Reckless

by Priscilla West

  He tilted his head.

  Oh my god. Is he going to kiss me? In front of all these people?!

  My eyes closed, and my lips parted. The surface of his soft lips brushed across mine as his mouth moved to my ear. The warmth of his breath tickled the tiny hairs on my ear.

  "Backstage. Twenty minutes."

  I opened my eyes to see him walking past me toward the door that led backstage, leaving me in shock.

  Almost simultaneously, the face of every woman around me contorted into a jealous scowl. A few had what looked like pure hatred in their eyes. Two of them were the girls that had pieces of the god’s shirt. I then realized that they each had a broken beer bottle in hand and were rushing toward me.

  The crowd was still densely packed, leaving nowhere to escape. My eyes darted toward the exits, but after a split second, the reality of the situation sunk in.

  I was going to die.

  Chapter Two

  BAMBOOZLED

  Through a buzzing haze, I heard a faint voice crying out to me. What was it saying? It sounded like "snack on a chip", but that made no sense. Why would it say that?

  SMACK!

  A blow landed across my cheek, sending me reeling. I reached out and grabbed ahold of the counter to stabilize myself before I fell on my ass.

  "Snap out of it!" I heard Jen’s voice.

  "Ouch, that hurt!" Grasping my burning cheek, I blinked a few times and realized I was sitting on the same barstool I’d been sitting on earlier. Jen was beside me, a look of concern etched on her face. Wasn’t I just near the stage? Had it all been my imagination? "Was it all just a—"

  "No, it wasn’t a dream, you numbskull," Jen grumbled, holding an ice pack to the right side of her face. "You see this?" She pointed to the cracked lens on her glasses. The skin beneath was already beginning to swell. "That’s real. I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be black and blue in the morning, thanks to you."

  "Wuh?" I mumbled, looking around and seeing that the bar had returned to its normal state prior to the band taking the stage. Except for a few stray thongson the floor, it was as if the chaos during show never happened.

  "You left me to fend for myself! I got elbowed in the face by some naked douchebag. Then I ended up saving your ass from some crazy chick trying to cut you with a broken bottle. I had to carry you back to the bar and I tell ya, you may look small, but you’re freaking heavy! I should’ve left you there."

  Still recovering from the fog in my head, I squinted my eyes and rubbed my temples. "Ugh . . . What happened to the crazy girl?"

  "Her boyfriend grabbed her and pulled her away. Maybe he chloroformed her or shot her with a tranq, I don’t know. Good for him if he did. All I know is she’s gone."

  The haze over my mind cleared, and the situation sunk in. "Wow, you saved me. I owe you big."

  "Damn straight you owe me! And you can start by telling me what that rock god whispered in your ear."

  For a moment, I debated whether I should tell her the truth in case she turned into a jealous psycho like some of the other girls did, but I quickly dismissed the thought. Jen was as level-headed in the workplace as she was in her relationships with men, which was more than I could say for myself. "He told me to meet him backstage in twenty minutes." Saying the words he’d whispered into my ear sent a dark flutter through my stomach.

  Her left eye widened. "No way. For what? To hook up? Why’d he single you out among all the raving female fans?"

  "I—I don’t know! I mean, it did happen, right? I didn’t hallucinate it, did I?" It wouldn’t surprise me if the whole episode had only happened in my mind. The rock god’s performance had driven more than a few women batshit crazy.

  "Unless I was hallucinating too, it definitely happened. Everyone near the stage saw it," Jen said. She took a deep breath. "So what are you going to do?"

  I raised an eyebrow and shot her a wicked smirk. "What do you think?"

  "No, Riley. Don’t." She shook her head disapprovingly. "I know you have a habit of thinking with your vagina instead of your head, but you almost got yourself killed just a few minutes ago!"

  "But I didn’t," I replied. I might’ve occasionally hooked up with hot guys that didn’t have a lot of other redeeming qualities, but I wasn’t going to apologize for liking sex.

  "You think he’s worth the danger to your life?"

  "For one, you’re overreacting. And two, that’s a stupid question," I scoffed. "Did you see him? I mean, really look at him? Because the answer is obvious."

  She sighed deeply. "Through one eye, yes, I saw him. He’s attractive for sure, but not hot enough to throw away your common sense. Please promise me you won’t go. I’m not going back there to save you if you get into trouble."

  "You’re acting like my mom," I groaned.

  "I’m acting like your friend," she responded, her voice somewhere between gentle and concerned. "This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to help you out from trouble because you got mixed up with some tattooed bad boy that turned out to be from prison."

  "That was one time!"

  "One time too many."

  I sighed. She’d been referring to Danny, a guy I’d met online and ended up dating for a few weeks. Ever the worrywart, Jen had looked up his background and discovered he’d done a year in prison for theft. I understood that a guy having a few blotches in his past kind of came with the ‘bad boy’ territory, but there was a difference between dark and dangerous and just plain dangerous. And that’s where I drew the line.

  "Look, I’m pretty sure this guy’s not from prison considering he’s a rock star. Worst he’s probably done is some drugs, which is par for the course for a rocker."

  "You’re really intent on becoming a groupie, aren’t you?"

  "What? No. That’s not what this is—"

  "Then what is it? Don’t tell me you’re expecting to sit down with him over a cup of tea and talk about your mutual interest in music when you’re back there."

  I stuck my tongue out at her. "There’s probably going to be sex, sure. But so what? I’m not going to sleep with him just because he’s some semi-famous rocker. It’s not like I get a thrill out of fucking famous people. I don’t even know his name!" I exhaled deeply, regaining composure. "He’s simply an attractive member of the male species who has expressed his interest in me, and I’m attracted to him as well."

  She eyed me skeptically.

  "Okay," I admitted, looking away. "So it happens that he’s also a rock god. But there’s a difference between being a groupie and being a self-respecting girl deciding to hook up with a guy she’s attracted to."

  Jen sighed and put a sympathetic hand on mine. "Rye, you know I’m not trying to clam jam. I’m just concerned about you. I know you like putting on a strong face, but I’ve seen you get torn up over one-night stands in the past, and I don’t want to see you get hurt this time—physically or emotionally."

  "Ugh." I knew I wasn’t going to win the argument. I appreciated her concern, but if I’d wanted my mom at the Wallabee telling me what to do, I’d have invited her. "Fine, fine. I promise. I’m not going. Happy now?"

  She raised a brow. "You sure?"

  "Yes, I’m one hundred percent sure. You’re right, Jen. I have a tendency to get myself into trouble when it comes to hot guys, and I promise not to do it this time." I held up one hand as if swearing an oath.

  She studied my expression for a moment, probably waiting to see if I’d crack. Fortunately she wasn’t looking behind my back, otherwise she’d have seen my other hand with fingers crossed. "Good. I’m going to use the restroom and to make sure that my eyeball is still in its socket. Don’t go anywhere, okay?"

  I gave her my sweetest smile and nodded. "Okay."

  Tapping my toes against the floor, I waited impatiently for her to take her leave. I considered eating a lifesaver while I waited but decided against it because they made me sleepy.

  When she finally disappeared around the corner, I left two twenty dollar bills on the
counter, told the bartender to keep Jen’s ice pack fresh, and began walking toward the large metal door that led backstage.

  Jen was probably right about the danger, but what she didn’t know was that I was already in trouble. With the heated ache between my thighs building to a near-threatening level, I figured my body was in danger either way. And given a choice, I’d rather go out with an orgasmic bang.

  ***

  I tried the handle on the door leading backstage, but it wouldn’t budge. It was locked. After knocking a few times without a response, I grew impatient. I figured there would be a security guard watching the door, especially considering the fans’ behavior during the show, but apparently there wasn’t. Or at least he wasn’t at his post.

  An idea popped into my head.

  Fuck it, I thought. What’s the worst that can happen?

  I plucked a hairpin I kept in my purse, inserted it into the lock, and shimmied it until I heard a distinctive click. I breathed a sigh of relief. Thanks, internet research. My lockpicking skills had come in handy before—not just for breaking and entering, but also whenever I lost my keys during a wild night out.

  After opening the door and stepping through, I found myself in a quiet corridor with lighting equipment strewn haphazardly along the ground. The place looked so abandoned I practically expected a tumbleweed to roll across the hallway. Had the band left already? Was I too late?

  The sound of boots echoed down the hallway, and I gathered it was coming from the far end. Realizing that it was the guard returning to his post from a piss-break, I ran in the opposite direction, grateful that losing my heels earlier made my footsteps near silent. I could’ve waited for the guard to return and explained why I’d picked the lock on the door he’d been protecting, but in an environment where crazy fans wielded broken bottles to stab other people, I worried he’d taze first and ask questions later.

  I turned the corner at the end of the hall and nearly ran smack into someone.

  "Hey, watch where you’re going!" a female voice said.

  Two blonde girls with large chests, pencil-thin waists, and long legs stood idly beside a green door. Both wore matching red dresses with necklines that plunged in a "V" down to their waists, revealing ample side-boob. Then again, maybe I was the one who was dressed inappropriately. My little black dress had been ripped along the hem and one strap was broken, leaving me feeling bedraggled and a little embarrassed. After a moment, I realized that the girls were twins, and they were both shooting me nasty looks.

  It was the left one who had spoken; I noticed she had a tattoo on her chest that said "Tiffany". The other one had a similar tattoo, but it said "Amanda". They probably got mixed up often enough—and wore revealing dresses enough—that they decided to get permanent nametags inked onto their chests.

  "Oops, sorry. I can be a klutz sometimes," I said.

  "That’s obvious," Tiffany said.

  I was more interested in finding the Siren than I was in her response, so I craned my neck to look past them down the new hallway I’d entered. There was a door at the end with a red "EXIT" sign above it. Other than the conspicuous green door on the left next to the twins, there was only a set of restrooms along the right wall. I scratched my head, wondering if I’d taken the wrong path. "Hey, do you guys know where I can find the lead singer?"

  The girls exchanged looks between one another. "He’s busy right now. And he’ll probably be busy for the rest of the night," Tiffany said with an air of smugness. "We can tell him you stopped by though."

  I narrowed my brows. "You know him?"

  "Uh. Yes," Tiffany said, condescension dripping from her voice. "We’re like this." She crossed her middle finger over her forefinger.

  "Like this," Amanda echoed, mimicking the same gesture.

  I eyed them doubtfully. I noticed on the green door behind them that there was a silver star mounted above the center.

  "Is he in there?" I asked. "Are you guys waiting for him?"

  "That’s right," Tiffany said. She and her sister each crossed their arms in front of their large chests, clearly becoming impatient with my questions. "Like I said, we’ll tell him you stopped by. So hurry and run along now." She made shooing motions with her hand. "I suggest you fix your dress while you’re at it."

  Groupies.

  I probably should’ve realized it sooner, but I went to shows for the music and the crowd, not the hotties in the band. I’d never been backstage before, but it was all starting to make sense now. While I had to pick a lock and avoid detection to get back here, they probably flirted their way past security for a chance at having a threesome with a rock star. Whereas I was chosen, they probably weren’t. "Fix yours first. Get some self-respect while you’re at it." I stuck my tongue at her.

  Tiffany gasped. A grimace on her face, she raised her hand and pulled her shoulder back. For the second time tonight, I was going to be smacked across the cheek, but this one was going to be much harder. Tiffany swung her arm at me. "You bitc—"

  The door opened and a large hand shot out and grasped Tiffany’s arm. A tall, imposing figure stepped out from the entrance.

  He was wearing a fresh pair of black leather pants, but he hadn’t yet replaced the shirt that had been unceremoniously shredded from his body earlier. With his sculpted muscles, rippling abs, and the tattoos along his arms and chest exposed, the ache I’d experienced before returned and amped up to a painful degree. His olive-toned skin was damp, and his silky hair draping along his shoulders looked wet and tousled in a deliciously sexy way, making me wonder if he’d just gotten out of a shower.

  "I’m disappointed," he said to Tiffany. The cool, controlled tone sent a heated shiver through my core. "You’re not playing nice."

  She looked up at him, speechless. "I—I’m s-sorry." Her other hand shaking, she pointed a finger toward me. "She started it."

  Those dark eyes shifted to me and pierced me with a searing gaze. "You," he said, his voice rough yet velvety.

  It was one thing imagining him, but it was a whole different thing being in his presence. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me but he carried himself with an air of authority befitting someone much older. Someone world-experienced. Scarred, but not jaded. I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

  I’d met my fair share of hot guys, but I’d never met one hot enough to unsettle my composure. This Adonis in leather pants was proving to be the exception.

  His sharply angled brows raised slightly. "How did you get back here? I was about to tell the guard to let you in."

  I tried my best to keep my voice steady. "I, uh, picked the lock."

  His gaze intensified. I suddenly felt exposed and naked before him. Vulnerable. As if he had direct access to my innermost private thoughts. Could he see his effect on me?

  I thought I’d be crushed beneath the weight of that stare, but a hint of a smile touched the corners of his lips. "Interesting. You like getting into trouble, don’t you?"

  I wasn’t sure whether he was referring to my lockpicking skills or my life in general."Only the good kind," I said, trying my damnedest to steel myself against his allure. "I didn’t start the trouble back here though."

  His smile faded, and he turned his attention back to Tiffany—who was probably on the verge of wetting herself in more ways than one. He dipped his nose close to her ear and sniffed her neck like a predator assessing the fear in its prey.

  She closed her eyes and released a faint noise that sounded like something between a moan and a yelp.

  "You lied to me," he growled.

  Her eyes widened. A look of terror flashed across her face. "I—I . . ."

  "That’s strike one," he warned, his tone wielding a dangerous edge. He released his hold on Tiffany and her arm hung limply by her side. He looked at me again and narrowed his brows. "You’re not hurt, are you?"

  The deep concern in his voice caught me off guard. "Um . . . nope."

  Other than almost getting punched and stabbed du
ring your show and now almost getting bitch-slapped. . . no, of course not.

  His eyebrows remained furrowed. "You sure? Your clothes are ripped. And you’re not wearing shoes."

  His left brow had a diagonal slash across the middle. The scar only added to his mysterious allure, and I briefly wondered how he got it. Maybe he was a fighter that moonlighted as a rocker. Judging by the conditioning of his body, I could imagine him throwing punches in a boxing ring or grappling in a cage or even riding bare-chested on a steed with a sword in his hand. He certainly had the hair for the latter—his dark locks could probably make the heroes on the covers of my mom’s old romance books jealous. I could also see him in my bed wrestling me beneath the sheets—both of us, hot, sweaty, and naked.

  "Yeah . . . it’s kind of a long story. I could tell you in private, though."

  I gave him a suggestive smile and winked, hoping he’d take the cue to dismiss the other girls. He grinned back. But there was a twinkle in his dark brown eyes that made me wonder what was going through his mind. "I’d like to hear it. Come inside." He gestured to the green room behind him. "I’ll be there after I handle this."

  Tiffany and Amanda watched me, their jaws nearly on the floor. I flashed a smile at the twins, returning the smugness they’d given me. Then I went inside.

  It was called a "green room", but a quick scan revealed there wasn’t a single green item in the space except for a fake potted tree that was as tall as me. The walls were a lush crimson, while the hardwood floor was covered with a soft Persian carpet. There was a full-length mirror at the back next to a bathroom, a comfortable-looking tan leather couch to the side, and various food and drinks on a rolling cart next to the armrest. I’d been expecting instruments, clothes, makeup, and drug paraphernalia scattered about the space, but this resembled a classy hotel room.

  Given how the bar had looked, this room was completely out of place. I guess they really pampered their performers.