Wheels of Fire (Hollywood Demons Book 3)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  I try her again.

  And again.

  Finally, at ten she answers.

  “Where’ve you been?” I try to force my voice into something casual, but the question comes out harsher than I intended.

  “Did you call earlier?”

  “A few times.”

  “Oh.” Her sigh of relief stabs me with guilt. “I would’ve picked up if I’d known it was you. I didn’t expect you to call until later.”

  Great, so I scared the shit out of her with my constant calls and hang-ups. “Sorry. I was eager to talk to you tonight.”

  “Everything go okay with Mark today? Did he sit you down for more career-counseling?” Normally the question would be teasing but her voice sounds too heavy. I wish I could see her face.

  “We finished up the track I told you about last night.”

  “Are you happy with it?”

  “It’s all right.” I need to steer this back to her. Music’s the last thing I want to talk about. “Anything exciting happening to my favorite lifeguard?”

  She snorts softly. “Just showers and jogging on the beach with a splash of demonic possession. Speaking of, I’m really tired and I need to be on set early.”

  “Yeah, I’ll let you go.” So what if we usually stay on the phone until we’re both almost asleep? Some nights we have stuff to do and say goodnight earlier. “I love you.”

  My heart trips when she doesn’t answer right away. “Love you too, Chaser. I miss you. A lot.”

  More conflicted than ever, I stare at the phone for a long time after we hang up.

  “Chaser, what’s going on?” Mark asks the next morning. “Things were moving along great yesterday. Then the rest of the afternoon…your spark’s gone. Talk to me.”

  “Just some stuff.” Stuff like, I slept like shit. The more I thought about our brief phone call, the more worry gnawed at my gut. Mallory didn’t sound right. Was it guilt because she’d been out with Andrew and didn’t want to tell me? Or simple exhaustion and an early-morning call time like she said? Or something else I hadn’t thought of yet? Why didn’t I just point-blank ask her if what Pamela said was true?

  Am I afraid of the answer? Or do I need to see her face when I ask?

  Maybe I should’ve called Andrew to feel him out. But no, he can’t lie for shit and if I detect a hint that Andrew’s been sniffing around Mallory, I’ll need to beat the shit out of him. And I can’t do that over the phone.

  That’s why I’m headed home this afternoon.

  Mark blows out a breath and taps his fingers against the desk. “You guys have accomplished a lot in the short time you’ve been here. Truly. I’m impressed.” He circles his fingers in front of my face. If anyone else did that, I’d slap their fucking hand into next week. “But this whole attitude of despair you have going on, isn’t good for the process.”

  “I don’t have an attitude of despair.” No, what I have is a plane ticket to L.A. waiting for me.

  We’re both quiet for a few seconds, staring each other down. Finally, he relents. “I’ve been working the four of you really hard. Let’s get a rough cut of ‘Always Be Mine’ finished today and I’ll let you guys have a three-day weekend off to recharge your creative batteries. Sound fair?”

  One way or another I’ll be on a plane to L.A. later today, but I pretend to graciously accept his “offer.” “Thanks, Mark. I think that’s exactly what I need. Some time to recharge.”

  Recharge. Beat the shit out of Andrew. One or the other.

  Mark’s wrong. I’m not in despair. I’m pissed.

  Anger is a much more useful emotion than despair.

  Problem is, I can’t figure out who I’m angry with. Pamela? Andrew? Mallory?

  Or myself?

  Doesn’t matter. The only thing I know for sure is I’m headed home to get some answers.

  I’m not losing my girl without a fight.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chaser

  My flight home’s easy. I call a cab, and I’m at our house by six o’clock. Mallory’s car isn’t in the driveway. Nothing suspicious about that. She’s at the studio late plenty of times.

  I drop my bag in the bedroom and wander through the house. Nothing out of place. No sign anyone’s been here except Mallory.

  What am I doing?

  Did I really fly all the way down here based on some fairytale my friend’s ex concocted?

  What’s my plan? Pounce on my fiancée when she walks in the door? Accuse her of fucking around with Andrew? All because Pamela said so?

  That makes zero sense.

  Irritated with myself, I run my hands through my hair. We can’t go this long without seeing each other. Missing Mallory so much has fucked with my head.

  There’s my answer.

  That’s why I’m here. I missed Mallory and wanted to surprise her with a visit. Mark gave us the weekend off. The fact that I already planned to come down here to do…I don’t know what isn’t important.

  Dinner. I’ll make her dinner. Set up some candles. Music. The whole romantic bit, so she’ll be surprised instead of suspicious when she comes home.

  Now that I’ve got a plan, I roll my bike out of the garage and ride down to the store for a few groceries.

  She’s still not home when I return—again, not unusual. I kick off my shoes and start working on dinner. Fish tacos—the first meal we ever shared together.

  The doorbell rings. Motherfuck, if it’s a reporter, I’m spilling blood.

  I fling the door open and find an enormous vase of plump pink roses in my face. “Mallory?” The person holding them asks.

  “No,” I snap.

  The delivery guy cranes his neck around the flowers. “Does she live here?”

  “Yeah.” The knot in my gut tightens to a painful degree. I accept the vase from the guy with both hands. “I’ll make sure she gets them.”

  Without giving him a chance to answer, I kick the door shut. “You’ve got to be motherfucking kidding me.”

  I don’t even have to read the card to know who they’re from. Same fucking arrangement Andrew bought for Pamela. For such a creative genius, he sure sucks in the flower department.

  Since he sent the flowers to my fiancée, I feel entitled to pluck the card out of the envelope.

  Dear Mallory,

  Thank you for being such a beautiful person inside and out. Looking forward to Saturday's shoot.

  Your friend,

  Andrew

  Red. Motherfucking red stains my vision. Christ, I probably popped a blood vessel. Mallory will come home and find me bleeding out on the floor.

  Breathe.

  In and out.

  Deep breaths. One after the other.

  Roses don’t mean shit.

  Innocent.

  Inexperienced.

  Regrets.

  My father’s words weren’t a warning—they were a motherfucking hex.

  Friend? Andrew isn’t friends with women. He fucks, uses, and discards them. Friendship isn’t part of the equation.

  Beautiful person inside and out. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Did they—? Am I too late?

  The rage monster beating against my skull wants to smash the vase against the wall.

  After several deep breaths, I calmly set the vase down on the entryway table, and pad into the kitchen to turn off the stove. I move through the house in a fog, flicking off every light, except for a small lamp next to the roses.

  Finally, I drop my ass into the chair that gives me the best view of the front door.

  And I wait.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Mallory

  This has been the worst day. The director yelled at me more times than I care to remember. Pamela kept shooting me smug little smiles that I couldn’t decipher. We filmed some scenes at the beach and I swear there’s still sand in my underwear. I’m damp, shivering, and longing to change into something warm and cozy.

  At least my shitty day helped me forget about the cat
astrophe at Andrew’s last night.

  I trudge into the house and drop my bags by the door. Coming home to an empty house is wearing on me. I usually leave more lights on so it doesn’t seem so gloomy. But there’s only one lamp lit by the door, illuminating a giant bouquet of pink roses.

  My heart stutters.

  Where did they come from? Someone was in my house?

  Recognizing Andrew’s handwriting on the outside of the envelope, stalls my freak-out. I pick up the card. My nervous gaze darts around the dark and shadowy room, afraid he’ll jump out at any moment. I eye the long umbrella in the corner. I am so jamming the pointy end into his crotch if he broke into my house.

  Dear Mallory,

  Thank you for being such a beautiful person inside and out.

  Beautiful person. Bullshit. He should’ve written ‘thanks for being three holes I’d like to stick my dick in.’ At least it would’ve been more honest.

  Looking forward to Saturday's shoot.

  Too bad for you. I told Cindy today I had to cancel but stressed she should go ahead with it since I know she needs the money.

  Your friend,

  Andrew

  Your friend? Friend. What the hell? Is that some signal? After he so bluntly explained he didn’t see me as a friend? Is his apology sincere?

  I toss the card on the table. It’s a lie. Another attempt to get me into bed.

  “Nice flowers from your friend.”

  I jump five feet in the air. “Oh my God!”

  A light snaps on, revealing Chaser in one of the chairs across the room.

  Heart pounding, chest heaving, I gasp. “What are you doing home?”

  His fierce expression doesn’t change, nor does he move a muscle. “What’s wrong, baby? Thought you’d be happy to see me.”

  I rub my hand over my breastbone, willing my chaotic heart to settle down. “I am. But you scared me to death.”

  He sits forward, casually resting his elbows on his thighs and spears me with an anything-but-casual look. “Why is Andrew Lane sending my fiancée flowers?” he asks with lethal calm.

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “What shoot is he talking about?”

  “Huh?” I step closer, then stop. Chaser’s brimming with anger. He didn’t greet me at the door with a kiss… Something’s really, really wrong here.

  “Answer my question. What shoot is he talking about?”

  “You read the card?” Oh, shit. I’m going to have to tell him everything that happened a whole lot sooner than I planned. Good Lord, Chaser wanted to put a bullet in Andrew for bringing girls on his bus. Trying to get me into bed? He’ll kill Andrew for sure. This time, he’ll go to prison and stay there.

  His face twists with fury and he jumps out of the chair, charging half-way across the living room. “Who the fuck do you think accepted the delivery? The flowers-for-other-men’s-fiancée’s fairy?”

  “What?”

  “Why is your friend Andrew Lane sending you a big ol’ bunch of ‘let’s get buck naked and fuck’ flowers?”

  Holy hell, this is bad. So, so bad. “He asked me to model for the T-shirt line he’s creating.” My shoulders lift in what I hope looks like a casual shrug.

  “Are you fucking serious?”

  Heat races over my cheeks. As the words came out of my mouth, I realized how stupid they sounded. Too late.

  “Were you at his place today?”

  “No, yesterday.” I glance down at the flowers. “The shoot’s supposed to be tomorrow, but—”

  “Like fuck you are.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Pamela's been calling Jacob. Offering to come up to Vancouver and visit.” Chaser’s low tone sets my nerves on edge. “But yesterday, she called me.”

  Pamela called him? “Why?”

  “To let me know Andrew’s been showing up on set, asking you out, having you over for dinner—”

  “That’s not even true.” I back up until my butt hits the table and brace myself against it. The roses rustle against each other. One lone petal drifts down, tickling the back of my hand.

  “So, he didn’t show up on set?” He steps forward.

  “Yes, but—”

  Anger and maybe fear glitter in his eyes with his next question. “And you weren’t at his house?”

  “I was but—”

  “Mallory.” Disappointment wrecks his voice.

  “He asked me to model some shirts for him,” I hurry to explain. “Back in New York. I never said anything because I didn’t think anything of it. Then he brought it up again. I thought he was trying to make Pamela jealous,” I finish babbling out all that jumbled nonsense and take a breath. “I brought Cindy with me. Did Pamela bother to tell you that?”

  He pauses. Obviously, Pamela didn’t mention that part.

  Of course, I haven’t yet confessed how Cindy left early and Andrew told me in great, disgusting detail how much he wants to fuck me.

  “Even if that’s true, you’re way past modeling some shitty line of vanity T-shirts.”

  “What do you mean, ‘even if that’s true?’” I swallow hard and avert my eyes, staring at the rose petal next to my fingers. “When have I ever lied to you, Chaser?”

  “You’re not telling me everything. I can see it all over your face, Mallory. You talk to me about every single job offer and audition that comes your way. Why hide this one?”

  “I didn’t hide anything. Andrew yaps about stupid projects all the time.” I flap my hands in the air, completely frustrated. “Like his funk-country-rock music idea. Some dumb T-shirts weren’t important enough for me to remember.”

  “You spending time alone with a man who’s been out to fuck you since the get-go is fucking important!” he shouts as he stalks closer. “You like him, don’t you?”

  “No!”

  A cruel smile curves his lips. “You need a one-off, Mal? I get that our score cards are uneven. Andrew Lane’s beneath you, in my opinion—”

  “What?” The high, shrill tone of my voice makes me wince. He can’t possibly— “What does that even mean?”

  “Do you want more experience?” With the anguish on his face and the raw rasp of his voice, I can’t understand why he’d ever suggest something so awful. “Feel like you need to experiment more?”

  At my blank look he forces another harsh smile.

  “Do you need to ride a few more dicks before I tie you down for good?”

  “No! Gross.” Shock keeps my voice several octaves higher than normal. “Why would you even suggest that?”

  Wait a second. Is he projecting his desires onto me?

  Pain encircles my throat. “Is that what you want?” I ask with more calm than I actually possess. “Is that why you’ve been talking to Pamela? Do you want to experiment?” I swallow hard. “With her?”

  “No.” His face twists into a frown. “Jesus Christ. No.”

  “Then why are you picking a fight over nothing?”

  “Is it nothing?” He gestures toward the vase. “I thought Pamela was full of shit but I come home and—”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  His crude, insulting suggestion unfurls in my head, elevating my anger to a whole new level. “But you think your former-virgin-fiancée is so desperate for new dick that if Andrew whips his out, I’ll jump on it? That’s what you think of me?”

  “Is that what happened?” he roars.

  “No!”

  He stares at me for a long time. “I hate this.”

  “What? Us?”

  “No.”

  I wait for him to continue.

  “Andrew’s clearly been into you since the night we all met,” he says slowly.

  “So what? Jerks have been hitting on me since day one. You usually protect me from them not get mad at me.”

  He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “He’s the first one you seem to like back.”

  “That’s not true,” I whisper.
I stupidly thought Andrew was a friend. Until he explained in lengthy detail how I’m nothing more than a few holes he wants to explore. “I like Alvin, you don’t get mad about that.”

  Chaser glares at me. “Alvin’s not trying to fuck you.”

  I swallow hard and glance away. “Neither is Andrew.”

  “Who are you trying to fool? Me or yourself? Men don’t send roses to women they don’t want to fuck, Mallory. Especially Andrew.”

  “Can you stop being so disgusting?”

  “This is who I am, baby.” He holds his arms out wide. “You don’t like it, maybe your friend Andrew is more of a gentleman. Although, we both know that’s not true.”

  “Chaser, I love you.” As the words come out of my mouth, my heart cracks with the weight of guilt. “Please stop this. I won’t do the shoot. I already told Cindy I’m not going tomorrow.”

  “Hell no. I won’t let you turn it down so you can be pissed at me later.”

  This is ridiculous. We’re going in circles. “I won’t be pissed at you later, but I’m damn sure pissed at you now.” I spin around and swipe my leather jacket off the hook by the door.

  “Where are you going?” he demands. “Gonna go say hi to Andrew?”

  “No!” I scream. “I want to get away from you!” In my fury, the heavy sleeve of my jacket whacks into the vase, sending the roses crashing to the floor.

  Glass, water, and rose petals shatter and splash over the hardwood floor, leaving a mess.

  Just like us.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chaser

  Mallory’s gone. Out the door. Running like the devil’s on her tail.

  Can’t let her get to her car.

  That’s the only thought pounding through my head.

  I trample over the broken vase, and crooked roses. Slivers of glass and sharp thorns pierce the bottom of my foot but I’m too focused on Mallory to feel the pain.

  Don’t let her get away.

  “Mallory!” Her name tears from my throat.