The Dirty Dozen: Damsel Edition

by Kay Maree

  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked in on Cole, Dylan, or both naked as the day they were born with their dicks swinging in the breeze. Not that it’s exactly a hardship to see two of the hottest men I’ve ever met butt ass naked, but still. When I can probably describe their anatomy better than they can, you know it’s been too often to be considered normal.

  “Why?” Cole shouts back. “When it’s so much more fun watching you blush that delicious shade of pink.”

  “He’s kidding, Fatal. We’re both dressed, and one of us even has our shoes on,” Dylan calls out, making me groan in exasperation.

  The guys, with the exception of Dante, started calling me Fatal after the umpteenth date I turned down. Don’t get me wrong, I love men just as much as the next woman, but so far only to look at and admire from afar, not to take home to bed. Not to mention, the type of guys who ask me out, or I should say the majority of them, are more interested in getting me drunk and into my panties than actually getting to know me, so that automatically counts them out as far as I’m concerned.

  But back to the name…

  According to Cole, Dylan, and Tate, being interested in me is fatal attraction at its finest. In the beginning, I didn’t have the first clue what they were talking about. Sure, I refused offers to buy me a drink or take me out to dinner and the movies, but I wasn’t rude or unkind about it. I’m not a man-eater; I don’t go out on the prowl looking for unsuspecting victims to lure into my bed. I’m safe, cautious, and picky about the men I choose to spend time with. If that makes me a prude, then So be it.

  After one particular night, while we were kicking back on the bus, all of us having had too much to drink, I asked Tate why the nickname. I should have expected his response, or at the very least, been prepared for his brutal honesty, but I wasn’t. And until I had some time to myself to think about it later, I couldn’t believe what I’d heard either.

  “You don’t see it do you, gorgeous?” Tate began. “You’re smart, beautiful, have a wicked sense of humor, and you’re one of the best fucking negotiators in the music business. Honestly, I think Reid’s even fucking scared of you sometimes.”

  Scoffing at him, I roll my eyes. “Reid isn’t scared of anyone, except maybe his wife. And anyway, that doesn’t explain the nickname, Tatum. Now, spill it,” I demand using his full first name.

  “Guys check you out all the time, babe. Everywhere we go, men look at your ass, tits, and legs, but it’s your face that has them approaching you. You’re hot, Faye. Smokin’ actually.”

  I can feel the blush making its way up my neck, and I know if I looked in a mirror I’d be bright red. My embarrassment doesn’t stop Tate, though. If anything I think he gets a sick sense of satisfaction out of making me uncomfortable.

  Grinning at me, Tate winks and crosses his arms over his broad, entirely tattooed chest. “The second a dude asks you out, it’s the kiss of death, Faye. If they’re attracted to you, want to take shit further and get to know you better, it’s fatal. Dead in the water before it even began.”

  I open my mouth to protest but decide to keep my opinions to myself when I realize that Tate’s right. My walls go up the moment a man shows more than a fleeting interest in me, but for what it’s worth, at least I know why. I’ve always known why.

  “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, gorgeous,” Tate says after Cole and Dylan amble back toward their bunks.

  It’s only us sitting at the small galley-style table in the living area of the bus now. Dante has been gone for hours, no doubt hooking up with his latest piece of ass.

  “He loves you, you do know that right? When he thought you weren’t going to come on that first tour with us, he was ready to pull out.”

  “He has a funny way of showing it,” I mumble under my breath.

  “Yeah, he does,” Tate nods sympathetically. “But can you blame him?” Throwing his hand up in front of him, Tate stops me from answering. “Before you think I’m siding with him, condoning the shit he does with the women he brings back to the bus or his hotel rooms, really think about it, Faye. Dante’s been pining after a chick who won’t even give him the time of day, and he’s been doing it for years. The boys and I have seen him watch you when you walk into a room. Dante always has to know where you are, or he flips his shit. Why the hell do you think he forced you to install that location app on your phone, babe? It sure as shit wasn’t so that you could find it if you lost it; it was so that he could find you?”

  “Jesus,” I hiss.

  At this point, I don’t know whether I’m more pissed off I hadn’t picked up on that myself, or angry at Dante for being such a controlling asshole. Probably the former, because although I hate to admit it, I kind of find Dante’s possessive, dominant nature a turn on.

  Chuckling at what can only be described as an abject look of horror plastered across my face, Tate smirks wickedly. “Rein it in killer. His heart’s in the right place, even if his brain’s taken a long ass vacation where you’re concerned.”

  “That’s a massive invasion of privacy, Tate. Whatever his reasoning for doing it, it doesn’t change that,” I insist.

  “True, but it was that or he was going to stalk your ass. Pick your poison, babe, because that man wasn’t going to let you roam around new cities on your own without having eyes on you at all times.”

  “I’m not sure if any of you have picked up on this yet, but I am a grown ass woman. I am capable of getting where I need to go; by myself even,” I quip, not quite managing to keep the sneer out of my voice.

  Swallowing back what would have been an unwarranted retort, Tate narrows his eyes at me and sighs. “This shit’s got to stop, Faye, and you’re going to have to be the one to end it.”

  “What on Earth are you talking about? Seriously, Tate, you go off on so many tangents it’s hard to keep up sometimes.”

  “Stay with me for a few more minutes and you’ll catch on, gorgeous,” he says, smiling again finally. “If you want our boy, then I say go for it. If you ask the two assholes back there,” he points toward the bunks, “they’d tell you to put D out of his misery too.”

  “No, it’s not like that between us. We’re not like that. We never have been,” I say, shaking my head emphatically.

  Leaning across the small table, Tate takes hold of my hand, squeezing it tightly. “You know that’s just plain not true, gorgeous. Yeah, D scared the shit out of you when he beat the shit out of Cole, and yeah, he fucked up by not apologizing for it, but you’ve held onto that shit for too long, babe. You’ve used it as a way to keep from admitting how you really feel about him. You can deny it all you want, Faye, but the truth of it is, one day, D’s going to find someone else. If you can’t put it behind you or find some way to move past it, the guy you’ve been I love with longer than we’ve known you is going to end up being one of your biggest regrets.

  Tate didn’t say anything else; he didn’t need to. He kissed me on the forehead, affectionately patted my shoulder, and walked back to his bunk to get a few hours of sleep before we pulled into Tallahassee for their next show.

  I, however, didn’t sleep. Not a wink. Not that night or the next. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve slept well once in the month since we had that conversation. What I did do was replay every time Dante and I talked about our plans for when we moved out of home. Where we would go, what we would do, and all the things we’d dreamed about seeing along the way. I remembered the way he hugged me to his side and promised he’d never leave me behind, even if that meant staying in Lower Falls.

  Everything and nothing about our friendship made sense to me until late last night when I decided it was time for me to make amends with my best friend. Whether something else would develop between us after I told Dante I’d finally moved past the fear that had been eating away at me or not was still up in the air, but it was worth a shot. He was worth it.

  My plan was simple. Wake Dante up as I always do, ask him if we could talk, and the
n sit down and apologize for the childish way I had held his fight with Cole like an anvil over his head. I would tell him that it would take time to get back to what we once were and that I would understand if it took even longer for him to forgive my behavior.

  Knowing Dante, he wouldn’t make me wait more than a minute before pulling me into his arms and telling me all was forgive. Or at least that’s what I’d convinced myself of when I walked into his room this morning. Instead, I was faced with yet another naked woman, lying next to an equally naked, incredibly aroused, Dante.

  As soon as I caught a glimpse of his hugely impressive erection and the woman I’m sure he would use to satisfy it, all of my best-laid plans went straight out the fucking window. And before you say it, yes, I was jealous. I’ve always been jealous of the women who make the cut to spend the night in Dante’s bed.

  But never, not once, has my jealousy burned the way it did this morning. It felt as if my blood was on fire, and I’m not proud to admit this, but I really, really wanted to rip that bitches’ hair out strand by strand. At the root no less.

  Maybe I was feeling like this because I’d finally put aside my pride and fear, or maybe it was just because I couldn’t stand to see the man I loved in bed with another woman who wasn’t good enough for him. But the most likely explanation is that I’m just as territorial and possessive of Dante as he is of me.

  I hate seeing him pawed at concerts and after parties. I despise watching him single out his prey for the night and subsequently take her home for what I know will be multiple rounds of mind-blowing sex. I may be used to it – it has been par for the course for five years, after all – but that doesn’t mean that I have to like it.

  Chapter Five

  Dante

  “Please, please fucking tell me we’re done till we take the stage tonight, Fatal,” Cole moans, scrubbing a hand over his face.

  Faye gives him a sad smile, glancing in my direction quickly before dropping her gaze back down to the ever-present iPad in her hands.

  We’re sitting in the back of a black Escalade with dark tinted windows, driven by some dude called, Leon, that Faye just told us is My Addiction’s new relief driver. Pretty much that means, Leon will drive us between appearances and venues in whatever car Faye organizes for us, and will relieve Mack, our regular bus driver when he needs a break.

  This shit has never been a problem before, but with our next tour coming close on the heels of this one, Faye feels that Mack needs some time off. Granted, the guy’s a machine, works night and day to make sure we get where we need to go and hasn’t taken a day off in four years, but losing him, even for a week is like losing a limb.

  See that’s the thing. When you’re touring the people you work with become part of one big, loud, dysfunctional as fuck family. Mack’s an integral member of that family. He’s like a father to us all, keeping us guys in line, and doting on Faye like she was his own daughter.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Leon rumbles through the intercom.

  Pushing the button on the center armrest, Faye says, “How many times do I have to tell you it’s just, Faye, Leon? Not ma’am. Not Miss. Not boss. We don’t stand on formalities here.”

  “Sorry, ma, I mean, Faye. I think it’s imperative that you know there’s a large group of women obstructing the entrance to the hotel carpark. I’ve been in contact with hotel security, and they’re happy to let us pull in around back at the loading dock and use the service entry, but it’s up to you,” Leon relays, his voice calm and professional.

  Huh, maybe he’s not such a bad dude after all. There’s a slim chance I judged him too harshly when I saw him huddled with Faye in the hall of the radio station earlier, but that’s nothing new. I’m always judging the men who show interest in my Faye harshly, most of the time it’s well-deserved, though.

  “Around back is fine, Leon. Thank you,” Faye sighs tiredly.

  I give anything to be able to pull her into my lap and massage that tension right out of her perfect body right now, but I don’t. I keep my hands to myself and try to ignore the raging hard on that’s just sprung to life.

  Removing her finger from the intercom button, Faye leans further back into her seat as if it has the power to swallow her whole and addresses Cole. “You’ll be happy to know that you guys don’t have any other commitments until sound check tonight at five.”

  “I take it that means you aren’t done, though,” I ask stupidly. Why stupidly? Well, because Faye’s never done; she’s always working.

  “Sadly, not even close,” she murmurs, allowing her gorgeous eyes to flutter shut.

  I take this opportunity to study her. Not that I haven’t a million times before, but this time feels different. Faye is quieter today; vulnerable even. She’s not her usually bright and cheerful self which concerns and upsets me in equal parts.

  If it were up to me, I’d have Faye laughing every second of every day. I’d make sure she’s never sad, didn’t feel a moment of pain, or have to endure the hours of grueling work with no one to help her. Fuck, I’ve offered to hire her an assistant dozens of times, but each offer is met with firm resistance. So much so, that I’m thinking of going over her head and just hiring one anyway.

  This wasn’t what my girl signed on for. Faye didn’t agree to come on tour with us to be our slave and live in our shadows. She deserves so much more than to hover in the background; Faye deserves to shine.

  “Do you need help?” I prompt, causing her eyes to snap open and stare at me. “With whatever you’ve got going on this afternoon, that is.”

  Blinking at me, Faye expression turns from confused to suspicious, but I don’t expect anything less from her. I haven’t exactly been the most forthcoming with help in the past. “No. Um, I think I’ve got it,” she whispers.

  Crowding her much smaller body with mine, I look deep into her stunning hazel eyes hoping that she can see everything I’m trying to say without words. “Let me help you, babe. Just this once, let me do something for you.”

  Faye’s head nods by rote and I know I’ve got her. Or at least I will have her for a few hours, to myself no less later on. “Okay, but it’s nothing exciting. I’m interviewing people for the new security team Reid decreed would have to be in place for the next tour. My Addiction is far too big to rely on hotel and venue rent-a-guards anymore. Actually, I’m surprised Reid hasn’t amped up security before now. The fans are getting crazier, and the women are insane. I mean, after what happened last week…” Faye begins but catches herself when she realizes what she’s said.

  “What happened last week, Fatal?” Dylan demands from his seat in the row in front of us.

  Faye all but curls in on herself, letting me know whatever it was is something that should have been shared with the group ASA-Fucking-P. As in when it happened, not days fucking later. “Nothing,” she murmurs, turning her head to look out the window.

  Cupping her jaw gently, I turn her back to face me and wait until her eyes lock on mine. “I’m only going to ask you once what happened, and you’re going to tell me. The whole truth, baby. Don’t leave anything out and don’t even think about trying to downplay it. Now, what the fuck happened?”

  I’ll give her this, Faye hates to be told what to do, but she appears to recognize how serious I am and spills her guts before I have to threaten to spank her beautiful ass. Damn shame that.

  Taking a deep breath, Faye attempts to drop her eyes to her lap, but I don’t let her. I won’t allow her to break this connection between us because just by looking at her I can read her like a book. Her mouth tells one story, but her eyes have always held all of her secrets, and this time is no different.

  The storm raging in her hazel orbs is a tornado of fear, anxiety, and terror. No wonder she’s hesitating.

  “You can tell me anything, baby. You’ve always been able to share your deepest, darkest secrets with me. Whatever this is it’s no different. Trust that I’ll look after you, to keep you safe. Trust
me, baby.”

  Before Faye can open her mouth, Leon’s voice comes back over the intercom. “There’s a Mr. Adams on the phone asking to speak to you all. Would you like me to put him through?”

  “Yeah, patch him through,” Tate says, pressing the speakerphone button. “What’s up, man who pads my bank account?” He asks when the call connects.

  “Is Faye with you?” Reid barks, not bothering with pleasantries.

  “She’s right here, Reid,” Cole answers. “Why, you need her for something?”

  “I’m sending four men your way. All of them are highly trained security experts. Their plane took off an hour ago, so that should have them at your hotel within the next three. I want one of you to call me as soon as they arrive,” Reid instructs tersely.

  Losing my fragile hold on my temper, I snap, “What the fuck is going on? Faye just told us she was interviewing the new security team this afternoon, so what’s with the change of plans?”

  “The situation has escalated, Dante, leaving me with no choice but to act accordingly.”

  Sensing that I’m about to lose it completely, Dylan mutters, “If you don’t want to have to pay the rental company for a replacement Escalade because D’s gone all Incredible Hulk and trashed the damn thing, then I’d start talking, Reid. My guess is you’ve got thirty seconds before he goes nuclear, man.”

  “There’s no need to…” Reid starts to say, but Cole cuts him off.

  “His girl is in the fucking car, Reid. Faye. Is. In. The. Car,” Cole spits, annunciating each word. “You get that anytime D feels like his girl is being threatened that he’s going to wig the fuck out, yeah? Well, times that shit by ten and add a few million and you’ll be close to getting where our boys’ head is at right now.”

  Papers shuffle in the background as Reid huffs into the phone. Without hesitation, he breaks it down for us, and if I thought I was livid before, that was only the tip of the iceberg.

  “As you know, the bands’ mail is routed through our head office in L.A. It’s sorted, screened, and then what’s left is sent to each of your homes after being thoroughly vetted,” Reid states, telling us something we already know. “What Thunder Records doesn’t have any control of is mail that goes directly to the hotels the band stays at, or hand delivered mail and messages. Those are vetted by Faye.”