by Cherrie Lynn
“No,” she said, allowing a little smile at the thought of his face when he saw her there. “Let’s surprise him.”
“Cool.”
“So when are you going to marry my best friend?”
He laughed in surprise, suddenly looking adorably embarrassed as perfect dimples appeared on his cheeks. If it weren’t dark already, she would swear he was blushing. “You’re all right with that, huh?”
“Well, not that you need my permission or anything, but yes, I’d be very all right with it.”
“I appreciate that. Never really thought you were crazy about the idea.”
“I’m sorry if I ever gave you that impression. To be honest, yeah, I didn’t know about you at first. But that was strictly me being a shallow bitch.”
“No, that was you looking out for your friend. Which is admirable.”
“I’m really glad she has you.”
He smirked. “Think you could talk her parents into feeling the same way?”
“Oh, don’t worry about them. Either they’ll come around or they won’t, and if they don’t, they’re fools. You never answered the question, by the way.”
“Mace, I’d marry her tomorrow if I could. But we want to do everything right, not rush into anything. Be carefree and spontaneous and without responsibility for a while.”
It was a foreign concept to her, a future she’d never envisioned for herself, and not even for Candace when the two of them would sit up late at night and romanticize about their dashing future husbands and their three to four perfect kids. Candace had more or less abandoned the fantasy with ease. Macy didn’t know if she could do the same. She’d always been about responsibility and drive and her life clicking along at the perfect pace, the next logical step being finding someone with equal drive and determination to settle down with.
If the past few weeks had shown her anything, it was that there would be no settling down with Seth Warren for a long time, if ever. He was a whirlwind. There would be no domesticating that one.
But here she was, chasing him like a lovesick fool. At least tonight would probably let her know if there might be a future with him at all, whatever it entailed.
Dammit, she’d gone from gnawing her thumbnail to her index finger now. She was going to ruin her entire manicure before they got there.
How Ghost made it through the show without bashing his guitar upside Mark’s head would be a mystery to ponder until the day he died. The answer probably lay in the mass quantities roaring through his bloodstream, and the fact that he spent most of his time onstage avoiding Raina, who kept coming too fucking close to him, wanting to sing into his mic on their shared vocals.
At the end of it, he made his feelings on the entire situation clear by bashing his guitar against the drum platform a dozen times instead, not caring which direction the shrapnel flew. He thought he’d caught a piece above his eye, but who the fuck cared. He took great satisfaction in feeling the stunned aftermath as he stormed off the stage.
Now. Get somewhere before you pass the fuck out. Damn good thing he’d decided in the end not to swallow the shit Gus had slipped him earlier; he’d probably be dead. He staggered down a short, too-bright hallway and veered into the first open door he saw with darkness beyond. Immediately he slammed his shin on something and nearly toppled over. “Shit!”
His hands met cushions as he caught himself and, realizing the offending object was a couch, he groaned and plopped down on it, stretching out along the length and burying his face in the back cushions. Darkness. Yes. No telling what past transgressions had transpired on the slightly foul-smelling piece of furniture, but at the moment he couldn’t give less of a shit. It was soft and horizontal. That was all he required.
When the door clicked shut behind him, he said a silent thank you to the considerate fucker who had bathed him in blessed darkness, and contemplated unconsciousness.
A hand, small and gentle, slid down his sweat-slick arm. Beyond the fingertips he felt the hardness of long nails. A grunt left him, and he jerked away. Leave me the fuck alone.
“Are you okay?” a soft voice asked. He didn’t know if he heard it or dreamed it, hovering in the gray between awake and oblivion.
“Go away,” he said all the same. His voice sounded like his throat was made of gravel.
It didn’t go away. That soothing hand kept right on rubbing, exploring his back, just barely squeezing his arm, his neck, moving downward until it grazed his bare side where his shirt had ridden up a bit. It slipped under to score his flesh lightly with those nails. Something strangely familiar about that. Familiar and…oh yeah, fucking hot. His dick twitched and swelled. He groaned. He thought of Macy. Her soft hair. Her smell. Sinking into her wet heat. Vanilla filled his head, almost as if she were here with him.
Strong, sure fingers rubbed his erection through his jeans, and he lost his breath, grinding into the touch. A sigh escaped from somewhere behind him. It turned into words. “I missed this so much.”
He missed her. Oh fuck, he missed her. Even through the dense fog in his head, he saw her face. He couldn’t even drink enough to make her go away. What kind of hell was that to be in? What the fuck did he ever do to deserve to go there?
Soft, cool lips brushed his neck. Warm breath tickled his ear. He thrust hard against the hand rubbing his now rock-hard cock, and before he knew it, those deft fingers had freed him.
Whoa, fuck, what was happening? Jerked out of his funk, he jacked up off the couch and grabbed whoever-it-was by her arms. Yes, definitely female. A surprised gasp sounded. He’d heard it a thousand times before, when he sucked on her nipple rings or her pierced clit or thrust hard into her always-willing pussy.
Raina. Motherfucking Raina with her hands on him.
It was no wonder all his thoughts were sex-oriented; he was so hard it hurt. But it wasn’t because of her crazy ass.
“What in the fuck are you doing?” he demanded. She wrenched her shoulders out of his grip and tried to push him back down. He wasn’t going—or so he thought. His uncoordinated muscles said otherwise, and she managed to get him halfway reclined again and her fishnet-covered leg swung over his hips. Her splayed hands slid up his chest.
“Fuck me, Ghost. Oh, God, I’m so wet for you. You remember how it was, don’t you, baby? No way that piece of rich-bitch pussy gets you off like mine did.”
Oh, shit, she did feel good smearing against him. It would be so easy, and who the hell was there to care? He grabbed her wrists and wrenched them behind her back, capturing them both in one hand. A strangled growl tore from her throat; she loved that.
“Yes! Baby…oh, please. Please. Come into me.” He stared up at her shadowed, frantic form as she tried to squirm into position without the use of her arms. “I love you so much. Let me love you.”
He believed her. Putting pressure on the small of her back, he brought her down over him. Her hot, wet mouth fastened to the side of his neck. He growled, waiting…she was a biter. And a scratcher, and a slapper when she really got carried away. Yeah, she’d whacked him more than once in their wilder, rougher escapades. There was a reason he’d had a thing about pinning Macy’s hands down. Not that she would ever do that, it had sort of just become his thing. Especially with her.
Macy.
Raina’s teeth scraped at his skin, but only for a moment. Her throaty voice poured seductively into his ear, raising gooseflesh on his arms. “I haven’t been with anyone since you. I’m only yours. This is only yours.” Her wetness slicked over him…she’d already lost her panties before she’d climbed on top of him, if she’d been wearing any to start with. “Only yours. Take it.”
“Raina…”
Just his utterance of her name seemed to set her off again. Her wrists tugged sharply against his hold, but he tightened it, and she wasn’t going anywhere. “Let me touch you. I’m here, baby, you know I’m the only one who’s always here for you. Right? Don’t you know that?”
“I do know that.”
�
��God, I fucking missed you.” It was said in a rush against his lips. “You don’t know how much.”
“I know you did.” He slid his free hand up her side. She gasped and tried to insinuate her breast into it, but he eluded her and placed his palm flat to her chest. “Raina?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Get. The fuck. Off me.” And he shoved her upward, getting her mouth off him but making damn sure he kept his grip on her hands.
She thrashed and cursed, and he thought she tried once to headbutt him. The struggle continued until finally he managed to leverage himself off the couch, dumping her ass-first onto the floor. Disadvantage being, he no longer had a grip on her, and he couldn’t see. For all he knew, a lamp might fly at his skull any second now.
“You bastard!” she screeched.
“That’s right, I’m a bastard. But I’m a bastard who could’ve fucked you just now and gone back to ignoring you tomorrow. Would that make you feel better? Because that’s all anything between you and me would ever be.”
“She doesn’t love you like I do. She won’t. No one ever will. She’ll fuck you over and fucking walk away like that other cunt did. Why can’t you see that?”
“I already see that. It doesn’t make any difference.”
“No. You love me. You have to.” Tears in her voice now. Shit. “You have to. What we had…”
“What we had was something you could go out and have with any motherfucker in this building. Fighting and sex and more fighting. Maybe you need that toxicity to be fulfilled, but I don’t. It wasn’t love, Raina; it never was. It was something else. It was ugly.”
“That is what you need,” she said, voice seething in the dark. Her hands found his thighs—she must be up on her knees—and he was so off-balance he almost fell back on the couch. Fuck, he had to get out the door. “Not these squeaky-clean sunshiney bitches you and Brian have. You need ugly. No one else will understand that about you.”
“Then I guess I’ll be alone.” He shook her off, stepping back out of her reach and just then realizing he needed to stuff himself back in his pants in a big friggin’ hurry, before she got to him again and he did something stupid.
“Seth…?”
“What.”
“I can’t live without you.”
Amazing, that the angry little she-devil on stage, the unhinged banshee every guy in the crowd would’ve killed to take home and have her violate him twenty different ways, was reduced to this weak, sniveling, disjointed plea in the dark. Over him. He wanted to stay angry at her, but all he could muster at the moment was pity. And sadness, that he could understand. Hell. He’d been there.
He was there now.
“Here’s a thought, Raina. Try.”
He was zipping up his fly when the door flew open.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was amazing. Brian seemed to know every person in this building. At least ten of them stopped him to ask about ink. Most of them he indulged for a minute or two, ever edging toward the back. Always, the questions involved some variation of, “When are you gonna leave that one-horse fuckhole and set up shop here, man?” Perish the thought that he and Candace should leave. At least he always replied with, “I’m needed there way more than I am here,” which was comforting.
A few girls stopped him too, of course. Macy stuck close by his side, earning more than a few weird or outright hostile looks. Brian commented to her that he couldn’t wait to see how many texts Candace received alerting her that he was here with some other chick. When they reached a door to the side of the stage, a huge, black-clad bouncer who looked like someone from pro wrestling cut a glance their way. Great. This was probably going to be trouble.
She should’ve known better. Brian’s clout wouldn’t be denied. Grinning, the guy put out his hand, and Brian grasped it, engaging in those quick back-slapping half-hugs guys did. They exchanged obscenity-laced small talk for a minute while Macy shifted her weight back and forth, impatience eating at her. At last, Brian asked, “Ghost back there, man?”
“Haven’t seen him come out. He all right?”
“I think his head’s a little fucked up.”
“I think more than his head is fucked up.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Were you fuckin’ here just now?”
“Actually, no, we were late.”
“He demolished his fuckin’ guitar, bro. I mean, that shit goes down on a regular basis around here, but it’s not like him. Great show, though. Sucks you missed it.” The guy looked at her, doing a quick once-over, then raised his pierced eyebrow at Brian. “Where’s the Candy girl?”
“Back home. This is her friend. She’s the one needing to talk to Ghost.”
The big guy scoffed and shook his head. “Somebody needs to do something with him.”
“Can we get back there? We’ll take care of him.”
“Sure thing.” He winked at Macy and jerked his head toward the door. “Go on back, sweetheart.”
“Thanks,” she said, knowing she wasn’t heard over the rambunctious crowd. Brian preceded her through, and she crossed her arms, wrinkling her nose at the smell. Pure alcohol and enough weed that she would probably flunk a drug test tomorrow. But at least there were fewer people. Her head was beginning to pound.
Brian had apparently been back here before too; he checked a few different places, asked a few people they ran into. No one had seen Seth since he left the stage. At last they encountered a short guy with a Mohawk making out in a hallway with a purple-haired girl even shorter than him. He held a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and when he broke away from his giggling partner, he took a swig that probably drained half the bottle. Spying Brian and Macy coming toward them, he held it out in greeting.
“Ross! You catch our set?”
“Missed it. I just need Ghost. Where is he?”
“Probably passed out.” This time he held his bottle toward a closed door at the other end of the hall. “I saw him go in there. No, wait.” He grinned. “I saw Raina go in there too. So he probably ain’t passed out. I’d leave him alone all the same.”
Macy’s heart all but stopped. Brian echoed the words that exploded in her mind, in exactly the tone she thought them.
“Raina? What the fuck is she even doing here?”
Mohawk’s make-out partner kept trying to kiss him, tugging his face toward hers. He let her for a second, and just as Macy was ready to step between them and pry them apart, he broke away. “Mark had her come.”
“I’m sure he didn’t check with Ghost about that.”
“All the same, she’s here. And in there. With him.”
Macy’s entire universe had focused on that door. The two guys went on talking, but she wasn’t aware of anything but that freaking door. And what might be going on behind it. Her head rushed with blood; she trembled all over.
“…the fuck did you give him, Gus? Are you out of your mind?”
“Hey, he asked me— Dude, I’d grab her if I were you!”
The last was said as her mind finally snapped and she stalked toward that door, every step seeming to make it farther away rather than closer. She hoped she never reached it, even as she knew she had to.
“Macy, wait!” Brian caught her arm, and she yanked it from his grasp, the tears already building.
“Stop it.”
She reached for the knob; he grabbed her again and planted her back to the wall, inches away from her intended destination. “No, babe, I’m not going through this shit. I’m getting you outta here.”
“He wouldn’t…be with her, would he?” How humiliating, how fucking mortifying, that Brian, that anyone would see her like this. For that, she hated Seth Warren right then. Hated him and hoped she never saw him again—except to open that door and scream at him what an idiot he was for getting back with that…that…whatever she was.
She’s someone who knows him better than you, looks like he wants, acts like he wants, almost had his child, for God’s sake. And what are
you? Someone he thinks will break his heart someday. While she might be off her damn rocker, she’s someone who would never do that. And he knows it.
“Macy, he’s drunk. And possibly on something else, according to Gus. Even if he is with her…he’s not in his right mind.”
“I can’t know this and not confront him.”
“I can’t be a part of it. The guy just lost his grandmother. He just lost you. For weeks now, he’s had to deal with Brooke and his fucking brother. My advice, Macy, is to go back home and hash it all out once he’s back and coherent. This isn’t the way.”
The tears spilled, and all of her hatred wasn’t reserved for Seth right then; a little of it was for herself, for letting herself be so upset. For letting herself be affected. Brian, tight-jawed and angry, didn’t let his burning blue gaze leave hers for a moment. Probably trying to reassure himself she wasn’t going to snap and start screaming. “All right?” he finally said. “I’ll take you to get a hotel room. Then I’ll come back and take care of him, whoop his ass, whatever you need me to do. But I need to make sure he sobers up.”
“He makes a habit of this, does he?” she said bitterly.
His eyes narrowed, and she knew all of his anger wasn’t at Seth, either. “No. Not really. But I can distinctly recall one other time.”
“Are you trying to put the blame for this on me? Because that’s bullshit, Brian. I know that’s your ‘boy’ and all, but if he’s in there screwing her, it’s because either he wants to be, or he was stupid enough to get hammered with an unstable ex floating around. Grief is no excuse. He shouldn’t be here in the first place.”
“I know it’s his fault, all right? But I’m not letting you go in there all the same.”
The hell you aren’t. “Fine,” she huffed, crossing her arms and staring at some blurred fixed point to the right of Brian’s head. Hesitantly, he let her go, first one hand and then the other falling away. She did her best to look whipped and miserable—hell, that wasn’t a stretch.