Kissing Vicious

by Brooklyn Ann

Dejected, he returned to the party, remaining in view of the entrance and hoping against hope that she’d return.

  Throat tight with despair, Quinn continued to drink and watch the door. His friends, colleagues, and band mates tried to approach him and ask about Kinley, but he was too numb with shock to talk about it. When the party trickled down to the dregs, he stumbled up to his hotel room, an insistent thought pounding in his skull like a jackhammer.

  Why the hell had she freaked out when he proposed? Why had she obsessed so much about the job? All he’d wanted was to elevate her from that drudgery and treat her like a queen. He’d wanted to make it clear to her and all others that she was his, not a meaningless fling to be passed around when he was finished.

  He’d never be finished with her. He loved her. He wanted to keep her safe.

  Quinn slapped his palm on his forehead. “Oh shit!”

  He’d never told her he loved her. He just asked—no, told her—to marry him…and then fired her. Surely she couldn’t have taken that part seriously. That would have been Gaffer’s call, not his. Hell, that fact had become an inside joke to them.

  But not telling her how he felt? Oh yeah, that’s where he blew it. Women needed to hear that kind of thing, even tough-as-nails women like Kinley. To make matters worse, he hadn’t even gone down on one knee or given her flowers or anything. And pretending to fire her, even though there was nothing to fire her from as the tour was done—that couldn’t have helped.

  I fucked up. I fucked up big time.

  Heart clenching in agony, he dialed her number again, groaning in despair when it went straight to voicemail. He attempted to explain, but all that seemed to come out were drunken mumbles.

  The next morning he dragged his hungover ass out of bed, made another futile call to Kinley, then booked the earliest flight back home. He had a lot of thinking to do.

  The luxury condo in Seattle was usually an oasis of peace and quiet but now, without Kinley in his life, the place was a soulless tomb of loneliness. They’d had something special together, damn it. And he damn well knew she’d felt it too.

  He had to talk to her, but she refused to answer his calls or emails. Quinn sighed in resignation. Fuck it. It looked like he would have to go to her.

  Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his temples in frustration. He needed a way in.

  After hours of pacing his apartment, he came up with a plan.

  First, he called his producer and had a long talk about the direction of the next album. Then he called Klement.

  The bassist answered on the sixth ring. “Hey Quinn, what’s up?”

  “I’m calling in my favor.”

  “Sure, what do you need?” Clattering computer keys echoed in the background.

  “I hear you’re getting ready to look for a new guitarist.”

  “Are you suggesting we take Kinley when Curt comes back?” He immediately sounded suspicious.

  “No.” In that moment he realized that no matter what he’d said, he wanted Kinley to be his guitarist. His next words rang with more humility than he intended. “I want you to give Kinley’s friend a shot.”

  Quinn closed his eyes, expecting mocking laughter or an outraged refusal. But Klement had promised he’d do “anything,” and Quinn would hold him to it.

  “Are you referring to Katana James?” Klement’s voice reverberated with urgent interest, like it did when someone mentioned a new computer program or hybrid marijuana strain.

  “Yeah, she was the lead guitarist in Kinley’s old band and—”

  “Sure, I’ll give her a shot.”

  Quinn’s jaw dropped at the ready acceptance. “You will?”

  “Yeah, just tell her I’ll be calling her sometime next week. I’ll email some music files for her to listen to and work with.” Klement talked so fast it was almost impossible to understand him.

  “I still have to track down her number,” he admitted sullenly.

  “Doesn’t Kinley have it?”

  Quinn sighed. “That’s the thing. Kinley left me and won’t answer my calls. I’m going to see if I can persuade Kat to let me talk to her.”

  “Ah. That’s a good bribe,” he said so cheerfully Quinn wondered how many bowls the guy had smoked tonight.

  “Well, Katana is a good guitarist,” Quinn countered defensively. Sure, it was a bribe, but the woman was talented and Bleeding Vengeance was in need of a lead guitarist. It wasn’t like he was asking them to audition a hack.

  “I know,” Klement said. “Do you have a pen?”

  “Gimme a sec.” Quinn rummaged through his junk drawer and found a pencil and an old receipt. “Okay.”

  “Kat’s number is—”

  Quinn blinked. “You have her number? How?”

  “I do the tech support for Kat and Kinley’s website,” Klement explained. His voice hardened. “Don’t tell either of them.”

  “Okay…” His mind spun at the insane coincidence. He knew the bassist was a computer geek, but Quinn had no idea he continued to do IT work. “But isn’t Kat going to figure it out? Your name isn’t exactly common.”

  Klement laughed. “In the four years I’ve worked with them, they never bothered to learn it. Kinley always calls me ‘hey you’ and Kat calls me ‘IT Guy.’ I like working with Kat better.”

  Comprehension dawned. “So that’s how you knew about their tribute band.”

  “Yeah.” For a moment he sounded embarrassed. Then his tone lightened. “Now I’ll get to see if Kat does as well with our material as she did with Megadeth’s.”

  A wave of gratitude engulfed Quinn. “Thanks so much for this.”

  “Anytime. I owe you big time. I am so sorry for what Phil did.” Klement’s voice broke. “I feel like it’s my fault.”

  “Don’t think like that. No one knew the kid was that messed up.”

  “I know, but still…” The phone went silent awhile before he said, “Anyway, call Kat and work your deal. Hopefully you’ll get your girlfriend back and I’ll get a decent guitarist.” The bassist chuckled. “I think I’m getting the better end of the bargain. Kinley’s kinda prickly.” He hung up before Quinn could retort.

  Holy shit. The geeky, seemingly asexual bassist had a thing for Kinley’s best friend. And under a secret identity, no less. At any other time he would have marveled about the insanity of it all, but now all he could think of was Kinley.

  The dull ache in Quinn’s heart began to warm with hope as he dialed Katana James’s phone number.

  “Hello?” she answered doubtfully, probably suspicious of an unfamiliar phone number.

  “Hello, Kat. It’s Quinn.” He didn’t need to give his full name.

  A sharp gasp pierced his eardrum, followed by a long stretch of silence. Finally, in a tremulous voice, she replied, “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  “I know she doesn’t,” he said levelly, as if talking a crazy person off a bridge. “I called to talk to you.”

  “Why?”

  He could feel her suspicion through the phone.

  “I’m sure you know that since Lefty passed away, Bleeding Vengeance is looking for a new recording guitarist. Kinley told me they’re your favorite band, so I’ll bet you know their songs.” Putting as much wheedling charm in his tone as possible, he continued. “I can get you an audition—if you’re interested.”

  The phone remained mute for an eternity as she digested his words. “Of course I’m interested. But why would you do that for me?”

  “Because you’re one hell of a guitar player. I’ve seen your videos.” Quinn took a breath, and made his move. “And because I need to know what spooked Kinley so badly that she won’t talk to me, not even to explain why she rejected my proposal. I think I’m at least owed that.”

  Kat lived up to her nickname with an outraged growl. “That’s blackmail!”

  He chuckled. “I prefer to call it a fair exchange.”

  She grumbled once more but he could taste victory. “Kinley’s right. You really are a
n overbearing asshole.”

  “Is that what she said?” His stomach churned. Suddenly he wasn’t feeling so good about his chances of fixing things between them.

  Kat snorted. “You fired her and pretty much ordered her to marry you. What else would you expect?”

  He bowed his head, engulfed in shame. “Yeah, I know that was low, but I didn’t mean it.”

  “Didn’t you?” she asked archly. “Didn’t you expect her to just submissively hang up her guitar, ditch her dreams, and cling to your arm in mindless adoration?”

  The bad feeling worsened. “Why would she think something like that? Just because I don’t want her working as a roadie anymore doesn’t mean I want her to quit the music business.”

  “Well, for one thing, Kin’s father was a sexist asshole who tried all her life to convince her that her place was in the kitchen.” Kat’s voice trembled in scarcely contained rage. “He was always berating her for not knowing her place. Slamming her for doing what he called ‘men’s work.’”

  Quinn closed his eyes, biting back a curse. From what Kinley had told him about her father, he should have known better.

  Kat continued. “And the fact that our band broke up because our bassist and drummer got married and quit to become happy housewives definitely threw salt in the wound.”

  He’d heard about that too. Damn, it all made sense now. He couldn’t have handled his proposal any worse. “Shit, I would never be like that. Kinley’s a killer musician and she’s proved to be a major asset to my band. I’d never keep her from that gift. I was just being…overprotective.” His jaw clenched with the truth. Yes, overprotective. “I need to talk to her, Kat. Please.”

  Kat sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kinley sighed and absently strummed her guitar, picking up a random melody to float with. She frowned. No, that wasn’t a random melody. She was playing a Viciöus song—again.

  Damn it, will I ever be able to forget him?

  Right now, it seemed doubtful. She was haunted by him every day. Reporters from metal magazines were still hounding her for interviews on her time with Viciöus and her near-death experience. They asked if she was still standing in for Curt. Why Quinn hadn’t disabused them of the notion, she had no clue. From what she’d heard, Curt was still in rehab and refusing interviews.

  Everyone, it seemed, was curious about her relationship with the band.

  Her best friend, naturally, had been even more relentless. When Kinley arrived home, physically and emotionally exhausted, Kat pitilessly demanded an explanation.

  When Kinley finished her story, Kat’s eyes had been wide as saucers. “Let me get this straight: Quinn Mayne asked you to marry him and you said no?”

  “Actually, I said, ‘Fuck you.’”

  Kat’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t! Why?”

  After Kinley explained, Kat bit her lip and nodded reluctantly. “Did you at least talk to him about it?”

  “What’s the point?” Kinley slumped on the couch. “There’s no way he’d understand what he did to me. To force me to choose between my heart and my career—to lead me on all those months and make believe he wasn’t like that.” Her voice broke off in a choked sob. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  For a while, Kat eased off and left her alone while Kinley shut herself in her office and threw herself into her work. One bright spot of her time with Quinn was that the website had grown astronomically.

  Another, more important benefit was that she’d finally regained the confidence to seriously get back into music. Longing to be back on stage before an audience swelled deeper within her soul every day. Already, Kat had written a few new songs and lined up auditions for a new bassist and drummer.

  Now, if only she could just forget about Quinn. Every waking hour was filled with memories of his strength, his kindness, his smile. Every guitar riff she played, she wanted to show him. Every night, her dreams taunted her with his cataclysmic lovemaking.

  Her heart leapt and her hands shook each time he called her. Kinley had to force her trembling hands behind her back in painful effort to resist answering. If she spoke to him, she’d be undone. The calls had finally stopped coming, so he, at least, must be moving on.

  Fighting the ache in her heart, Kinley bent back to her guitar. She practiced with a Gibson. She doubted she’d ever be able to touch a Fender again. Playing a riff that Kat wrote, she vowed silently, I will forget him. I have to.

  Just as she began to get lost in the melody, a knock sounded on her music room door, shattering the silence. Damn. I should have gotten my house key back from Kat.

  “What?” she snapped.

  Kat opened the door and peeked into the room with nervous, yet mischievous eyes. “Please don’t kill me.”

  “Huh?”

  The door opened all the way and Quinn strode in. The sight of him was a blow to the chest, rendering her breathless. An eternal silence stretched out, emphasized by the sound of Kat’s feet as she scurried away.

  “So this was what you were hiding from me.” His gaze scanned her music room, eyeing the wall-to-wall guitars and collection of amps with an appreciative smile.

  “Huh?” she murmured, still stunned at his presence in her house. Her hands reached down to adjust her dark blue sundress. She snatched them back.

  He gestured at her music equipment. “When I was last here, you locked this door like you had some sort of crazy shrine in here.”

  “Of course I locked it. There’s several thousands of dollars worth of equipment in here,” she replied defensively. Shaking her head in irritation that he’d distracted her, Kinley favored him with an icy glare. “What are you doing here?”

  Quinn crossed his arms over his chest, dark green eyes foreboding and stormy. “You gave me no choice. I need to talk to you.”

  “There’s nothing to say.” She cringed back in her chair, holding her guitar as if it were a shield that could protect heart.

  Undaunted, he stepped closer. “I beg to differ. First, I need to apologize for being such an asshole. I wasn’t being serious about firing you. For one thing, the tour was over so the job was over. For another, I don’t even have the authority to do that and I thought you knew it.”

  Part of her softened. Resolutely, she clung to her outrage. “Then why the hell—”

  He cut her off and the first thread of anger crept into his tone. “Because it seemed like you cared more about the job than me. Also, I thought I was protecting you. After what Phil did”—his face contorted in pain—“all I could think about was making sure no one would hurt you again.”

  “I don’t need to be protected. I need to work for my goals, to follow my dreams.” Kinley’s heart pounded in a quelling combination of anger and desire. “Why couldn’t you understand that?”

  He placed his hand over hers, meeting her gaze with flaring intensity. “I do understand. But now you have to understand my issues—and why I didn’t want you working for us in the first place.”

  Curiosity coupled with his imploring eyes made resistance impossible. “I’m listening.”

  His gaze darkened with something aching and vulnerable. “I told you before that I practically raised my little sister on my own. What I didn’t tell you—or anyone but Gaffer—was that I failed miserably.”

  The agony and self-loathing in his voice made her chest tight. “What do you mean?”

  Quinn took a shuddering breath and looked at the floor, unable to face her. “By the time I was in high school, I was obsessed with creating the best band ever. I was going to make it, and I thought of nothing else. I’d formed my first band, and we were getting damn good.” He shivered, voice full of regret. “I neglected the hell out of Chrissy. I never paid attention to how pretty she’d become, or how vulnerable she was.”

  Quinn hugged himself as if cold. “She was only thirteen when it happened. We were all at my place, partying and celebrating our first demo.” Slowly he came fart
her into the room. “I went on another beer run, and when I came back, they were all on her. They were…raping her. The drummer ran and the guitarist couldn’t pull me off of the bassist. Thank God Mom got home in time to call the police before I killed them. At least they all went to jail.”

  “Oh my God.” Kinley gasped. “So you were afraid that a woman working with you would get raped?”

  Quinn nodded and carefully sat in the chair opposite her as if afraid she’d throw him out. “Also, you’ve seen what pigs we can all be on the road. I wanted to protect you from that, even after I learned you can handle yourself.” His lips curled in a self-deprecating frown. “But what bothered me most was how much I wanted you for myself.”

  She set her guitar aside, meeting his eyes. “But you aren’t like those assholes who…who hurt your sister. Surely you know that.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, but that didn’t stop me from claiming you the moment I knew you had the slightest interest in me, even though I knew how hard it would be for you on the job.”

  Transfixed by his turbulent eyes and the long, dark hair caressing his cheeks, Kinley couldn’t stop herself from rising from her chair, his name on her lips. “Quinn…”

  “What I’m trying to say is that I love you—hell, I need you. Please come back to me. You don’t have to marry me, just come back.” He stood again only to sink to his knees, eyes large and pleading. “I really don’t want to keep you from following your dreams. I may get worried and overprotective at times, but I won’t stop you. I can’t say I want to see you working as a roadie again. I was thinking you could work in the studio. Or hell, I’ll even fire Curt if that’s what it’ll take to have you back.”

  Kinley gasped. “You can’t fire Curt. You need him. I know he writes most of the lead riffs and besides, that would totally make me into a Yoko…” She trailed off as his words sank in. He loved her and supported her dreams. He loved her!

  As if reading her mind, he said it again. “I love you, Kinley. Please come back to me.”

  He wasn’t asking her to marry him this time. And from the fine tremors wracking every line of his body, she knew why. He was afraid to scare her off. Afraid that she didn’t return his feelings.