Wicked Bad Boys

by Bella Love-Wins

  “That’s not true—” he started to reply, but I cut him off.

  “When the tour is done, I’m going to get the hell away from you.” I turned and continued as I walked over to my suitcases. “For the rest of the time I’m here, you will only speak to me if it’s necessary and job-related. That’s the extent of our professional-only interaction. Got it?”

  “Amanda—” he said, voice full of remorse.

  He walked up behind me when I pulled on the zipper of one suitcase to close it. I stood up and looked up at his repentant face. He must have been trying to manipulate me with those wide, pleading eyes.

  “No. You don’t get to tell me anything else.”

  His eyes were wild as he searched my stony face. The wounded look in his stare almost broke me, but I dug deeper and found a new layer of resolve.

  “The only reason I followed you online is because I cared about you. Can’t you see that?”

  “I’m sure your stalker cares about you too.”

  “Come on. You can’t compare me to her. I wasn’t doing it to be malicious.”

  “It doesn’t matter what your intention was! Don’t you get that? I have been hurt by only one man before and I thought—”

  My voice broke away. My throat tightened. I had said too much.

  “Who hurt you? You never told me about anyone. Is that why you won’t give me a chance?”

  “This conversation is about you. Not my past. I really thought you were different, but you’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

  “I…you’re right. I fucked up. I’m sorry, Amanda.”

  I was already weak and worn out from this confrontation. I walked over to my phone and unplugged it from the charger, sliding it into my pocket, and stuffing the charger into my bag. I sat beside my suitcases. “Why didn’t you just tell me? Now it feels like everything has been a lie. I thought we were getting to know each other, getting closer, when in reality, you’ve been stalking me for three years. What am I supposed to feel about that, huh?”

  “I wasn’t stalking you Amanda,” he insisted.

  “You messaged me, followed my profiles, built a virtual relationship with me for three years. Then, when you had your chance, you brought me out to basically live with you…without being upfront about who you really were. How is that not stalking?”

  “My intentions were never to hurt you.”

  “No, just to fool me into thinking I could have a real shot at this security business. Oh and get into my pants, right? I guess that was just icing on the cake.”

  “None of that is true.”

  “And last night?” I said, the wind already knocked out of me. “Was that part of your game too?”

  “Come on, Amanda. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

  My hands curled into fists. It took everything in me to keep from standing up to reel one back and punch him in the face.

  “Go to hell, Johnny.” I opted for nonviolence. I got up and dragged my suitcases to the door. “I’ll be out there…in the living room…or wherever I can find space in this suite. Only call for me if it’s urgent.”

  I pulled the door to slam it shut before he could say another word.

  Chapter 4 - Johnny

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Amanda slammed the door behind her, and I was left gutted on the other side. She had not hit me, although toward the end I could tell she wanted to, and a part of me wished she had. She had every right. My last comment had been out of line.

  “What were you thinking?” I paced the room. I wanted to punch something, to break something. It was ripping my chest apart. It needed to be unleashed; the anger and regret inside me knotted up my insides. It was more than I could handle.

  My hands raked through my hair as I circled the room. Thoughts on how to fix this ping-ponged around my mind, but I was left with no real solutions. Just when things had begun to feel right between Amanda and me, a new shitstorm hit—caused entirely by yours truly. I groaned out and sat on the edge of my bed, burying my face in my hands.

  Lorne, you’re such an ass!

  Flowers and cookies weren’t going to get me out of this mess. No way. Nothing was going to fix it easily—not even jewelry. I couldn’t charm, or buy, or talk my way out of it.

  Then it hit me.

  I could lose her over this.

  Fuck.

  The realization slid down my stomach like a hot coal, searing my insides. There was no way I would let that happen.

  Amanda was mad as hell, and I couldn’t blame her. I had misled her, figuring she would come around when she eventually found out. ‘Eventually’ came a few hours before I was ready, and fuck, all that we had was spinning down the drain. She must have thought I was some kind of animal.

  A monster.

  A sick game-playing, girl-banging prick and a half.

  I tried to calm down. Being stuck in this room and on a leash for so long had already begun to drive me insane. This newest repercussion was only going to make it that much worse. There was one more event before I could get back to LA and relax before the final two stops. The timing was horrible.

  I should have done something sooner.

  I should not have let her leave this room. Not without my hands pleasuring her smoking hot body, reminding her how far we had come. With that in mind, I went out to the living room—I was getting my woman back.

  * * *

  Amanda was not in the living room. Neither were her suitcases. I went from room to room, and heard sounds coming from the den.

  “Amanda.” I rapped on the half-opened door. “Can we just talk about this for a minute?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” she said.

  I looked through the open doorway. She had managed to drag a loveseat from the sunken living room and up three steps to get it in the den. The empty spot for stretching was now occupied.

  “There’s no way you’re sleeping in that,” I told her, stepping inside the already cramped space.

  “Well I’m not sleeping with you. I have to stay in the suite to do my job. This will have to do.”

  I took hold of her arm and stepped in front of her. “Jesus, Amanda. Will you just talk to me?”

  She stopped and looked up at me. “Okay. What do you want to say before I get ready to relax?”

  “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. I was wrong.”

  “Okay. I heard your apology. You can leave now.”

  “What? Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

  She let out a breath. “Johnny, come on, you deceived me. How do you expect me to feel?”

  “No, Amanda, I did not deceive you. I just left out a few details. It doesn’t change anything between us.”

  “Of course it does.”

  She pushed past me to the other side of the door and grabbed her first suitcase. Automatically, I reached out and took it from her. She looked up at me, glowering.

  “I’m not letting you sleep in this room,” I said, refusing to let her take it back.

  “You don’t get to tell me where I sleep tonight.”

  “You’re not sleeping in here.” I put the suitcase at the door again. “If you don’t want me near you, fine, I’ll sleep on the couch, or in Kevin’s spare bedroom across the hall.”

  “That’s not necessary. It’s your place.”

  “I don’t care whose place it is. You’re not curling up in that thing. It’s half your height.”

  She moved around me to get her the luggage again. I closed in. She felt I was standing directly behind her, and set the bag down. I put my arms around her waist, lightly at first, as this woman could throw me using an over-the-shoulder pass—one that could land me on my ass, right through the door and out the den.

  She did not push me away or recoil from my touch. She sank back into my chest and her head dropped forward. Her breathing changed.

  Then I heard a whimper.

  Shit. She was crying.

  Fuck.

  “Oh God. Pleas
e don’t cry, Amanda.” I turned her now pliable body to face me and buried her tear-soaked face in my chest. “I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot. I was stupid. I never meant to hurt you.”

  Once I took her in my arms, she was the most silent female crying person I had ever met. My chest was wet, but she didn’t heave, mutter, whimper, or let out any high-pitched sighs. This was a whole new method of shedding tears. Shit, did it ever tug at my heart strings. It elicited this contradiction of emotion in me—the strong urge to protect her, and the abject guilt from being the cause of her misery.

  After a few minutes, she pulled away just enough to bring her hands to her face. She brushed some tears away. Her face was red, and her eyes were slightly swollen. She would not look at me. “I didn’t think you could hurt me like this, Johnny,” she said between sniffles. “I promised I would not let anyone this close again…”

  I sat her on the loveseat and kneeled at her feet, finally at eye level, to make her look me in the eye. I ran my fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck. “I promise you… I swear to you right now…I won’t ever hurt you again.”

  Amanda stared back at me, lost, her eyes pleading and saddened. I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity. All I wanted to do was envelope her in my arms and let time take us back to last night. She said nothing. I sat beside her and pulled her in to lean on me. There was no point telling her the things I would do and be for her. When it was all said and done, I had betrayed her trust, and it was going to be a long road to earn it back again. At least she was not pushing me away right now.

  “I need a few minutes alone,” she said. “We can talk later. Right now I just need some time.”

  She pulled from my chest and walked out of the room to the bathroom near the front door. The door closed and locked behind her.

  * * *

  My stomach growled about an hour later. Amanda was still in the bathroom. I realized for the first time that I had not eaten much all day. I stepped into the living area. No one was around, but there were voices coming from the guest rooms Fred, his men and the other guards occupied. I got closer. They were going through an evening briefing. I stared at the kitchen, mentally debating whether I wanted anything from the catered food trays that looked like they had been sitting there since lunch time.

  What I really wanted to do was get out of here.

  Whenever I felt like this, a night drive with the windows down was usually enough to help me get my head together. The problem was, we had flown to Vegas, and I was being driven around by limos and private security SUVs.

  I had to get out of this hotel suite.

  The walls were closing in.

  Leaving would not get Amanda out of my head, but it would give me some room to breathe. I walked back to my bedroom and phoned the concierge desk, requesting they arrange a rental car for me. I didn’t care what they had available. The concierge put me on hold for less than a minute, and returned with confirmation a car would be waiting for me down at the valet within twenty minutes.

  After I hung up, I thought of asking Amanda to come with me.

  She would not go for it right now.

  The thought of never having Amanda ride shotgun with me…I was even more angry and frustrated. If the situation had been different, we could be cruising the Strip, checking out the city, having some fun for a change.

  I groaned as I found some clothes, along with my baseball cap and sunglasses. Dressing quickly, I slipped on my leather jacket, left my room and walked out the front door. No one was in the hallway either. They must have all been at the briefing. Impressive. I managed my escape without anyone noticing.

  Or at least, so I thought.

  Chapter 5 - Amanda

  I stepped into the powder room at the front door, closing the door behind me. I threw myself back against it. The panic threatened to overtake me. I had barely shut the door when a new flood of the tears escaped. I let loose, my sobs racking my body as I sank down to the cold tile floor. I hated myself for crying. Coming to think about it, before meeting Johnny, I had not dropped a tear since two days after I lost the big fight—the next worse day of my life. That thought only made me cry harder.

  Once my emotional reservoir had finally dried up, I lay in a ball on the hard icy floor, my mind unable to slow down even though my body was spent. It felt as though I had been working this gig forever. In reality, it had barely been three weeks. It was the all-encompassing drama that made the time seem so drawn out.

  I missed home. I wanted to sleep in my bed, feed my fish and be normal again. I had never felt homesick like this. Growing up, I had barely had a home until I moved in with my father in my teens. My mother ping-ponged us from one shitty apartment to the next, never staying in one place for more than a year, so I learned to not get overly attached to places or things. I knew all too well that it could be ripped away in an instant. My apartment in Miami had been home for the past few years, and until now, collapsed in this bathroom floor, I had not realized how much it meant to me.

  One more week. Just one more week.

  When I finally felt strong enough to stand, I heaved myself up. I stood facing the vanity, taking in my swollen, gullible face. I rolled my eyes to myself, thinking some of this was on me for not questioning how a million-dollar security gig could have fallen into my lap so easily. Turning the faucet on, I leaned forward and rinsed my face. After drying it off, I leaned closer to the mirror and checked out my face again. Blotches everywhere. I looked like crap. What did it matter? I didn’t care what any of these people thought of me. Not anymore.

  I was no longer under the misguided notion that they believed I knew what I was doing. I did not need to project any image, because in all likelihood, I was the last to know Johnny had staged my getting hired. They had to know what I was.

  A hack. A wannabe.

  I began to wish I had never met Johnny…or Lorne…or whoever the hell he was.

  I was not ready to face him yet.

  For some reason—I decided later that it was sick curiosity—I pulled out my phone and turned it on. The battery power was still low, but it came on this time.

  How convenient.

  I cursed at it. If only my phone had turned on a couple of hours ago when I needed it, I never would have thought of using his tablet. I would still be in that sweet fantasy where I was Johnny’s girl, and he wasn’t a no-good, cyber-stalking, meddling, fly-my-ass-out-to-LA under false pretenses degenerate.

  I continued scanning through old posts on my phone, stopping each time I saw stonefaceviper79. It was almost like tracing the stalker’s posts on Johnny’s page. Well, except he never said anything about blowing me up or wanting to taste my blood…

  His last message was a comment to the post where I wallowed about wanting to start my own business.

  Keep your chin tucked, Roxy. You got this fight.

  I remembered the first time I had read that message. It was so encouraging, and filled me with hope. Now, it just confused me. It didn’t even sound like something Johnny would say. He never called me Roxy, and since we met, we had not talked much about my fighting career, except for my tipsy confessional at the bar.

  I scanned back and wrote down the other messages. Early on, they were all replies about my fights, pumping me up before, cheering me after the win. There were some from when I had been injured. All supportive, encouraging, and occasionally he posted silly videos that had made me laugh.

  Reading through it all, knowing that it had been Johnny the entire time…well, it sent another chill through me.

  I was ready to confront him again.

  The second I stepped out of the bathroom, I heard the front door slam shut. I got a sinking feeling and ran back to the den. Johnny was not there. I raced to his master suite. He was not there either. Shit. I ran back to the front door and popped my head through. Checking the hallway, I quickly weighed whether I should knock on Kevin’s room door or head to the elevator. I made a quick decision and ran to the elevator bays. If he w
ere with Kevin, I wouldn’t need to worry, but if he had left, it was not going to be good news. I made it down the long hallway and as I got closer to the two rows of elevators, the last one closed…with Johnny inside.

  Crap.

  My heart raced as I bolted back to the room, noticing for the first time there were none of the private security guards at either doors—not at Kevin’s or ours. I had no purse, and no key card to get back inside.

  Son of a bitch.

  My body kicked into action faster than the rest of me, and before my mind caught up, I was back at the elevator bay pressing on the down button. I grabbed at my back pocket, automatically searching for my phone. I tried Johnny’s number. The phone went right to voicemail—probably because he was still on his way downstairs.

  I pressed the down button frantically again, and an elevator arrived. It could not get to the lobby fast enough. As I rode down, I thought about calling Kevin or Fred to alert them, and to find out where the hell the door security guys had been. I realized I would have to admit that Johnny had been able to fly the coop right under my nose, and decided against that plan.

  I’d find him myself.

  With nothing but my almost dead phone?

  I really was in over my head at this bodyguard gig.

  My elevator brainstorming quickly turned into a list of worst-case scenarios. Before I could stop myself, images surfaced of Johnny being drawn out by the stalker to some remote location where she would be waiting for him…with a knife, or gun, or explosive device.

  I put the thought out of my mind. The lobby bell rang and I ran off the elevator. I rushed to the entrance where we were let off last night.

  And there he was.

  Johnny was in his leather jacket and baseball cap, exiting the lobby. I sprinted the rest of the way and got outside just as he tipped a valet and stepped inside a car I had never seen.

  “Johnny!”

  I rushed around the back of the car to the driver side. Lucky for me, he had rolled down the window and had his left arm hanging out. I pinned his wrist to stop him.