That he let the crowd sing as he mouthed the words into the microphone.
Eyes that had been full of nerves and fire flattened with the glossy smile of a man who knew how to do it by rote. There was no pleasure there. There was duty and the posturing of a man that knew his role.
“That’s crap,” I muttered as the song ended.
Lindsey’s eyes widened. My voice wasn’t even close to a whisper. It carried, because I wanted it to.
Jamie just put her head down on her stacked arms. “Please don’t make me fight a bunch of prissy bitches tonight.”
Johnny’s jawline tightened and I saw a bit of that fire from earlier. The gloss was cracking. Far more interesting.
He finished that song and immediately, seamlessly flicked into the power ballad that had earned him a Grammy. It was one of the most covered songs in Rebel Rage’s arsenal. Hell, every season of X Factor and The Voice had one of the hopefuls give it a go.
A bit of the earlier flavor slipped in and I could hear the change in arrangement of the song. It was the Johnny who had fired up my lady parts for the first time in seven months.
My gaze riveted to the stage. I sat cross-legged under the table, grabbing each ankle and squeezing against the need pinging around inside me.
I didn’t like it, and I wanted more of it.
The next song was like the earlier songs of the set. It didn’t take long for the crowd to grow restless.
“Bollocks,” I muttered when he returned to the safety of the band songs that had nursed him into a millionaire. “Get off the teat!” I yelled.
Lindsey smacked me. “Shhh.”
“What? He’s doing the safe songs because there’s some small-minded people in the crowd? C’mon, yank, grow a pair!” I called out again.
He kicked out at the mic stand and stood. He swung the guitar around behind him and lifted the arm of the stand up to his mouth. He looked down at me. “Problem?”
“Yeah. Show me some of that life—you know, from earlier.”
He opened his arms to the room and that intense gaze left me. “Is that what you want?”
My thighs went to jelly as I released my ankles and my feet thumped to the floor. God, I was hot.
The crowd booed me and the smirk was back. The cocksure one that knew what it was to own a crowd.
Why that made me even more angry I couldn’t explain. I didn’t want the gloss and the pretty plastic, I wanted the fire.
He puffed out his chest and tipped back his head. He looked like the rock god I’d seen on a million screens and posters. The first time I came to New York, I saw that exact pose on a screen in Times Square.
It was rock royalty and sex.
The power of it couldn’t be denied, even if it wasn’t what I was looking for. I wanted the other guy on stage. He screamed, “‘Gonna Live Forever’” into the microphone and the room lost their collective shit.
I stood and Jamie gave me a what-the-fuck look. The entire club pulsed with the bar-room beat of the song. It was every sing-a-long, every encore song known to man, and it was exactly what he was.
A rock star.
And I so wasn’t interested.
FOUR
Fighting my way out of the room was like surfing into a coral reef and current of jellyfish at the same time. I wasn’t sure who or what was going to trip me or sting me. Purses, heels, drinks, nails—all of it was a war zone.
My boots stuck to the floor as the crowd got more out of hand. I glanced back one more time. I didn’t want to, dammit. I wanted a free and clear escape, but I had to see him one last time. I was rewarded with a dimple-dented smooth cheek that made me want to poke it with the tip of my tongue.
Fucking fuck.
No way did I need that in my head. Dimples were ridiculous and not at all manly, and yet there I was, salivating nonetheless. He clutched the odd-shaped microphone and his arms lifted, hands fisted toward the rafters. The sheer breadth of his chest and shoulders had pulled his shirttail out. A wide black belt rode low on his hips, showing off all the muscles I’d expected.
Smooth and tight with barely a dusting of hair.
My mouth watered and my pussy was so fucking wet I would need a shower and my bottom-drawer-boyfriend to get through the night intact.
Oh God, I so needed out of there.
I elbow-blocked my way free of the people packed in the aisles. Waiters and waitresses had given up battling through the melee. Instead the bar was crawling with men and women, though most of them were focused on the stage.
They all knew these lyrics, that was for sure. Having a crowd sing back your songs was a high. I wasn’t a musician, but I knew the crowd mentality.
I understood it and lived it when I was in the octagon. Chanting my name with boos interspersed for flavor. I loved that aspect of a fight. I couldn’t deny that the crowd was part of the thrill. I just didn’t want to hear it now.
Not after I’d seen the other. It was time to shake off the lust and fascination. It wasn’t productive and wasn’t going to have any bearing on my night.
Well, other than finding my vibe and going at myself so I could actually sleep.
Pathetic, but I knew myself and knew what I needed. I was far too keyed-up to drop into an exhausted sleep as I normally did. I’d been working so hard that a boneless heap was a reaction, not necessarily my destination. If my body let me, I would have probably added another two to four hours to my workout routines.
I escaped the bombastic crowd-pleaser to the street and sucked in lungfuls of the New York night. Exhaust and grime-tinged perfection. I loved this city as much as London. Both soaked into my bones and infused the marrow where the spongy bits of happiness were buried.
His music and the screams filtered out here too, but at least it didn’t have a Johnny Cage Technicolor backup. It could have been a radio version. I wasn’t sure how he did it, but his version of the acoustic song was close enough that I wondered if he didn’t have the song piped in to lip sync to.
He didn’t seem the type, but how the hell was I to know? I could breathe again and that’s all that mattered to me. I dug out my phone and started checking off my daily routine goals—reps, hours at the gym, pass or fail on the training for the day.
Ten minutes later, the crowd poured out of the club and Jamie’s husky voice lifted over the din. I looked up from my phone.
“Get back in here.”
I shoved my phone into my pocket. “Why?”
“We’re going backstage.”
“Yeah, pass.” I definitely didn’t need to be part of that one, thanks.
“We’re going out the back and have a car back there to leave.”
“I’ll take the tube.”
“You’re not in London, genius.”
I rolled my eyes and waded through the crowd. “You know what I mean.”
Bouncer dude gave me a hard look, but Jamie flashed a red-roped laminate that she definitely hadn’t been wearing before. He nodded curtly and I slipped back inside.
“C’mon. Don’t you want to meet him?”
I snorted and hooked a thumb into my pocket. “Oh, after I gave him shit?”
“Yeah, well, that’ll be interesting for sure.” Jamie’s dark eyes danced. “Lindsey’s having a kitten about that.”
“Even more reason for me to get gone.”
“The subway will be a bitch this time of night. We’ve got a car. Way easier.”
We’ve got a car. I shook my head. Jesus, they were living a completely different life than I was. I ate Ramen three times a week to allow for the expensive protein shakes I drank to bulk up my muscle mass, and they had drivers.
Bloody hell.
But the idea of four stops to get to my crap apartment wasn’t all that appealing either. I gulped back a burst of nerves as Jamie led me past a small crowd of girls. I recognized the gold sparkle shirt and a wine-and-leather combo from two of the reserved table girls we’d met.
Becky and Ana waved to us as Jamie flash
ed her badge at the next round of suits. We ducked through a hidden door in the side of the stage and down some stairs. The walls were a black and red scattershot pattern that made me smile back at Jamie.
“What?”
I shrugged. “We’re going to hell.”
She snorted. “You’re such an ass.”
I got to the last stair and another dark knight duo was waiting for us. “Jesus, does this bloke warrant this level of guard or does he require the ego stroke?” I said over my shoulder.
“It’s the club’s idea.”
I winced and turned at the deep, all-too-familiar voice. “Well, fuck.”
Johnny’s dimple flashed again. “I get the pleasure of your contempt backstage too, huh?”
Green eyes. Still hooded in the low light of the basement level room we were in, but they were definitely dancing. That was a good thing. Maybe.
I jammed my hands in my pockets. “You kinda like it, don’t ya?”
“It’s more palatable with the accent, I’ll say that.”
“Don’t mind my friend.” Jamie shoved me aside and wrapped her long arms around him.
My eyebrows shot up. Oh, shit. She was friends with him? I’d been cracking on him all frigging night. I was so fucking oblivious. No wonder Lindsey was losing her shit.
He kept staring at me over Jamie’s head. He was a tall fucker. Couldn’t tell from his seated position most of the night and the extra height of the stage.
My heart thumped hard against my sternum. I liked big. And damn, his shoulders were even broader up close.
Jamie stepped back. “I should go upstairs and sell my shirt. You sweat all over me, Cage.”
He settled his assessing gaze on Jamie and crinkles at the corners of his eyes showed a true affection for her. Not the plastic smile. That was gone. “You and Lindz are a pair. She said the same damn thing.”
She scooped up her inky hair and flipped it into a messy topknot. “We are the same person.”
“No, you most definitely are not.”
“Okay, so I’m the hot one,” Jamie said.
Cage grinned and I was fairly sure that dimple was going to star in a few hot dreams tonight. Maybe I’d even name my bottom-drawer-boyfriend Cage. I liked the roughness of the name.
Kind of appropriate, considering my job and all.
“I have a quick meet-and-greet to do upstairs, but if you want to hang in my dressing room, I should be done in twenty.”
Jamie nodded. “Sounds good.”
He grazed by me. His skin was hot and the finery of his sleeve made me itch to touch. Hooded eyes gave me a once-over, but instead of tits and ass, I felt his burning stare on my neck.
Did he notice my scars?
I didn’t hide them, but with my hair down, they were far less obtrusive. My fingers bunched into fists, and my muscles tightened in reaction. Both the flush of lust that filled every blessed capillary and vein, and the sweat that popped out between my shoulder blades left me ready to fight.
But he wasn’t looking to start something. At least not that kind of something. Instead he lifted molten feline eyes to mine and swiped his tongue along the fullness of his lower lip, then passed me without a word.
If there had been a wall near me, I would have sagged against it. As it was, the crotch of my jeans had probably soaked through. Attraction was very ill-timed, but at the same time I was happy to see it.
It had been a long drought and I was afraid that my lukewarm reaction to men lately was going to be my lot in life.
Not so much if the man’s name was Johnny Cage evidently.
Good thing most of the female population felt the same way. So convenient to stand out.
“I can’t tell if you want to eat him alive or punch him in the face.”
I laughed. “Just move along, Slutstorm.”
“Oh, new one.”
“I saw you making sex eyes at him too, you know.” I bumped her shoulder.
“Five years ago, I would have fucked him blind into the next county.”
“You were barely legal.”
She shrugged. “Like that stopped either of us.”
I hadn’t known Jamie that long, but we definitely had done some drunken oversharing in our time together. My past had included sneaking out of St. Catherine’s Prep and finding every unsuitable boy from Cambridge to London. Hers had been far more street-worthy.
We’d both added criminal to our list of transgressions at age nineteen. Her for reckless driving and grand theft—me for assault. The priss at uni had it coming and went whining to her daddy because she had to get nine stitches on her precious little knee.
My father had refused to bail me out. Thought he was teaching me a lesson. I’d taken off pretty much after that and found the MMA circuit. I’d never fit in at university, nor had I been able to pull off the society crap that my brother took to so easily.
Evelyn Pierce had been buried long ago. I’d become Hummingbird on the circuit because no one had been quick enough to combat my strikes. Until that night. Until I’d had to start over. Until I’d had to crawl back into the gym with my busted-open jaw and shattered collarbone and pray I could still fight.
The octagon was what I’d been born for. And London had dismissed me before I could even heal enough to try again. New York and their underground fights were my only hope.
“Where the hell are you tonight?”
I blinked out of memories. “It’s been a pisser of a week, babe.”
Jamie frowned. “I thought training was going well.”
“Going up against that fancy bitch again is turning into a spectacle.”
“You’ll kick her ass.” Jamie’s voice brooked no argument. She didn’t have an ounce of doubt. If only I could find a quarter of her conviction.
All I could focus on was the fact that she’d pinned me in less than thirty seconds. Not exactly the way I wanted to come off my win against Mia Anderson. I was supposed to be on my way up, not getting taken down by a two-bit fighter that worried about her hair more than her training.
Fuck.
I followed Jamie into the surprisingly spacious dressing room. The scent of fresh laundry and leather curled into my sinuses and added another layer to my doomed attraction for this man. Definitely not what I needed.
When I couldn’t sleep, I climbed into an oversized sweatshirt—the kind that came to my knees—fresh from the dryer. I pulled the hood over my head and it was a sure thing that sleep would come for me soon after.
Why did he have to smell like this particular thing?
Maybe it was just because he’d had laundry brought in. Right. Dry cleaning didn’t smell like a Sunday afternoon.
Fuck.
I paced the length of the room and crossed my arms over my bare midriff.
“You’re not going to rip into him again, are you?”
I swung around to face Lindz. “No.”
“Good. Because that was not cool. We have to work with him in a few months.” Lindsey crossed her arms under her rack.
“You’re recording with him? I thought this was just a fan deal.”
A red flush crawled up Jamie’s neck. “Yeah, we’re fans, but he’s also on our label.”
“How much of a fan?” I asked.
Jamie cleared her throat. “Can we just focus on the part where you were trying to start a brawl in the middle of his set?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
Lindsey’s blonde brow climbed into her bangs. “Oh, really? What would you call it?”
“I believe the American term is heckling.”
Lindsey’s chin tipped down to her chest. “I hate you.”
“I liked his other stuff better. I didn’t even know it was the guy from Rebel Rage at first.”
“That’s a good thing. Because I’m not just the guy from Rebel Rage.”
FIVE
I scrunched up my shoulders. Fuck me, man. Why did I keep putting my foot in it when he was around?
“I’m just goi
ng to go over here and shut up.” I leaned against the door at the back of the room.
“Nah, it’s cool. That show was a clusterfuck.” Johnny crossed the room and dropped onto the couch along the same wall. He’d showered. His hair was really long on top and slicked back so little droplets trailed down his back. I couldn’t stop watching them slowly inch down his closely cropped hair—that buzzed kind that you could see skin through.
The kind you could lick water droplets through.
Okay, I needed to stop.
What the hell was wrong with me?
“No, it wasn’t.” Jamie scooted her club chair closer. “You’re just trying something new. Always throws people off.”
“Yeah, no shit.” His gaze flicked to me, the green intense to the point of blank.
I had no idea what the hell he was thinking. I couldn’t even find contempt in there—no emotion really. A fighter’s eyes.
Was that why my pussy was flaming? The fighter instinct lighting inside of me. Like knows like? But I didn’t want to be a fighter tonight. I wanted to just be a girl. And yet, everything out of my mouth had been nothing but combative.
I curled my fingers into the belt loop at my hip and used the rough edge of sparkles on the belt to push back the foggy lust vibes that were making me act like an arsehole.
They talked about the project they were doing in a few months. Names that probably meant something to the musically-inclined seemed to rev Jamie’s motor. Lindsey’s wide babydoll blue eyes widened with excitement, and she wouldn’t have been able to wipe the smile off her face even if someone came in with guns blazing.
They were high off some sort of idea.
I made my way around the room, inching for the door instinctively. I made it seem like I was exploring. A swipe of fingertips over an ancient guitar case with a peeling AC/DC sticker that I itched to pick at. A bulging notebook with papers of all different colors sticking out called to me, but I didn’t touch it. It screamed journal or song book.
Interesting that he left it out for anyone to see. But I didn’t touch because privacy was one thing I understood.
BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds Page 53
