He kissed the top of her head, then opened the car door for her.
As she was about to step inside, an employee called after them. “Mr. Zander. Wait.”
Pixie turned.
“I’m sorry about your dad,” the man said, obviously assuming Pixie’s tears were for the imaginary loss she’d suffered. “You said Brewster was left something in a will?”
“Yeah,” Dred answered. “It’s not much, but we want to make sure Brewster gets it.”
The man chewed on his bottom lip for a while. “Okay, here’s the deal,” he said, lowering his voice. “Brewster got in a little bit of trouble, never asked what, but he had to leave here quickly. We stayed in touch on and off. He’s like an hour and a half away in Hollywood.”
Dred wrapped his arm tightly around Pixie, who had slumped against him. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Spoke to him over the holidays, wished him Merry Christmas and shit.” He fiddled around in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “This is his address.”
Dred took the paper and read what was written. “Thank you for this,” he said, and shook the man’s hand.
Pixie was in no state to drive, so he bundled her into the passenger seat and set the satellite navigation system for the address he’d been given. “You okay, Snowflake?” he asked as he pulled out of Pahokee.
“I need to see him,” she said quietly. “Which is something I never thought I would say. But I need to see with my own eyes that’s he’s alive and well. To know that I didn’t kill him. Then I can get on with the rest of my life.”
Dred reached across the console and held her hand. “What are you going to do about your mom?”
“I don’t know. I guess I need to get past all this first, then see how much energy I have left to try and forgive her.”
It was after four p.m. when they pulled into Hollywood. Pixie’s silence worried him, yet he understood. He couldn’t begin to imagine the thoughts that must be racing through her head. For years she’d lived with the guilt of killing another person, only to find out he was still alive. It had taken her stepfather blackmailing her to find the truth.
He followed the road the satellite navigation suggested onto a tree-lined street. The houses were nothing fancy, but the neighborhood seemed quiet. Dred took a deep breath. He’d spent the second half of the drive trying to convince himself that finishing off what Pixie had started when she stabbed Brewster was a bad thing. The predatory asshole needed the kind of lesson a sixteen-year-old girl wasn’t capable of giving. What would he do if he found out the guy had kids? Could he in all good conscience drive away, and leave children there with him because reporting him might cause problems for Pixie?
Dred parked a few houses down and looked at Pixie. “Ready?”
The color was coming back to her cheeks. “I am. I spent the whole drive figuring out what to say, and the truth is, I don’t need to say anything. All I need is to confirm he’s alive, and go.”
Dred tipped her chin. “I love you, Sarah-Jane Travers.”
“I love you too, Theodred Zander.”
They left the car and walked to Brewster’s house. Pixie rang the doorbell and waited.
She heard a squeal from inside, followed by male laughter, which got progressively louder.
The door swung open. “Hello,” Brewster said with a huge smile on his face. He looked from Dred to Pixie. “Oh shit.” The grin faded, and Brewster stepped onto the steps and pulled the door shut behind him.
“Brewster,” she said calmly.
Brewster looked back toward the house and cursed again. “Look, Sarah-Jane, please. I don’t know what you want. But I’m sorry. I’ve changed. I swear it. I just got married, and she has no idea about . . .”
She let the silence hang painfully between them.
“You can’t even finish that sentence, can you?” Pixie asked, finally.
In the event they ever needed proof that Brewster was alive, Dred whipped out his phone and took a picture.
“You disgust me.” Pixie turned to walk down the steps.
“I’m sorry. What are you going to do? Are you going to tell the cops? Are you going—”
The sting of his knuckles hitting Brewster’s jaw gave Dred more pleasure than he could ever imagine. Once Brewster was down on the porch, Dred kicked him hard in the stomach. “You useless piece of shit,” he snarled. “I swear to fucking God, if I find out you ever have kids, I’ll come ’round and kill you myself.”
Without so much as a glance back, Dred hurried across the lawn to Pixie who was nearly at the car.
“Dred,” she said as he approached her.
“Yeah, Snowflake.”
“Take me home.”
* * *
Pixie leaned against Dred as the elevator doors closed. A weight had been lifted off her, but her body was drained from carrying it all those years. Finally home, all she wanted to do was grab a shower, hang out with Dred and Petal, who were staying with her rather than at a suite at the W, and have a relaxing evening.
She’d pressed the button for the floor to her apartment and watched the numbers begin to climb. When it reached fifteen, Dred quickly hit eighteen, two floors beneath Lia’s.
“Don’t be getting any kinky elevator-sex-games ideas, I’m too tired,” she said with a grin.
“Elevator sex. Huh. Never done that one. But no. I might have done something else instead.”
“What’s that?” she asked, as the doors opened on eighteen.
“You’ll see,” he said, taking her hand. He led her to the corner suite and knocked on the door.
Lia opened it. “Perfect timing,” she said with a beaming smile.
Pixie stepped inside the most beautiful apartment. Decorated in mostly white and gray, it was finished with splashes of purple. Being on the corner, the huge wraparound balcony provided spectacular views over Biscayne Bay. It was a massive open-plan space, with a large living area, a dining table that could easily seat twelve, a professional-grade kitchen, and a secondary seating area set up as a library.
“What is this?” she asked as Jordan appeared from a hallway beyond the living room. He carried a baby monitor in his hand.
“I’m going to head out,” Jordan said. “She’s down for the count. See you in the morning.”
“I’ll join you,” added Lia. “You know where I am, Pix.”
They both left, leaving Pixie feeling very confused.
“This is home,” Dred said, wrapping his arms around her. “Or at least I hope it is. For you, me, and Petal. The lease is for six months.”
“Wait. What. I don’t understand.”
“We decided to come finish the album here, so I can help you take care of all this stuff with Arnie. At first we thought we’d come for a couple of weeks, but the more we talked about it, the more we liked the idea of recording the whole album here. And that got me to thinking. I’ve never had my own space, and I am guessing you haven’t either.”
Pixie shook her head, but butterflies of excitement where building in her stomach. She felt like a bottle of champagne that had been shaken.
“I want what everyone else has,” Dred said. “What Trent has with Harper. What Cujo has with Drea. They simply have each other and are building their lives from there. I want you and me, only we’ll have Petal too.”
“But what about Jordan?”
“We talked. Jordan is staying with the other guys while we are here. Then we all go on tour together. After that, who knows? But I told Jordan that he’ll never be alone. I’ll set him up a room in the new house so he can stay with the guys or live with me.”
“What happened? Can you tell me?”
“There should be a bottle of wine in the fridge. Why don’t you grab it, and find us some glasses while I go check on Petal. We’ll talk and then I’ll give you a tour.”
Pixie wandered into the kitchen and ran her hand over the cool white countertop. The double-door fridge was intimidating, but was already well stocked. Their fr
iends had been busy. She found the glasses in the third cupboard she looked in.
“Here.” Dred walked back into the great room. “Let me open that.”
Once they were seated and drinking the delicious white wine, Dred began. “I think we owe our lives to Ellen who ran the home we lived in, and Maisey, our social worker. They made us their family. Shit, we were even groomsmen at their wedding. Maisey encouraged us to build a family with those we lived with. She used to say real families don’t get a choice either. Your sibling is your sibling, and you just need to make it work. Her thought was why should group homes be any different?”
Pixie smiled at the sentiment. She’d done the same with Cujo and Trent.
“Anyway, she decided to buy us musical instruments to give us all something to do. This was before Lennon joined us. We had a drummer named Adam, but that’s a whole other story for another day.”
Pixie put her wine glass down and curled up next to him. She could only imagine how painful his memories were to share.
“So Lennon came to live with us, his last name is McCartney by the way. His mom might have been a selfish bitch, but at least she had a sense of humor. Anyway, we started a band. From that day on, we did everything together. We made up songs, which nine times out of ten were crap. We put on shows for our carers. And we got in shit, and fought, and were generally assholes. None of us were perfect.”
Dred put his wine down and pulled her across his lap to kiss her gently.
“Jordan was rescued by social services. I guess that’s the only way to say it. It’s his story to tell. But suffice to say that what he escaped from was the worst of all our stories. When he was finally able to join a group home, he . . . I don’t know what the word is . . . but I guess he found a safety he’d never known.” Dred remembered the way he needed to walk through the house in the middle of the night, and check everyone was home. “When it came time for us all to start leaving, Jordan started to panic. And even though he’d been over to the apartment we were renting, the idea of moving freaked him out too. So he did something out of desperation to let us know.”
Pixie gasped, and Dred squeezed her tightly. “That day, we promised ourselves if it took living together for the rest of our lives to make him feel safe, we would.”
“I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you or the others,” Pixie said.
“You can.” His eyes were full of concern. “You lived through shit too.”
“Yeah, but before Arnie, me and mom did okay. It wasn’t all bad. What you went through, it was your whole life. At least there was a period in mine when I felt loved.”
“I never knew what that felt like until I met you.”
“Oh Dred, I do love you. I love you so very much.” Desperate to show him just how much, she pressed her lips against his and began to open the buttons on his shirt.
Once they were all open, Pixie pulled her T-shirt over her head and leaned forward to kiss a trail along his jaw, down his neck, and across his chest so she could lick and suck his nipple.
Dred groaned and reached around to her back. She felt her bra snap open and sat up to remove it. Moving quickly, she knelt between his legs. His belt opened easily while his zipper was strained by his erection. Pixie ran her teeth along his length through the denim.
“Just like that,” Dred gasped, grabbing her hair.
She wiggled his jeans down and freed his cock. It was the first time she’d ever given anybody a blowjob. Looking up at him, she licked the rim of his head and smiled when his eyes rolled back in his head. She sucked the tip into her mouth, using saliva to make it nice and wet. Gripping his shaft, she slid her hand up and down, matching the strokes of her mouth.
“Fuck, Pix. Yeah. Oh, fuck. Like that.” His hips jerked beneath her, and she used her other hand to cup and squeeze his balls.
Her tongue licked up the long vein on the underside and she felt him twitch in her hand.
“Stop,” he cried, pulling her up. He pulled her jeans open and tugged them down to midthigh, planting a hard kiss over her clit. He lifted her onto the sofa and positioned her so her elbows were on the arm and her butt was in the air. She heard the rip of a wrapper, and without missing a beat, he thrust into her.
“Oh shit, Pix.”
He leaned over her and pounded into her. She tensed her arms, pushing back against him, lost in the sensations his frantic actions created. Dred was hitting her in all the right places, and when he added his finger to her clit and pressed down hard, she began to feel lightheaded.
“Oh God, Dred, please. Come with me.”
“I’m fucking gonna. Wait for me.”
Somehow he managed to speed up, to alter the angle in a way that drove her crazy. Was it possible for sex to feel so good you thought you might die from it?
The contractions started deep in her core. There was no way she could wait. “Dred, I . . . Oh, yes.”
As her orgasm consumed her, Dred yelled out his release, pressing hard up against her ass.
Both of them gasped for air. It had been fast and hot, and they were both pretty much still dressed. She couldn’t help but giggle.
“You okay, Pix?” he muttered against her neck.
“That was . . .” What? She couldn’t think of how to describe the way she felt right now.
“Yeah,” Dred said. “I’m going to love living with you too, Snowflake.”
Chapter Sixteen
A little over a week later, Dred pulled up to the television studio, a giant smile plastered on his face. Yeah, he looked like an idiot, but quite frankly he didn’t give a shit. Not when he was running late because his girlfriend had surprised him in the huge tiled walk-in shower by letting him take her pressed face-first against the wall.
They’d been living together for nine days. Nine perfectly fucking blissful days, where he wrote some of the most meaningful lyrics of his life and played hair-raising music with his very best friends. Then went home to his sexy-as-hell girlfriend and cute-as-a-button baby girl at night. He and Pixie had fallen into a smooth routine. All plans to hiring an agency nanny had gone out of the window. Pixie looked after Petal on her days off. When Pixie was working, Cujo’s sister-in-law, Elisa, looked after Petal for him. She was already home with young twins, Amaya and Zephyr, and had offered to add one more. Dred had wanted to pay, but Elisa wouldn’t hear of it, and that was the reason her girls were now hurtling around her backyard every afternoon in a bright pink custom-edition kiddie Escalade.
The darkness that had lingered around him all these years was lifted. And so what if he was exhausted from sleepless nights with Petal, sexual exploration with Pixie, and the madness of songs bombarding his brain at all hours, he’d never been happier.
There had only been a couple of moments of anxiety with Pixie’s triggers. The first time, in the heat of the moment, he’d grabbed her hands over her head again, forgetting how much she hated being restrained. The second had involved some admittedly hard-core dirty talk. She’d called “Rule Two” both times, and of course he backed off immediately.
He stepped out of the town car and met Trent in the lobby of the building. They were recording an early-morning segment about the scars episode they’d filmed at Second Circle. A special on how tattooing was being used for good, including a woman who helped burn victims create more even skin coloration after recovery and a man who had perfected tattooing nipples for women recovering from breast-cancer surgeries. Before the show, he had no idea things like that even existed, and he was grateful for the opportunity to help raise awareness.
“Morning, bro. How’s it going?” Trent said.
Dred grinned. “Do you really need to ask?”
“Nah. Thanks for having us over for dinner last night. That little girl of yours is a heartbreaker.”
“Yeah, she sure as hell is. Although not so much at four in the morning.”
Trent laughed. “Maybe we should have her sleep over. Soon as we got in the cab last night, Harper was all “when a
re we going to start?” Told her I promised her old man we wouldn’t be getting married shotgun. If she sees the four in the morning wake-ups firsthand it might be enough to put her off for a few more months.”
Dred doubted it. Harper had been all about his little girl. Hadn’t even batted an eye when Petal pooped like a trooper while sitting on her knee. And from the looks Trent kept sending Harper’s way, she wasn’t the only one with babies on their mind.
The interview went smoothly, and Dred was in awe of the courage of some of the people he met. He found himself biting the inside of his cheek as he sat on the sofa listening to the TV anchor lead the women through their stories. Crying on television wouldn’t do his hard-core man-of-metal reputation any good.
Once the recording was over, Dred and Trent stepped outside.
“Off to the studio?” Trent asked.
“Yeah, got down the outline for a great song yesterday, so we want to see if we can finish it off today. Then I’m taking tomorrow off. You?”
“I’m opening, so I gotta shoot. You need a ride?”
“Nah, that’s mine over there,” he said, tilting his chin in the direction of the town car. Dred hugged Trent and slapped him on the back. “See you later.”
When he was in the limo, he checked his messages. There was an email from Sam.
Spoke to John Ferica this morning. He’s in New York right now so can’t really take meetings, but says label requirements are clear, as is the contract.
Their treatment by the label was the only thing left in his life with the potential to burst his happy bubble, and he was so fucking over it. But Dred couldn’t be sure how persuasive Sam was being. Dred looked at his watch. Seventeen minutes to eight. He scrolled through his emails and found one from John that listed his cell phone number. Without giving himself time to overthink it, Dred dialed.
The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos) Page 25