouring the crowd, and no one commented for a few beats.
“Girls are always hard to keep track of at these things,” Vince offered. “They go off and come back. I learned long ago to just let a chick do her thing.”
Wouldn’t be the first time he’d gone searching for Sommer, and in his memory bank, the odds where just as Vince suggested. Sommer would probably appear out of the blue, with a drink in her hand, and a fresh coat of gloss on her lips, tempting him to kiss her mouth. Not likely he was going to repeat the night that he’d rescued her from Lonny. That shithead.
Rory glanced wearily across the patio, hot to capture Sommer in his arms. “What’s over there?” He pointed across the pool to the other side of the house.
“Don’t know. Never roamed around inside the place. Belongs to an art director and two photographers. Those guys.” Vince jerked his chin over to a small group of men seated in a Jacuzzi, kissing. “No lie. Take it from me, if you stay put, she’ll come to you.”
An attractive woman leaned over Vince’s shoulder, and whispered something that made him laugh louder than before. After which he shrugged and replied. “Go ask him.”
“Oui, avec plaisir,” she said in what sounded like a French accent.
Rory didn’t have a clue as to what she said, nor was he particularly interested in anything other than finding Sommer.
Vince replied to the woman, “My lips are sealed, except when it comes to Jack.” As if to prove his point, the musician took another swig from the bottle.
The woman sauntered up to Rory, curling her hand over his forearm. “Care for some fun, cowboy?” The wedding ring on her finger told part of the story. Older than him, and she didn’t hide her interest, but wore her hunger and experience in an expression he’d seen before around Annona; married women who were bored and sought a diversion. He pulled his arm from her grasp but that didn’t deter her gaze from roaming down his body, before resurfacing and meeting his eyes.
“Already have my own version of fun, and she’s all I can handle,” he replied tightly.
“All the way from Texas. Aren’t you?” she hummed with a sharp twist of her mouth. “Prickly beast. I bet no one has tamed you. Eh?”
Rory shrugged one of his shoulders, and arched a brow. “Good evening, ma’am.” He nodded and peered over to Vince. “See you around. If you see Sommer, tell her I’m looking for her.”
The woman changed tack, latching onto Vince’s buddy. Not but a couple of words were exchanged between the other man and the woman before they walked away, gobbled up by the crowd surrounding them.
“Ma’am?” Vince snickered, only this time his voice pierced the space with a jab, an unmistakable taunt.
Traveling in high school on weekends on a rodeo circuit, he’d gotten a load of ribbing from cement born idiots when he and Brandon had competed and then took in the sights of whatever town they’d ambled into. From his clothing to his accent, he’d heard it all.
He could ignore Vince or deal with this shit straight off. From experience, if he couldn’t walk away and had to stay put, it meant he had to stand his ground. Scanning the crowd for Sommer, Rory shot back, “You got something to say?”
“Dude, I’m from here and in this part of the world, we don’t go and chase a chick. She must have you by the short hairs. Lightened the fuck up.” Vince held out the bottle of Jack and Rory shook his head.
“Don’t believe my need to locate Sommer is tied to geography. I’m not the type who lets my girlfriend get lost. We’ve gone through too much shit at the expense of assholes.”
Vince seemed to perk up. “Aw hell, maybe we aren’t so different.” He tossed his cigarette and scanned the crowd as if suddenly interested in locating Sommer. “Fuck, I don’t see her out here. That leaves inside. I’ll scout inside where the living room for the girls. If she shows up, I’ll have Ivy text you. If you run into my chick, tell her to call me.”
“Catch you later,” he replied. Instead of entering the mob in the living room, he walked around the pool to a set of open terrace doors, swung wide like arms inviting him back into the house. On this side of the pool, the chaotic view of the massive number of people coming and going didn’t do it for him.
More and more frustrated, his desire to find Sommer roared to life, a back drafting inferno that charred his patience into the ash. He couldn’t put a finger on Vince’s attitude—some shit over not taking his advice. He’d met guys like him before. Easy to spot: control demons.
A door flung open, outside his line of vision, but a flash in the periphery. The room was on the far side of this monstrous house and didn’t face the pool. Instead the doorway faced the valley with a private patio. The door might be in a relative blind spot, but the feminine lilting voice split through the night air and took hold of his complete attention. “I’m warning you. Stay away from me!”
Sommer. Every atom composing his body knew he’d heard her distinct voice. But she was out of his line of direct sight.
“Babe, don’t be like that.” A guy’s voice responded to Sommer. “Where’re you going? Dressed like that, you won’t make it far.” The dude’s snide laugh spurred Rory to find a way past the metal railing.
“Sommer!” he called out as his gaze spanned the fence. The railing ran the perimeter of the cement patio, separating the expansive terrace from the declining landscape that dropped precariously on the other side. Whoever designed this home made certain there wasn’t much of a ledge to walk along beyond the railing. Didn’t matter.
Rory grasped the railing with one hand, and hoisted his body over the top like he’d done hundreds of times back home as a shortcut over the miles of rail fence. Landing surefooted with a muted grunt, he didn’t waste time in evaluating how close he’d come to the edge. He hopped onto the private patio that lacked proper fencing, but not a breathtaking view.
Tearing around what could only be described as a wing of the house, he heard her cry out. “Touch me again and I swear I’ll pierce your ears with these heels.” Up ahead, there she was backing away from that motherfucker, Drew.
Low-pitched Rory said her name, more to alert her, “Sommer.”
She was about three yards away and he slowed, not wanting to inadvertently frighten her on the narrow walkway that ran along more wide-open space that disappeared downward. What the hell kind of fascination did people in California have with building homes on the side of a cliff?
“Rory? Oh, thank god.” Sommer held her high heels in her hands like weapons even as she spoke.
He didn’t doubt she’d clobber Drew if he so much as moved toward her even on a narrow walkway. “Baby, I’m here. Take it easy.”
“Hell, here we go again. Is this some freak magic trick you two have got going on?” Without warning, Drew lurched for Sommer’s arm.
“Get the hell away from me you loser.” Spitting mad, Sommer swung, still armed with a high heel in each of her hands, and clocked the prick in his shoulder.
“Stop that shit!” Drew barreled forward as she swung again.
One thought speared Rory’s spiraling mind: Sommer is mine. And he refused to allow what was his to be threatened. A film of red anger rocketed along Rory spine. Hauling Drew up by the back of his shirt, he slammed him face first into the wall with a warning, “Stay the fuck away from her.”
Rory caught hold of Sommer, moving her back from the edge of the walkway. “You all right?”
“You came to L.A.?” she asked bewildered, her eyes flashing fear and fury.
“Not soon enough,” he gritted, adrenaline dumping into him. Tremors shot through him from unspent fury. “Let’s go.”
He was prepared to walk away from Drew and never look back, if it meant she wasn’t hurt.
“I think we can reach the front this way,” she replied, curling her fingers around his arm.
What the hell was she doing dressed like that, barefoot, and out here with Drew? Didn’t she know dicks like Drew didn’t get that women weren’t just created for his own disturbed amusement? On this side of the house, there were so many ways that messed up could go. For Sommer’s sake, he wasn’t going to lose it on that shithead and do something he’d live to regret.
“Not so fucking fast.” Drew breezed by them and spun around, blocking their path with his shit-eating grin in place. “We meet again, and damn if your timing doesn’t suck. Seriously, like what? Does she have some homing device in her cunt?”
Hauling back his arm, Rory swung and landed a straight punch to Drew’s jaw, effectively silencing him and watched him stagger backwards. “Asshole, if you need help learning a few manners, I’m game.”
“Don’t,” Sommer pleaded, pulling on his arm.
; Rory froze, absorbing the blanket of worry haunting Sommer’s eyes. He hated seeing this vulnerable part of her twisted by morons like Drew as well as his own aggressive nature. One of the hundreds of reasons he had tried to protect her while controlling his nature to use his fists. She was here because he had failed on that front.
Even so, there was an innate innocence about Sommer. She still refused to believe that people had to earn trust. But how to get her to comprehend that the world that wasn’t altogether good or altogether bad, just required distance before jumping into the mix, and expecting everything to turn out all right? That argument had never been won. Not in his mind. Certainly not in hers. And seeing a little part of her innocence stolen or snuffed out, gutted him. Rory curled his hands into fists—he was ready to slaughter this guy, but held himself in check.
“Well, hot damn if I don’t love a reunion.” Drew rubbed his jaw. “How about we find a bedroom? We can both get the girl. You up for it?” He jeered after his last asinine wisecrack like this was some game without any fallout.
Drew’s demented arrogance set fire to his ability to harness his temper. “Shut your mouth.” Raging, Rory fought the instinct to hammer the fucker repeatedly, or until he was neck deep in the ground.
With every ounce of control in him, he slowly yoked Drew upward by the front of his shirt and forced him into a line of landscaped bushes growing near the exterior wall. And abruptly let go. No punches. No shoves. Just gravity.
“What the fuck? These things have thorns. You enjoy pain?” Drew snarled, sinking further into the greenery and looking like he was going to howl. The shithead had the audacity to plaster on another version of his asshole smug grin.
Rory clenched his jaw. If this dickhead only knew the extent of control he exercised.
Drew lunged forward. Too late, Rory realized that the cocksucker brandished a switch blade, rotating it in his hand. Fuck, he didn’t have shit on him. He edged away from Drew all too familiar on how to deal with a knife. Swift slices required faster countermoves. In his periphery, he saw Sommer slowly creep one step and then another. Until she was safely out of the way, he was prepared to block Drew and shield Sommer.
