Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)

by A. L. Jackson

  It was only two lines. That was all he gave me of his unsung song.

  Two lines from his mystery.

  The words coated in uncertainty and obscurity.

  Both of us seemed suspended in it, in the echoing silence that followed behind and held fast to the energy clinging to the air.

  “I should go,” I forced out when I wasn’t sure I could remain beneath the crushing weight any longer.

  He gathered me closer and tucked my head under his chin, his words just as intense as the song he’d let tumble from his mouth. “No, Blue. No. You definitely should stay.”

  I GAVE A QUICK knock to Lyrik’s door. After a couple seconds of no response, I craned my ear toward the wood.

  No sound or movement on the other side.

  Sucking in a breath, I turned the knob and let myself in. I fought the reckless grin when I thought back to the day when he’d granted me a little more access into the private parts of his life.

  “I stopped by this afternoon, but you weren’t here.”

  “Why didn’t you just come inside? My place is almost always unlocked.” He smirked. “Hazards of having lazy, nosy, too-comfortable friends like Ash and Zee. Gave up trying to keep them out of my business a long time ago.”

  “Feeling awful brave there, aren’t you, rock star, giving someone the chance to just waltz into your apartment?”

  He shrugged. “Nah, just don’t care all that much about stuff. Besides, I kinda like having a reason to kick ass.”

  Obsidian eyes flashed and he raked just the tip of his fingernail down my cheek. Chills spread like a building avalanche. “But seriously, baby, nothing I’d like better than walking in and finding you lying in my bed. Preferably naked. Next time, don’t hesitate.”

  I mean, giving me free rein in his apartment seemed like a big deal. Right? I couldn’t help but hope he was coming around. That maybe he was beginning to want the same things I couldn’t help but want, the hopeful ideas that had sprouted and taken residence in my heart and mind.

  They rang with words like real and commitment and forever.

  So maybe it was stupid and naïve.

  A slow, cold shiver rolled through me when I remembered all the promises I’d made myself. That I’d never again find myself in this position. In a place of vulnerability and weakness. It took me all of one second to write the thought off because what Lyrik and I had was entirely different. Not even close to being the same.

  Lyrik respected me.

  Cared about me.

  I knew he did.

  When it came to him, there wasn’t a whole lot of hesitation on my part. Not anymore. I wanted everything I could get and then I wanted a little more.

  Late-afternoon sun blazed through the French doors pouring natural light into his apartment. My arms were weighed down by shopping bags, and I trudged across the space toward the kitchen where I set the bags on the small round table.

  Excitement glimmered in a slow dance in my belly as I began to unpack the groceries.

  Was it foolish to feel so good that I’d found a little of the old me?

  The sound of the shower filtered through the walls from the bathroom tucked within Lyrik’s bedroom, and that excitement sharpened. Streaked with desire and lust.

  Humming under my breath, I pulled a pot from the bottom cabinet and filled it with water, spun around, my hips striking up their own dance as I swayed across Lyrik’s kitchen to the stove on the opposite side.

  The gas stove clicked as I turned the knob and a ring of flames came to life. I set the pot over it, and moved back to the other side where I rinsed the red potatoes I’d picked up earlier at the farmers’ market. I washed them and dropped them into the water that was beginning to boil.

  I moved on to the thick steaks and began to prepare them, figuring we’d toss them on the little grill on Lyrik’s balcony.

  That excitement flashed when I heard the pipes screech as the water was turned off.

  The grin that curled my lips was unstoppable. Was it completely insane that I couldn’t wait to see him? Completely insane that I’d slipped so deeply into this non-relationship that my body craved him every second we were apart?

  For a while now, it’d seemed all of our time had become the same. But since we’d first had sex two weeks ago? Lyrik and I had become one. Desperate hands. Mind-blowing, incredible sex. Easy conversation.

  God, I couldn’t get enough of him.

  And the man was insatiable, taking me again and again.

  So foolishly I didn’t want him to stop.

  And if what we had was only temporary? We still had two weeks, and I intended to make the most of them.

  Footsteps padded on the wooden floor. They creaked beneath his weight.

  Barefoot.

  I knew he was before he even came into view.

  God, was I really that in tune with him?

  I felt him stop at the end of the hall. Drawn, I glanced up at him. My breath hitched.

  There he was. Rubbing a towel over his damp head. Chest bare. A pair of low-slung jeans hung from his narrow waist.

  Barefoot. Just like I thought.

  Dark and light. Corrupt and pure.

  Energy surged, a cyclone of intensity that spun and twisted and filled up the room.

  Goosebumps flashed down my arms.

  On all things holy, a man should not be allowed to look that good. My knees rocked and the ground trembled beneath my feet.

  The buzz before the strike.

  He smirked and lifted his chin. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Red standing in my kitchen, lookin’ like my favorite fantasy. Are you trying to wreck me, baby?”

  I ripped my gaze from the man standing across the room and let it travel down my attire.

  Yeah, I’d dressed for him.

  My hair, piled in an intricate twist, was done up in a black bandanna. I wore a tight pair of white jeans that stopped just above my ankles, and a white and black polka-dot blouse tied at the bottom so it exposed a thick strip of skin across my mid-drift, lips painted a vibrant red.

  I shrugged like it didn’t matter while Lyrik looked at me as if he were two seconds from gobbling me up.

  God, I hoped so.

  “Not that I’m complaining…finding you standing there.” He rounded the countertop and came into the kitchen.

  My heart sped, and my breaths became shallow when from behind he wound his arms around my waist. Those big, capable hands went straight to the slip of skin I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist, heated palms flat on my flesh.

  My stomach dove into a free fall.

  He buried his nose in my hair. “You didn’t need to do all of this for me, baby. I would have been happy to take you out for dinner.”

  My shoulders hiked, and I went for blasé. As if it were nothing. But the words slipped free, an uncontrolled statement as I turned my head just enough so we were nose to nose. “Make it if you want it to matter.”

  For a moment, he stilled, before he wrapped me up tighter. His groan vibrated down my spine. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “What aren’t you going to do with me?” That time I actually managed the flirt and tease, because there was nothing feigned about it.

  The man gave me multiple personality disorder. Bold and sexy and in control. Soft and kind.

  Yet I couldn’t help but feel the mix was absolutely me.

  I gasped when he pressed his cock to my backside. Big and hard. “You want to find out just what I intend to do to you? What I’ve been thinking about all week, getting right where I haven’t been?”

  He rocked against my ass, his tone sharpening in a seductive edge. “All you have to say is no…but I sure as hell hope you don’t.”

  Shivers blazed, a thrill beating a path through my senses and twisting as anticipation swirled in my stomach.

  He’d broken down all my barriers. Taken me everywhere and in every way. Except for that. I pressed back. “I’m yours.”

  He both stilled and man
aged to hug me a little tighter.

  Protective.

  I just wasn’t sure who he was protecting, anymore.

  God, it was getting harder and harder to keep it inside. The way I felt. The way it increased every day and amplified every night.

  He dropped a kiss to my temple, stepped back, and ran his fingers through the damp, dark hair on his head. “What can I do to help?”

  I twisted the cap to the seasoning and began to sprinkle it over the steaks. “Why don’t you go heat up the grill? The potatoes are just starting to boil and I’m getting ready to make a salad.”

  “Mmm…you spoil me.”

  “I aim to please,” I shot at him, all flirty and filled with innuendo.

  He chuckled and touched my nose. “And please you do.”

  I giggled as he repeated our words, the mood set back to light. Riding with Lyrik required being ready for all the highs and lows.

  He pointed at me as he began to walk backward in the direction of the balcony. “Don’t move,” he said.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I promised.

  He disappeared into the gleaming light.

  I turned to washing the vegetables, patted my hands dry before I opened a drawer to dig around for a utility knife.

  Junk drawer.

  I started to slam it closed, when a picture shoved in the back caught my attention. So maybe it was buried beneath another stack of papers. The pointy edge was the only thing I saw.

  With a brush of my fingers, I nudged the papers covering it aside.

  A slick of apprehension beaded as a sheen of sweat across my skin.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  What was I thinking?

  Maybe I wasn’t at all because I reached inside and pulled it out.

  And again I got the sense I was no different than the ditsy girl on a horror flick who was walking right into a trap.

  Moments from being gutted.

  No, not moments. A flash of a second. Because I didn’t even have time for my breath to catch. Instead, the air in my lungs jutted out in some kind of perverted shock. As if I had any right to feel this way. To look on this picture as if it were an insult to me.

  As if I’d been betrayed by some kind of illicit affair.

  It was a snapshot. Lyrik’s face shone. Happy. So goddamned happy and free that it tugged at me from all directions. Ripping me apart. He was without an ounce of the burden and chains that now dragged him down. Without that ever-present ominous and dark aura.

  He was wrapped around a girl from behind. Her long brown hair blew in the wind, brushing at his face, her smile just as wide as his.

  I attempted to swallow around the lump in my throat.

  Impossible.

  Because it was too big, too heavy and suffocating and weighted with all the limitations Lyrik continued to hang around our necks.

  Because this?

  This was limitless.

  Forever.

  I pressed my hand over my mouth and tried to choke back the sob. Tried to tamp down the burning behind my eyes as tears rushed to fill them.

  God, this girl looked so young. No question, Lyrik looked young in it, too. The image had to be at least five or six years old. But the girl…this gorgeous girl who was beautiful in a seductive way? It was evident in her eyes.

  Youth.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  The voice was low and dangerous and dark.

  I jerked to look at him. I’d been so wrapped up in the picture I’d not even noticed he’d come back inside.

  Anger billowed from him.

  “Who’s this?”

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  How the hell could I be so insane to ask? Had I really regressed to this point? Needy with zero self-preservation?

  The worst part was I wasn’t sure I could handle hearing him give the answer.

  Because I already knew.

  This was love.

  His jaw clenched, and I could almost hear the grind of his teeth as he tried to restrain himself. “Asked you what the fuck you think you’re doing? Going through my stuff? Told you all along not to go digging where you shouldn’t be.”

  He stalked forward and backed me into the counter.

  I held the picture between us. “Who is she?” The question was desperate. Uttered like a fool. A fool who’d run and run and run and then turned right around and let him catch up to me.

  “Not. You.” His two ugly words pierced me as if he were throwing knives.

  At least that’s what they felt like when they struck me.

  Not. You.

  Impaling and cutting.

  Excruciating.

  I should have been prepared. He told me sex was all he had to give.

  Because he belonged to someone else.

  Slowly, I squeezed my eyes shut, praying I could keep the tears at bay. At least until I made it out his door. That’s where I’d crumble and fall. Where I’d lick my wounds and force myself to stand. Where I would refortify the walls I never should have let him knock down.

  But first? I gave him one last bit of my honesty. Gently, my gaze traced his face one last time.

  “I hear you.”

  Then I gathered myself and strode out his door.

  STEALING MYSELF, I WALKED out my apartment door onto the landing. My head was held high, that old sneer reinstated on my mouth, my lips painted the deepest red. I figured I should always be prepared for what I might stumble upon out here. Because I refused to ever again be caught unaware.

  Late afternoon light glinted in my eyes. My body slammed into the hard wall of humidity.

  It made it difficult to draw in a full breath.

  I shook my head to clear it. Or maybe the motion was done as an admonishment. As a silent command screaming out for me to get my shit together.

  I knew I was nothing but a liar if I blamed this feeling on the weather.

  As if I didn’t know why it felt like there were a thousand bricks piled on my chest. As if they kept raining down from above, pelting and crushing and destroying.

  I hated I’d been such a fool to give him the power to make me feel this way.

  I knew better.

  I knew better.

  I knew better.

  But it didn’t matter how many times I chanted it beneath my breath. Every single one of those feelings remained. The gain and the loss. The renewed confidence he’d given me up against what he’d so easily torn away.

  It seemed cruel he was the reason for the first true life I’d felt in years. Glimmers of it were still there, trying to work their way out, the desperate urge to get back some semblance of who I used to be. To go home and be brave. Though all of that was eclipsed by the hurt balled up like a fist at the base of my throat.

  It was an old pain whispering its venom.

  How could you be so stupid? So careless? How could you have let yourself be used so easily? Taken and tossed out like the morning’s trash.

  Dirty.

  Breaths squeezed in and out of my too-tight lungs as I stood mere feet from his apartment. So close yet there couldn’t have been a greater distance between us.

  The overabundance of thoughts and worries and hopes swirled around me like a cyclone. I wasn’t sure I had the strength left to stand up under the bitter jumble of emotions.

  Pulled toward home while this beautiful man pushed me away.

  God, this piercing ache never dissipated. Never dimmed or dulled.

  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape the unwavering sorrow that chased me through the days and stalked me through the nights.

  But standing here ignited a rage of fury and hurt and betrayal so intense my head spun and my heart felt as if it literally might fail. Stutter and bleed out and usher in the end.

  My bottom lip trembled as my ear tuned into the heavy metal music blasting from the confines of the old brick walls I knew kept him hidden. The curtains were closed. Exactly the way they’d been for the last two weeks. />
  I struggled for control, silently screaming the mantra with a hand fisted at my side. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

  But the crazy awareness wouldn’t let me go. Dread slid down my spine like the freezing slick of ice. Shaking, my gaze jumped to the stack of moving boxes sitting to the left of his door.

  Lyrik West was scratched in Sharpie on the sides.

  The sight of them nearly brought everything crashing down. Reality striking home.

  Two months.

  He couldn’t even give me that. And I’d allowed myself to be naïve enough to dream of so much more. That our moments had meant something. Because to me, they’d come to mean everything.

  I wobbled on my five-inch heels, and my hand darted out to the wall to keep myself from sinking to the ground. I sucked for nonexistent air. It took everything to keep from falling to my knees.

  But I didn’t.

  Because Tamar King would always stand.

  Voices shouted in an attempt to be heard over the country band playing onstage. People laughed and shouted. A crush of bodies vied for a spot close to the gleaming wood of the ornate, carved bar, as if touching it gave the promise of a good time.

  Typical of a summer Friday night, Charlie’s was packed.

  I couldn’t help but be grateful for the distraction. I hustled behind the bar because I was damn good at my job.

  So maybe it hadn’t been my lifelong dream. Maybe it didn’t fill me with hope and awe and the quest for things that could never be.

  But it was safe. Void of all the silly, absurd notions Lyrik had incited.

  Better to stamp them out now than to have them destroy me in the end.

  “How are you holding up, sugar?” Charlie’s voice struck me from behind. Softer than normal. As if he needed to approach me with caution and not all the ease he had before Lyrik had messed up the security I’d established in this life.

  I really hated that, too.

  I glanced at my old friend. At the piece of family I’d found here. The flare of unease trembling my insides warned I was soon to lose this false sanctuary, too.

  A coy smile spread across my face. Forced. Fake. “Holding up just fine, old man. How about you? Looks like Nathan could use some help rather than you standing looking over my shoulder like you have nothing better to do.”