“What’s this?” I frown at the fancy ride. “I thought we were borrowing one of the roadies’ cars?”
“Nah, fuck that. That’s no way to pick up your lady. You need to do it in style. Romance her.”
“It’d probably be more romantic to pick up your lady without another woman’s saliva on your dick,” I point out.
“Don’t be smug, Chaser.” He wags his finger in my face. “Rock stars are supposed to fuck. You’re an abomination to our species.”
Maybe that’s so. I’m okay with it.
The driver holds the door open and we climb in. Inside is all slick, shiny black leather seats, a bucket of champagne, and bouquets of big, fat pink roses.
None of those things occurred to me.
Not that I think Mallory cares about that stuff. And, given the choice between the guy who appointed himself the captain of team fuck as many groupies as possible or the faithful one who shows up empty-handed, I’m ninety-nine percent sure most women would pick the flower-less dude.
“What’s all this?” I sweep my hand toward the flowers and champagne. “An ‘I’m sorry I fucked every groupie who flashed her tits at me’ apology package?”
“You gotta give the girl you’re fucking on the regular pink roses. It’s like a rule or something.” He plucks one of the tacky bouquets out of its equally tacky vase and wags it at me, spraying droplets of water all over. “You can give one to Mallory if you want.”
“No thanks.” I shove the flowers away. No way would I give Mallory sloppy-seconds roses from Andrew of all people.
“You ever think of doing something outside of Kickstart?” Andrew jams the flowers back into their vase. “Like, totally different?”
“Sometimes. You?”
“Fuck yeah. I’d love to do something like, funky or rap infused. Just crazy, bonkers sounds. Something inspired the suits can’t slap a label on. Sounds no one would ever expect from Vicious Vandals’ drummer.”
I don’t have the luxury of money to pay for a project no one will know how to sell and haven’t earned enough clout with the label to get them to fund a vanity project yet but it’s a cool concept. “I grew up listening to a lot of the old outlaw country artists—Waylon Jennings, Johnny Cash—”
“Oh, fuck yeah! Cash is the man.” Andrew punches his fist in the air, actually hitting the roof of the car. “Ow, dammit.”
“Easy, cowboy.”
“Aw man, those roadhouse blues... You could rock the fuck out of that, Chaser. It’d be totally rad.”
I shouldn’t be surprised Andrew’s so open to adding a little country music to his fusion project. If I even mentioned it to Garrett or Jacob, they’d roll their eyes and turn their noses up. They’re strictly rock-n-roll. Andrew appreciates every form of musical expression.
“One day.” It’s too hard to consider working on anything else at the moment. Especially when we’re headed to the studio to record our next album after the tour. “I like where the band is headed right now.”
“Yeah? You write anything good while you’ve been on the road? You sure fucking hide in your room enough.”
“I’ve got a lot of material.”
“Fucking awesome! You’re gonna have the best time working with Cutter.” He leans over and slaps my leg a couple dozen times. “So stoked for you guys.”
“Thanks.”
“We should do it, though.”
“Do what?”
He waves his hands in front of him, avoiding the roof this time. “The rock-country-rap-jazz fusion. It will blow everyone’s minds. Like get a whole bunch of different artists to collaborate with us. Maybe get a chick singer. No one would expect that from me.” He giggles like a little kid.
Since it’s totally bonkers and I don’t see it happening anytime soon, I indulge him in his little musical fantasy. “It could be fun.”
“You know who’d be totally off the wall? If we could get Crystal Gale to sing for us. Uh.” He squeezes his eyes shut and thrusts his fists in front of his face. “I just want to wrap my hands in her fucking hair and—”
“Calm down.” I cock my head. “Is there a woman you don’t want to fuck?”
He shrugs and opens his mouth but I cut him off. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
“Don’t worry. Pammy will keep me occupied. She’s a freaky nympho when she hasn’t ridden the D in a while.”
“Charming,” I mutter. “What makes you so sure she’s not doing the same thing you are when you’re on the road?”
“Fuck.” The goofy grin falls off his face for a second. “Serve me right, I guess.” He leans forward. “Why? Did Mallory tell you something?”
“No. Believe it or not, we don’t spend a lot of time talking about your love life.”
“You’re on the phone with her for fuckin’ hours every damn night.” He actually seems offended. “Mallory never asks about me?”
“Yeah, she asks if your bullet wound has healed and if you’re staying out of trouble.”
“And what do you tell her?”
“That you’re like the fuckin’ Tasmanian Devil.”
“Fuck yeah!” He claps his hands. “If I ever patch into a club, that’ll be my road name.”
Any club I’ve ever known would probably shoot Andrew before his crazy ass ever got near a patch. “You can’t pick your own road name.”
“Why not?”
“Your brothers have to give it to you. Sometimes, it’s meant to be more of an insult than a compliment.”
“Hah!” He points a finger at me and slaps his hands together. “You just said it. Done! You’re my bro. Now you gotta call me Taz.”
“Jesus.” Why aren’t we at the fucking airport yet?
“Nope, you gotta call me Taz.”
The car glides to a stop at the curb and I don’t even bother waiting for the guy to open the door. Get me the fuck outta here. Maybe Mallory and I can ditch the psycho limo and find a cab back to the hotel.
“Chaser!” Mallory’s voice stands out to me above all the other noise.
Like a missile seeking the heat of my better half, I scan the area. It’s dark and there’s a crowd of people waiting to get picked up. The second our eyes lock, I’m shoving people out of my way. It still takes too long to get my hands on her.
No time for mundane greetings. Nope. I wrap her in my arms, lift her up and press my lips to hers. She clings to me, parting her lips, kissing me back with the same urgency. My tongue searches her mouth, stroking against hers, the insides of her cheeks, her teeth, exploring every bit of her. I want to breathe her in, consume her, until we’re one and can never be apart again.
“Chaser,” she gasps and pulls away.
“I’m not done,” I murmur, dragging her closer.
I’ll never be done with her.
Chapter Eight
Mallory
The strange vibe in the limo makes it hard to do what I really want to do—concentrate on Chaser.
Andrew and Pamela take up the entire back seat, kissing and licking each other. I swear if either of them gets naked, I’m tucking and rolling right out the door.
Chaser seems to sense my discomfort and pulls me into his side, kissing the top of my head. “How was your flight?”
“I thought it would never end.”
He squeezes me tighter. “So glad you’re here, little dove.”
“Me too.” I tip my head back to take him in, so happy to be in his arms after all this time. “You’re all mine for the next few weeks.”
He leans down and gently nips my earlobe. “I’m all yours forever.”
My heart skips.
Is it crazy that we haven’t been together that long but I feel the same way?
Pamela squeals and I shut my eyes. Chaser’s laughter rumbles against my ear.
“I didn’t even notice.” Her shrill voice seems louder than usual in the confines of the limo. “How pretty. Ooo, smell them, Mallory.”
A bunch of pink roses are shoved under my nose
and I try not to gag. “Very pretty.” I nod and do the obligatory sniff.
“Oh!” There’s more squealing and a few seconds later, she waves a diamond tennis bracelet around.
Chaser leans down and whispers in my ear, “He could give her five of those and there still wouldn’t be a diamond for every groupie—”
I press my finger against his lips. “Shh.”
He sucks my finger into his mouth while staring into my eyes—a hundred promises of what’s to come later. I lean up and brush my lips against his bristly cheek. “I have better uses for your tongue tonight, Chaser.”
He groans. “I need you so bad, I’m seriously considering letting them watch.”
My gaze skitters past Chaser. Pamela’s busy mauling Andrew’s face but his eyes are open, watching us. I quickly look away. “Not happening,” I whisper to Chaser.
He’s too focused on kissing the back of my hand to notice my shift in mood. How far is the hotel? This ride seems to be taking forever.
“Hey, Mallory,” Andrew pushes Pamela away, “Chaser and I were talking about doing a country-funk-rock side project. What do you think?”
“A what?” I frown up at Chaser.
He rolls his eyes before turning to face Andrew. “We tossed some ideas around.”
“That sounds lame.” Pamela wrinkles her nose and slaps her hand over Andrew’s face, pushing him away from her. “He’s full of stupid ideas, Chaser. Don’t let him distract you.”
Something about her easy dismissal instantly makes me want to encourage them—even though I have no idea what a country-funk-rock whatever would sound like.
Andrew shakes off Pamela’s hand. “You’re not a musical person. Of course you don’t get it.”
“Neither is Mallory,” she points out.
“Not true.” Chaser brushes his knuckles over my cheek briefly. “Mal has a killer voice. Just doesn’t let anyone hear it.”
Heat spreads over my cheeks. “You’re exaggerating. Once. You heard me sing a couple lines one time.”
“I know what I heard,” he insists.
Andrew’s wearing a devious smirk and I brace myself for whatever absurdities are about to fly out of his mouth. Pamela must sense it too because she elbows him in the gut. A few seconds later, they’re busy wrestling each other to the floor of the car.
The limo glides to a stop.
“Oh thank God,” I mutter.
Chaser laughs at my obvious relief. “That’s exactly how I felt on our way to the airport.”
Carefully, we step around the still-wrestling couple and exit the limo. Chaser helps the driver grab my bags.
“Should we wait for them?” I ask, glancing back at the car.
“Hell no.” Chaser’s horrified expression pulls a laugh from me. “Let’s escape while they’re distracted.”
He hustles us into the hotel without glancing back. Being on the road with Andrew for months would be exhausting for anyone. Sort of how I could use a break from seeing Pamela every day.
We’re waiting for our elevator when high-pitched female shrieks draw our attention back to the lobby.
Please no.
“You son of a bitch!”
That’s definitely Pamela.
The few people hanging out in the lobby this time of night, turn to stare. We’re too far away to see the action but it must be quite a show.
“Pamela, wait! It’s not what you think. Ow! Fuck!”
Chaser jabs the button for the elevator a couple dozen more times.
“Oh no,” I mutter. “What happened?”
“I don’t want to guess.” He peers around me. “Do you see a door for the staircase?”
“We can’t run away from them if something’s wrong.”
“Yes, we can.”
The elevator door slides open and Chaser rushes us inside, stabbing the button for our floor over and over.
“Wait!” someone yells.
I lean over and press the “open door” button.
“So close,” Chaser sighs.
I dig my elbow into his ribs.
Pamela jiggles over, all her perfectly applied makeup now nothing more than smeared-lips and a racoon-eyes.
“Pamela! What’s wrong?” I’ve never seen her so…out of sorts before. We left them less than ten minutes ago in lovey-dovey land. What could’ve possibly happened in such a short amount of time?
“Did you know?” She pokes Chaser in the chest as the elevator doors slide closed behind her.
There’s a thump against the elevator doors and a pathetic, muffled, “Pamela!”
Chaser glances down at Pamela’s finger—still lingering on his chest—and carefully removes it from his body. “Know what?”
By the detached tone he uses, I suspect Chaser did know whatever it is Pamela’s so upset over.
“That he was with…some…skank before you guys came to pick us up?”
“Pamela,” Chaser says in his most calm and reasonable voice. “I’m not his babysitter.”
She continues glaring at him and it occurs to me he didn’t question her for details about whatever crime Andrew supposedly committed.
I side-eye him and he gives me a slight head shake in return.
“What?” Pamela says, gaze pinging between us.
“What happened, Pamela?” I ask. “You two looked so happy on the way here.”
“I’m an idiot, that’s what,” she fumes.
The doors open and Chaser ushers us out of the elevator. The long corridor is quiet and softly lit with golden wall sconces reflecting off gold wallpaper. My sandals sink into the thick red carpet as Chaser hurries us along.
Pamela sniffs as she follows us. “Can I stay with you guys until I find a flight home?”
No, no, no. “Of course you can.”
Chaser lets out a long breath. Clearly, he had a different answer in mind.
Somewhere behind us, a heavy metal door clangs open and shut. Chaser stops at a door and slides his key in the lock without looking up.
“Pammy!” Andrew shouts breathlessly. Panting and bent over, leaning on his knees, he calls out again, “Wait!”
“Fuck you!” Pamela whips around and flicks both middle fingers at him. “You cheating fuck!”
“Jesus Christ,” Chaser mutters, pushing open our door. “Go on, hon.” He gently touches Pamela’s back. “You sure you don’t want to talk this out with him?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, I’ll handle it. Stay here with Mallory.”
Thanks a lot, Chaser.
I don’t want to leave Chaser to deal with Andrew alone but I’m not sure what else to do, so I follow her into our suite. Chaser closes the door behind us. A second later, fists pound on the door hard enough to rattle the thick wood.
“Pamela!” Andrew’s anguished scream rubs my nerves raw. “Please!”
Chaser’s lower, but no less intense voice tries to reason with Andrew. One, two, three more bangs against the door. More talking. Then their voices fade.
Great. Now I’m stuck here alone with Pamela. Who knows how long it will take to tame Andrew.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Pamela turns away from the window and dabs at her eyes. “No, Mallory,” she snaps. “I’m not okay.”
Ignoring her pissy tone, I drop down on the sofa. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, I don’t.”
Okay then. This isn’t the romantic reunion night with Chaser I’ve been dreaming of for weeks but you don’t see me bitching about it or kicking her out and telling her to find her own damn room.
Frustrated, I wait to see if she changes her mind and wants to talk.
“You want to know what happened? You really want the scoop on what kind of guy your buddy Andrew is?” Pamela paces in front of me.
I ignore her hostility. “If you want to tell me, I’m here to listen,” I answer with as much compassion as I can at this hour.
She stops her furious pacing and kicks off her shoes.
Thwack, thwack. They hit the wall by the door, landing in a pathetic clump someone’s bound to trip over. “I went to blow that motherfucker and found lipstick rings on his damn dick!” she shrieks.
Afraid I’ll laugh, which would be truly awful in this moment, I go over and pick up her shoes, dropping them under the long table in front of the couch.
“Are you sure?”
She plants her fists on her hip in a scary imitation of an evil comic book villain about to melt half a city block with the power of her laser eye beams. “Cherries in the Snow is kind of hard to miss.”
Eww. Now I’ll have to toss every tube of that color I’ve ever bought.
“God, do you know how many guys I’ve passed on because of that jackass? I could’ve fucked Davey Revolver.”
Join the club. “He’s gross.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Andrew or Davey?”
Both of them. “Uh, Davey.
“Whatever.” She lifts her head and a crooked smile twists her mouth. “You don’t happen to know Kyle’s room number, do you?”
“How would I know? We just got here. Why?”
“Because I’ve fucked him the last time Andrew and I broke up. And I have a sudden urge to do it again.”
“Wow. Uh, okay.” I can understand why it makes sense in her head but, yuck.
I glance at the door longingly. Is Chaser making out better than I am with Andrew? Or did we both draw short sticks tonight?
Chapter Nine
Chaser
“Chaser, I gotta talk to her,” Andrew insists.
I keep pushing him down the hallway, but he’s so damn loud, doors crack open and guests peek out to see what all the commotion is about. It’s only a matter of time before security gets called. Strange that none of our bandmates have popped out to see if we need help. Not like we’re all staying on the same floor or anything.
Every single one of those assholes is getting a five a.m. wake-up call for leaving me to deal with this fuckery on my own.
“Let her cool off for a minute and then I’ll see if she wants to talk to you.”
He stabs his fingers through his hair and tugs at the strands. “Oh, this is bad. This is so bad, Chaser.”
Wheels of Fire (Hollywood Demons Book 3) Page 6