Rock Reckoning: A Rockstar Suspense Romance Collection

by Cari Quinn

  While I was waiting for the next bus—and trying not to hit the pavement from certain retinal damage—I scrolled Instagram. I didn’t even go to Zoe’s right away, but the program already knew what I wanted to see.

  She was on Venice Beach. Right now. Or maybe not, since my stomach sank as I realized the picture she’d posted was labeled “Sunday sunrise.”

  A little late there, boyo.

  Story of my life.

  Maybe she’d just recently posted it, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still there. Lots of people went to the beach for the day. If you enjoyed this kind of blasting sun, this was probably a picture-perfect day. My fair London skin didn’t appreciate it, nor did my unshielded eyes, but I was a stranger in a strange land.

  When the bus finally arrived, I climbed on and took a seat, then I slanted my hand over my eyes and studied the maps app on my phone. I could get off in a few stops and find my way to the beach without much trouble. Hopefully, I’d be able to buy a pair of sunglasses and maybe something to fill the pit inside me on the way.

  But finding Zoe was the priority. Too bad I didn’t have her camera, both so I could taunt her with it and so I could try it out. I wasn’t one for memory-keeping, but it probably would’ve been nice to take a couple of old-school pictures on the beach.

  Ah, blimey, I wasn’t just some tourist. And I didn’t know how to load film into that old camera anyway. I’d have to figure out how.

  Or I could just keep using the camera on my phone and leave the kitschy things to those who enjoyed them.

  At my stop, I got off and yet again shielded my eyes with the side of my hand. I wasn’t far from the boardwalk and the skate park beyond it. Boardwalk meant food. Food meant it was time to pick up my pace.

  Along the way, I snapped a few shots with my phone. Probably because I’d spent so much time scrolling through Zoe’s Instagram. She had such an eye for this stuff that I was tempted to test my own.

  By the time I neared a soft pretzel vendor on the boardwalk, I’d come to an irrefutable conclusion—my artistic eye was shit.

  Countless faces surrounded me. Zoe managed to turn those faces into interesting character studies. Me? I’d been fascinated by a rollerblader and I’d blurred half the photos.

  Good thing I could sing, because I wouldn’t be switching careers anytime soon.

  The sun was beating down on my back so I tugged off my T-shirt and tucked it in the back pocket of my pants. I wasn’t nearly as golden-hued as most of these sunsoaked types—my own brother included—but I’d rather try for a tan the natural way than endure that sprayed-on stuff that Sabrina probably carried in her purse for emergencies.

  The talent couldn’t ever look pasty. God forbid.

  A cute girl whistled as she jogged past with a poodle, and I blinked as I looked down at myself. I worked out plenty, but maybe I wasn’t as fair as I’d feared. Or else the abs made up for it.

  I tossed her a smile and a wave and walked backwards to catch her rearview. Yeah, she was cute.

  But she wasn’t Zoe. And wasn’t it a pisser that she was already the gold standard for every other woman?

  Clearly, I needed a good shag. Or five.

  My mobile beeped and I tugged it out, frowning as a series of Instagram notifications filled my screen. I’d turned on notifications for Zoe’s feed, but she wasn’t the reason my phone was on constant vibrate. All the tags were for my account. The Instagram account that before today had approximately sixteen followers, at least half of which were vendors who sold cat T-shirts.

  So I liked my pussy. In all forms.

  I scrolled through the notifications, wondering how they’d even found me. Yes, my name was on there, but my handle was the smartass moniker TheOtherKagan. Then again, I hadn’t exactly hidden myself well. I’d had no reason to. No one had been looking.

  That seemed to have changed.

  There were pictures from last night’s show, posted by squealing women—I assumed—who raved about my hair and my hands and even my assortment of chunky silver rings as I cupped the mic. I lifted my other hand, wondering what could possibly be so interesting about those. Most were cheap finds from street stalls and paid for with money meant for that night’s supper.

  Sabrina’s voice echoed in my head. All those things she wanted to change. Improvements in my look intended to make the crowd crazy.

  Was she right?

  If they were this interested in me when I’d paid so little attention to my overall appearance, what would they do if I ditched the shoelace ponytail and wore tighter pants and shirts that showed I actually had muscles?

  Not that my looks were why I’d gotten into singing. But a bloke needed every possible advantage. It appeared I had a few I hadn’t been making full use of quite yet.

  Simon definitely did. Mr. Model. So why shouldn’t I? It wasn’t selling out to make the package as appealing as possible.

  Keep telling yourself that, buddy.

  I read through a few of the comments and clicked on a video clip from last night’s show. It was of me and Zoe, and she was glaring at me. It was ridiculously hot. Shouldn’t have been. But even on a beach surrounded by miles of suntanned California blonds, the only one I had eyes for was the one I could barely see on my screen.

  Rubbing my eyes, I clicked off. I could look at all those later when I was indoors. Preferably with a drink in hand.

  My heart was racing. So fast that my head didn’t seem quite tethered to my body. My feet were planted on the pavement but it felt as if it was shifting underneath me.

  Everything was changing. Small little ripples at first that would become seismic undercurrents.

  I hoped.

  After ducking my head to try to avoid the angry fireball, I clicked on the last of Sabrina’s voicemails. I hadn’t listened to any of them. I’d figured she was just giving me more of the company spiel, maybe mixed in with a few suggestions about dick-enhancing briefs or a new hair gel.

  Instead, she was talking show dates and capitalizing on the building YouTube phenomenon and saying she was prepared to get contracts ready.

  I shook my head to clear it. This wasn’t possible. She hadn’t even liked my show that much. But because a few teenagers—or maybe more than a few—had gotten wet knickers over my dollar-bin ring finds, she was ready to pony up with some cash?

  Swallowing hard, I listened again, then quickly returned her call and left a voicemail of my own. I was in. And I wasn’t going to waste time imagining all the things I could buy if I actually got the frigging signing bonus she mentioned.

  All I cared about was that it would buy me some time with Simon. Hopefully, it might get Jerry off my back so I could maybe even enjoy a few minutes of this. Everything I’d worked for, unfolding in my lap like a goddamn accordion.

  And at the periphery of my thoughts was Zoe, snapping the moments in the camera I’d stolen.

  I started walking, quicker than before. I stepped up to the soft pretzel vendor and paid with crumpled ones from my wallet. To say I was running on fumes was an understatement. But this would fill the hole until I could get my hands on some of Donovan Lewis’s cash.

  Most of the money would go to Jerry. I’d just keep a little aside for motel rent and for a nice big juicy steak and a bottle of Jim Beam. Or two, for emergencies.

  Like my entire life.

  I ate the pretzel in record time and wandered over to sit with some spectators watching the skateboarders. I’d taken a turn or two on one, once upon a time. I wondered if just anyone could join in. Maybe I’d buy a board with my newfound money. I needed a physical outlet to burn off some energy, and no one would be able to recognize me—assuming that became an issue—if I tucked up my hair under a cap and wore oversized sunglasses and whizzed past them on a board.

  Fuck, I needed shades. And I needed to search for Zoe, if she was even still here. This was the right general area, but the beach was huge. People swarmed in every direction.

  I rose, about to abandon my seat a
nd search for a sunglasses stall. Surely there had to be one here.

  Then came a scream, muffled, indistinct.

  My head whipped around and I sought the source. How had I even heard it in the chaos of rolling wheels and shouts from the crowd? But that single panicked sound had cut through the noise as cleanly as a blade.

  I shaded my eyes and zeroed in on a woman being hassled by a guy with long hair and shorts that came to his knees. A skateboarder or that ilk. He was standing too close. She put both hands against his chest to shove him and he grabbed her upper arm, causing her to twist and her pale hair to shimmer in the sun.

  The ends dipped in purple.

  Goddamn bastard. My gut clenched as fury surged through my body.

  He was going to pay.

  I broke into a run, dodging people and dogs and babies in carriages. I almost fell a couple of times, losing my footing on the uneven concrete on the outskirts of the skate park. Too many people, and yet no one paying attention. The sun scorched my eyes, making the scene in front of me ripple and bend with streaks of light, but I didn’t stop until I reached them.

  “You’re going to want to let her go.” I was a deep breath away from panting, but my voice was steady and strong.

  He didn’t seem to hear me. But she did.

  As if shocked, she twisted her head to look back at me.

  The guy was looming over her. Then he withdrew something from a pocket on his shorts that glinted in the sun.

  I charged for him before my eyes had even processed what I’d seen.

  A bloody knife.

  He grabbed her with one hand and barely spared me a glance as he shouted something over his shoulder.

  A big blur of insanely tanned flesh bum-rushed me, taking me out at the knees.

  There were two of them. Pity I hadn’t realized that sooner.

  I didn’t think, just drew up my knee and swung my fists and aimed to inflict as much damage as possible. I had to get to Zoe.

  That fucker was going to rue the day he’d met Ian Kagan.

  Five

  I grabbed for the tie of my bikini top that the shithead had snipped. “Fucker!”

  Was something dripping down my back? When I pulled my hand away, blood smeared my fingers.

  My hand shook. At least I was pretty sure it was blood. I hadn’t been using anything that crimson in color today. I curled forward, clamping my forearm over the triangles of my bathing suit top so I didn’t flash the whole damn world.

  “What part of piss off didn’t you catch?” I’d unbuckled my coverall straps around lunchtime. They were tucked in and tied at my lower back in deference to the heat. Not helping me right now in the least.

  I scuttled back against the wall. Paint stuck to my skin, pissing me off even more. Not only was this jackass hassling me, but now he was ruining my work. Fucker. The spray paint hadn’t dried yet since the wall was approximately the heat of the sun.

  How the hell had he found me? I’d been careful to stay out of sight all damn day. Then again, I’d been so involved with my little corner of the world for the last few hours, a meteor shower could have started and I would have missed it. Today was a hot one, and I was more than ready to pack it in. I just had one little corner to finish.

  I still had an hour of sun, dammit.

  A blast of vitriolic shouting jerked my attention from my current problem to a new one. It couldn’t be him. Was the heat getting to me that much?

  Rattlesnake dude nodded to his friend, who took off toward the guy coming over to us. The bastard then crouched in front of me. “What are you hiding for? You’ve been eyeing me all day.”

  “I have not.” I’d been avoiding. Totally different thing.

  He reached for me with thick, chalky fingers. He smelled like sweat and rubber, with clothes that definitely hadn’t seen a washing machine in far too long. I was not in the right position to fend him off. Bent had taught me plenty of defensive moves, but none that included being hamstrung by nakedness.

  “You’re going to want to let her go.”

  Distantly, the way he talked made me frown. Accented. Then there was a scuffle of feet, the squeak of sneakers, then more grunts. For fuck’s sake, it really was him.

  Rattlesnake curled his big, calloused fingers around my arm. I kicked out, but it was in vain. He was looming over me, his eyes on my tits.

  “Get the fuck back!” My voice was more screech than shout. “I wasn’t leading you on all day. I was avoiding you.”

  His gaze snapped back up to mine as he twisted my nipple. “Why would you say that? I could have been a nice guy. Don’t have to be now.”

  The backhand stunned me. I was too close to the wall, so my skull smacked into the rough surface and the asshole’s dead eyes went hazy. I tried to shake it off, but everything went blurry.

  The other voice got louder—and suddenly, sun blinded me as Rattlesnake disappeared. I curled my knees up against me as I turtled. No other word for it. I shook my head against the black dots and crazy lights. My sunglasses had come off when the shithead hit me.

  I tried to get to my knees. To get up.

  I couldn’t stay here. He’d be back. This was my only chance.

  Voices blurred and overlapped. I dragged myself up to one of the benches, conscious of the fact that my bikini top was hanging from my neck, my boobs swinging free.

  Get to your bag, Zoe.

  I shook it off enough to see a guy with long hair pounding his fists into Rattlesnake’s ribs. The long-haired one was scrappy. It seemed insane that it could really be him.

  Because I’d wanted him here? Because he’d invaded my brain? Or was this truly reality?

  He took two punches to every one he dished out to my attacker, but they were well placed, where Rattlesnake’s were sloppy.

  Could be because of the blood pouring down into Rattlesnake’s eyes.

  Rattlesnake’s friend was face-down on the ground trying to get his knees under him.

  My rescuer was bare-chested and slippery. He widened his stance and the sole of his boot knocked him off balance as he turned his ankle.

  God, it really was him. I knew that boot. That I could focus on that one detail and nothing else made no sense. The ocean soundtrack currently lodged in my head faded back, and I could finally hear the words blasting between the two men.

  “You don’t,” punch, “fucking hit,” one more punch, then a well-placed stomp on Rattlesnake’s shin that made him shriek in an unholy voice and drop to the concrete, “a woman!” Ian spit out blood next to him.

  There was no doubt it was Ian Kagan. The husky British accent and wild changeable green eyes were too welded into my brain. His teeth and nose were stained red and blood dripped down his chest.

  I’d been too busy staring in disbelief to notice that Rattlesnake’s friend had finally gotten up.

  “Ian!”

  His gaze swung to me before he was jerked back with something white in the other attacker’s hands. A T-shirt? It was wrapped around Ian’s throat. The other guy was double Ian’s weight.

  Rattlesnake was screaming viciously for Theory to kill Ian.

  What the hell kind of name was Theory?

  And he was trying his damnedest to get it done. That was the important part.

  I lunged to my feet and Ian’s eyes bulged out even farther. Shit, I’d forgotten. The rage on his face made me stumble back a step and hide my half nakedness.

  He did this weird twist maneuver, which surprised the crap out of Theory, and ended up winding the material around the other guy’s hands instead.

  Ian crouched low to get out of his way and kicked out at Theory’s knee. Ian rolled away, swiping at his face with the back of his hand. “Are you all right?”

  I nodded and dove for my bag. My coverup was all netting and not much help to my current situation. With shaking fingers, I tried to get the bikini top twisted around. Maybe I could tie the string.

  “Here.”

  I peered up at Ian. He handed me
the shirt that had nearly strangled him.

  “I know it’s not much but better than the alternative, love.” His voice was soft as he wrapped my fingers around the T-shirt. His shoulders sagged as sirens blared. Another crowd of people were forming, thanks to Rattlesnake’s continued shrieks. “Can we get out of here before the boys in blue arrive?”

  I didn’t need that kind of trouble, either. J Town had a strict no-arrest policy. Not that any of this was my fault, but there would be an incident report.

  I quickly pulled the shirt on and grabbed my bag. When I turned, Ian was swaying. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded and knuckled blood away from his eyes. “Yeah. Just adrenaline high fading. Is your place close?”

  “My place?”

  “I don’t think you want to take three busses to mine, love.”

  “I have a name.”

  “Yeah, I know. Zoe.” He shrugged, his eyes never leaving mine.

  I frowned. How did he know my name?

  “Your camera. Handy little sticker at the bottom gave me a hint.” He stumbled to the left on his worn-to-nothing shoe.

  Seemed a little stalker-ish, but I’d put the tags on my cameras for a reason. I rushed forward and tucked myself under his arm. His skin was hot and slick—pink even. The boy was going to glow like a lightning bug. “Ever heard of sunblock?”

  He shrugged. “Didn’t think of it. Your sun is a bit more intense here.”

  “We’re not from different planets.”

  “Tell that to my eyeballs and my skin.” He squinted down at me. “How can you stand it?”

  “Used to caves?”

  “Funny. You’re a funny one.”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Well, not-so-funny girl, do you have a spare pair of shades in that big bag of yours?”

  “None that you would wear.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  I stuffed my hand into my bag and dug around between the spray cans and my probably very ruined coverup until I found the sunglasses I used on the beach. They were cheap ones from one of the various boardwalk spinners. I was forever breaking them or losing them. They were gold aviators with pink ombre lenses with enough bling on them to get a glare from across a crowded street.