Rock Reclaimed: Rockstar Romantic Suspense (Rock Revenge Trilogy Book 2)

by Cari Quinn

  For once, I didn’t really care.

  I was going to enjoy him tonight.

  Once soundcheck ended, Ian was pulled away to talk to a few fans. I took that time to collect myself and my equipment. By the time the outdoor theater started filling up, I was trapped in the logjam of people. I wanted to be down front to see him come onstage.

  I weaved my way through the crowd. Snatches of conversation dented my consciousness.

  Did you see him in Encino?

  Fuck, yes. I nearly came when he did that thing at the end.

  Came? Jesus. What thing at the end?

  I hadn’t been watching his videos as closely as I used to. The real thing kept sneaking back into my life. That, and my current shitstorm with my advisor stopped me from doing anything besides work.

  A prickle of guilt threatened to push into my enjoyment of the night. But there was nothing I could do. In fact, this was exactly what I needed for my show, according to Ginny. I wasn’t quite sold on that yet, but I was willing to find out.

  The lights went down just as I got to the middle section. I flashed my all-access badge and rushed down the main aisle just as the stage lights came up. Ian came up to the microphone. He was backlit to a mere shadow.

  I nearly hit my knees in reaction.

  He wore all black. Similar and so very different from the first time I saw him. Then he’d been mismatched and glittery in a garish extreme. Now?

  Now he was in fitted black pants with a floral leather pattern climbing his legs. A silky black button-down shirt was tucked in, showing off just how well those goddamn pants fit him. His inky hair was a riot of curls tumbling down his shoulders to tease into the opening of his shirt. But it was the silver cross glittering against his skin that made me burn. The memory of it dangling over me as he thrusted into me again and again was like a frigging match.

  Mine.

  I wanted to clear out the whole audience and squirrel him away with me so no one could see this.

  I wanted it to be only for me.

  My fingers worked independently from my lust-filled lizard brain. I took the shots. Lined up the lighting and settings for the perfect rockstar photos. But the other half of me was revving up as his low, raspy voice filled the amphitheater. His voice was sex. His stage persona was as enthralling as any of the greats I’d seen over the years.

  Presence.

  It couldn’t be bought. It could be learned by some, but a true artist breathed it into the words they sang, the music they created. Ian was already mastering his talents in the short time since I’d seen him last. Tonight, he held the crowd in the palm of his hand with his moody and sensual opening song.

  Lark’s liquid backing vocals enhanced Ian’s rough-around-the-edges textured voice. His vocal range filled the little pavilion and bounced around the crowd. The song started off soft and heavy and built until he was howling into the mic in a pure sexual frenzy.

  He dropped to his knees at the end of the song and found me in the crowd.

  His eyes were glittering and full of madness. His chest heaved with the note he’d held and I was absolutely done. Then the lights went dark.

  The crowd erupted into screams and the rest of the set was full of rocking songs that brought people to their feet with laughter and clapping singalongs. He knew how to engage. I got dozens of shots of him flirting with the crowd. Drawing them into his wicked web of snark and sass before he blew them away with his talent.

  I truly enjoyed the entire show. I got amazing shots and even a video or two, but the opening song was the one that gripped me and didn’t let go.

  I wandered the venue and took some shots of the fans freaking out at the merchandise tables, as well as the special fan lines that were part of some winery package. The band had gone to mingle with the winery party in full swing.

  Ripper had a team set up for the meet and greet to take pictures, but I was so amused by how people reacted to Ian that I couldn’t help myself. That, and he was extra cute with the fans. He never made them feel like it was a burden to speak to them.

  Considering the last time I’d seen him in a concert environment it had been more of the Ian show with a side of badass ego, this side of him was a lot to take in.

  “Excuse me?”

  I turned toward a trim blond woman in an apron over the stark black and white, universal server uniform. “Yes?”

  “Are you with Mr. Kagan?”

  I pressed my lips together and let my camera rest against my chest. “How exactly do you mean?”

  “His team.”

  My eyebrow winged up. “Yes, I suppose I am. I’m the photographer with his band.”

  She gave a relieved sigh and pulled a cart around from behind a long banquet table. “I was instructed to give these food platters to the band, but they seemed to have disappeared.”

  “Oh. They’re out mingling in the winery.” I glanced down at the wine and cheese spread. One platter held meats and cheeses and there was fruit arranged on the other. I nibbled on the corner of my thumbnail. We hadn’t actually had many…well, dates. “Do you have a basket, maybe? You know, like picnic style?”

  The woman smiled. “I actually do.”

  “And maybe a place to, you know…” I swallowed. I felt like a jerk asking, but I’d been all over the winery taking pictures this evening and there weren’t all that many private areas. I had a feeling Ian’s fans would be eagle-eyed looking for him after the show tonight. Especially considering the line he was taking care of at the moment.

  “Someplace romantic?”

  I blew out a breath. “That obvious?”

  “Only because I wish it were me.” She gave me a wry smile. “Lucky girl. I’ve got just the place. Follow me.”

  I glanced at where Ian was. He was deep in conversation with a female fan who looked like she was about to keel over with nerves. At the end of the line was a man in a black suit. He was on his phone, but he kept eyeing Ian.

  I didn’t recognize him, but I assumed he was security for the evening. They should stay off their phones while working, but it had to be pretty boring to watch fans fawn over Ian all night. I was just glad he was there to watch over him. Even as well-meaning as the fans were, they could get a touch overzealous.

  I knew that firsthand with the mail I kept getting.

  I hurried after the waitress and we made up a perfect basket with two bottles of wine and a mix of the two platters.

  I slipped her a fifty from my emergency money in my camera case. “You did me a solid.”

  “Oh, you don’t need to—”

  I gave her a bland look. “I’ve worked catering. Believe me, you earned this times three.”

  She took the bill and tucked it into the pocket of her shirt with a wink.

  “Time to go get my guy.” I looped the soft-sided bag over my shoulder.

  “I put a blanket at the bottom of the bag.”

  “You’re the best.”

  “Have fun.” She waved and hurried back out into the crush of people.

  I took a left and made my way back to Ian. I ducked under the red ropes around him and caught him around the waist as he was guzzling water.

  He smiled down at me. “Where have you been?”

  I patted my cooler bag. “Collecting contraband.”

  “You are a goddess. I’m starving.”

  I took his hand. “Then follow me.”

  He laughed. “Are we going back to the bus?”

  “Nope.”

  “Oh? Care to give a clue?”

  “Nope.” I zig-zagged through people. A few offered startled glances when they recognized Ian, but I dragged him through and around so many different groups of people, they couldn’t tail us for long.

  “Zoe, where are we going?”

  I hung a sharp right as we got out of the main winery and ducked under a low tree branch with a lantern hanging off of it. I counted until we reached the fourth tree full of fairy lights and found the secret path my little waitress friend h
ad told me about.

  “You aren’t pulling me into some secret place where you’re going to leave my body, are you?”

  I glanced over my shoulder on the dimly lit path and laughed. “Have you been listening to those true crime podcasts too?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to push you off the cliff.”

  “What cliff?”

  I tugged him after me. “This one.”

  “Holy shit!”

  The ocean opened up in front of us. The moon was bright enough that it showed the silvery crests of waves crashing up against the cliffside. Monterey’s coastline was unlike any other.

  Ian came up behind me and curled his arms around me. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “Yeah. I saw some of it from the bus ride, but you were out like a light and missed it all.”

  “Gonna have to say it’s way better with the current company.”

  “Yeah?” I peered up at him. It was too dark to see much of his features beyond what the moonlight highlighted. But damn, he was the most beautiful man I’d ever met. I reached up and cupped his cheek, drawing him down until our mouths met. The kiss was far sweeter than we’d ever shared before.

  I shivered and he pulled me closer.

  “There’s a blanket in the bag.”

  He let me go and found the blanket. I heard the hollow pop of a cork and laughed when his arms came around me with a blanket tucked in his long fingers, along with an open bottle.

  “There’s food too.”

  He enveloped me in his warmth, tucking me even closer. “I have everything I need right here.”

  I took a sip from the bottle and handed it to him. Instead, he lowered his mouth to mine again. His tongue snuck in for a taste of the wine.

  He made a low humming moan. “Delicious.”

  “You didn’t even try it.”

  “Oh, but I did. No wine could taste as good as you do, Magic.”

  I shivered again. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders until there was no air between us. I wasn’t cold anymore, but he didn’t need to know that. I had a little slice of perfect right here, right now. “Thanks for making me come.”

  He buried his face in my neck. “I always like making you come.”

  “Such a cheeky bastard.”

  He tucked his chin in the space between my shoulder and neck. “Your cheeky bastard, love.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  And I couldn’t even fight it any longer.

  Twenty-Three

  The lights of LA glittered outside the window. This was the Promised Land, the place where all Jerry’s dreams would come true. Assuming Ian started offering up the goddamn details he was supposed to.

  How many days had he tried to reach Ian? How many voicemails had he left? Yesterday, he’d left one instructing Ian to meet his associate, Robert, in LA earlier tonight. No response. Jerry had arrived to observe said meeting and found one brassed-off Robert and no Ian.

  Of course Ian hadn’t made the meeting, because he’d had another rinky-dink show farther up the coast.

  That was not going to stand.

  Jerry reclined in his chair as a thin cry echoed down the hall. Time for her medication. She was becoming more and more restless at night, and the prescribed doses weren’t doing their job as well as they once had. But she was like a baby. He couldn’t run to her every time she whined or else she’d take advantage.

  Like someone else he knew. Time for that to stop.

  Past time.

  He brought up the latest coordinates for Ian’s location. Surprise, surprise. Venice Beach once again. Not to the dodgy motel where Ian rented a room, but to the lovely little artists’ commune where Zoe Manning lived. He’d just bet this wasn’t a drive-by visit, either. Ian was in for the night—and that wasn’t a euphemism.

  It would be so easy, he mused, to just send in Robert to take care of the loose ends. Ian wasn’t doing what he was supposed to in any case, so why bother trying to goad him into doing his job?

  Jerry still had a wild card he could use with Simon. Not the best one, but Ian wasn’t exactly proving to be an ace in the hole, either.

  And the bottom line was if he didn’t take out the trash himself, soon enough, someone else would. The people he worked with weren’t as forgiving as he was.

  Ian clearly had no intention of following through on the plan. He’d been easily controlled once upon a time. A few threats—not to him, as the boy had a death wish, but to the one he held dear—and a couple well-placed words, and Ian had trotted merrily along to his tune. Ian was a loyal sort under the muck and the grime, and he believed a debt owed should be repaid.

  Or at least he used to. Now he seemed more interested in gaining some of Simon’s mirror shine for himself.

  Tossing what amounted to mere pennies Jerry’s way, as if that could repay the vast sum he owed. How utterly laughable. Almost as amusing as that career he kept trying to sputter to life.

  Oh, he’d signed a paltry record contract. Big deal. Naturally, he’d signed one with a man with more ties to shady business dealings than you could shake a stick at. Donovan Lewis was as ruthless as they came. If he’d signed Ian, he knew he could make money off him, and then he’d toss Ian aside in a heartbeat. Amazing that Simon still seemed to have a lucrative career on Donovan’s label…but Ian wasn’t Simon.

  That had been borne out so far by the ridiculous amounts Ian had tried to placate him with. Then again, the boy hadn’t had much schooling. Maybe he really was that daft.

  But if he was, his beautiful Zoe wasn’t. Ian might not care about himself, but Zoe was a different story.

  Jerry picked up one of the photos from Ian’s most recent show. There she was, in front of the stage, singing along and taking pictures. He picked up the heavy black marker and crossed out her face. Obliterated it until there was nothing left but black marker. Then he picked up his scissors and cut the picture into slices.

  The next photo in the pile was of her and Ian. He repeated the same process, except he left Ian intact. He so enjoyed slicing Zoe off the photo and chopping her virtual image into tiny, unrecognizable bits.

  He dumped both pictures into an envelope, neatly block printed with her address. He’d alternated the method of delivery of the other photos. Didn’t want a pattern to emerge.

  Perhaps he’d been too careful. He’d tried to send her a message, but obviously, it was not a strong enough one. That was okay. He had other avenues to pursue. Other ways of recouping his losses, even if Ian no longer wanted to fulfill his duty.

  As much fun as it was to toy with Zoe, she was akin to Ian. Virtually worthless. But there was someone else Simon would pay any price to keep safe.

  Jerry picked up the second stack of photos and smiled at the lovely Margo Kagan. She was looking particularly gorgeous lately. Some new skincare regime perhaps. More likely a round of Botox, since they started younger every year.

  He went through the same routine as he had with Zoe’s photos, dumping them into an envelope addressed to Margo. For the final one, he picked up his lighter. The flame caught, the fire licking eagerly at the paper.

  This one wasn’t for the envelope. It was strictly for pleasure.

  As the edges curled, he studied Margo’s pretty face, her hand securely wrapped in her husband’s. Such a touching romance. He was a sucker for love. As proven by the woman down the hall, even now crying for him.

  Pity Simon and Margo’s fairy tale was just about to come to an end.

  Twenty-Four

  Jesus, I was fucked.

  The night before, I’d blown off a meeting with Jerry’s “friend,” Robert. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew those kinds of meetings weren’t ones I could skip. But I hadn’t been in LA at the time. I’d been on my way back from my show, and all snuggled up with Zoe to boot. What was I supposed to tell her?

  Oh, go on and occupy yourself for a bit, love. I’m just going to meet with the associate of the man I owe a cool million to. A
nd if I don’t pay? He’s going to kill me.

  So, I’d said nothing. And now I was dealing with the situation as I tended to.

  With a hefty dose of denial and personal pain.

  I stepped inside the loo and let the door shut behind me. The bathroom at Ripper Records looked more like a parlor than a restroom. Even for the men. There was a little sitting room outside the urinal and stall area, for fuck’s sake.

  Which was where I was dropped down to smoke a cig while I contemplated my inner arm.

  I rolled up my long sleeve and pushed back the cords and bands I wore to disguise the marks. The circular wound had finally healed. The long hatch marks were far fainter. I’d only tried the one time, not long after I’d made the deal with Jerry. Protecting my mother had been half the reason I’d agreed. If I went to prison for what I’d done, who would be around to keep the blokes she hooked up with in line?

  Not that I’d always won those fights. I’d always been a scrawny kid, and my years of not having a steady diet had probably taken their toll. But I’d been her last line of defense against men who tried to take more than she’d given.

  Even now I was, though long distance. I wasn’t only beholden to Jerry because of the money he’d fronted for me. The charges his connections had gotten dropped. If I didn’t ante up, she could be made to pay my price.

  Suicide wasn’t an escape for me. I didn’t have one. The mistakes I’d made in my early twenties would follow me to my grave and beyond.

  I lifted the cigarette and stared at the glowing tip. The spot on my inner arm was already tingling. If I pushed it into the ruined flesh there, all this chaos in my head would just…stop. The pain would wash it all away until I could think clearly again. No more fretting about the money I didn’t have. No more wondering if I could run fast enough and make enough to placate Jerry so I wouldn’t have to be the asshole Simon already thought I was.

  God, I didn’t want his money. I wanted my own. To be able to look at myself in the mirror without shame.

  Most of all—somehow most of all, over everything—I wanted to be able to be with Zoe. To be worthy of her. I couldn’t be that if I continued on the same path I’d been on before I stepped foot in LA.