Something Violet doesn’t want at all.
I push open Tyler’s loft door and hear dishes clanking in the kitchen. He’s cleaning up, and I’m the first one here for practice. Maybe he can get my head straight, suck some of the poison out of my mood.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and perch on a barstool without greeting him.
Tyler wipes his hands on a dishtowel. “Who peed in your beer?” He pulls an exaggerated pouty face and I can’t not laugh. Dammit.
“It’s been a rough day. Walked all over the fucking East Village and I can’t find Violet.”
His eyebrows peak with interest. “I heard they have some newfangled thing called a telephone.” Tyler’s words are still a little thick since his tongue is healing, but I understand him well enough.
I shake my head. “She lost her phone. And either she’s not answering her door, or she’s really not there. Her roommate won’t tell me. Asshole.”
“So what are you going to do about it? Because squeezing that water bottle until it explodes is not going to make either of us happy.”
I glance down at my white knuckles and force myself to relax my grip. I screw off the top and gulp down half of it, wishing it were something stronger. “I don’t know. I’ve got to find her. She’s got this freaky stalker, and I think I found a way to help, but I need to talk to her.”
“So, Shelly and Teal are out?”
“Long gone.”
“And Violet’s in?”
I shake my head in frustration. “Not by a long shot. Fuck. I walked her home from the hospital after she came to take pictures of you there, and she got under my skin.”
“Hate to break it to you, but she got under your skin way before the hospital. That day she came to practice with Stella and took pictures of us, you couldn’t take your eyes off her.” He pauses and cocks his head. “She’s different, isn’t she?”
I finish off the water before answering. “What do you mean?”
“Like, she’s not your usual. Groupie. Easy. More tits than brains.”
I’m not sure whether to be offended. “You saying she’s not hot?”
“Hell, no. She’s got legs for miles. But she doesn’t seem like—“
“I got it, Ty.” I cut him off. “She’s not another bimbo. Check. Which means she’s probably too damn smart to go out with me.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Fuck you.”
Tyler whirls around and grabs my shirt, using the three or four inches in height he’s got on me to really get in my face. “Take it back. You got woman problems. I get it. But don’t take it out on me.”
My adrenaline spikes and I want to hit somebody, but not Tyler. Not my best friend, the one who’s saved my ass as many times as I’ve saved his. “Fine.” I add, quieter, “Sorry.”
Tyler drops my shirt and steps back. “Look. Took me forever to get shit sorted out with Stella. But once it works, it’s worth it. You gotta get a grip and figure out how to be the man. Not the frickin’ Tattoo Thief playboy. Not the one dripping in groupies. You figure that shit out, and you’ll actually have a shot with this girl.”
I take a breath, feeling my adrenaline wane. “Promise?”
“No guarantees. The difference is that groupies come to you, so they’re easy. But now you’re going to Violet. It’ll be hard. You’ve got to win her. Show her you’re worth it.”
I shake my head and pick up my guitar. “I have no idea how.”
“Start by not being an asshole.” Tyler laughs and crosses the loft to our practice space. “Want to see something I’ve been fooling around with?” He straps on his bass guitar and plucks a fast chord progression that actually sounds awesome.
I immediately feel the beat and a melody bursts into my brain. I listen to a few more bars, then add my own from my guitar, playing against his chords and listening for his changes. I love how Tyler gives me space to move around in a song, as if his notes are the scaffolding and I can build anything I want off of them.
We jam until the song plays itself out.
“Damn, that was hot.” I grin at him. “Since when are you writing songs?”
Tyler dismisses the question with a wave. “I’m not writing songs. Just chords, maybe a little melody here and there. I don’t have the words, usually, though I did a song for Stella that I’m hoping she’ll be into. Gonna show it to her tonight.”
I have him play it for me and it’s damn good. It takes my mind off Violet and refocuses me on the most important thing in my life—music.
I glance at the door but the rest of the band still isn’t here. They’re late, and I’ll give Dave shit about that since he’s usually the drill sergeant who bitches when any of us show up late.
“I want to tell you something, but I don’t want the other guys to know. Not yet.” I watch Tyler carefully and the seriousness in my tone makes him sit on a stool near me.
He nods for me to continue, a promise to keep my confidence.
“I got approached by a guy from Viper Records. Darren Bishop. Says he’s interested in helping me explore a solo career.”
“You told him to go take a fucking long walk off a short pier, right?” Tyler asks, but my expression arrests him. “Right?”
I shake my head. “I told him I’d talk.”
“So then tell him to fuck off when you talk to him.”
“I already talked to him, Tyler.”
“What? We’re a band, Jayce, and in case you haven’t noticed, we’re one of the top bands in the whole country right now. You walking would torpedo all of that, kill our next album.”
“And what did Gavin’s disappearing act do? It didn’t exactly help, Ty.” His brow is creased, so I push on. “And Dave’s all over me like a bad rash, giving me shit for being two minutes late and then not even showing up on time today.”
Tyler glances at the clock on the wall and the guys are twenty minutes behind. “We can work that stuff out. I put this band together and I don’t want you to take it apart.”
“But what’s more important? The band or the music?”
“The band,” Tyler says, his mouth set.
“And I say it’s the music. I want to play with you. Hell, that jam we just did was the best part of my day so far. But I’m not going to keep playing with my friends if we can’t make the right music. Gavin acts like he can do no wrong with his songs, but I don’t want to play backup for fucking Gavin Slater for the rest of my life.”
Timing is everything, especially if you’re in a band. So it should be no surprise that this is the moment Gavin makes his appearance in Tyler’s loft for practice.
***
My comment hangs in the air like a filthy cloud all through practice, though no one acknowledges it. Tyler covers for me, of course, but Gavin’s eyes shoot daggers. Dave’s all business, not apologizing for being late, but turning up the pressure as we run through the set, demanding we get sharper and cleaner so we’ll be ready to hit LA on Friday.
It’s coming too soon. I blow out of practice the minute we put down our instruments, skipping weights again even though the other guys are lifting. I have to find Violet.
I walk to her place to skip the cross-town rush hour traffic and focus on what I know.
I have the name of the school where she last taught—but she was fired, and I doubt they’d tell me anything. Her father’s in politics, and I could track his office phone number down, but then what do I say?
“Hello, sir. You don’t know me, but I’ve been jacking off to your daughter’s naked pictures on the Internet. Do you know how I could contact her?”
Not fucking likely.
My best shot is probably still her apartment, as much as it kills me to know that her stalker could be hanging around. I round a corner on Avenue A and catch a glimpse of flame-red hair on a tall girl with a backpack.
No. It couldn’t be. I start jogging, then break into a run. She’s a block and a half ahead of me, and she turns the corner on East
Fifth. I’m sprinting, afraid she’ll reach her apartment before I reach her.
I turn the corner and see her plunge her key in the lock. It’s definitely Violet. My heart’s racing with need and relief and some other emotion that freaks me out.
Violet pushes open the door and slips inside.
“Wait! Violet! Wait!” My legs carry me the last half-block to the glass-front door. I see her inside climbing the stairs, so I slam my hand on the glass.
She flinches, then slowly turns, a haunted look marring her face.
“I need you,” I pant, “I need you to talk to me!” Fuck it. I just need you. “Please,” I say loudly enough to carry through the glass. “Let me in. Give me a minute.”
I take my Yankees cap off and wipe the sweat from my face, but this movement looks like it scares her even more than my hand on the glass. She yanks the door open.
“Don’t do that! Someone will see you,” she hisses, and lets me inside. “Don’t you get that you can’t just show up here? What if someone sees you?”
I think she means a photographer, not the stalker, but the main thing is, I’m in. I’m standing in the lobby of her apartment, my heart slamming against my ribs, not because of running but because I’ve finally found her.
“I’m sorry,” I start, recalling Tyler’s sage advice: don’t be an asshole. “I have to talk to you.”
CHAPTER 26: VIOLET
I hold up a finger. “Wait. Don’t say anything yet.” I start up the stairs to my apartment, glancing back when Jayce doesn’t immediately follow. The eye contact seems to shock him into motion. My heart beats hard with everything I need to say to him.
I unlock my apartment and listen for Neil. Not home, as usual. I hear Jayce close and lock the door behind me, his breath heavy from running.
“I’ll be back in a sec,” I say, and race to the bathroom. I don’t really need to pee, but I need a moment to gather my wits now that he’s here. In my apartment, even after I sent him away.
I practiced the speech for the last four hours on the bus ride home, but it’s all garbled in my brain. All I can do is wash my hands, run a brush through my wild hair that’s gone even curlier with the humidity, and hope.
Hope I haven’t ruined this.
Hope he’ll understand.
When I emerge, he’s still standing in my living room, rooted to a spot by the front door. I take a few steps toward him, and his face is unreadable.
“I went home for a few days,” I start. “Had to get my birth certificate to get a new driver’s license.”
Jayce takes a step toward me and I stand my ground, but he doesn’t reach for me, and doesn’t come close enough to touch.
“I have to handle this myself. I can’t expect you to be the one to rescue me or protect me. It’s too much.”
“I told you, I wanted to.”
I hear the past tense and my hope fades. I shake my head. “I’ll figure it out. I found an organization that deals with revenge porn. The woman who created it was a victim herself. I sent her an email.”
“An email,” he repeats.
“Yes. And I got a new phone, and cash to last me until my new debit and credit cards come. I’m fine, really.”
“So you don’t need me.” His tone is flat and cold, and I sense he’s already retreating to the door.
“Why did you come here, Justin?”
His real name makes his eyes spark. “I came for you.”
“For me, or because of the stalker?”
“Fuck the stalker. For you.”
“I don’t like you cursing.”
His mouth opens and closes in surprise, like I’ve just told him I don’t like sex. “Sorry. I mean, forget the stalker.”
I smile to acknowledge his effort. He looks shy, more unsure of himself now. “But that’s not why I had to see you. I mean, it’s a little part of it, I might have found a way to help, but mostly, I just wanted to talk to you. To be with you.”
It’s clumsy, but it’s real. A thrill rushes through me like I’ve just been picked at a junior high snowball dance.
“I want—” the words I’d practiced on the bus ride scramble in my brain, and I can’t talk to him about needing to be something more than a fling, or needing him to accept my dark urges that I don’t even really understand. He’s already seen my pictures, but he doesn’t know what’s behind them.
He doesn’t know what I really wanted. What I’d asked Brady to give me. And if I tell him, I’m afraid it will send him running the other way in disgust.
“Tell me.”
I shake my head. I can’t get the words past my lips.
Jayce takes another step toward me, now close enough that he reaches for my jaw and strokes my cheek with his thumb. “I want to know all about what you want, Violet.” His voice is low, vibrating from his chest. “So if you won’t tell me that, let’s start with something simple. Do you trust me?”
I nod.
“Do you want me?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
Jayce drops his hand from my cheek and steps back. “Give me your shirt.”
I watch him to be sure of his meaning, then cross my arms and lift the hem of my shirt up over my stomach, my eyes locked on his until I pull the shirt over my head. I hand it to him.
His eyes sweep my neck, my freckled chest, my peach lace bra, and my stomach.
“Your bra.” It’s a quiet command, and my blood heats. I feel a flush of color rise from my décolletage to my cheeks, and my breasts are taut when I release them from the lace and wire.
I place the bra in his waiting hand.
“Sandals. Shorts.” His voice is gravelly and I watch his pupils dilate as I flick open the button at my waist, draw down the zipper and let the navy cotton slide down my hips. I hand them to him as well.
With the exception of some tiny panties that don’t even cover my whole butt, I’m totally exposed to him. This is not normal, my inner voice chides me. This strip-on-command isn’t what normal couples do.
I force the thought aside. I’m not terrified. I’m thrilled.
Maybe because this time, I’m going willingly. This time, I’ve handed over control and I’m not afraid of how he’ll use it. Or if he’ll use it against me.
Jayce drops my clothes on a chair and comes close but doesn’t touch me. I feel the heat radiating off his body as he moves to my shoulder, the smell of his sweat like salt and leather. He breathes on my shoulder and instantly my nipples tighten, then his lips move down my arm, still an inch from my skin, and I feel his hot breath all the way to my fingertips.
“I love how you smell,” he whispers, and continues moving around me. My body sparks with contradictions—frozen in place but on fire inside, wanting him to grab me, yet savoring how he restrains himself.
I feel his warmth across my back, near my bottom, by my shoulder. He does another slow survey of my skin with his lips just an inch away, across my collarbone, down the valley between my breasts, stopping just above the lacy top of my panties.
His breath fans across my lower belly and the flesh between my thighs throbs with need. I’m afraid he can see the moisture spreading in my panties, smell my sex heating with just the touch of his breath to my skin.
Suddenly, he straightens. His hand reaches for my hair but it freezes before he touches me.
“You don’t have to do this.” His face is pinched, like a deep muscle’s painful twinge.
“I want to.”
“You don’t have to do anything I ask. You can say no. You can walk away right now.” Jayce’s eyes are pleading with me. Is he asking me to walk away?
“I won’t.” I drop my eyes, embarrassed but needing to say the next words. “Unless you tell me to.”
A rough hand fists in my hair and Jayce drags my eyes back to him. “What do you want? Tell me what you want, Violet.”
“You.”
“Not good enough. That’s a cop out. Tell me what you want from me. What makes your blood sing? Tell me what you d
reamed about last night, because I sure as hell dreamed about you.”
Jayce captures my mouth with a rough kiss, a punishing force that steals my breath and most of my words. I know he just told me to do something, but … he dreamed of me?
“I can’t.”
“Can’t, or won’t? This is not a question. This is a command. Tell me what you dreamed about last night. Or—”
“Or what?” I whisper, current shooting up my spine with the hint of a threat. Will he force me away if I can’t describe the twisted madness of my dream? How he bent me to his will and I loved him for it?
“Or show me.”
There. The challenge is down.
Jayce’s hands are still tightly woven through my hair and I reach up and release them. He’s watching me intently, and I guide his hand to brush the tip of my nipple.
Our breaths hiss at the same time.
I drop to my knees in front of the bulge in his shorts. My fingers work the button open and his erection springs forward inside his boxers.
I tug his shorts down over lean hips, stretch the waistband of his boxers to expose his hard shaft. My lips part, eager to taste him, and I look up to see dark eyes watching me.
I take him in. Taste his salt and sweetness, feel the velvet of his skin glide past my teeth and over my tongue. I stroke him with my mouth, a building pressure as I pull him deeper into me, my hands sliding up the back of his hard thighs, inside his shorts, to the base of his rear.
“Violet.” My name is his plea for more, and I tug harder with my mouth, graze my teeth across the head of his shaft and then down the length of him until I feel the pressure at the back of my throat.
I run my hands across his rear, the soft hair on his legs tickling my inner wrists. I suck him and explore his creases and folds, his sac that draws tight beneath the base of his penis, the soft skin and deep musk that bewitches me.
“Violet. You have to stop. I’m close.” He’s warning me, but I pull him closer, suck him deeper until I’m barely breathing, lost in the rhythm of his body as it thrusts toward me.
My fingers curl at the seam behind his sac, pressing into him as I cup his balls to say: Let go. Fill me.
Revenge Bound Page 12
