Shatter

by Lola Taylor

  “Shit. Well, that explains why you were drinking like a fish the last time we were at a club. I thought maybe you just couldn’t stand me. You should have said something, babe,” he said gently. Scott ran his hands over his face. “We never should have come here. I’m gonna tell her we have to leave.”

  “It’s okay.” Amy rushed forward and placed her hands on his chest to stop him. “Please, we can stay.”

  “Why? Obviously you’re not okay with it.” His eyes narrowed. “Is it because of Becca pressuring you?”

  Amy bit her lip. “No.”

  Scott shook his head. “Don’t let someone make you do something you don’t want. She’ll get over it, or she won’t. If she doesn’t, she wasn’t that good a friend to start with.”

  Amy’s heart sank.

  “Hey,” Scott said gently; he rubbed her arms and ducked his head to try to see her face. “I don’t mean to be a dick, but I’m just trying to protect you. I care about you so much, I just don’t want to see you hurting.”

  A warm glow filled Amy’s chest, and she smiled.

  She’d been wrong—Becca wasn’t her only friend, not anymore. Now, she had Scott.

  “Thanks, Scott,” she said softly.

  A smile touched his lips. “Anytime,” he said, a bit distractedly.

  His eyes dipped to her lips. She was already on her tiptoes, leaning in to meet his lips.

  His kisses were hot—they always were—and she found her thoughts drifting away. Scott gently walked them back to the wall and pressed her against it. He rubbed his crotch, which was quickly hardening, against her sex, and she groaned. Reaching down, she palmed him, squeezing his hard length as he grunted in approval and ground harder against her.

  Someone banged on the door, followed by, “Hurry the fuck up!”

  Amy groaned. “Do we have to stop?”

  “Nah. Fuck ’em.” Scott leaned in again, but the pounding continued. The doorknob rattled so roughly, Amy thought it would snap off.

  Amy raised a brow and looked at Scott’s crotch. “On second thought…” She gave him one last squeeze. He groaned deep. “Maybe we shouldn’t stay. Maybe we have someplace else to be right now.”

  “Sounds good,” he breathed, his voice dark and husky.

  Briefly tugging their clothes into place, Scott took Amy’s hand and opened the door. A guy who looked to be in his early twenties stood there, a leer on his face. “’Bout fucking time!” he snapped and then disappeared into the bathroom with a slam of the door.

  Amy bit back a laugh. “Someone’s having a bad night.”

  “Ah, he’s probably just not finding an easy lay.” Scott winked.

  Amy shook her head. “I never understood why men wanted to pick women up in a club or a bar. Talk about jailbait.” Some of these girls didn’t look old enough to be eighteen, let alone twenty-one. Either the bouncer must look the other way when cleavage was involved, or someone was making a killing off some extraordinarily realistic fake IDs.

  Amy squeezed Scott’s hand. “I’m going to go grab my purse. Meet you at the car?”

  Scott paused.

  “It’s okay.” Amy gave him a shove toward the door. “I’ll be two seconds.”

  Scott reluctantly started toward the door, and Amy rushed back across the room to their booth.

  Only it was empty. Becca and Brad must be out on the dance floor.

  Her purse wasn’t under the table or sitting out in plain sight, so Amy set out to find Becca, assuming her purse was with her.

  She meandered through the dense dance crowd, eyes scanning for Becca’s sparkly hoop earrings. The music was so loud it rattled her brain.

  People were getting very friendly, rubbing up in places only Scott was allowed to touch. Gritting her teeth, she kept searching.

  Aha!

  Brad and Becca were off on the other side, dancing slow and steamy in a shadowy corner. Brad’s back was to Amy, kissing Becca’s neck as his hands roved her body.

  Blushing, Amy stopped behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around, startled, and Becca looked up with a gasp.

  Only it wasn’t Becca. It was some random girl Amy had never seen before.

  Amy stared between them. “Where’s Becca?”

  Brad had the decency to blush. He ran a hand through his hair, not quite looking at her. “She said something came up with her little brother and she had to bail.”

  “Oh.” Amy frowned for a second and then felt stupid and guilty. After all, she, herself, was about to leave, thus the whole point of scouring the dance floor for an apparently absent Becca. “Do you know if she took my purse?”

  “No clue.” He eyed the girl pawing at him with a flirtatious smile.

  Amy pursed her lips. “Okay. I’ll just, um, leave.”

  Brad didn’t say goodbye as he immediately turned his attention back to the girl.

  Ass. She made a mental note to tell Becca next time she saw her what a jerk Brad was.

  Amy’s stomach twisted with nerves as she fought her way through the crowd and toward the door. Please, please, please let Becca have taken my purse. That’s just what she didn’t need right now…to have her driver’s license, birth certificate, and credit cards stolen.

  “Looking for this?”

  Amy’s foot had been mid-step down the stairs to the exit. Gasping, she clutched the railing to keep from falling as she righted herself and turned.

  Nathan stood at the top of the stairs, smirking at her with his head cocked to the side. From one raised hand dangled her purse.

  Shit.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Nathan’s brows furrowed as he slowly approached her. “You seem incapable of asking me anything else. How about, ‘How are you doing?’ ‘What have you been doing?’ ‘Are you as mind-blowing a fuck as I remember?’”

  “I don’t remember anything about that, because Michael beat your ass before things got that far.”

  “Yes, he did,” Nathan hissed. He stopped in front of her, and his eyes turned to stone as he glared down at her. “You’re pretty happy about that, aren’t you, you little bitch? That band was going places. Now, Michael’s in the ground and Leviathan 5 is dead because of you. My career is dead because of you.”

  Amy’s hands fisted at her sides as angry tears stung her eyes. “Your career is dead because you have a record now, and a reputation for being an asshole and hard to get along with.”

  Nathan laughed. “Those are my better traits.” He shook the purse. “I’ve also become adept at bargaining. Like, how you’re going to blow me for this.”

  “I’m not doing shit for you.”

  He raised a brow, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “You will if you don’t want me to go to the press and reveal your true identity.”

  Her heart literally stopped beating.

  He watched her for a moment. That malicious grin spread wider. “What do you say, Amy?”

  “You…you wouldn’t do that.” Her voice was barely audible. It was all she could do to speak, her throat had become so tight.

  “Oh, dear, sweet, innocent Amy.” Nathan trailed a finger along her jawline, making her shudder. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to make you pay for what you did to me.”

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Nathan looked past her. His eyes widened.

  Amy started to look when Scott swept past her and dove for Nathan. The two went to the ground; Nathan tried to knock Scott off while Scott beat the ever-living hell out of him.

  Shock made her immobile. Numb, she stared as people gathered, cheering and placing bets. It wasn’t until someone knocked into her in an effort to see the fight better that she came to her senses.

  “Scott, stop!” she screamed, running to him. She grabbed his arm and pulled, but it was useless. His arms were as hard as rocks.

  Pure rage burned on his face, twisting his features into something feral she had never seen before. It shook her to her core.

  For the first time, she
was actually afraid of Scott.

  “Sc-Scott?”

  His fist froze an inch away from breaking Nathan’s nose, and he looked at her. His eyes widened as he took in her trembling form.

  Blinking slowly, as if snapping out of a trance, he turned to look at Nathan. His face turned red in places where he hadn’t managed to block Scott’s blows. A nice-sized knot was forming on his forehead.

  Scott, breathing heavily, looked at his hands. Smears of blood stained his knuckles. He went stark-white. “No,” he mouthed. “Not again.”

  Leaping off Nathan as if he had burned him, Scott frantically wiped his hands on his pants.

  Amy watched, mesmerized and horrified. Questions burned her tongue, questions she couldn’t ask—wouldn’t ask—until they were alone.

  Starting with who the hell Scott Meyers really was.

  HIS FACE HURT like a mother, but hell if he was about to let Amy know. Nathan didn’t throw a bad right hook. The guy might be smaller than Scott, but damn, was he fast. The son of a bitch had gotten a few hits on him. Blind rage had made him sloppy, as it had in the arena all those years ago.

  He could still hear the crowds cheering, feel the coins and money being thrown at his feet as he strutted through the arena while people called, “All Hail the Lion! All Hail the Lion!”

  Something ice-cold pressed to his face, and he jumped.

  “Sorry,” Amy said sheepishly, wincing. “I said your name, but you looked like you were somewhere else.”

  Scott looked around. Nope, still looked like his shithole apartment. After getting her purse back, they’d bailed, at Amy’s insistence. She’d seemed desperate to get out of there before the police could show up. “Yeah, I kind of was,” he admitted.

  “You want some ibuprofen?” She headed for his medicine cabinet.

  He grinned, liking the fact she knew where it was. “Wouldn’t hurt.” Ibuprofen had been his best friend a few years back, along with a mixture of other drugs. He’d really had his head up his ass back then. It was amazing how much clearer he thought now, how sharp his mind was. Or what was left of it.

  Amy returned with the pills, which he gratefully swallowed. “Thanks.”

  “Yeah.”

  The clock on his wall clicked away at the time, accenting the silence in the room.

  Amy stood a foot away, her arms crossed over her chest.

  His chest tightened. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said quickly, shifting her weight. “Just rattled.” She pressed her lips together and looked down the hall. “I’m, uh, just going to take a long, hot shower to try to relax.”

  Scott smiled sadly. “Go ahead. Take as much time as you need.”

  “Thanks.” She gave him an anxious smile back.

  He watched her quickly pad away to the bathroom. After the door shut, he heard the door lock and the fan click on.

  His shoulders sank. She never locked the door, ever.

  Dammit.

  His suspicions were confirmed. She was afraid of him, had to be. She hadn’t been right since they’d left the club. The way she’d stared at him, so frightened and pale… It had been like dumping a bucket of ice water over him.

  He never, ever, wanted to see her that scared again.

  Which meant he needed to do something about Nathan, and fast. The prick’s parole officer sure as hell didn’t seem too concerned by him, when he was clearly a threat.

  Asshole.

  He wished she would go to the local cops. It still puzzled him why she refused. He wasn’t blind; he knew she was scared to. He’d seen the fear and panic in her eyes every time he mentioned it.

  What happened to make her this way? He could relate to mistrust. He could count the people he fully trusted on one hand. But this…this was more than simple mistrust. This kind of fear had been branded on her, possibly scarred her for life. It broke his heart. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let her live the rest of her life in fear.

  Restless and agitated, he started to get up, when his eyes landed on Amy’s purse.

  He paused. Normally, snooping through his girlfriend’s stuff wasn’t something he liked to make a habit of.

  The shower kicked on.

  He had to act now, before the window of opportunity slipped away.

  After he grabbed her purse, he dug through it until he found her phone and perused her contact list.

  Programming the number into his own phone, he texted Becca.

  Hey, Becca, it’s Scott. This might seem kind of out of the blue, but I’m worried about Amy. Do you mind if I meet you for lunch tomorrow to talk?

  He started to set his phone down, figuring he’d get a response later, when his phone chirped before it had even left his hand.

  Sure thing. Sorry I had to bail. Little brother stuff. Let’s meet at my place for lunch, around noon.

  An address followed.

  Relief filled him. Okay, thanks, he texted back.

  Before he forgot, he arranged Amy’s things back the way they were and returned her purse to where she’d left it. Only a minor twinge of guilt remained.

  See? No harm done. Quit being such a baby about it. It wasn’t like you were going through her diary.

  He was trying to help, really he was.

  Now, let’s just hope I can.

  Amy was gone by the time he woke up the next day. Not wanting to freak her out more, he’d slept on the couch, waking to find a note from Amy waiting for him on his coffee table.

  Gone back home to paint. Gala in a week. See you tonight—Amy.

  His spirits picked up at reading that last part. If she was coming back over tonight, then she couldn’t be too weirded out by him.

  As he got dressed, he stewed the whole time over what to do about Nathan. Leaving was a bad idea. What if that asshole came back and he wasn’t there to protect Amy? The thought distracted him so much that he put his shirt on inside out at first, not seeing his mistake until he glanced over his appearance in the tall body mirror that leaned against his bedroom wall.

  After tying his shoes, he locked up and went over to Amy’s, pressing his ear against the door. Muted music, orchestral this time instead of rock, filtered over to his ear through the door.

  She must be working. Last night, she’d said she had a lot to do today to finish getting ready, something about all her paintings being due at the museum two days early so they could prepare the room.

  Not wanting to disturb her, he sighed and dropped the fist he was about to use to knock and got out his phone instead.

  Hey, gotta run some errands. Don’t answer the door for anyone, and call me immediately if anyone comes by, he texted.

  Already locked up the extra deadbolt you had installed =), she messaged back a few seconds later.

  He smiled.

  Gazing at her door with trepidation one more time, he forced himself to go down the stairs; otherwise, he’d be late meeting Becca.

  She lived in a nicer part of town. The apartments were all new, as was the two-thousand-square-foot townhome she lived in. From what Amy had said, Becca came from money and was a super-smart IT grad.

  She didn’t strike him as the studious type, but he knew, all too well, people often weren’t what they seemed.

  The townhome was stucco tan on the outside, with indigo shutters and black iron filigree baskets containing stems of lavender.

  Can we say ritzy?

  A tall stone wall surrounded the property, and a matching iron gate faced the sidewalk. He rang the buzzer, and a moment later, Becca’s voice came over the intercom. “Who is it?”

  “Scott.”

  The bolt clicked open a second later. He let himself in and walked up the sidewalk to her front door. She opened it before he got there. She looked slick, with a white button-up blouse, an indigo pencil skirt, and heels. Her straight, glossy hair had been swept up into a sophisticated, clean ponytail. She smiled. “Hi, Scott. Come in. I’m afraid I don’t have much time. I ended up getting another assignment dumped on m
e at the last minute, and I’m going to need to head back to the office sooner than expected to get a head start on it.”

  Scott started to purse his lips and then stopped himself. Couldn’t she have texted or called him before he drove over here to say she didn’t have much time for him? Don’t be a dick. At least she agreed to help you. “That sucks. Thanks for still meeting with me.”

  “You bet. Have a seat. You want anything to eat?”

  “Just water is fine.”

  The interior was just as fancy as the exterior, with warm brown-colored walls covered in rows of delicate pearly fleur-de-lis, potted orchids in expensive vases, state-of-the-art electronics, new furniture…

  Must be nice.

  An oversized black hoodie lay on the floor near the sofa he sat on. Some sort of pattern was printed across the front, but it was hard to tell with the way it was wrinkled. Something tickled the back of his mind—that the pattern was familiar somehow—but the sunlight spilled through the blinds and cast hundreds of rainbows all around him. Startled, he lifted his gaze to the opposite wall. She had these cool solid-crystal bookshelves mounted all along one wall, right above her electric fireplace. Tons of pictures in different types of frames sat in neat rows along the shelves. Most, he noticed, were of Amy and Becca. A scattering of photos featured a teenage boy, which must be the little brother he’d heard about. Off to the corner was a picture of a man, woman, a little girl, and a newborn baby. Judging from the similar coloring, Scott guessed it was a picture of Becca’s family.

  He stared at the woman. “This your family?” He pointed as Becca returned.

  Becca nodded as she handed him a chilled bottle of water. “That one’s my favorite. My brother had just been born.”

  Scott pressed his lips together as he studied the woman. “Sorry to say, but your mother looks really familiar. Amy said she was sort of famous?”

  Becca tensed as she sat down in her oversized chair to eat her salad. “She was. So what kind of questions do you have?”

  He blinked from the topic whiplash. He guessed talking about her mom was off-limits. Hell, he’d also half expected her to ask how Amy was.