Heavy Metal Heart: A Bad Boy Rock Star Romance

by Fields,Annette

  Shoes clacked on the tile floor. A short, middle-aged Spanish woman appeared from around the corner and gasped.

  "Ay Dios mio, Torsten! You're home, mijo!" She rushed over to wrap her arms around his neck, practically dangling off him, and planted a fat motherly kiss on her cheek. "I missed you, mijo."

  He smiled at her. His housekeeper certainly was like a mother to him, next to Lars' mother. "I missed you too, Ang. I brought you lots of vodka from Russia."

  "Hmm, no tequila? No handsome Italian husband for me?"

  "No," he chuckled. "But Angie, I did meet someone. I'll explain to you later but I need the van keys. She's moving in. Today."

  "Moving in? Ay Dios mio! She must be special, mijo."

  "She is. I know you'll love her as much as I do."

  "Mijo in love!" Angie clasped her hands together and grinned widely. "Oh yes, the van keys! They're in the key box in the cleaning closet. I'll get them for you--,"

  "No, Angie. I'll get them. Aren't you off duty now?" He hired her three years ago and still couldn't believe how hard she worked and how much energy she had.

  "No! You must be hungry! I'll get dinner started while you and mija move in. What's her name?"

  He sighed. The force of nuclear explosion couldn’t stop Angie from taking care of a home.

  "Helena."

  "He-le-na." She enunciated every syllable in her name as she skipped off to the kitchen. "Que bonita..."

  Torsten smiled to himself as he retrieved the keys from the closet and walked in long strides to his second detached garage which he used as a type of junkyard. He stored most of his old audio equipment there along with tools, old furniture he restored in his spare time, and the van.

  He hadn't driven the vehicle for about six months, so the resistant click-click-click sound upon turning the key didn't surprise him.

  Hmm, dead battery. Sorry, my love. I'll be a few minutes late.

  He popped the hood and lifted the battery out. When he hooked it up to the charger he frowned and tugged at his beard. Charging a dead battery would take several hours. He didn't want to delay moving Helena in but sometimes obstacles couldn't be avoided. With a disappointed sigh, he fished his phone from his pocket. He pulled up her number and prepared to call when an idea struck him.

  Various car parts sat scattered about the garage and he got to rummaging immediately. After tearing open several bins and emptying their contents on the floor, success! Maybe.

  He pulled out a battery that looked older than the one currently charging. The odds weren't great, but he held his breath and checked the voltage.

  "Fuck yeah," he muttered victoriously. It was only at twenty percent charged but it would do. He figured he'd just leave the engine running while at Helena's place.

  He hooked up the battery and turned the key. The engine was reluctant at first but a second try coaxed it into a roar that was music to his ears.

  On my way, love! Nothing can stop me. He shut the hood with a triumphant slam, shoved his phone back in his pocket, and hopped back in the driver seat. Just as he released the brake, his phone vibrated.

  His mouth pulled up into a smirk when he saw a text from Helena. Probably wondering what was taking him so long.

  He opened the text which contained a string of gibberish. "vbcnjfl;gjhfgm," it read.

  "Are you pocket-texting me with that beautiful ass?" he began typing his reply but stopped. He looked at her message again and a stone formed in his stomach.

  Something wasn't right. She needed him, but couldn't type a message or call for some reason. He couldn't explain how he knew, but he did.

  He shoved the phone in his pocket, shifted into gear, and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The van flew out of the garage like a bat out of hell, tore out of the driveway, and onto the road.

  Adrenaline surged through him like a drug as he sped down the streets, completely ignoring all signs and traffic lights. He intended on getting there faster than he would in any of his sports cars. He'd run the van straight into her house if it meant reaching her faster.

  Hold on, my love. I don't know what kind of trouble you're in but I'm coming. You're a smart, badass woman. I know you can take care of yourself until I'm there.

  Despite knowing how smart and capable she was, he felt extremely uneasy not knowing anything. This was nothing like in Romania. He didn't have clues to deduce information about the people involved. And he had no idea how much time he had.

  For all he knew, he was too late the moment he received that message from her.

  Chapter 38

  Torsten

  "Fuck! Hang on, my love..."

  From a full block down the street Torsten could see her front door halfway open.

  Not even five seconds later, he swerved the van to a screeching halt in front of her apartment. In another fraction of a second, he parked and leaped out, running up her stairs before the van came to a complete stop.

  He leaned his shoulder in through the doorjamb, trying to calm the blood pulsing through his eardrums and listen.

  His eyes swept across the room, surveying every detail of the damage. He spotted Helena's phone on the kitchen floor and crept closer. What he saw next made his heart feel like it was being squeezed by an invisible fist.

  Droplets of blood made a trail through the kitchen.

  Torsten sucked in deep breaths as quietly as he could while his hands clenched into fists. If he truly was too late, he could never forgive himself.

  A muffled male voice floated from the back of the house and set his hairs on end. He slinked toward it, swiftly and silently as a stalking cat. The voice sounded familiar to him and he couldn't ignore the pang in his gut. In his peripheral vision, the dotted trail of blood also led him to the disembodied voice.

  The voice laughed raggedly as it grew louder. It came from the bedroom. Torsten stopped and listened intently from the hallway, straining to hear any sound from Helena, any sign that she was okay.

  There! He heard a soft, feminine sound like a sob or a whimper. Relief flooded his senses as crept slowly to the bedroom door. He should have grabbed a weapon from the kitchen, but it was too late for that. His raised fists as he readied himself for whoever was on the other side of that wall.

  He waited until the familiar male voice starting talking again, then stepped into the doorway, hoping to catch him off guard. The person standing over Helena, who sat on the bed with her knees to her chest, was the last person in the world he expected to see.

  "Lars?" he choked.

  "Nice of you to finally show up, Torsten. It's rude to keep your hosts waiting."

  Torsten's eyes caught a shiny glare of metal. Lars casually tossed a large kitchen knife between his hands as if he were chef preparing to carve into a decadent meal. The next thing he saw was a red stain on the bedsheet next to Helena. Blood.

  "Helena, are you hurt?"

  Her eyes met his, but she only chewed her lower lip in reply. Her pupils were as large as saucers. She was either in shock or too afraid to speak.

  "I've been filling her in on your whole backstory. She seems to know very little about you, despite spending so much time together on tour. She ought to know what she's getting into. After all, no one knows you better than me, brother." Lars smiled a wicked, rotten smile upon uttering that last word.

  "What the fuck do you want? Aside from filling her head with your bullshit. She's suffered enough because of you." Torsten could barely hear himself over his white hot rage.

  "Helena and I are going to live together again!" Lars declared jovially. "I'll be moving in here and she won't be moving anywhere. In fact, she's staying far away from you."

  Torsten looked at Helena again, but her face remained stony. Lars was a lifelong expert liar and manipulator. He did and said anything for his next fix. His behavior ran the gamut from bullying and intimidation to crying and playing the pitiful man with a mental illness. Torsten knew this was all bullshit, but he couldn't tell if Helena was playing along or caug
ht up in his lies.

  "Why is she bleeding?" he demanded. He had to distract Lars or do something to get that knife out of his hand.

  "'Cause she's a clumsy, dumb bitch," Lars snapped. "I think you should leave, Torsten." Lars' hands visibly shook. He was becoming agitated.

  "I'm not leaving,” Torsten growled. “You are."

  A twisted grimace spread across Lars' face. "You're not welcome in my house. Get out of my house!"

  "It's not your house, Lars. And Helena is not your wife."

  "No, she's my whore!"

  "What?" Torsten couldn't hide the disgust on his face.

  "I'm gonna pimp her out for all the fucking dope money in Oslo! No one needs you and your shitting fucking band. She's my cash cow!" Lars grabbed her face cruelly and pulled her toward him. "Such a pretty face. You'll need a straw to breath through all the jizz that's gonna cake on there--,"

  In the next moment Torsten stood over him and crashed his fist against Lars' jaw so hard, he wondered if his fingers broke. Lars dropped like a sack of potatoes and laid motionlessly on the ground.

  “Oh no, fucker. You’re not getting off that easy.” Torsten yanked his head up with a fistful of hair as Lars wheezed pathetically with a broken jaw. He leaned down and whispered menacingly, “Didn’t I tell you I’d beat your face into a bloody fucking pulp if I ever saw you again?”

  Lars made an unintelligible noise as he weakly swung the knife at Torsten, who easily ripped it from his hand.

  The smear of blood on the glinting blade yanked him out of his blind rage. He had to put aside his own bloodlust and remember why he was here, who he had to protect. Turning away from Lars, he made across the bed to Helena.

  "My love! Are you okay? Did you get cut?" He reached for her and pulled her into his arms, where she rested limply. She didn't fight him nor did she speak or respond to his touch. She definitely wasn't completely okay.

  Torsten ran his fingers along her limbs, checking for cuts and tears in her clothing, trying to speak to her soothingly. She flinched when his hands reached the palm of her hands.

  There. A thin red gash opened across her right palm. It wasn't too deep but she would need stitches.

  "We're getting you to a hospital," he said gently into her hair. "And the police will throw his ass in prison for breaking in and assaulting you. We'll get through this, my love."

  Without another word, he lifted her in his arms. They exited the bedroom swiftly and made their way to the living room.

  Torsten laid her on the couch gently and planted a kiss on her forehead. "I'll be right back, love." With long steps, he strode back into the bedroom. Lars laid unmoving on the floor when Torsten left him. He paused to look at the crumpled form of the man he once loved like a brother. It was because of this man and his family taking him in that he ascended to greatness. If not for them, he likely would have died in an alley many years ago.

  Now Lars would likely die in an alley. A sad, waste of talent.

  Torsten grabbed the knife from where he dropped it on the bed and exited the bedroom once again. He closed the door behind him and braced a chair under the doorknob.

  He grabbed a small towel from the bathroom and returned to Helena on the couch. As gently as he could, he wrapped the towel around her injured hand and held it there.

  Her left, uninjured hand moved to hold onto his arm that wrapped around her. Her eyes blinked slowly, beginning to focus on the world around her.

  "You'll be alright, love," Torsten murmured in between kisses to her hair. "We'll all be fine." He spoke as if trying to reassure himself too.

  Chapter 39

  Helena

  The hospital blurred around Helena like a fuzzy, disorienting dream. She felt nothing except for Torsten's warmth at her side constantly. He was her only anchor as she floated in her sea of numbness.

  She barely felt the pain of the stitches going in and out of her hand. The forceps and the needle flashing their metallic, silver glare echoed what replayed in her mind over and over again. Lars grabbing the knife from her, twisting it away as she tried to hold on to her only weapon.

  "You think I won't cut you? Watch me, bitch!"

  He laughed as the blade sliced through palm like melted butter. Lifetimes ago, this man wouldn't hurt a fly.

  She knew in that moment he wouldn't hesitate to kill her.

  "Come now. Let's leave a nice little trail for dear Torsten to follow."

  She had no choice but to obey. She looked as scared, pathetic and broken as she could. That seemed to keep him in a good mood.

  "You're a lot prettier with your mouth shut. I don't know how I put up with your bitching and moaning for so long."

  "Helena."

  Slowly, the hospital room came into focus. A thick, white bandage wrapped around her hand which also held a small cup of juice. Her other hand wrapped around Torsten's forearm sitting next to her. Gently he took the cup from her numb fingers.

  "You've lost some blood, love. Drink up and you'll feel better."

  He brought the cup to her lips and she accepted the cool, sugary liquid.

  "The police have Lars in custody. A detective wants to speak to you but I told him to fuck off until you're feeling up to it."

  Her mouth cracked into a hint of a smile for the first time. Torsten kissed the corner of her lips that lifted ever so slightly.

  "There's my girl. I knew you'd come back to me."

  She looked at him, focusing on his face for the first time in what felt like centuries. His full lips, framed by the short fibers of his beard, pressed together in a worried frown. His pale blue eyes searched through hers, looking for the woman who retreated into shock. She remembered how they flashed with cold rage and disgust at Lars' drugged out proclamations.

  Glancing down at his hands, she ran her fingers over his puffy, bruised knuckles.

  "You hit him hard." Her voice rasped with stress as she spoke for the first time in hours.

  "Fuck yeah, I did." He wrapped both arms around her waist, enveloping her tightly. His mouth brushed against her neck and ear, sending tingles along her skin. Her insides flooded with warmth as his touch brought life and feeling back to her numbed state.

  "I love you. I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner. Fuck, I never should have left you."

  Her skin sang from his touch as she melted into him, absorbing his smell, his heat, and everything about him that comforted her. "Clearly, we're meant to be attached at the hip at all times."

  "I'll settle for my cock in your pussy at all times. Forever won't be long enough."

  Helena's face dropped as a cruel memory forced its way to the forefront of her mind. She pulled away from Torsten and searched his face.

  "He told me you were married."

  Torsten's expression never changed. Not even a flicker. His fingers drifted to her face, brushing against her chin and jawline.

  "You didn't believe him, did you?"

  "No, but...," She bit her lip as her chin trembled. That thought was heartbreaking enough just floating around in her mind. She didn't want to give it any more life by saying it out loud.

  "But what, Helena?"

  "I just... let him get to me, again. He got into my head and that's what shut me down. He knew exactly what would hurt me the most and I couldn't get it out of my head."

  Torsten pulled her into his chest again. Nestled against the wall of muscle over a strong, steady heartbeat, she felt safe enough to let her tears fall. He stroked her hair as she released the painful thoughts and memories planted there by the person who only wanted to use her.

  "You know he's a master manipulator, love. He had us all fooled for years. But he can't hurt you anymore."

  She sighed deeply into his chest, inhaling his sharp, spicy scent. A sense of lightness filled her bones like she could fly away. Nothing chained her down anymore. She was completely free. Even if she looked over her shoulder, no looming shadow would follow her.

  "You're right. He can't."

  Torst
en's hand rubbed down her back to cup around her ass cheek and gave it a firm squeeze.

  "Let's go home, love. Tomorrow's a new day."

  Chapter 40

  Helena

  "Angie, please! You don't need to do that!"

  "Nonsense, mija! Your hand is still hurt."

  "I can carry boxes, Ang. I'm not an amputee," Helena sighed. She looked around for Torsten to back her up but he was conveniently absent from the driveway.

  Angie rolled the stack of boxes with a hand truck into the house while Helena watched her closely. The tower stood taller than the woman who rolled them and teetered dangerously but Angie showed no sign of struggle or fatigue.

  Well, color me impressed, Helena thought as she carefully removed her last box from the van, favoring her good hand and followed Angie into the house.

  She stayed at Torsten's in the aftermath of Lars' break-in at her old apartment. They spent two full days in his king sized bed, doing nothing but relishing in pure, blissful love for each other.

  They only left the bedroom to eat glorious meals cooked by Angie, who Helena instantly decided was one of her favorite people.

  Torsten’s house certainly embodied his style and personality: masculine, hard edges and no bullshit. Everything was sleek, modern and dark, from the marble tile floors to the high vaulted ceilings. Long, rectangular windows connected the floors and ceilings and made the house feel even bigger. A couple of dark brick accent walls and exposed pipes broke up some of the straight lines and offered some texture to the sleekness.

  Helena brought over a few favorite furniture and art pieces that would add a feminine touch to Torsten's place. She pictured him rolling his eyes and grumbling but knew he wouldn't object.

  By the time she set her box down on the tile floor Angie already disassembled her tower of boxes on the hand truck and sorted them.

  "These are your clothes, mija. Do you want me to wash them for you? These are your electronics, I'll put them in your office--,"