Being Chase

by J. J. Scotts

“So!” Eli interjected. “I thought we’d go over a few test questions that are likely to come up.” The kind man stood, offering to take my plate over to the sink. I thanked him, grateful for the offer as well as the opportunity to move on to something else.

  Once lunch was cleaned up, it was back to the living room. Landon had me run through the walk and acceptance speech one last time before letting me move on to the practice questions.

  They were standard interview fodder. Where do you get your ideas? What do you think of the fans’ response? Are you looking forward to the movie? How many books are you planning to have in the series? Is Violet going to end up with Max or Brett?

  Some of the answers I knew already from the packet Eli had given me yesterday. Chase had included a note that he had at least three more books planned, possibly more. And as for the big Max-versus-Brett question, he’d scrawled that one in pen. It stuck in my head because it was the only thing he’d handwritten. Chase’s penmanship was a lot like him, bold and dark.

  I couldn’t help but wonder how Chase – the real Chase – would answer these questions. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t say, “Everything inspires me. I get my ideas from the world around me every day,” in response to the ‘where do you get your ideas’ question. I imagined his answer would be more along the lines of, “I party at underground clubs to meet eccentric people” with a laugh like he was just joking…when he wasn’t.

  Landon and Eli were very thorough about giving me the answers that would fit best. But the question that was really worrying me was why ‘I’ was deciding to make a public appearance now instead of earlier. When Landon fired the question at me, I immediately thought of Chase’s scar. And the mask.

  Did it really bother him so much for people to see his face? If so, why not get plastic surgery? Surely he had the money for it. Maybe there was some medical reason he couldn’t. Risk of nerve damage or something.

  I felt a flare of sympathy for him, despite his surliness. It couldn’t be easy to be so visibly marked…especially for a man as privileged and good looking as Chase. It must have come as a shock. And then for people to stare, or ask uncomfortable questions…

  I imagined the scrutiny that would no doubt be turned on him, given the popularity of his books. Tabloids were often really vicious. I guessed I couldn’t blame him for wanting to avoid dealing with all of the bullshit of celebrity. It was hard enough on people who had no visible flaws.

  The flare of sympathy deepened, spread, as I realized I was protecting him from the possible ugliness of the press. Not that I didn’t think Chase Preston could hold his own with a bunch of snarky reporters.

  But why should he have to?

  The answer was that he didn’t.

  Not if I did my job.

  Chapter 10

  The apartment was silent as the grave around me. I sat in my gigantic bed, leaning back against the headboard, completely engrossed in Chase’s latest book, The Ebony Iris.

  I’d started reading shortly after Landon and Eli left, and I quickly got sucked into the story of Violet. I was amazed at how invested I felt in the story of the nineteen-year-old and her quest to find and rescue her father.

  I knew enough from reading through Chase’s overview packet to not be completely confused by the complex storyline. In the first book, Violet discovered that the single father who’d raised her wasn’t the mild-mannered software engineer she thought he was, but a renowned spy who specialized in data collection.

  When her father was kidnapped by someone looking for information he was believed to have, Violet discovered her father’s secret life. She embarked on a quest to rescue her father, and with each spy game she encountered, new puzzles appeared. She met Max and Brett along the way. Both helped her, but she later finds out that both were hiding respective secrets. Secrets that jeopardized her main mission. The first book ended with her father getting killed. I was pretty upset about it, just like Chase’s fans.

  I had to admit it was very interesting and exciting. I was glued to the pages, hunched forward, eager to find out what was going to happen next. Despite the fact that I was a guy, pushing thirty, I found Violet easy to connect with. She was wryly funny, self-deprecating, and she grew and changed in some way with every obstacle. She was pretty damn cool.

  Chase didn’t write her as a straight-up superhero, or a slut, or a virgin, or a total badass bitch, or a wilting flower, or any of the typical young female stereotypes that I saw on TV and in movies. I was blown away by his ability to craft such a multi-layered character that, despite being so different from me, was still someone I could empathize with and understand.

  I’d been kind of dreading the whole ‘love triangle’ storyline too, fearing it would be trite and teen-angsty. There, too, I was surprised by the nuance, depth, and maturity with which Chase wrote. The reader got sucker punched by Max’s feelings of betrayal and anger when he catches Violet and Brett kissing, actually seeing the object of his affection in the arms of another man. And despite the relative simplicity of the dynamic – Brett the bad boy and Max the protector – Chase never played it easy. It was often raw, and very real.

  The steamy scenes, too, were both sensual and intimate, but mostly light. They weren’t there solely to get everyone horny. That shocked me the most. Especially given his behavior the night before, the ease with which he’d just taken what he seemed to want from me.

  I was positive that Chase was the type of guy used to getting what he wanted. Even with the scar, I doubted he had any trouble getting any woman he wanted into his bed. Or man.

  Not that I necessarily believed he was gay. Last night could have been nothing more than a drunken one-off. Or a power play. Whatever it was, the man who’d pinned me against the counter the night before didn’t seem to care much for love or emotional intimacy. Just physical pleasure.

  ***

  I continued to devour a scene where Violet says goodbye to Max before heading out to retrieve an antique object that the assassin who’d killed her father was after. They both knew she was taking a huge risk. People who got in the Iris’s way ended up dead.

  Max gave Violet his patented half smile and tapped the com attached to his ear. “With you all the way, Vi.”

  “I should hope so,” she laughed softly, trying to get her nerves down. Violet finished strapping on her thigh sheath and took a deep breath. It was time to go. She had to be at the warehouse before the guards’ shifts changed – to slip in unnoticed.

  Her eyes scanned the bank of computers, the maps and printouts and mug-shots tacked to Max’s walls. Bits of wire and plastic casing littered the carpet and every available surface. Gadgets old and new. He’d rebuild it, repair it, and renew it…for her. Looking around, Violet realized his whole apartment spoke to her mission.

  And now she might never see him again.

  It worried her.

  She paused in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder at Max with a smile. “Hey, Max?”

  He glanced up, eyes glowing jade in the light of the computer screen, looking at her like he always did – as if she was the one, flaws and all. It had never changed, that look in his eyes. Never faltered. And despite the risks she took, he’d never stopped her.

  Max inclined his head, eyes steady on her. “Yeah?”

  She paused before saying, “Thanks.” His mouth opened, but Violet hurried on.

  How could Chase get the tension so right? The hesitation to admit things was spot on. When you’re young or in a new relationship it’s hard to know how truthful to be. Are you giving too much away? How will this person you’ve come to care about react?

  I bent back to the book, wondering what hidden depths Chase held. Had he fallen in love in such a way? Was that even possible for him? Maybe I shouldn’t be so hasty to judge.

  ***

  Swathed in darkness, Violet crept deeper into the tunnel under Hatterson Prison. Up ahead, something skittered softly against the stone, scratching. She froze...

  I, too, was fro
zen. And swathed in darkness, now that I came to look around. Full night had fallen at some point while I blazed through the books. The tension had been ratcheting up, slowly, inexorably, as Violet drew closer to discovering the Iris’s true identity.

  This third, most recent, book in The Dreieck Series seemed darker than the other synopses I’d read. There was more violent death, for one thing.

  Violet, too, was more grown up. She was also still struggling with the death of her father. Her desire for revenge against the Iris was twisting her, making her more reckless. And Brett wasn’t helping, enabling and encouraging her disturbing behavior.

  Not to mention the whole mind-control subplot. That was really getting to me! Something about the way Chase wrote the drone soldiers, making them something like zombies, stripped of their will and forced to do the Iris’s bidding, even when they were wounded nearly to death, creeped me right the hell out. They just kept coming and coming, no matter what Violet or any of her cohorts threw at them.

  And now, Violet was venturing into the catacombs beneath an abandoned prison where she believed the Iris’s lab was, determined to kill the assassin. I had no doubt there were more drone soldiers in between Violet and the final confrontation, and part of me was not looking forward to it.

  I hadn’t heard so much as a footstep or cough or a door closing in hours. The last thing I’d heard was Chase walking from down the hall past my door. He still hadn’t come back. He was probably out and about gyrating on some poor unsuspecting victim. Jerk. Now I was alone in the huge, empty apartment and reading about freaking mindless zombie soldiers. Every noise seemed amplified to my straining ears. Adrenaline bubbled through my veins.

  My stomach gurgled. Loudly.

  I blinked away the tense atmosphere that had been hanging over me since Violet entered the tunnel beneath the prison and set the book aside. I still had a few chapters left, but based on the light coming through the window – or the lack thereof, rather – it was late, and I hadn’t eaten anything. The lure of Josh’s leftover gruyere mac ’n cheese was too much for me. I climbed out of bed, dislodging a grumpy Cosmo, and headed for the kitchen.

  Unfortunately, I hadn’t yet gotten the hang of the location of the various light switches. Once I got into the hallway, I was enveloped in blackness. Chase apparently hadn’t left any lights on when he left. Even the living room lights down the hall, which had been on last night, were off. Landon had closed the shades earlier to block the glaring setting sun from my eyes as I parroted the speech. Now the living room was a black pit of shadow. There wasn’t even any light from the sky, or the city lights, filtering through the windows into the now creepy hall.

  Great. There were a ton of things to trip on and hit my shins on in between me and the one lamp I knew for sure I could turn on. All those goddamned pointy modern things. Slowly, trying to avoid bruised knees and broken toes, I crept forward, up the hall toward the living room.

  I felt plush carpet against my toes as I reached the point where the hall widened out into the living room. It was just around the corner and about ten feet to that lamp.

  I lifted my foot…and froze.

  What was that? I could’ve sworn I heard something. Had that been a scrape? What could have made that sound? The living room was covered in rugs.

  My heart, already thrumming nicely from the anticipation of the climax of that dark book, picked up its pace. My palms grew sweaty, and I tasted sudden ozone on my tongue. I remained completely still, waiting to see if the sound came again. My breathing seemed loud in the dark. My ears filled with the rushing of my blood, like the sound of the ocean, and I tried to will it to slow.

  I was being ridiculous. I knew that. I was spooked because of the book. My bloodstream was swimming with useless adrenaline, and it was making me jumpy. I knew that. And yet, I couldn’t make myself relax. Fucking zombie soldiers.

  The muscles between my shoulder blades tightened into a knot. My hands fisted. I forced them open, shaking them out, and blew out a long breath.

  Maybe I should ask if there’s anyone there? But didn’t zombies like noise and shit?

  Behind my breastbone, my heart began to pound. I gritted my teeth.

  Oh, for Christ’s sake! I was a grown man freaked out by a kid’s book! This was beyond ridiculous.

  I forced myself to take another careful step around the corner and into the darkness of the living room, blinking my eyes rapidly, hoping that would help them adjust to the gloom faster. I could see the very vaguest outlines of furniture, I thought.

  With a soft snort, I tried to psych myself up to take another step. I thought of Violet, creeping forward in the tunnel through sheer will.

  My mind jumped to a different scene of Max, with no discernible combat skills, heading out to help Violet when she was trapped in the cargo container. I knew from some of the online postings Eli had provided in my information packet that that was a big moment for Max for a lot of fans. In their minds, with that one act, he was now shoulder-to-shoulder with Brett in the battle for Violet’s heart.

  Because it’s super hot when guys are brave. Everyone knew that.

  Releasing another long breath, I took another step. I kept expecting my eyes to adjust, but all I could see was shadows on shadows. I was sure there was something there. Fucking something.

  I tried to convince myself it was Cosmo. She could have slipped past me and made those noises like troublesome cats usually do…right?

  Or maybe Chase had come back earlier and I’d been too engrossed in the book to hear him bring a…friend home. A friend who was now attempting to steal some of the priceless objects scattered around the living room, and then brutally murder us if he was discovered.

  I swallowed bitter bile as a gruesome scene from the book flashed into my mind. Eyes squeezed closed, I slid my foot another step into the living room. That fucking lamp had to be somewhere here.

  My toes began to slide on the silken carpet fibers. I tried to catch myself but I had already splayed my legs out too wide, putting myself off balance. In the process of quickly regaining my balance, my knee struck what felt like the arm of the couch, and I went flying face first into the thick darkness. I stretched my hands out in front of me, hoping to break the inevitable fall.

  Instead, I barreled onto the couch and collided with the solid warmth of a body.

  It was the guy. The murderer! Fuck!

  I screamed. There must’ve been a teenage girl trying to escape my body because it sounded a lot louder and higher-pitched than I had expected. But who gave a shit? I was going to get dismembered! Maybe the screaming would help throw the person off guard.

  I rolled off of the murderer and fell to the floor with a solid thump, whacking my head against one of the legs of the coffee table. I pushed myself to a sitting position, rubbing at the tender spot on my head, just as the lamp beside the couch – the one I’d been slowly making my way toward – clicked on, flooding the room with light.

  “What the fuck?” The words were barked at me. It was Chase’s voice.

  I winced, trying to adjust my eyes to the sudden brightness. After a few seconds of blinking I was able to see Chase’s dark brows raised nearly to his hairline. He was calmly sitting on the couch, both feet touching the floor, with his legs parted and his hands held together, resting peacefully in his lap. His dress shirt was unbuttoned half-way, revealing a wedge of chest covered in a smattering of dark hair. He was barefoot too, no sign of his shoes or socks. Or his suit coat. Or the black half-mask, either.

  He was just staring at me. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or what.

  I got to my feet as quickly as I could with my head pounding. “What the fuck?” I yelled back at him. “What the fuck are you doing? Sitting in the dark alone? Were you trying to fuck with me? What the fuck is wrong with you?” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d use the word ‘fuck’ so much.

  Chase shrugged, running one of those long-fingered hands through his messy hair. “It’s my apartment. I c
an do whatever the hell I want.” He stuck a finger in his ear, rubbing the inside. “You scream fucking loud though.”

  I felt heat creeping up my throat, a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Chase eyed me, obviously reading the situation. His lips twisted into that sideways smirk. “Oh…did I frighten you?” He asked the question almost sweetly. “You should be more careful throwing yourself at men in the dark.” He chuckled.

  More blood stung my face. “Oh, hah hah!” I said sarcastically. “So very fucking funny, Chase.” I knew it was dangerous to curse at my employer, a man with wealth and power, but I was still riled up, heart pumping with the fright –an adrenaline high. My hands clenched into fists at my side and the vein in my forehead pulsed.

  Chase parted his hands and pulled his long body from the couch, bringing himself nose-to-nose with me. Or nose-to-chin, rather. It was still intimidating.

  I moved to step back, but he looped his arms around my waist and tugged me against his chest. “Aww, don’t be scared. I’ll protect you,” he said cutely…mockingly. He wrapped his arms around my stiff body, stroking his hands over my back, kneading the tensed muscles through the thin cotton of my t-shirt. He snickered. I felt the vibration of it against my cheek as his lips brushed the side of my aching head.