Rock Chick Reckoning

by Kristen Ashley

  Then I said, “That’s what they all say.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “So, it wasn’t me, it was you?”

  “No, it was the men who watched you onstage, the ones I’d see gig to gig. Drinkin’ beer and adjusting their crotches and likely goin’ home and jackin’ off, thinking of you singing ‘Black Velvet’.”

  “Right.” I sounded sarcastic because I meant to.

  His face got closer. “Yeah. That’s right. Listen to me, Stella, it wasn’t about you. I’m not the kind of man who wants other men jackin’ off to his woman. I’m also not the kind of man who wants to share her with four other guys.”

  My body went solid and my hands pressed against his chest. “I never cheated on you!”

  “Yeah you did, every time you let me take a call from Buzz or Hugo or Pong or Leo.”

  Okay. Shit. Well.

  Um.

  I had nothing to say to that because, in a weird way, he wasn’t wrong.

  He felt my body relax, he knew he scored a point and he took advantage, pressing closer, his face dipping lower, coming to a stop an inch from mine.

  “I knew when I got into it with you that I wouldn’t be the center of your universe. I was fine with that. I just didn’t know I’d be a satellite.”

  At his words, my body did an involuntary jerk.

  I hated it that he thought that. I shouldn’t hate it, since I was over him, but I did.

  “You weren’t a satellite,” I whispered.

  “I know that now, after hearin’ what you said in the kitchen. I didn’t know it then.” His arms came from around me and his hands went to either side of my neck, his thumbs pressing into the undersides of my jaw to tilt my head further back to look at him. “Kitten,” he said softly, “you should have told me.”

  Hang on a second here.

  Was this happening?

  And if it was, how was this happening? Why was this happening?

  He broke up with me!

  “You said I was needy,” I accused on a toss of my hair which, for your information, did nothing to dislodge his hands.

  “I said your band was needy,” he contradicted.

  “You did not,” I contradicted right back.

  “I did. You heard it the way you wanted to hear it. I hate to break this to you but Stella Gunn is not the Blue Moon Gypsies. There’s you and there’s the band. Babe, you gotta find where one ends and the other begins.”

  He was right. I knew he was right. I’d been worried about that for a long time.

  But I wasn’t going to tell him that.

  “You have no right to speak to me this way,” I snapped.

  “I do.”

  “And just how do you figure that?”

  “Because the minute you sang the word ‘whippoorwill’ a coupla months ago, your eyes locked on mine, you became my woman again.”

  I jerked my neck away and took a step back.

  Erm, excuse me?

  “I did not!” I flashed.

  “I didn’t know it at the time. Maybe didn’t want to know it. I definitely fought it. But I gotta say, lookin’ back, you did.”

  “I most certainly did not!” I yelled.

  He grinned. “Yeah, Kitten, you did.”

  I could not believe this was happening. I could also not believe he was grinning about it.

  He kept talking. “It hit me last night after I told you Lindsey’d been murdered. Your face… fuck.” I watched his eyes grow soft, a look I knew too well but this look was magnified, like, by a million and I experienced a different kind of gut kick. “I knew then we weren’t done, definitely not over. Then the bullets were flying around you and in that instant, I became sure.”

  “Shut up!” I yelled, not being nice nor meaning to be nice and wishing I could put my hands over my ears but thinking maybe that was a tad too juvenile.

  He didn’t shut up. “I thought I’d wait until the Sid business was over but after what I heard in the kitchen, I’m not waiting.”

  “I have a boyfriend!” I was still yelling, getting panicky, somewhat desperate and now kind of lying. I’d never describe Eric as my boyfriend. I didn’t know what he was but he wasn’t my boyfriend. I hadn’t even slept with him. It had been a long dry spell; I hadn’t slept with anyone since Mace.

  Mace kept grinning. “You’ll have to find a way to let him down easy.”

  Was he for real?

  “Oh my God! You didn’t just say that.”

  “Yeah, I did.” He reached forward, grabbed my hips and pulled me to him again. I pushed back. He ignored this and kept talking. “I’ve been thinkin’ and I decided we should stay at your place. Juno’s used to it and I miss your big bed.”

  Wait a second, what was going on here?

  “Do you think…?” For some reason my voice was raspy, so I cleared my throat. “Do you think we’re getting back together?”

  “Getting? No,” Mace answered then continued, “Back together? Yes.”

  Nope, he was definitely not for real.

  This was a dream but I couldn’t tell yet if it was a good dream or a bad dream. I was going with bad dream since I knew how it was likely to end.

  “You jerk!” I shouted.

  He grinned.

  “Stop grinning at me. We are not back together!”

  For your information, yes, I was still shouting.

  “Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t get back together,” Mace demanded.

  I looked at the ceiling and replied, really bitchy, “Oh, I don’t know.” Then I looked back at him and continued, “You broke up with me, broke my heart, left me alone to put my life back together without you in it. Now I have, my life was just fine, until you got me shot at. I’m not going back, Mace. Nunh-unh. No way.”

  His grin died when I mentioned the “getting shot at” bit.

  Then he asked me, “If your life was just fine, why were you singin’ to me about how lonesome you were?”

  “It’s just a song, Mace.”

  “Bullshit,” he clipped, impatient with my lying. “Stella, you told me yourself, none of the songs you sing are just songs.”

  Okay, he had me there. I couldn’t keep fighting that point. I’d definitely lose.

  “What about when you can’t take my groupies anymore? When you get fed up with the band? What then, Mace? You leave again? Or you ask me to leave the band? Which one would work for you? Because neither one of those options works for me. Either way, I lose something important to me.”

  “So, I’m important to you?”

  Effing hell. I walked right into that one, hell, I’d set myself up to walk into that one.

  I yanked hard and pulled away from him again.

  “You were,” I told him. “I’m over it now. My point was –”

  I stopped talking because his hand shot out, his fingers cupped the back of my head and he pulled me forward. He leaned into me so close I could feel his breath on my lips and I could see nothing but his eyes.

  “This conversation is finished,” he announced and my eyes got big at another demonstration of his sheer arrogance. “I fucked up and hurt you. It won’t happen again.” His fingers tensed around my head and his deep voice dropped low. “I promise you, Kitten, it won’t happen again. You don’t trust me now but I’ll make it so you will. You say you can’t forgive me but I’ll find a way to change your mind.”

  I was beginning to get scared. If I was being honest, I was actually shooting straight toward terrified.

  “Mace –”

  He talked through me saying his name. “But you didn’t open up to me so I didn’t know how you felt, what I had and what I’d leave behind. That won’t happen again either.”

  “Okay, my new point is, regardless of all that, you did leave me behind,” I snapped, pulling my ragged desperation close and pushing against his hand.

  “It won’t happen again,” he repeated and he sounded sure.

  I was not sure. “You’re right because we aren’t
getting back together.”

  “Yeah, we are.”

  “Mace, we are not.”

  “Kitten, it’s done.” Now he sounded even more sure!

  “It isn’t!” I shouted.

  His eyes went even more intense, more alert and he looked…

  Oh effing hell, he looked like he looked right before he’d make his move to kiss me with the intent of bedding me, energized, aroused and definitely, definitely hot.

  I held my breath.

  “You challenging me?” he murmured softly.

  I had the distinct feeling I’d painted myself into a corner.

  Okay, screw the paint job, Stella Gunn, just exit the effing room! My brain advised.

  “No. I’m not challenging you. I’m just saying –”

  He cut me off, “Challenge accepted.”

  Shitsofuckit!

  “Mace –”

  His fingers tensed, bringing my face even closer, so close, his mouth was nearly on mine.

  I stopped breathing.

  “Remember, Kitten…” he started.

  Effing hell, I could feel his lips moving against mine.

  And I liked it.

  “What?” I bit off.

  I watched his eyes smile. “I always win.”

  Chapter Four

  It’s Decided

  Mace

  “So, it’s decided,” Lee said.

  It was late.

  The Nightingale Men were in the down room at the Nightingale Investigations offices with Eddie, Hank, Marcus Sloan, Sergeant Willie Moses, Lieutenant Malcolm Nightingale (Lee’s Dad) and Lieutenant Tom Savage (Indy’s Dad).

  “It’s decided,” Eddie agreed.

  Kai “Mace” Mason was sitting on a chair pulled in from the control room. Mace leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, linked his fingers and looked at his boots.

  Hector was pissed. Mace didn’t even have to look at him to know he was pissed.

  Then again, Hector didn’t have a woman who was targeted for murder and only Mace had a woman whose blood had already been spilled.

  Mace closed his eyes on that thought and the only thing he could see was Stella’s thigh, her smooth, soft skin gaping open, wet and bloody.

  He opened his eyes again.

  “Mace,” Lee called.

  Mace’s head came up. When his attention had been captured, it wasn’t Lee who spoke but Lee’s father.

  “You worked hard on this, son. You ‘n’ Hank ‘n’ Eddie got close. But now the girls are on the line. There’s no shame in what we’re doin’,” Malcolm told Mace.

  Mace nodded. He knew that. He didn’t feel shame.

  He felt relief.

  He hadn’t slept the night before. If he closed his eyes his brain gave him three options. The first, seeing Stella’s wound. The second, watching her cover her head when bullets were flying around her. The third, the memory that she was bleeding in the backseat and tried to tell him but he didn’t listen.

  It would seem he hadn’t paid much attention to Stella and he thought, when they were together, he’d paid a great deal.

  Last night, instead of sleeping, he just lay behind her, listening to her breathe and thinking that sound was sweeter than any song he’d ever heard her sing. And his Stella had a beautiful voice, he’d never heard better.

  “You got something on your mind?” Lee asked.

  “Yeah,” Mace replied.

  “Now’s the time to talk about it,” Lee told him.

  Mace didn’t speak. He wasn’t big on talking through his feelings.

  “She’s tough,” Luke threw in, going direct to the heart of the matter.

  Mace’s eyes moved to Luke and he went to the heart of the matter too. “Last night, she got shot and a friend of hers got her brains blown out.”

  All the men in the room were silent. All the men in the room knew that Mace knew better than anyone what it felt like to have someone you cared about murdered. Not just murdered but their brains splattered by a bullet.

  The difference between Stella and Mace was that Mace had actually been there to see his sister’s head explode.

  “You’re gonna have to stick to her,” Tom advised.

  Mace nodded.

  “You two solid?” Vance asked.

  “I’m workin’ on it,” Mace told Vance.

  Vance grinned. “By my count, it takes about two weeks to really wear ‘em down.”

  Mace shook his head in amusement. Vance was referring to his and Lee, Eddie, Hank and Luke’s wild, dangerous and intense courtships with Jules, Indy, Jet, Roxie and Ava.

  “I been noticin’ that,” Mace replied.

  “We’re agreed here Mace.” Hank cut into the lightening atmosphere. Hank knew Mace and Hank didn’t feel like joking.

  Mace’s eyes sliced to Hank. “I’m aware of that.”

  “You go maverick, seeking retribution for what they did to Stella and Lindsey –” Hank went on.

  “Going maverick means she’s on the line,” Mace interrupted Hank.

  “Yeah,” Hank answered.

  “That’s not gonna happen,” Mace finished and everyone could tell he meant every word.

  Lee’s voice cut through the tension. “We got three unsecure homes and Vance and Monty haven’t finished with the surveillance equipment and alarm systems yet. You got a Rock Chick, tonight, you stay at The Castle.”

  After Lee issued his order, Luke lifted his chin. Hank nodded. Eddie sighed. Vance smiled at his feet. Mace looked down at his boots.

  “Get good rest. This isn’t over until the sit down with Sid,” Tom added.

  Hector, Ike, Bobby, Darius, Monty and Matt took off. Bobby and Matt had girlfriends, Monty, a wife and five kids. All of them, for some reason, hadn’t been targeted the night before but all, now, were sleeping while being watched by Brody in the control room.

  Lee approached Mace.

  “You got something else you wanna talk about?” Lee asked.

  “Nope,” Mace answered.

  “After your sister, this is cutting close to the bone,” Eddie put in, coming up on one side.

  “That bone’s exposed; has been for a long time, nothing cuts close to it anymore,” Mace responded.

  “It’s different when she gets under your skin.” Hank joined the group. “She’s under your skin, isn’t she?”

  “Has been awhile,” Mace replied.

  “Fuck, you’re screwed.” Vance came around the other side.

  “Have been that way awhile too, around about the minute she turned her brown eyes on me,” Mace explained.

  “The eyes? I thought you’d go for –” Luke came up to the men from behind.

  “Luke,” Lee cut him off in a warning tone.

  Luke half-grinned. “I was gonna say the voice. That sexy, throaty voice. Shit.”

  “Gotta admit to likin’ the voice,” Eddie muttered in agreement.

  “I fucked it up with her,” Mace told them, indulging an extremely unusual moment of sharing.

  Luke’s hand came to Mace, his fingers tightening around Mace’s neck where it met his shoulder. The two men’s eyes locked.

  “You’ll sort it,” Luke said.

  Luke was right, he would.

  * * * * *

  They all drove company Explorers to The Castle, Hank and Eddie riding with Lee. The Ford Explorers in Nightingale Investigations garage were all kitted with tracking devices, communication equipment and bulletproof windows.

  Lee’s overhead was a bitch.

  Marcus was already there when they arrived.

  Mace grabbed the workout bag he’d packed with his clothes and a bunch of shit he took from Stella’s place when he let Vance in to start installing the cameras (he’d never given back her key, she’d never asked for its return) and he went straight to Stella.

  She was asleep on her side just like last night, smack in the middle of the bed, her long, dark brown hair all over the pillows and falling in her face. Her head was tilted forward, her face restin
g on one of her hands, the other arm was thrown out in front of her, palm up.

  She was out, didn’t even move when he came in. Likely she’d taken pain killers. She wasn’t a particularly light sleeper but when they were together she’d always woken up when he got home.

  Juno rushed him when she heard him. Mace dropped the bag, sat on the side of the bed and rubbed the big dog down from ears to rump.

  “Lie down,” he murmured when he was done.

  Juno licked his hand and trotted back to the other side of the bed and settled with a groan.

  Mace pulled off his boots and clothes and slid in bed behind Stella. He fitted his body to hers, wrapped his arm around her middle and pulled her tight against him.

  Then he listened to her breathe until he finally fell asleep.

  * * * * *

  Stella

  Mace was there again when I woke up in the morning; his hard body pressed the length of my back. I was mostly on my side and belly, my top leg cocked deep and even Mace’s leg was cocked the length of mine.

  Yep, that was Mace, maximum physical contact.

  Effing hell.

  I didn’t move. I needed a battle plan to get out of bed that didn’t include me turning around and kneeing him in a place which would make it difficult for him to sire children. I was pissed at him but not enough to forget that the world would be a poorer place without Mini-Maces roaming it one day.

  For your information, the day before had been hectic, even though we didn’t leave the house.

  First, a lady named Shirleen showed up. She was black, had beautiful skin a shade darker than mocha and the wildest afro I’d ever seen. She kept shouting “oowee” and yelling at different Rock Chicks, for some reason mad as all hell that no one had called her to be a part of the action.

  Then a guy named Tex arrived. He was enormous, had blond hair just turning to gray and a thick russet beard. He was louder than Shirleen and even angrier that no one called when bullets were flying. He kept booming “Jesus Jones” and, for some bizarre reason, he referred to Jet as “Loopy Loo”.

  Then Duke showed. I knew Duke; he worked for Indy at the used bookstore-slash-coffee house she owned called Fortnum’s. I hadn’t been there in ages. Tex apparently worked there now too, by all accounts (and there were many of them), he was the best barista in the Rocky Mountains.