by Kelly Myers
I run a hand through my hair, pushing it back off my forehead. “Hey, how’s Ryker, by the way? He hasn’t been by here in a couple weeks.”
Griff’s eyes darken. “Yeah, I get the feeling he’s going through one of his low points.”
“Shit, I wish I had a job to give him. To help get his mind on something else.”
“I know, man. Just gotta give him space and let him deal. We’ve all been there.”
For a moment neither of us says anything.
“I think I’ll reach out to Logan Sharpe. See if he can refer anything else our way. Get you working and get Ryker out of his funk.”
“Let me know,” Griff says and stands up. He lifts his arms up above his head and stretches his long body, rolls his neck. “Well, just checking in. If you don’t need me, guess I’ll go work out. Or, take a nap.”
I laugh. “Things will pick up. Hang in there.”
Griff tosses me a salute and heads toward the door.
Things better pick up, I think. Or, Platinum Security isn’t going to make it.
Later that night, I sit in front of the television drinking a beer, my mind on Easton. Why hasn’t she called? Or, at least texted? I’ve checked the Mobistealth tracking app and nothing from the stalker.
Hell with it. I’m just going to text her myself. I pull her name up and type a message: “Just wanted to check in...all good?”
I mean, she’s paying me to make sure everything is fine so it makes total sense that I reach out to her. I hit send and wait.
A minute later, my phone beeps and when I see her name, I can’t help the smile that tilts the corner of my mouth.
“Fine” she writes. “No more messages so that’s good. Thanks for checking in…”
I can almost smell her jasmine perfume. “Good to hear,” I respond. “If you need me for any reason, just call.” And, I mean any reason.
“I will. Thanks and goodnight, Jax.”
My eyes slide shut and I sigh. I’m not sure what I expected, but that was definitely a dismissal. I still want to take her to the range and teach her to shoot, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen any time soon.
Whatever. I can’t keep thinking about Easton Ross or I’m going to lose my damn mind. Tomorrow, I’m going to write up the final invoice and send it to Liv to give to the accountant.
It was fun while it lasted.
15
Easton
It’s been a long, grueling day and it’s only day one. That doesn’t bode well and if I’m not enjoying this anymore, why should I do it? I have made enough money to live comfortably the rest of my life.
I’m on set, sitting in a chair with my name written across the back, and sipping from a bottle of water. I keep thinking about how Jax texted me last night. I wanted to tell him to come over, badly, but why?
Because you like him, a little voice says.
You may not need his security services much longer, but you are definitely interested in trying out his sexual services.
Oh, God, I can’t deny it.
I glance at the clock. One more run-through and then I have to leave, go back home and get ready for the party at the Roosevelt Hotel tonight. I scan down my script sides, but I’ve already memorized every detail and all the notes in the margin. Besides, we’ve spent the entire day doing prep work, blocking and rehearsing the action. We’re still only in rehearsals. Actually shooting this whole scene will probably take at least two weeks.
Big-budget Hollywood flicks like to spend as much time, and burn as much money, as possible. Then, they like to do multi-million-dollar re-shoots eight months after production wraps. Basically, because they can, I think, and not necessarily because it’s needed.
To prepare for the action, I spent last month training to do the wirework and stunts. It’s an intense scene and the director wants to get it shot first and out of the way. I’m supposed to be running from another actor, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, trying to escape him.
I look up at the elaborate set piece that looks like the top half of a city in the sky, all shingled roofs and chimneys. I’ll have a harness on and be jumping from one mark to the next. Meanwhile, the bad guy will be chasing me and shooting blanks.
Ten years ago, I would’ve been thrilled to shoot an exciting scene like this. Now? Not so much. I just want to wrap for today and get out of here.
Right as that thought goes through my head, the director, set armorer and actor who will be chasing me appear.
“You ready for this scene?” the director asks. He’s a young guy and this is his first studio picture so his enthusiasm is high. But, it’s only day one and by next week, I guarantee, he’ll be pulling his hair out and be beyond stressed.
“I hope so,” I say. I look at the other actor. His name is Rich and he’s the one who will be hunting me down. “As long as Rich here doesn’t really shoot me,” I joke.
They all laugh and the set armorer steps forward. He’s the person in charge of keeping track of all the firearms and firearm props on the set and making sure they are being operated in a safe manner. “Rich is going to be firing a gun that’s been modified to shoot blanks only. There’ll be some muzzle flashes, but anything else will be CGI and added in post.”
“Just hit your marks like we’ve been practicing all day,” the director says. “The blanks are pretty loud so don’t let that scare you. I want to actually have Rich firing this time around so we can see how it looks on camera, but this is still just rehearsal. Ready to get harnessed up again?”
“Let’s do it,” I say.
I walk over and the Stunt Coordinator helps me slip into the harness. As he adjusts it and deals with the wires that attach high above to keep me from falling, a strange feeling passes through me. All day, we’ve been working on this scene so I’m not sure where the apprehensive feeling comes from, but something tugs in my gut.
Something not good.
Focus, Easton. You’re almost done for the day.
Before I know it, I’m standing at the edge of a roof, ready to run. This is probably the fiftieth time we’ve run through this sequence today so I don’t understand where the sudden nerves are coming from, but I bite my lip, look up, tug on the wires, making sure they’re secure.
Rich is off-camera, gun in hand, and gives me a thumbs-up. I wave back and ignore the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.
It’s fine, Easton, I tell myself.
A moment later, the director calls, “Action!”
I take off, booted feet pounding against the slanted rooftop, trying not to lose my footing, pretending to be running for my life. I spot my first mark, a small piece of tape on a shingle, and pretend to stumble.
CRACK!
A blank fires past my shoulder. Good Lord, that was loud. I pop up and keep running. A two-foot leap to the next building approaches and I jump through the air. I land perfectly on the next roof and race forward. I’m supposed to start making my way higher and the next mark is near the roof’s apex.
Another CRACK! I slip, lose my footing, and feel my hands scrape across the shingles. Thank goodness for the wires and harness. I scramble up and just as I reach my next mark, Rich fires again.
POP!
But, something sounds different. It’s very loud and very sharp this time. And, much more ominous-sounding, I think, as I hear something whizz by my right shoulder. Suddenly, a shooting pain in my upper arm leaves me seeing stars.
I fall forward and slam against the roof.
Then, everything goes black.
I don’t know how long I’m out, but when my eyes flutter open, I’m surrounded by a million people. I lay on the ground and someone is pressing a cloth to my upper arm. “Easton, are you alright?”
I struggle to sit up and glance down at my shoulder which burns. “What happened?” I ask, still a little dazed.
At first, no one answers. People are exchanging shocked looks. Finally, someone says, “A real bullet got mixed in with the blanks. You got shot
, Easton.”
My mouth drops open. I can’t believe it. The prop gun is specially designed so this very thing can’t possibly happen. So it can’t even hold real bullets. “What? How?” I ask.
“We don’t know.”
I push the makeshift bandage away and look where my shirt is shredded and a bloody indentation mars my shoulder. “I got shot?” I ask in disbelief, eyes wide.
Suddenly I hear sirens and then, before I know it, an EMT is cleaning and disinfecting the wound. “Luckily, it’s just a graze,” he says. He applies some antibiotic cream and then bandages it up. “You’ll be fine. You should take antibiotics and painkillers, if needed.”
In a daze, unable to believe any of this is happening, I feel myself being lifted and taken to my trailer where too many people fawn over me. Liv drops down by my side. “I called Detective Sharpe,” she says. “He’s on the way. Someone must’ve swapped the blank on purpose, Easton. The set armorer is a wreck and said he triple-checked everything.”
Her words barely register. “Where’s Jax?” I ask.
“Do you want me to text him?”
I nod and feel tears fill my eyes.
Detective Logan Sharpe arrives first and begins to question everyone. Jax arrives right on his heels and pushes through the milling crowd to get to my side.
The moment I see his chocolate eyes, so full of concern, I feel better. I sit up on the couch and he drops down next to me. “Are you okay? What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
His gaze drops to the bandage on my arm and then he takes my hand and squeezes it. “You’re okay now,” he promises. “We’ll find out what’s going on.”
All of a sudden, Detective Sharpe appears and begins dismissing everyone from my trailer until it’s just me, Liv, Jax and him. His eyes narrow at Jax. “Where the hell were you when your client got shot?”
I feel Jax cringe. “I was-” He hesitates and looks at me, eyes full of regret.
“I told him to take the day off,” I say. “The calls had stopped so I figured he could get some work done at his office.”
“Pick up some more clients?” Sharpe asks, not buying it.
Jax’s body tenses and he looks down.
“We’re launching an investigation, but I’m willing to bet what happened earlier was no accident. I suggest you keep a very close eye on your client, Wilder.”
“I’m not gonna let her outta my sight,” he says and then turns to me. “Starting now, wherever you go, I go, too.”
I nod. “I have a party tonight at the Roosevelt.”
“No-”
“I have to go. It’s part of my contract with the studio. It's a press junket for a new movie I have coming out.”
“Easton, you have a bullet wound. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
“It’s just a scratch. Besides, I want to go. Will you go with me?”
“Of course. I told you-- I’m not leaving your side.”
“I need to go and get ready then.” I look up at Detective Sharpe. “Is that all right?”
“For now. I’ll be in touch if anything further develops.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Liv, can you call the car service?”
“No way,” Jax says. “You’re not getting in some strange driver’s car. I’ll take you home.”
I nod, ready to get as far away from this place as possible.
Outside, Jax and I walk over to the edge of the parking lot where his motorcycle is parked. “How’s your arm?” he asks. “I can have Griff pick us up in the Expedition if you’re not up for a bike ride.”
My stomach drops and there’s nothing more that I’d like to do than hop on the back of this bike and wrap my arms around him. “I’m good,” I assure him.
With a nod, he shrugs out of his leather jacket and holds it up for me. “So you don’t get cold,” he says.
I slip my arms in the huge jacket, being extra careful with my bandaged right arm. His jacket hangs on me like a tent and probably looks ridiculous, but I don’t care. He hands me an open-face, vintage-style helmet which I instantly love. It’s so much better than the ones with the shield that covers your entire face. Then he slides on a pair of gloves, pulls his own helmet on and buckles the strap.
I frown, struggling with my own strap and I see a smile tug the corner of his mouth up. “Need some help?”
I feel my cheeks heat up. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.”
“Never?” He steps closer and reaches beneath my chin to secure the strap. “Just hang on and lean with me on the curves.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
He takes a step back and smiles.
“What?” I ask, feeling self-conscious in the helmet and jacket.
“You look damn good, Princess.”
“Liar.”
“I like you in my jacket,” he says in a gruff voice. He throws a long leg over the seat, still standing, and I watch as he kickstarts the bike. It takes a few downward kicks, but then it starts with a vroom. He extends an arm and carefully pulls me up behind him. I drop down on the seat.
“The muffler gets hot so use the footpegs, okay?” He points down to show me and I nod. “Hang on tight, okay?” He casts a look over his shoulder. “No time to be shy.”
I slide my arms around his waist and press up against him, getting as close as possible. I feel his swift intake of breath and smile against his back shoulder. His hard, flat abs jump beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt and I let my clasped hands slide just a bit lower until they brush the waistband of his jeans.
His large, gloved hand drops, covers both of mine and slides them back up. “Unless you want me to get in an accident, better keep those hands a little higher.”
“Sorry,” I say. Even though I’m not.
Jax revs the engine and we pull out of the lot and onto the street. I hold tight, relishing the warm strength of his body, and every time he shifts, I push up closer against him. He smells like leather, soap and cigarettes and I’m getting used to it. Starting to really like his unique smell.
The bike is loud and it’s impossible to talk so I just hold on tight and enjoy the feel of his hard, warm body, moving with him as we turn. My insides feel all liquid and fluttery. He’s making me feel things that I’ve never felt before. He’s making me want to do things I’ve never done before.
Like ride a motorcycle, swear and shoot a gun.
Next thing you know, I’ll be getting a tattoo.
We hit a bump and my hands drop, grazing the front of his zipper. He flinches and I think I hear him curse. His gloved hands twist and the motor revs. “Behave, Easton,” he warns over a shoulder.
But, I don’t feel like behaving. I feel like seducing him. Almost of their own accord, my hands slip under his t-shirt and begin to explore his hard abs, my nails lightly scratching up and down the muscular grooves.
“Fuck,” he hisses.
I definitely hear that curse clearly. I raise a hand and trace a circle around his flat nipple. His entire body feels hard as a rock and I love the fact that my touch is doing it. Causing him to react this way.
Suddenly, Jax turns the handlebars to the right, drives right up over the curb and stops beneath a huge shady tree with long, wispy branches caught in the twilight breeze. He takes my good, left arm and slides me around so that now I’m straddling him, on his lap, and we’re facing each other.
The sun is nearly down and the spot where we stopped is hidden by any passing traffic. Jax’s dark gaze looks glazed, like melted chocolate, and then he captures my lips in a kiss to end all kisses. It’s hot and wet and I want to run my fingers through his hair, but we still both have our helmets on so I just shove my hands down, back beneath his t-shirt. The tops of my fingers slip into his waistband.
He groans into my mouth and I feel his hands move around my hips and squeeze my backside. He pushes his hips up, circling against my core, and even through his jeans, I can feel the thick ridge beneath his zipper.
I can’t stop kissing him and when I lift my hands to run up his chest and around his neck, I flinch as a searing pain shoots up my right shoulder. A small cry escapes my mouth and Jax pulls away, a heated gaze full of concern. “You gotta be careful, baby. You did get shot today.”
A laugh erupts within me and I press the side of my face against his chest. As our breathing slows down and we regain some semblance of control, I feel the comforting stroke of his hand up and down my spine.
“You know I’m not leaving your side tonight, right?” he whispers at my ear.
“I know,” I say and hug him tighter.
16
Jax
I think my heartbeat has finally slowed down to its normal pace after the hot bike ride back to Easton’s place. We’re in the great room in the back of the house and her team surrounds her, primping her for the evening ahead and asking a million questions about what happened earlier on set.
I sit in the corner, leg propped on the opposite knee and keep a close watch. If I had taken the situation more seriously, this never would’ve happened. I don’t believe it was an accident, but only time will tell. In the meantime, I am not letting Easton out of my sight.
My gaze peruses over her in a slow and lazy fashion. From the painted toes on her small, bare feet...up her smooth-looking crossed legs that peek out the slit in her robe...pausing on her full breasts-- which felt so good pressed against my back on the way over-- and that luscious glimpse of cleavage visible at her low neckline...the delicious curve of her neck...and, finally the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen.
Beyond the physical, I find her resilience so very attractive. Easton Ross is a fighter and not afraid to keep going when things get rough.
When Micah moves aside and swipes some blush across a cheekbone, her bright green eyes meet mine. We can’t seem to stop looking at each other. An inexplicable electricity flows between us and there’s no point denying the attraction any longer.
Sylvie spritzes her dark waves with some hairspray and, as Micah applies a bright red lipstick, I feel my throat go dry and my dick go hard. I shift in the chair and wish to God we were just staying here. Alone. So we could finally go up to that big bed of hers and rip each other's clothes off.