Wicked Bad Boys

by Bella Love-Wins

  “I thought you were going to try to be low-key with Kevin for the rest of the tour?” she whispered quickly before they could catch up to us.

  “That wasn’t?”

  Her eyes were wide. “The hand-holding might have been a pretty good indication.”

  “That doesn’t mean we’re together.”

  I could see the mild annoyance on her face. “What else would it mean?” She paused. “You know what, never mind. We can talk later.”

  Kevin came up behind us. “We’re late enough—”

  “I’m going, Kevin. Relax.”

  I kept the door open so he and Larry could pass, and followed them through the large lobby to the elevators. The four of us got to the record label’s floor, and found the recording suite we had booked. Most of the band members and sound crew were lounging around, waiting for me to arrive. Amanda and Fred sat on one of the empty sofas and waited.

  The producer, Terry, was ready when I walked in. “Hey man! Everything from yesterday was great. Amazing. We’ll start on a few new tracks today, and we should be good.”

  “Cool.” I put my guitar down and walked over to him. “Hey, can we talk outside for a minute?”

  “Sure, man. What’s up?”

  We stepped out into the hallway. “I want to get some of these song ideas I showed you yesterday in the next album, or as a standalone.”

  “Of course. There was some good stuff in there. Not your usual thing, but definitely worth working on. You want us to try some out today?”

  “Nah. Not with Kevin here. He’s got his own ideas. Let’s work on it a day when I’m back in town. Before the tour is over. But we need to keep it on the QT, okay? Otherwise Kevin’s bound to quash it before we make it happen.”

  “No problem, Johnny. Let me get some of the lyrics off you now, and I’ll start playing around with it. You got them with you today?”

  “Yeah. It’s inside.”

  “Cool. Let’s get the receptionist to make a copy for me.”

  “Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”

  “No biggy, my man.” Terry pulled the door to the studio suite open. “Let’s get back in there. I want to do a quick playback so you can hear how we made out yesterday.”

  For the first time in a long time, I was energized about being at a recording session. My girl was waiting outside my recording booth, my songs had some hope of being shared, and the future looked promising.

  Chapter 12 - Amanda

  Johnny seemed more and more upbeat as the day wore on. I tried to get comfortable on the couch outside the studio booth, but could not stop thinking about what I agreed to last night. His words echoed in my mind, and made it hard to focus. I told him to stay, and I had meant it. I wished I felt more certain it was the right thing to do.

  It would be hours before we could pack up for the day and go back to his house. Lunchtime came around soon enough, and I begrudgingly agreed to fetch lunch for everyone, while Larry kept an eye on Johnny. They all wanted sandwiches from a bistro down the street. After I picked up their orders and carted them back to the studio, I sat beside Larry and ate the sandwich wrap I had bought for myself.

  “I’m stepping out for a while.” I looked up at the sound of Kevin’s voice. “I need you and Larry to keep a close eye on Johnny while I am gone. Got it?”

  I nodded and smiled up to him. It was not too much to ask, and he was not as crusty as he had been on numerous occasions. He gave us a tight smile and left. The second he walked out the door, Terry signaled for Johnny. He walked to the door of the booth and said something to him quietly. Johnny nodded, and I went back to eating my lunch.

  A few minutes later, Terry settled in at the soundboard again. I caught a glimpse of Johnny out of the corner of my eye and turned to watch him behind the glass. The rest of his band got up and came to sit in the lounge with us. Johnny brought a stool to the center of the space, and one of the guys on the sound crew went in, adjusted the microphone to Johnny’s new level, and came out again.

  Johnny picked up his guitar and sat on the stool. When he began to play the guitar, I heard the sound. It was the first time they let the music come in through the in-room speakers. It didn’t sound anything like the songs I had heard him perform, or anything on his website.

  His eyes were closed as he played, and then he started to sing…

  “Please let me in…

  Let me replace the hate

  Inside. Believe this thing is fate

  Baby. Don’t make me wait

  Say yes. Before it’s too late

  Please let me in…

  Let me show you the art

  Of love. I’ll hold your heart

  So close. Come be a part

  Of me. Don’t wait to start

  Please let me in…

  I love the feel of your skin

  On mine. Believe me it’s no sin

  To fall this hard in love. Begin

  Just take my hand. We’ll win

  Please let me in…

  Come out of the rain

  I’ll take away your pain

  You’re driving me insane

  Don’t let me wait in vain

  Please let me in…

  Baby let me in…”

  There was complete silence in the room while Johnny sang. It lasted for several moments after he sang his last line. Every face was honed in on Johnny, including mine. Normally, I wasn’t a huge fan of over-the-top, romantic love songs. I had become a bit too cynical for them. Usually my jaded thoughts twisted the words that were meant to be beautiful, and turned them into something dark or comical. This was different.

  There was something about his voice, the accompanying chords of the guitar and stripped-back rawness of the melody and his voice. The words sank deep. When he finished, he opened his eyes and looked right at me. My heart raced, and we shared a brief moment of complete intimacy, as if no one else was around us. I blinked hard after a second, snapping myself out of the warm exchange.

  “That was incredible!” Terry said to him. The rest of his team broke out in applause.

  “Thanks,” Johnny replied, still looking at me. “It was something I wrote a few months ago, actually.”

  My racing heart screeched to a stop. While he was singing, some fear had crept up in my chest, thinking his words were meant for me. Now, there was mostly relief, but also a tinge of disappointment when he revealed the lyrics were from a long time ago. What woman would not want a man to come up with such a moving, soulful song—just for her? This woman, I reminded myself. I took in a deep breath, mentally reiterating it was a good thing the song was not meant for me.

  Johnny took a short break to use the restroom. Larry went with him. I decided I would catch up on what was happening on Johnny’s website. I fished out my tablet from my purse, and switched it on.

  On Fred’s request, Johnny’s blog was updated twice per day by the social media firm that managed his accounts. The tactic of increasing the frequency of the posts was meant for the stalker, so as the tour unfolded, it would increase their chances of tracking her movements. She was predictable that way, consistently replying to each post, marking her territory on each one.

  Johnny’s newest post was about his performance tomorrow at the annual Disk Spinner Awards here in Hollywood. From what I could gather, it would be attended by the who’s who of the music industry. The hottest names were going to perform, including Johnny. I had heard Kevin remind him it was a huge honor, and a milestone for his career. I scanned through the article, barely reading, and stopped when I got to the comments section at the bottom of the page. Most of the comments were tame, and many of them were encouraging. Fans wished him good luck, some wished they could be there, and many mentioned they would be watching the show just to see him.

  Johnny and Larry returned, and Terry signaled for the band to set up for the rest of the songs they had planned out. When he was inside the booth again, I turned my attention back to the screen in front of me.


  “Johnny I love you!”

  “Marry me, Johnny!”

  “I’m your biggest fan!”

  Blah, blah, blah.

  None of these posts were out of the ordinary. Some comments were linked to profiles and other social media pages that had pictures. There were girls taking selfies, their lips puckered out, in bikinis, bras. It was teenage stuff—all harmless, as far as I was concerned.

  A new comment was added at the same time I had been looking at the profiles.

  “Johnny. Can’t wait for your show tomorrow, my love. I promise I’ll be there for you this time, and will bring you something way better than a fruit basket. By the way, you looked great as you walked in Terry Stone’s studio this morning. Maybe you can play your favorite guitar for me one day. See you soon.”

  The tiny hairs on my neck stood on end as I read the message again. It was the stalker, and somehow, she was here in LA? I had to show Larry. I launched off the armchair and pulled him aside, tilting my tablet for him to read it.

  He stiffened up as he read it, and then looked up at me. “Lucas and Jenny are monitoring the newsfeeds in real time. I’ll check in with them, just in case they haven’t seen this yet. But before I do, we need to get Fred and some more agents down here. Keep it low-key, but I need you to stay at Johnny’s door. I’ll get this suite on lockdown and take care of the rest.”

  From my periphery, I saw him move to the front door of the suite and turn the lock. I pick up my bag and stepped over to stand outside the booth. Terry, the producer, looked up at me and gestured me to go back to where I was sitting. I shook my head and waited at the inner door.

  “Rachel, did you need something?” Terry asked, looking back at me.

  “No. I need to stay close to Johnny.”

  Johnny stopped what he was doing and came to the door. “What’s going on, Rachel?”

  “Can I talk to you privately for a second?”

  “Sure,” he answered, and walked over to the corner of the room with me.

  I kept my voice low to tell him what we knew. “The stalker may be here in LA. Or in this building.”

  Johnny grimaced. “What?”

  “She also warned she’ll be at the awards show tomorrow.”

  Terry and the other two sound techs looked between us, confusion on their faces. They could not hear what we were saying, and I didn’t stop to explain it to them.

  “Larry’s getting Fred and some more agents down here. They’re locking down the suite, and will check the building and surrounding area to see if she’s still nearby.”

  “Okay. What should we tell the band? And what about Terry and his guys?”

  “Larry will talk to him. He’ll keep it simple so not too much gets out.”

  “Ugh,” he groaned. “Okay so you’ll wait here at the door?”

  “Yes. Just carry on, but don’t be alarmed if we need to take you home early.”

  “That’s fine. Does Kevin know?”

  “I’ll call him soon, if Larry hasn’t contacted him already.”

  He nodded and returned inside. I stood at the door of the booth. I wished this was a straight security assignment. If it were, I would not have to play the girlfriend game, and the gun I carried for this assignment would be on my person. I couldn’t even hide it on me today—there was nowhere to hook the holster on this ridiculous jumper. I settled for placing my purse at on the floor in front of me—ready to use it if it came down to it.

  Larry stood at the outer door, speaking quietly on the phone, in all likelihood with Fred. Forty-five minutes later, he took another call and unlocked the door. Fred and four of his agents came in. He called me over to give me an update. To my surprise, his team had only become aware of the message because I alerted them. It felt good to be useful to them.

  “We’re on this,” Fred told me. “Good work, Rachel.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We checked the other floors in the building, as well as the stairwells and parking lot outside.”

  “Are you going to put up a perimeter or something?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Resources and time. There’s not enough of us to do a thorough search, first of all. And too much time has passed between Johnny entering the building and when the stalker left the comment on the website. There’s no way to tell if she’s still out there, or if she was here at all. We’ll learn more from what she did online.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “We need to get Johnny home now. Just in case she’s around here. Outside is too wide open for him to leave without our protection.”

  “Kevin’s not coming back?”

  “No. He went to his house. He had plans with his wife. Johnny’s driver is waiting downstairs.”

  “Okay. I’ll get Johnny.”

  I walked over to the side door of the booth again. I didn’t need to interrupt this time. His eyes were trained on me and Fred as we spoke, so he knew something was up.

  “Time to go?”

  I nodded and he told his band he needed to take care of some things. He spoke quietly with Terry, and left with me, Fred, Larry and the other four men. They all stayed close until Johnny and I were safely in the back of the limousine. Fred told us he and his men would take a look around the area. Larry stayed with them. He tapped on the top of the limo, and Charles, the driver, took off with Johnny and me.

  Chapter 13 - Johnny

  “I don’t want to go back to the house,” I said, turning to Amanda as we were left the studio.

  She stared up at me, a slight wrinkle between her brows. “Where do you want to go?”

  I shrugged. “You feel like getting a drink?”

  “You heard Fred. We’re not going to be safe until we get home. The stalker could have seen us leave.”

  He let out a frustrated groan. “I didn’t think of that. Okay. Let’s go home. Hopefully, Kevin’s not there.”

  The time at the studio after Kevin had left the studio had been a dream come true. We finished tracks to three of my songs, and had extra time to go back over Kevin’s selections. Terry was the man. He listened to my vision, and quickly added beats and layers to what I had played. It was easily the best recording day I had in years. Getting the songs released would be a stretch with Kevin around. I could do that on my own, or let Terry use his team to do it independently, if Kevin was going to be a hardass.

  We were a few hundred feet from the gates of my house when we noticed a group of media people waiting outside. As soon as the limo was close to the gate, the cameras went off. Charles had to wind down his window to punch in the access code. That’s when the crowd of a dozen or so videographers, photographers and reporters went wild. They all started flashing more pictures, aiming their microphones, smartphones, recording devices and video cameras, and hurling questions at me through his window.

  Amanda didn’t hesitate. She pulled a sweatshirt from her bag and threw it over the opening in the glass between the driver and us. As soon as the gated opened, the limo sped up my driveway, and Amanda flopped back into her seat.

  “That’s nuts!” She said.

  “Yeah. I wonder what they want now.”

  “Probably a response to the dressing room pictures.

  Amanda rested her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. I took the opportunity to let my eyes travel down her body.

  “I know the perfect escape,” I said. “If the media leaves later on, we’re going.”

  Amanda cocked an eyebrow at me. “And where is that?”

  “You’ll see.” I didn’t give her any hints.

  “We really shouldn’t. The stalker found you at the studio. She can find you anywhere. And we already know she’s aware of where you live.”

  “Amanda. I can’t stop living my life because of that crazy woman. I won’t become a hermit and barricade myself in my house just to be safe. This is exactly what those people want…to terrorize…to victimize us before we’re even victims. It’s crazy.”<
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  She did not have a chance to respond. Charles stopped the limo at my front steps. He let her out and I jumped out behind her. I spoke quietly with him for a moment, letting him in on where I wanted to go later. He said he would wait at the security shed near the front gate, and I could call once I was ready to leave.

  “Come on,” I told Amanda after Charles went back to sit in the limo. I wrapped my arm around her waist. “It’s just the two of us here at the house now.”

  * * *

  Amanda must have taken to heart what I said about not being a victim. We hung out for a couple hours in the games room downstairs, and when we didn’t hear back from Fred and his agents, she agreed to go out with me. I told her we could dress casually where I was taking her. We both wore jeans and cotton shirts when we met at the bottom of the stairs. And I felt an extra-special boost—she was wearing the locket I had given to her. She carried a light leather jacket in her arms. It reminded me to grab one from the closet near the front door when we left.

  Charles rolled up as we got outside. He was taking us to the dive bar we had gone to after our dinner out about a week ago. Once we were on the way, I relaxed against the seat. Amanda kept looking at me. I couldn’t read her expression, so I let it be. I wanted us to enjoy each other for the rest of the night.

  The city around us transformed as dusk fell. It was my favorite time of day. I had a fascination with watching the city make the shift from day to night. Some businesses closed, and others opened. People hurried home in business attire and uniforms, many of them reappearing downtown hours later, dressed to kill, hitting up the hottest restaurants, bars, and clubs. The energy would change later at night, and turn into what some would call an adult playground. Charles drove past all of that, getting us away from the heart of all the action. Personally, although I enjoyed watching it, I had little desire to be a part of the city nightlife. Not anymore.