The Bad Boys of Summer Anthology

by Emily Snow

  But I’m not wrong.

  Her voice sounds like she’s a million miles away as she answers me, “Why does it matter?”

  It matters because I wanted my brother to take care of her. I want him to be happy. It matters because I was the one who convinced her to go along with him. I was the one who told her that taking Lucas up on his offer would be all worth it.

  But judging by the way Sienna sounds today, I was wrong about all of that.

  “He’s letting her control him,” I explain. “I checked his…” I pause and take a deep breath, squeezing my eyes tight in hopes that it will keep me from picturing Samantha’s fucked-up sneer. “He sent her a wire this morning for two hundred and fifty grand, and then I called him.”

  There’s more silence on Sienna’s end of the line. I climb out of the bed, barely feeling the thick carpet beneath my feet as I pace the short width of the hotel room. I try not to imagine what he could have said to Sienna before he made her leave him. I try not to think about what she must think of me right now for convincing her to be with him.

  But it’s impossible for me not to think about these things.

  Finally, the sound of nothing but heavy breathing does me in, and I lean against the dresser, gripping the edges of the wood. “She’s got something on him, Sienna. I’ve got no fucking clue what it is, but she threatened him. She doesn’t want him to be happy. She’s—”

  Sienna makes a soft noise, a sound of acknowledgment. “Kylie, I’ll call you back.”

  “Let me talk to him. Let me figure out why she’s screwing him over, and I can fix—”

  Then, I realize that she’s ended the conversation, and I’m making promises to nobody other than myself. Even though I desperately want to, I don’t call her back because it won’t help either of us right now. Hearing my voice again so soon will only make her hurt more. So, I call the source behind all of her pain.

  He doesn’t answer my call, and I start to leave a message. More than anything, I want to let Lucas know exactly how I feel about him at this very moment, but then I realize that it won’t do me any good. If he responds, it will only be in defense. He’ll only remind me of just how messed up my own relationship with Wyatt is. I end the call and clench the iPhone as tightly as possible to resist the urge to hurl it across the room.

  As I ease down onto the edge of the bed with my face buried in my hands, I’m not sure if I’m crying more for Sienna and my brother, or for myself and Wyatt McCrae.

  For the remainder of the day, I put on the most believable facade possible. Heidi and I explore Albuquerque since this is her first visit here, and she ropes me into doing everything from shopping to trying to get past the ID verification at a casino she’s read good reviews about. It doesn’t work, and we’re turned away.

  As we take a taxi back to our hotel to get dressed for tonight’s show, she finally brings up Lucas. I tiptoe around the topic for several questions until she asks, “So, I’m guessing you got everything worked out for him.”

  I tighten my hands into fists in my lap, giving Heidi a nod. “Wrapped up neatly and tied with a bow.” An incredibly sad and frayed bow that will unravel into a million pieces at any moment.

  “Thank God. I’d feel like shit if Finn messed something up for Lucas.”

  A tiny smile crosses my lips. “Finn would feel like shit if he screwed with Lucas.” Saying that only makes my thoughts ping back to Samantha.

  My brother is hotheaded, moody, and commanding. He’s the first to start a fight and the last to say sorry. So, why the fuck is he pouring his money into Samantha’s hands the moment she snaps her claws?

  After the taxi driver drops us off at the hotel, I attempt to think about anything but Sam and Lucas and Sienna. Of course, the second Wyatt comes back to the room, striding across the floor with his hands pushed deep into his pockets, he blows that to hell.

  He stands behind me as I apply my makeup in the bathroom mirror. “Something’s wrong, Ky.” The alarm is back in his voice. It’s the same panic that was present back in New Orleans on the night Shiner Bock ransacked my room.

  I look up, glancing at his reflection and mine. “Had a fight with Lucas.”

  “He say something fucked-up to you?” he demands, leaning his muscular long body up against the door frame.

  I shake my head. Regardless of how angry I am with my brother, there’s only so much of his personal life I want to put out there, not even to Wyatt, who’s Lucas’s best friend. “He hurt Sienna.”

  Wyatt mouths her name a couple times before recognition dawns in his blue eyes. “And she came after you for that?”

  “No. That’s just it. She didn’t say anything.”

  I carefully apply my lipstick, an electric blue I found at Sephora that matches the blue in my hair, before I turn to face him. His gaze slides up my body from the blue patent stilettos to the leather-looking leggings and finally to the asymmetrical black top that brings out every positive aspect of my figure. His eyes are appreciative and hungry, making my eyes drop to the tile floor.

  “Don’t look at me like that when I’m angry.”

  He crooks his finger, beckoning me to him. Tentatively, I step forward until his strong hands circle around me, clasping on to the sides of my bottom. “You’re not angry at me, beautiful.” He backs me up against the door frame. “Are you?”

  Thoughts of how I cried over him earlier this afternoon force their way into my head. I jab my tongue into my cheek. “I’m trying not to be.”

  Burying his face into my hair, he slides his palms up and down my hips. “Then, don’t be. Deal with your brother’s shit tomorrow. Be mine tonight.”

  Arching my back, I lean away from him and slip my fingers into his hair, tugging hard. His eyes watch mine for what seems like hours before he bends his head to press tiny kisses all over my face and neck and chest, ruffling the flimsy fabric of my shirt.

  “Deal with Lucas tomorrow,” he says again in a more forceful voice. “You’re mine tonight.”

  I don’t correct him and let him know that tomorrow is Saturday, the last show before we go back to L.A. It could potentially be the last show of our relationship if we choose to go our separate ways.

  “No,” I tell him, “you’re mine.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Twisted Keg, the bar where the band is playing, is located in downtown Albuquerque. It’s twice the size of the bar in Houston, and there are at least three times as many people inside. After Wyatt smooths things over with security at the door, I’m allowed entry without my ID. He kisses me longingly before disappearing to join the band, and I find myself wanting to go with him.

  “Thought you guys weren’t into PDA,” Heidi says loudly from behind me as we squeeze through the crowd of tightly packed bodies.

  “We’re not.” I shoot a glance over my shoulder to find her grinning. Turning my gaze back to the crowd in front of us for a moment, I ask, “Why do I feel like this is a screwed up riot just waiting to happen?”

  She sucks in a breath, and I glance back to see her making a face at a woman who’s a few feet away from us. Judging by the way she’s moving her foot, I can only assume Heidi’s toe has fallen victim to the other woman’s lethal-looking stilettos. “Because you’ve been to these types of things enough times to know how quickly crap can get crazy.”

  I scan the crowd, playing Where Are the Bouncers?, and I quickly come to terms with the fact that there’s little security. I shift uncomfortably, watching the stage as the band is introduced. “Let’s hope this isn’t one of the crazy ones.” Still, I suddenly wish I didn’t wear such impractical shoes.

  Fanning her flushed face, Heidi nods her head toward the teeming bar, and I groan. “It’s a mob. Do you really want a drink that bad?”

  “Would you prefer to sit around thirsty all night? Besides, I hate to say this, but you look like you need a beer or two.”

  Good point. After all the drama from earlier today, battling a mob of bargoers to get a drink doesn�
�t seem so bad. As we push our way through the crowd, the band starts the first song of their set. It’s a cover that I know better than the back of my hand, and when I start to hum along with it, amusement flickers in Heidi’s cornflower blue eyes.

  “You think Lucas would shit a brick if he knew Hazard Anthem is playing ‘All Over You’?”

  Because I don’t want thoughts of my brother and his overall stupidity to screw with my night, I shrug. “He shouldn’t be. It’s a compliment.”

  Focusing her eyes on the stage, she cocks her head to the side. “Nate’s almost as good as him.”

  “Nowhere near it, babe.”

  There’s still a line for drinks when we finally push our way up to the bar, but luckily, it only takes a couple minutes before one of the bartenders—a woman wearing a vintage polka dot halter that I have in my closet—takes our order. “What can I do you for, ladies?” Her scarlet-painted lips drag up into a smile.

  Heidi twists her mouth like she’s trying to decide, but of course, she already knows what she wants. If she doesn’t order beer, she always springs for a 7-and-7. Tonight is no different, and since we’re staying inside of our comfort zone, I ask for a bloody mary, triple shot.

  The barmaid’s penciled-in eyebrows jerk up. “In the mood to fuck something up?” She supports her elbows on the bar counter, staring back and forth between Heidi and me.

  “Nah,” I say. “I just like my vodka.”

  She leans back, shaking her head and laughing. “Yeah, me too. I’ll make you a double, hon.” She gives me a look that screams I should have known better than to ask for more.

  As soon as we have our drinks in hand, Heidi leaves the barmaid an incredibly generous tip, and then my best friend looks at me, mouthing something. It takes me a few tries, but I finally make out what she’s yelling over the deafening sound of voices and music. “Let’s move closer!”

  We squeeze through the mass congregating around the stage, and I grit my teeth when someone jostles into me, causing me to spill a few drops of my drink on myself. Great, now I’ll smell like Betsey Johnson perfume, cigarette smoke, and Tabasco sauce for the rest of the night.

  Heidi and I don’t stop moving until we’re near the front of the fray, jammed between a few people wearing T-shirts from Your Toxic Sequel’s last tour. Once the tall guy standing in front of me moves out of the way, my brown eyes instantly locate Wyatt. He doesn’t see me, but every few moments, his eyes flick around the crowd.

  Cal manages to spot us though, and he gives us a wink that I’m certain is meant for Heidi. She must also see it because she grins like the Cheshire Cat before tucking a lock of her curly hair behind her ear.

  I lean in close to her. “You’re disgustingly cute.”

  She rolls her eyes, holding her hand in front of her defensively. “Trust me, it’s not even like that. He just likes to get a reaction out of me.” Her cheeks are tinged with color, and I’m guessing Cal’s getting exactly what he wants. Before I can say another word, she nods her head to the side of the stage. “There’s Terra.”

  My gaze wanders over in the general direction, and I spot the blonde woman holding her phone up high, recording the show. She’s with some man, and every few seconds, she glances up at him and says something. I work my lip between my teeth, trying desperately to remember where I’ve seen the guy before. When it doesn’t come to me, I focus my attention on the music.

  The band is halfway through a song they didn’t play in Houston when I feel a hand touch my ass. It’s not a brush or an innocent jab but a rough squeeze. Gripping my drink tightly, I count to three before I turn to face the guy who’s feeling me up.

  If I were into backwards-baseball-cap-wearing douche bags who’ve had too much to drink, I might consider him decent-looking enough. Since I’m not, I tilt my head to the side. “I don’t like being touched,” I say loud enough to be heard by several people around us.

  He grins down at me. At first, he doesn’t make a move to take his hand away, but then the guy with him says something in his ear. He shoots his buddy a sharp look as he drops his hand to his side.

  “You’re empty.” He tries to take the clear plastic cup away from me, but I tighten my grip around it. “Hey, I just want to buy you a drink,” he says defensively.

  “Thanks, but I’m DD,” I lie, lifting the corners of my mouth. “So, sorry.” I glance over at Heidi who’s already jerking her head in the opposite direction, her light blue eyes wary. I turn to follow her, but the guy grabs my wrist. When I confront him this time, I ditch the smile. Going about things the polite way with this asshole is getting me absolutely nowhere. “Get your hand off me.”

  “I’m trying to be nice to you.”

  I shoot a look at his friend and see his face is slowly turning red. “You should probably take him on home.” To the drunken idiot, I jerk my arm away from his grip. It hurts like hell, but I keep the badass expression on my face. “You can be nice by fucking off.”

  Heidi practically wrenches me toward her, so we can get out of this situation, but when the guy grabs me again, I turn around and slam my fist into the first thing I can easily hit, his stomach. He doubles over, wheezing. As I open and close my hand by my side, I instantly regret punching him.

  I should have kicked him in his balls.

  “You fucking bitch,” he growls.

  His friend instantly steps in. “Dude, Dillon, leave her alone. She said—”

  Dillon shrugs off the other man. He’s about to say something to me, maybe even try to touch me again, but then two hands clasp on to his shoulders, spinning him around. I’m just now aware that the sound of the bass guitar is nowhere to be heard as I take in Wyatt standing inches away from me with all his features drawn into tight lines. I also realize how quiet the crowd seems despite the fact that the rest of the band is going on with the show.

  “You want to put your hands on someone?” Wyatt asks Dillon, leaning close to him. “Try me, motherfucker.”

  Over his shoulder, I spot a big bear of a man stalking toward them. He’s wearing a black T-shirt that has Security written in large bold print across the front of it.

  “And I think I just wet myself,” Heidi hisses into my ear, holding on to my forearm.

  “Well?” Wyatt challenges again. When Dillon flips him the bird, I hold my breath, hoping McCrae’s smart enough not to fly off the handle. Glancing at me for a second, he tells Dillon, “Yeah, fuck you, too.”

  My heart is beating so hard that I swear it’s louder than Ben’s drums. Wyatt starts toward me, wearing an apologetic smile, and because Heidi chooses that exact moment to say something right into my ear, I don’t hear everything Dillon says next.

  But I hear enough.

  “…groupie slut.”

  I lose my breath for a moment just as Wyatt whirls on him. Dillon is lucky because the bouncer finally intervenes, wedging himself between them, breaking up what could have been a night in jail and a lawsuit for Wyatt.

  “Show’s over,” Wyatt growls the moment he reaches my side. He pulls me to him, crushing my body against his.

  I shake my head. “Absolutely not, McCrae.”

  The band finishes up the song they’re currently playing, and Nate leans into the microphone, announcing that they’re taking a fifteen-minute break before starting the next set.

  Wyatt cocks an eyebrow mockingly. “Show’s over for fifteen minutes then.”

  I feel multiple sets of eyes burning into us as Heidi and I follow close behind Wyatt to the bar manager’s office. Cal and the Hazard Anthem boys are already inside the room.

  Heidi plops down into the chair behind the giant U-shaped desk, exhaling and inhaling a few times. She glances around to each face, including mine. “Remind me why I go to bars again?”

  “Well, that was fucking interesting,” Ben comments, scratching the tip of one of his drumsticks against his shaved head. He winks at me. “I think you could’ve taken that shithead down, but I can’t say I wasn’t happy to see McCrae jum
p off that stage.”

  Wyatt grins, but I can tell he’s still angry. It’s in his blue eyes and the way he keeps clenching and unclenching his fists. “A hundred bucks says the only thing Kylie was thinking about was bailing me out tonight.”

  I jerk my head from side to side, but it’s mostly because I’m a shaky mess right now. “Please, I don’t even have a debit card.” When he rolls his eyes, I add, “But if you have to know, I was thinking of the lawsuits.”

  “You ever stop working?” Cal chimes in. I shake my head at him as he backs up toward the door. He makes a face and then glances toward the desk to my best friend. “Hey, Heidi?”

  She leans forward. “Yes, douche bag?”

  He grins. “You and me. Shots before we go back on?”

  She’s already on her feet, heading toward the door. She gazes back at me, widening her eyes like she still can’t believe what just happened. Hell, neither can I. “You’re buying. You know that, right?” she asks Cal.

  “Please, I know how much money you make,” he counters as he closes the door behind them.

  Wyatt flicks his eyes between Nate and Ben until they take the hint to leave.

  “Sorry about McCrae’s stage dive,” I apologize as they head to the door.

  Nate waves it off. “Shit, he probably just got us a bunch of new fans with that move.” He starts to say something else, but then he bites the corner of his lip and shakes his head. “Ten minutes left, fucker,” he calls out to Wyatt as he and Ben exit the office.

  Finally, I let my shoulders drop. When Wyatt leans back against the desk, I lay my head against his chest. “Lucas would’ve had your balls if you pulled a stunt like that on stage with YTS.”

  I feel him shrug. “There are more important things to me than music.”

  By the way he’s looking down at me, like I’m the only thing he needs at this very moment, I believe him. “Careful saying things like that,” I whisper.

  He lifts my fingers to his lips. “But, god, it’s true.”