Revenge: The Complete Series (Erotic Rock Star Suspense Romance)

by Mimi Strong

  A shiver crawls up and down my body. My scalp feels tight, and my whole body is energized. All he saw was me. Oh, man. The guy has a way with words, and saying the right ones at the right time. I’m so deep under his spell, I’m barely able to stand. I grab onto a chair to hold myself steady.

  “Cracker?” He offers me the box.

  “No thanks,” I say. “Are we really going to a concert?”

  He jolts into action, putting the crackers away and swiping crumbs from the counter to the floor.

  “Rock and roll time.” He starts walking back toward my room.

  I call after him, “Hey, rock star. Let’s try the front door. Just for fun.”

  He comes back, grinning. “Can’t go in socks.” He’s holding his boots.

  We go out the front and circle around to get his guitar and move the ladder away from the house.

  I stand with my arms crossed while he puts the guitar in the back seat of his car. He’s very gentle with the guitar, like it’s precious.

  “Do you have other guitars?” I ask. “You just use that ratty old one so you don’t have to worry about it, right?”

  “This guitar is my salvation. I joke sometimes about calling her Sally, because that’s short for salvation.”

  “Sounds like there’s a story in there.”

  He walks around to the passenger side and opens the door for me. This is a nice change from the first time I saw his car, when he teased me about not opening the door for me.

  “There’s a story,” he says. “But I only tell people I trust.”

  I slide into the car’s leather seat, wondering what he means by that. Is he planning to tell me in a few minutes, or just leave me squirming? Is he saying he doesn’t trust me? That’s not fair. I never did anything to trick him. He’s the one who used me and lied to me in the first place, with the fake mugging.

  He gets in and pulls out his car keys. I move quickly, blocking the ignition with my hand.

  “Wait,” I say. “You’re not going to do your impression of a bank robbery getaway driver again, are you?”

  His playful expression grows serious. “What the fuck do you mean by that?” His voice is cold and sharp.

  I pull my hand away. He’s scaring me again, making me break out in a cold sweat. I withdraw into my seat.

  “Sorry,” he says, shaking his head then looking straight ahead. “I overreacted. You were just making a joke, weren’t you?”

  “Not a very funny one. Apparently.”

  He takes a deep breath and sighs it out. “I promise to be a careful and safe driver tonight. In fact, I will be a perfect gentleman. The whole night. No bad behavior.”

  “Okay.” I click on my seat belt.

  When I look up, he’s staring at me. He’s so hot right now, in the dark, with just the street lamp lighting up his features. When he looks at me, I feel like half my blood turns to ice while the other half boils. I’ve never felt like this before. So mixed up.

  “My best behavior,” he says. “Unless you do something bad. If you tempt me, all promises are off.”

  He doesn’t wait for an answer. He starts the car and pulls out onto the street.

  We’re driving fast, but not the kind of fast that would get us pulled over.

  I’m curious about where we’re going, but I won’t ask. I’m going to play it cool. I’ve got my wallet in my jeans pocket, with some money to get me home in a cab, if I need it. I promise myself I won’t stay with Dylan if things get too intense.

  This time, I don’t have all my cash with me. I split my cash up and hid it in a few different places in my bedroom.

  “Dylan, can I ask you something?”

  “Only ask if you’re prepared for the answer.” He chuckles to soften his words.

  “Why did you give me all that money?”

  “What money?”

  “Three hundred dollars. The day I got mugged. You said all my money was gone, but when I got home, I had twice as much in my wallet.”

  “Listen, don’t tell anyone about that, okay? I could get in serious trouble and blow everything.” He shakes his head and mutters, “Ridiculous. Losing everything over three hundred dollars.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I shouldn’t be talking at all. You can’t tell anyone about the money, okay? Do you promise?”

  “I told my roommate, but that’s it.”

  “You weren’t the girl, Jess. It was supposed to be someone else. I got distracted, and started flirting with you. I blame you for looking so cute and innocent, with your big eyes, and your damp hair. I got a whiff of your hair, and I started having bad thoughts.”

  I fidget with my hands on my lap. “I understand now. Your guy was supposed to grab someone else.”

  “Exactly. And when I saw how much money was in your wallet, I got a bad feeling. You didn’t look rich, you know? I’m sorry that I judged you, but you looked like maybe that was all the money you had in the whole world. And I felt so bad that I grabbed the money back from the guy. He was acting cagey, and I didn’t know for sure if I even got it all back. So I dug into my pocket and shoved some of my money in there with yours.”

  “You gave me three hundred dollars. That’s a lot. I’d probably take another black eye for that much money.”

  “I thought it was just a few bills from busking, but I guess I had… never mind. I’ve already said too much.”

  “Do you want the three hundred dollars back?”

  He laughs. “No.”

  “This whole thing is breaking my brain. I don’t know what’s happening. Do you know more about Morris Music than you’re telling me?”

  He takes a while to think.

  “Can we just chill out tonight?” he asks. “We’ll hear some great music. You can even dance. You’re a girl. You probably like to dance. How about you dance for me and make me think bad thoughts? Can we just do that tonight?”

  He reaches over and rests his hand on my leg. The heat from his palm soothes me. All I want is more of his touch.

  “Sure,” I say. We can just chill out tonight, and I’ll try to keep my million questions to myself. I won’t drive myself crazy wondering how Dylan got my home address.

  He lifts his hand off my leg and opens the glove box. There’s not much in here, except for a box of peppermints. He pulls them out and offers me one.

  “These help me sing,” he says.

  I take a peppermint and pop it in my mouth.

  “You’re singing tonight?” I remember what he said about being too distracted to play guitar tonight. He was talking about being hard, and that got me so flustered, I forgot.

  “Any requests?” he asks.

  “Anything but Jessie’s Girl.”

  He chuckles. “My set list is really coming together.”

  I press my lips tight. He’s going to do the exact opposite of anything I ask.

  “Hmmm. What else.” He hums and taps the steering wheel. We’re still driving fast, but no crazy U-turns.

  I could set him up. What’s the most ridiculous song in the world?

  “No Meatloaf,” I say. “Definitely not one of those silly ballads where the guy’s trying to get the girl to put out.”

  He gives me a suspicious look out of the side of his eye.

  His look says I dare you to dare me.

  I try to give him the same look right back. I dare him to sing cheesy songs and then kiss me again. I might even let him take me back to his place.

  Chapter 10

  We park in an alley, behind a dumpster.

  There are signs posted along the crumbling brick wall: Loading Zone Only.

  “Are you sure you can park here?” I ask. The other vehicles parked along the wall are vans, and we’re in the only car.

  Dylan just laughs and gets out of the vehicle. I can’t get out on my side, because the door is right up against the wall. I have to crawl out through the driver’s side door.

  As I’m wiggling my way out, Dylan’s eyes are ti
ght on me. He’s looking down the neckline of my cranberry-red shirt. I take my time getting out, enjoying the look of concentration on his face.

  Once I’m out and standing right in front of him, he reaches up and tucks a strand of my dark brown hair behind my ear. I tilt my chin up, expecting him to kiss me.

  “Later,” he says, like he’s reading my mind.

  The music from the club is coming through the wall. There’s nothing like this where I’m from, and I’m nervous and excited to see what’s behind the stage door.

  Dylan grabs his beat-up guitar from the back seat and says, “Hello, my darling,” to the guitar.

  I feel a twinge of jealousy toward the guitar. I’m being ridiculous, but I can’t help how I feel. I want those hands all over me.

  Dylan leads the way into the building, through the stage door. I’m surprised the door’s not locked, but what do I know?

  The music is loud. The beats reverberate through my body. I can feel music in my bones, and it’s a good feeling. I love it when sound waves travel through me and make my body part of the beat.

  Dylan dodges left just inside the door. I keep going, and in a few steps, I find myself on stage. The lights from overhead are blinding. After a few blinks, I can see people down below, in the audience. Several faces turn to look at me.

  The guy on stage singing also turns his head to look my way. He keeps on singing and playing guitar.

  “Sorry,” I say. My voice won’t carry to him over the music, but I have to say something. I step backward, leaving the stage the way I came on.

  I bump into Dylan, who’s busting his gut laughing at me.

  I smack him in the chest with both hands.

  “You suck!” I yell, also laughing.

  “Relax. Your first show is the hardest,” he says. “Honestly, I didn’t mean for that to happen. I thought you were right behind me.”

  “Sure you did.” I smack him again playfully. My hands linger on his chest. He’s wearing his button-down shirt, but I’ve seen his bare chest and I know what’s under the fabric.

  “Easy now,” he growls. “Don’t distract me.”

  I bat my eyelashes at him and press my palms flat on his broad, hard chest.

  He growls again and pushes my hands away.

  I glance around at the surroundings. We’re standing amidst a bunch of music equipment, and a few people are hanging around backstage. They’re all focused on the band that’s playing and not looking at us.

  Dylan pulls a wad of bills from his pocket and hands me a fifty. “Go get yourself a drink and find a seat. I saw a few free tables at the back.”

  “I have to sit by myself? Can’t I hang out back here? I won’t get in the way, I promise.”

  He nods for me to follow him over to where two girls are standing backstage. They look too young to be in a club.

  His voice gruff, Dylan says to the girls, “Do you two have important business back here?”

  They both have red hair and pale skin. They could be sisters, or maybe twins, but not identical. One of them looks scared of Dylan, her blue eyes wide. The other is cool and calm. Her eyes are pale green. She says, “We like to be part of the action.”

  He pulls out the bills again and holds up another fifty.

  “Girls, you’ve done babysitting before, right?”

  They both nod.

  He continues, “If I give you this, will you go find a table and keep my girlfriend company? She’s new in town.”

  The cool one snatches the money in a heartbeat. “Sounds fun.”

  She grabs my hand and leads me further back, into the dark of the backstage.

  I turn as I’m walking and give Dylan a dirty look over my shoulder. How dare he pay off other people to babysit me? I’d march right up to him and kick him in the shin, except… he called me his girlfriend.

  The girls lead me down some stairs and we pop out on the main floor, next to the stage. They race each other to the bar, where they order a pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea.

  We find a table and sit down. The sound quality is actually good for a space this size. I look around at the speaker placement. There are only a few places with live music in my hometown, and they all have the worst sound systems. I’d rather hear no music than hear it ruined on a shitty system.

  The girls pour amber liquid into three glasses and push mine toward me.

  I’m no stranger to Long Island Iced Tea. It’s sweet and tastes good going down, but one glass and you’re hammered. I wasn’t lying to my roommate about being allergic to alcohol. It really does go straight to my head and do weird things to me.

  I’ll just have a few sips.

  A waitress comes by and sets a trio of shots on the table.

  “Compliments of the bartender,” she says.

  The redheads giggle and wave at the bartender. I wonder if they’re even twenty-one.

  I look at the shot in front of me. The redheads raise theirs and wait for me to clink glasses. I guess one shot will steady my nerves.

  We clink our glasses and down the shots. I’m pretty sure it was tequila. I wash the taste down with some of my other drink.

  The girls ask for my name, and tell me theirs. Bianca and Marley. It’s hard to talk over the music, and I can feel my voice getting hoarse from yelling.

  We talk for a bit, through the next couple of songs. They ask me how long I’ve been Dylan’s girlfriend.

  I answer honestly. “I didn’t know I was until he said that.”

  This makes them both go crazy with excitement. I have to smile. I like these redheads.

  It turns out they are twins, like I thought. They’re the same age as me, twenty-two. They’re both singers, and they were hoping to sing some more tonight. They were on at the beginning of the night, singing while some other guys played, but the club was empty. They’re hoping to get on stage again, or get drunk. Either one is fine, and more fun than staying home, they say.

  Marley is the cool one, the fearless one. She grabs a handful of my hair and says, “You’re so fucking pretty.”

  “Thanks. You’re pretty, too. Both of you.”

  Her face scrunches up and she looks like she’s going to cry.

  “I really needed that,” she said. “Getting rejected is horrible. The pain makes you wonder if anything’s worth doing. There’s so much suffering in the world, you know? Why do we choose to suffer when we don’t have to?”

  Her sister leans in. “Because we’re artists. We don’t have a choice.”

  I sip my drink and listen as they tell me more about their struggles. They grew up in a strict house where they weren’t even allowed to listen to music. It sounds like some sort of cult. I feel bad for them, but I’m glad they didn’t let anyone stand in the way of their dreams.

  Around us, the crowd of people cheers.

  The scruffy-bearded guy who was singing when I blundered out onto the stage earlier introduces the next act.

  “Guys, hold onto your girlfriends,” he says into the microphone. “Here comes Dylan Wolf, and he’s going to break some hearts tonight.”

  Everyone cheers.

  Marley grabs my arm across the table and squeezes it. “OMG. Is that the guy from the video? The blue shoes song?” She turns to her sister. “I knew he looked familiar.”

  My cheeks get super hot. I’m blushing, big time.

  Dylan takes over the microphone and starts singing. It’s the song he made up the first time we met, only with a few changes. It sounds even better.

  The melody gets into my head, feeling familiar, but still fresh.

  A wave of emotion rolls through me like a summer thunderstorm, from my toes all the way up to the top of my head.

  Dylan’s voice is gritty and raw, then turns soft and sweet.

  This song is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Tears build up in my eyes. I don’t know what to do with my hands. I press them flat on my thighs and rub my damp palms on my jeans, trying to calm down.

  What I’m feeling
right now is too much for one body to hold.

  I grab my glass and drink it down. Courage. I need more courage.

  Dylan’s eyes scan the crowd. The lights are bright, and he isn’t able to spot me right away. I would wave, but my arms are numb. My whole body is numb.

  At the edge of my vision, I sense people coming over to our table and more drinks arriving.

  I can’t look away from Dylan. He keeps scanning, until he finds me. There’s a catch in his voice when he spots me. He keeps singing, and the corners of his mouth pull up. A sweetness seeps into his voice along with his smile.

  Thankfully, I’m in a chair. I don’t know if I could stand on my shaking legs right now. I can barely breathe.

  The girls tell me what a great singer he is, and I do nothing but grunt in response. They giggle and shove another drink at me.

  Dylan finishes the song.

  He calls out to the crowd, “What else do you guys like?”

  The response is a mix of things. I hear people call out a few names and bands, but it’s mostly just drunken shouts.

  Dylan leans in close to the microphone and says, “Elvis?”

  The crowd seems confused, but I laugh. I might be the only one who finds him funny. Whatever. He’s cute and he’s funny, which makes him perfect.

  I may be a little drunk.

  “How about something from Imagine Dragons?” he asks.

  This time, everyone’s on board.

  He begins singing Demons.

  I’m used to hearing the song with piano and a full band backing the vocals, and it’s different now with Dylan strumming his old guitar.

  His voice is tinged in sadness that makes my heart ache. The way he sings about dreams failing, haunting him, I want to take him in my arms. I want to hold his head against my chest and run my hands through his glossy black hair.

  I look around at the crowd. By the look of the girls in the club, they’re all thinking the same thing.

  The tempo of Dylan’s cover of Demons is a little slower. I don’t know how I feel about the changes he’s made.

  I don’t have much time to mull this over, because he shortens the song and mumbles something about putting us all into a coma.

  Within seconds, he’s singing Hey Soul Sister by Train.