by Violet Blaze
“Damn, this is … frighteningly addictive.”
“Best One-Night Stand you'll ever have,” Dash said as he unlocked his door and held it open for me, his eyes as bright as the sun on the mountains outside Ridgecrest. But his smile, that was as dark and lewd as the songs he'd sung onstage tonight, the lights shimmering off his dirty blonde hair, that mouth of his twisted in an expression of wretched filth that I wanted nothing more than to get a taste of. “Except, of course, for this one.”
I moved past him with an air of confidence, fully aware that his eyes were on me, studying me, drinking me in. I paused just inside the apartment, surprised to see that the grunge from downstairs stopped at the threshold. And here was some of that poshness I'd been expecting.
Dash's apartment was sexy and rock 'n' roll in that way that only money can buy—his couch was big and overstuffed, real leather with a tall imposing back and tufted cushions. His love seat was an airbrushed coffin with a shimmery purple satin cushion and steel legs in the shape of claws. The floor was an ancient hardwood, refinished and polished to perfection, glazed with some sort of thick sealant that shone like glass.
The walls were dark purple, too, which made me curious. Maybe I'd lucked out catching his attention tonight? Maybe he wasn't quite as easy as I'd thought? Maybe I'd just picked the right outfit—and the right hair color. He seemed to have a penchant for choosing this color, my signature color.
“Well, what do you think Miss Violet?” he asked as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. I should've done it then, snuck a knife from my boot, sauntered up to him … and cut his throat where he stood.
But I didn't.
“Your place is almost as handsome as you are,” I said, sipping my drink and wondering if I wasn't laying it on a bit too thick. But Dash's smile just worked its way deeper into his face, giving him dimples, making my heart flutter as he ran his hand over his stubbled chin and gave me a look.
“Now I'm not sure if I should be jealous or not,” he said as he tossed back his whiskey and set the glass on a small table near the front door. I waited as he locked all three locks from the inside and turned back to face me, watching me walk his home with an appreciative gleam in my eye. It was only half-forced. Part of me was curious. There were paintings on the wall—real paintings—with thick textured color and giant canvases that said money, money, money.
This whole placed screamed money.
So Dash might not have been a part of his dad's scheme, but he had no problem spending the fortune his father had amassed.
“This is an awfully nice apartment for a biker,” I said, setting my drink down on a decorative steel table against the wall, leaning forward to get a good look at a painting of a woman in a purple dress tumbling from a brightly lit desert sky. Oh, and also to show my ass off in these leather pants.
“Isn't it, though?” he asked me, coming up close, putting his hands on my hips. His desire was obvious, pressed tight against me, desperate and demanding. I sighed for a moment and leaned back against it, wondering what it'd be like to just give in for once and fuck somebody.
But … I couldn't. I wasn't ready.
Dash slid his hands around my hips and dipped them toward that warm, pulsing spot that was liquid and needy and wanting for his touch.
I spun back around and smiled shyly, slipping away from his grip and moving to a different painting. This had the same girl in the same dress, barefoot, running in a red canyon under a dripping moon. Hmm. I was actually intrigued by them.
“Another drink?” Dash asked as I glanced over my shoulder and found him shaking the cubes in my empty glass for emphasis. “I might not be able to mix like Liv, but I can pour straight Scotch like a pro.”
“Sure,” I said, surprised that I'd managed to finish that drink without realizing it. I kept my attention on the painting, trying not to notice how good the apartment smelled, that same warm, easy scent that emanated from its owner. I'd never been around a man that smelled this fucking good. Let's be honest: most of them just smelled downright awful.
Dash moved into the small kitchen area and opened an antique liquor cabinet that under normal circumstances would've had me drooling. Maybe after I killed him and my brothers came to take his body, they could take the cabinet, too?
I sighed and took a quick look over my shoulder.
There was only one damn window in this place and it was small and faced the street. There was no way to get Dash out of it and disappeared without somebody noticing. But I did see another set of steps.
“Do you have access to the roof?” I asked, getting excited. The roof would make things really easy, simplify this whole operation.
“Sure,” Dash said, handing me my Scotch.
I tasted it carefully, let it sit on my tongue.
“Aberfeldy,” I said and watched his blonde brows go up. “It's super smooth, a little fruity.” I took another drink and smiled at Dash's confused expression. “I'd even hazard to say it's almost too smooth.”
“A girl who knows her drink, huh?” Dash asked as I continued perusing the series of paintings with the girl. In the next one, she was collapsed and faceless on the desert floor, wet from a sudden deluge, dripping and motionless.
“I know my drink, and I also know my paintings. Do you know how disturbing this one is?” I asked, pointing at the drenched woman in the purple dress. “She's faceless—thereby removing her humanity—her curvy body dumped into a purple dress as if blessing her with femininity somehow absolves the painter for stealing away her personhood.”
“Whoa there,” Dash said, coming to stand beside me. “I ain't ever looked at it like that. You sure about that interpretation? Maybe she's just faceless because she represents every woman instead of just one?” He moved over to the next painting, one that featured the character sprinting through the desert, leaving exaggerated wet footprints behind, her hair as pale as the sand, blended and faded at the edges as if she was becoming a part of the landscape. “You see here, she's all stood up and runnin'. Not a damn thing could hold her down. Much like you, I imagine.”
“Do you?” I asked, stepping over to the last painting and studying it with a careful eye.
Dash came up behind me again, his body warm, my breath escaping my lungs in a rush. I didn't stop his hand as he slid it up the front of my belly, pressed his hips against my ass.
“I do,” he said, taking a small step back, making my skin go cold with the absence of his warmth. “But then, it's been a long time, hasn't it Miss Vaughn?”
Miss Vaughn.
Not Miss Violet.
I turned around slowly, my drink still in my hand and found Dash standing there with a fucking Browning 1911 in his hand, fingers curled around the grip, his drink set aside, that sultry Southern smile still on his face.
“Dash, what are you doing?” I said, refusing to panic, wondering how the hell this idiot could've possibly guessed who I was. But I played the scared card, dropping my drink to the floor and letting the glass shatter, liquid spattering my leather boots.
“You're nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full o' rocking chairs, darlin'. Tell me: why is that?”
“Why are you pointing a gun at me?” I whispered, letting adrenaline surge through me, making my hands shake as I stood stiff and frozen in front of Dash's purple painting.
“Why are you here, Adelaide? What do you want from me?”
“I … my brothers were in town and they dragged me along. I just … wanted to see you,” I said, and that wasn't a complete lie. I'd been curious about the traitor's son since the day he disappeared, leaving behind a sea of questions and zero answers. “My sister, Layla—you remember Layla—is a huge fan of your music.”
“Is she?” Dash asked, lowering the gun, but keeping both hands wrapped around it as he studied me. “Why lie to me then?”
“There's no love lost between our families,” I said, swallowing and pretending to be scared.
I almost was, really, because if he w
as serious, I'd have to get serious.
But the way he was looking at me right now … it was more curious than anything else.
“No,” he said with a long sigh, engaging the safety on his gun and leaning back against the wall behind him. He set the weapon aside and picked up his drink again. But he didn't move from that spot, and I could see that he was still testing me.
“How did you … I mean, I didn't think you'd recognize me,” I whispered, glancing away like there was a demure bone in my body.
“You have this beauty mark,” he said, pointing at the corner of his eye with a single finger, “just next to those perdy gold eyes of yours. That color, those marks, I'd remember them anywhere.”
“I was a kid when you last saw me,” I said defensively and Dash laughed, clearly unconcerned with me as he stood up and left his gun where it was, pouring another Scotch and grabbing a wet rag. He handed them both to me.
“I'll get the broom. Best clean up those swanky shoes o' yours.”
“I was nine,” I repeated and Dash shrugged loosely, sweeping the broken glass up and dumping it in a hidden trash can beneath the cabinet. “You remembered a nine year old all these years?”
“You were the only friend I had, the first one I'd ever really had. You don't think I'd remember you?”
“I wouldn't have remembered you if you hadn't gotten famous on me,” I said indignantly, but that was only a partial truth. My brothers and father made the Buchanans a source of conversation at most family events. They'd been a hot topic of conversation for years. My question was: why now? Why not ten years ago when Xavier had resurfaced as the face of a rapidly growing company?
“Damn. And here I was thinking I'd made some sort of impression.”
I lifted my boot up and wiped the alcohol away as Dash watched me, his eyes like two embers burning in his face, his pants tight across his arousal. He knew who I was and he still wanted me.
His only friend.
Fuck.
I wasn't going to do it, was I?
Kill him, I mean.
“I should go,” Adelaide Vaughn said, a fucking vision in her too tight pants and boots, her breasts exposed as she bent over to wipe off the spilled Scotch.
“Go?” I asked, raising my brows. My curiosity was beyond peaked now. I knew there was something familiar about her, and now that I knew what it was, I wanted to see why she'd followed me over here. To tell her brothers where I lived? Well, fuck, they could've figured that one out on their own, couldn't they? Still, I couldn't let her leave, not yet, not until I was sure that I wasn't putting my life at even greater risk by letting her go. “Stick around a while, Miss Vaughn. Surely you didn't call on me just to run out like that? Have another drink.”
“No, really, I … you just pulled a gun on me, Dash Buchanan.”
I sipped my drink and studied her for a moment. Adelaide Vaughn was tall and generously curvy, her mouth this dark purple rose on her face, her skin burnished and brown from living in the desert. I wanted to check underneath, see if she had any tan lines. And then if she was up for it, I wanted to lick 'em.
“I've got a feeling that doesn't faze you so much as you pretend,” I told her, finishing my drink, letting my arousal sit heavy and obvious on my face. Let's see then if she'd let me fuck her. If she did, then she was probably alright. If not, well, she must have some other reason for coming over here and I needed to know what that was. “You asked about the roof?”
“I … live in Ridgecrest. I thought it might be nice to see the city,” she said, and if that was a lie, it was smooth as cognac. “Do you have a bathroom I could use?”
“Sure thing, right behind that curtain over there.”
“A curtain?” she asked, but she tossed back her Scotch and went to the heavy black brocade in the corner, swinging back the fabric and stepping inside. When she closed it behind her, I smiled. It was never my intention—this building had limited options when it came to putting in new walls—but the benefit of that curtain was that Adelaide Vaughn wasn't going to pull anything over on me. I could hear everything she was doing in there.
I supposed she could be texting her brothers, her father maybe, but then I heard what sounded like a genuine piss, the toilet flushing, and she was stepping out from behind the curtain with her jacket draped over one arm.
There were tattoos from her shoulders all the way down to her wrists on both sides, across her back. The shape of the jacket had been just enough to hide all of that ink, leaving her bare chest, neck and hands visible.
Well, fuck me runnin'.
“You sure have changed a lot, haven't you?”
“You said something about the roof?” she asked, ignoring my question, tossing her jacket onto my coffin couch and standing there staring at me like she was madder than a wet hen. About what, I wasn't quite sure, but I was aiming to figure that out. I had half a mind to grab her and toss her over the couch and tear those leather pants down her hips, but first I guessed I'd show her the damn roof.
“Sure thing,” I said, leaving my gun where it was on the table. I knew how the club worked; if Adelaide was here for them, it was on behalf of her brothers, her dad, or her man, if she had one. The chances of her doing a damn thing to me herself were pretty fucking slim, but even if she tried, I'd be ready.
I grabbed my keys and headed up the stairs, unlocking the door and letting Adelaide out onto the flat surface of the roof. The wind stank of rain, and the city buzzed around us like a movie playing quietly in the background. There were a few lounge chairs up here, an umbrella to block out the sun, and not much else. Usually it was too damn hot to enjoy it up top anyhow.
Adelaide booked her ass to the edge of the roof and put her hands on the low brick retaining wall, staring straight out at Naples Avenue and beyond, to the skyscrapers and bullshit of the Strip, straight down South Las Vegas Boulevard.
“You bring a lot of girls out here?” she asked me, something hard in her voice, this thread of steel that was completely at odds with all the coy flirtin' she'd been throwing my way. Well, I'll be damned. I'd caught her up in some sort of lie, hadn't I?
“Only the ones I really like,” I said as she turned around suddenly and found me standing too close. “Why don't you put your butt up on that wall right there and I'll show you what else I do to girls I really like.”
“I don't know why I let you bring me over here,” she said, glancing away, some strange emotion dancing in her pale gold eyes. “That was probably a terrible mistake. My brothers will be out looking for me if I don't—”
“Sit your ass up on that wall,” I said, penning her in with an arm on either side, leaning close, breathing in the sweet scent of soap and something harsher, like oil and leather. Mm. This was a girl that spent a lot of time around bikes and boys, that was for sure.
“Fuck you,” Adelaide said, trying to duck under my arm.
I stopped her with a hand around her bicep and then suddenly, she was just dropping, falling to her knees and then springing back to her feet with a set of fuckin' knives in her hand.
Jesus Christ.
“Move, Dash,” she said, holding one of the knives like she was readying herself to throw it at me. “It's time for me to go.”
“What the fuck are you doing with knives in your damn boots?” I asked as she tried to sidle around me. I could tell she meant business, too, by the way she moved, practiced and sure, all of that feigned demureness wiped clean from her face.
“Just let me go and forget about it,” she said, but I was already moving, a knife flying at my chest. I managed to dodge just enough that it gouged through the skin of my upper arm, blood spilling hot and thick down my tattoos as I grabbed her wrists and slammed her into the brick wall surrounding the stairwell.
She kneed me in the damn balls as we struggled for control of the knives. I think she was trying to kill me; I was trying to disarm her. It made things a hell of a lot more difficult.
We struggled, grappling at one another, and fuck
if she wasn't the strongest woman I'd ever met in my life. Her knee came up again, and I just barely managed to dodge another hard crush to the groin. Already my pelvis was on fire, blood was spattering everywhere as we struggled, and one of the knives was sliding into my upper thigh.
Oh holy hell.
I knocked the other knife away from Adelaide's grip and sent it sprawling across the surface of the roof, skidding on the pale colored rocks that covered the tarred expanse.
One arm went around her throat as she tried to lunge for it, and I used my opposite hand to rip the knife from my leg. There was more blood, oozing red everywhere, and I felt my left leg give out suddenly, dragging us both to the ground.
Adelaide had just enough time to spin around before my weight crushed her against the gravel, her fingers going for my eyes, my hands snatching her wrists and slamming them into the ground above her head. Spatters of red fell across her face as I breathed through the pain and tried not to pass out; I was losing a hell of a lot of blood.
“I don't want to hurt you, Dash,” she said, pinned beneath my body, her chest heaving with harsh breaths, her wrists bound. But damn if I didn't believe she might try if we didn't figure this thing out.
“Then what do you want to do with me?” I asked as I looked down at her, and even though she'd just stabbed me, felt like I'd be best off if I took that perfectly full mouth for my own. I ground my hips against the leather crotch of her pants and she groaned, relaxing her body slightly, opening her legs. There was no way in hell I was letting her go, but … “You are one crazy bitch, you know that? I have half a mind to tame your ass.”
“You could try,” she breathed, her gaze defiant and beautiful, her lips parted slightly, purple hair splayed against the gritty surface of the roof. “But you'd find it to be an impossible task.”
“That so?” I asked, dropping my mouth to hers, tasting some of my own blood on her mouth as I kissed her hard and deep, quite aware that I'd be smart to at least bandage up these wounds if not visit a hospital. My cock though, he had different wants and needs and right now, there was a gorgeous wild girl beneath me and I intended to take advantage of that.
