Rockin' the Heart (Hot Wired)

by Miller, Gracen

  That crossed a line. Best friends respected boundaries. They did not become intimate with their best buddy’s relatives.

  He loved them both. They were his only family. Was Fang right when he called him selfish and accused him of wanting to keep them neatly compartmentalized? Surely not. Their happiness was important to him. But he’d bet his career with Hot Wired this was a new phase Fang was going through. In a month or six, he’d snap out of it and dump Sam.

  That’s when the awkwardness began. Adding sex to the doomed romance would increase their discomfort around one another. That effected Jase! If it made him selfish that he didn’t wish to endure that, then fuck yeah, he was a selfish prick.

  Standing here staring out at the city landscape he had never wanted to tear into his best friend as much as he did at this moment. Fang violated his sister. That action called for an uppercut to his chin.

  “Jase, man, I don’t know what to say.”

  He released his hair and lowered his arm. As he pivoted, the cool strands curtained his face. He stared at the one person he’d put total trust in for over a decade. Fang’s wariness hinted he anticipated Jase would go ballistic.

  Screaming would solve nothing. Ultimatums even less. To his dismay they’d live their lives however they wished, consequences be damned. Any outsider could see they’d squander their happy, peaceful existence with a falsity they’d realize too late. He wished the results wouldn’t affect him so much.

  I’ll be there for Sam when her heart is broken.

  And he’d try very hard not to say he told her so. Or break Fang’s legs.

  “Nothing you can say that’ll appease me.” The fucking truth. Nothing except ‘we’re over’ would satisfy him, and Jase knew that wasn’t forthcoming. At least not yet.

  “Don’t be mad.” Wrapped in a hotel complimentary robe, Sam exited the bedroom.

  “I’m not mad.” I am furious at Fang for taking advantage of you. Using girls for pleasure was his standard operating practice. It was the entire band’s fucked-up signature. It was what rock stars did, they banged hot chicks for their entertainment, but it never lasted.

  “You are.” She folded her arms over her midsection. “I see it in your eyes, big brother.”

  Her eyes clouded over, becoming saddened. They read each other well.

  “I’m disappointed, not mad.” Mostly the truth. He’d thought she out of all women wouldn’t be susceptible to Fang’s charm. Rockers were whores. That was reality. Until now, Sam hadn’t succumbed to temptation. The chick on stage last night had been an attempt to remind her the type of man Fang was. Not that he was any different, but then he wasn’t trying to destroy the pureness of Sam either.

  “I love him, Jase.”

  Yeah, all the women ‘loved’ him. Most of them for his money. Those that weren’t in it for the fame or cash loved him for the way he fucked. Plain and simple. They lived shallow lives. Someone always wanted something from them. Genuine love wasn’t free. Not ever.

  But…

  Sam sure as shit didn’t give a fuck about the fame. Getting involved with Fang guaranteed she found more infamy than she wanted. Money wasn’t an issue either. Evident by the email he’d received from his attorney this morning, which was what had him seeking her out in the first place.

  “I got an email from my lawyer stating you requested your trust fund be turned back over to me free and clear. That you didn’t want ‘blood money’”—he finger quoted the words—“or some bullshit like that. What the fuck is up?”

  She angled her head so that her chin notched a tad higher. A clear indication whatever she would say he wouldn’t like, and she wouldn’t budge from her stance. Pain in the ass woman gave him a fucking headache!

  “You told me the other day that you controlled the finances, and I’d do what you want.” Jase winced. They’d just delivered the bad news that their romance was for real, and he’d been very angry at the time, said things he didn’t mean. “You’re welcome to control the finances, but not me.”

  “I was angry. I have no wish to governor you.” He glanced at Fang. At some point while he conversed with Sam, his friend poured a cup of coffee and currently leaned against a table and sipped the brew.

  “You can’t deny a piece of you wants to.” She shrugged, causing the robe to gape a fraction until she tugged the folds back together. “I can’t even blame you sometimes. I create mayhem without thinking how my actions affect you or the band.”

  “You’re the spoiled kid sister. That’s how the media sees you, brat.” Fang eyed her over the rim of the mug. “Until you started dating me, no one really cared for the most part. Be glad we have the clout to make it all disappear.”

  “That’s not fair to those without the influence.”

  “Life’s not fair.” Jase notched hair behind his ear.

  “Yeah….” Sam licked her lips. “The point is, Jase, you shouldn’t be the one bailing me out of everything. You can’t micromanage my life. I know you think Heath is going to eventually break my heart.”

  It’s inevitable, little sister.

  He let her go on and even managed not to glare at Fang.

  “You control my freedom to a degree with your ‘clout’, but you can’t control my relationships. You hated Omega and—”

  “He’s a goddamn punk. And he hurt you. Yeah, I hate the motherfucker.” He’d started a fight with the fucker in the club they were members of. He’d suspected criminal charges for assault to be levied against him, but Omega had shrugged off the incident with sarcasm. Jase hated him more for not pressing charges.

  “He’s my friend.” That she defended the man who’d smeared her name irritated him further.

  “He’s an asshole.”

  “That asshole’s not entirely guilty like we thought.” Whose side was Fang on?

  “Whatever. You still can’t control my relationship with Omega—”

  “There is no relationship with Omega,” Fang added.

  “—Heath, or anyone else. For good or bad that’s my choice. You don’t have the right to demand my happiness for the sake of yours.”

  The lopsided smile that curled Fang’s lips detailed his pride. She stood proud before Jase, demanding her independence.

  The liberation was a long time coming, years after he’d demanded the same for himself. And he almost—almost—didn’t catch himself before he kicked the table over and informed her she’d do as she was fucking told!

  “Right.” Maybe she was a tad correct—he’d never admit it—because he wanted to yell and demand she comply with his commands. Making the transition from being her big-brother-slash-parent was proving harder than he’d suspected. Best to change the subject. “The trust fund is yours. Deal. With. It. You fuck with me on this, and I’ll divide the money into a hundred different accounts just to piss you and my attorney off.” Enough that his counsel would probably quit before he’d continue to transfer the money back and forth.

  “I won’t use it.”

  “I don’t care what you do with it.” He glanced between his sister and former best friend. Yeah… former because no true friend fucked with blood relatives.

  Without a goodbye he strode to the door, intending to make a calm departure. Maintaining civility for the band’s sake wouldn’t be easy, but he’d make an effort for Keys and Derringer. In the end he couldn’t make a quiet exit, over his shoulder he tossed out, “Don’t come to me crying when your heart is broken, sis.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” She’ll come. Guaran-fucking-teed. “Derringer has the better shoulder to cry on anyway.”

  Jaw locked and grinding his teeth before he said anything derogatory, Jase slammed the door behind him. He breezed past the groupie he’d fucked the night before. She worked her fingers through the long length of her red hair. The untidiness of those glossy strands reminded him how many times he’d shoved his digits through the silky tresses. The black eyeliner smudged beneath her green eyes should’ve given her a drab appearance, but he f
ound her sexier in her disarrayed state.

  He punched the down button for the elevator.

  The girl used a compact mirror to remove the makeup with her fingertips. He tried not to watch, but the more she eliminated the younger she appeared, less jaded too, and much more appealing. Resisting the urge to invite her back to his bedroom and wash the cosmetics away in a joint shower, he submitted another impatient jab to the button.

  “You going down?” With a sharp click, she snapped the mirror closed.

  “Yep.” He had gone down last night too, which wasn’t something he normally participated in with a groupie. But she’d seemed so sweet and innocent, and he’d been eager to wreck the falsity.

  Like strangers they stood side-by-side staring at the elevator doors. Awkward. He’d been inside this woman twice—for the love of God he could not recall her name and probably hadn’t inquired about it—less than six hours ago. Shouldn’t they be more familiar than this? He normally kicked the women out of his bed before any conversation could be brokered. Today he’d fondled her hair, fascinated with the natural crimson hue, while uncomfortable with his interest in her. He’d ultimately left her asleep when he went to confront Sam.

  Sam. A mixture of frustration and anger slammed through him.

  He didn’t want to think of her and Fang. If only he could turn back time and withdraw his support of the charade Tab desired. Maybe then they wouldn’t be where they were now. Headed straight for heartache.

  This is the awkwardness Sam and Heath will endure when they break up. The awkwardness I’ll stomach when they’re in one another’s company afterward.

  The doors slid open, and they both entered the cage. He almost requested she wait for the next ride, but his Southern upbringing blocked the rudeness from leaving his lips. And a big part of him wasn’t ready for her to depart his presence yet. So, he suffered through his discomfort and interest in stony silence.

  “Sorry.”

  The insecurity in her voice triggered his inquiry. “For?”

  “I don’t know.” She finger-combed her hair. Without a brush, there was no hope in making her appear anything but well fucked. “I shouldn’t have done this.”

  Regret for screwing him? That was a novelty and a blow to his ego. Pride chafed by her remorse, he leaned against the wall, hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, and crossed his ankles in a casual stance. She wasn’t even dressed like a normal groupie in her jeans and Jesus Loves You pink T-shirt. Interesting choice of attire for a woman intent on getting laid at a rock concert. But she’d come through the typical groupie lines.

  Captivated, he forged onward. “You didn’t enjoy yourself?”

  A nervous glance before she lowered her head and dug into her purse. Jase thought he detected a blush tinge her cheeks.

  “You know I did,” softly spoken words he almost missed.

  Most groupies faked their orgasms, but not this one. And he was skilled enough to know the difference. She’d been bashful at first, which had intrigued him more. Once they’d gotten started, she’d loosened up. When she came the first time, he’d watched her, fascinated by the feel of her griping his cock. Until then he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed genuine passion from a partner. He’d worked to get her off the second time, using his thumb against her clit. She’d screamed and arched beneath him, trembling as he pumped the last few times inside her before he spilled his seed.

  Fuck, did I use a condom?

  He couldn’t remember. He always did, so certainly he had with her. He hadn’t been that drunk, just intoxicated by her.

  “I like that you enjoyed yourself. Most don’t.” Most just wanted to brag about their conquest to their friends. Not like he cared. With groupies it was a using relationship. They provided him physical relief, and they gained bragging rights.

  Green eyes leveled on him. Sadness creased the corners in sharp lines. He thought she’d say something, but if she’d planned to, she ultimately changed her mind and pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail instead.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Why?”

  “You know mine.”

  “Do you normally ask the names of your one-night-stands?”

  No. He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  After a brief introspection, Jase was shocked to discover he wanted to know more about her.

  “My name doesn’t matter. After today you won’t ever see me again.”

  Displeased by that thought, he grunted and contemplated his feet. “Why the secrecy surrounding your name?”

  Okay. He hadn’t planned to utter the thought. But there it was, thrown out there. He felt her tense and a sharp inhalation of air filled her lungs.

  “I—I don’t do this sort of stuff, Mr. Collins.”

  “Jase.” The formal salutation amused him. “I was inside you for Christ’s sake. My name is Jase.”

  She flinched as if he struck her. She regretted their dalliance, on that she hadn’t lied.

  “One-night-stands aren’t my style.” She wet her lips and became enamored of the flashing red floor numbers. “I’d prefer to wallow in my guilt with a little discretion.”

  Guilt? What an odd choice of words.

  “You were a virgin.” Why’d he just recall that fact? He’d never had a novice come at him. She gasped, but didn’t favor him with her attention. “Do you know how many virgins come to my bed?” After a heartbeat he answered his own question. “You’re the first.”

  She shuffled her feet. “How’d you know?”

  He grinned. Aside from the blood that probably stained his sheets, he’d felt the membrane give when he plunged hard and deep. She’d gasped at his abrupt penetration and loss of innocence. Eyes going wide, she’d gone rigid beneath him. He’d soothed her with kisses, a trifle annoyed she’d withheld the information. He wasn’t so much of a gentleman he’d have turned her aside. Once he made a choice, he followed through and that included bed partners. If he’d known her circumstances, he could’ve entered her slower, given her more time to adjust, rather than given her all he had in one rough drive.

  Instead of answering her question, he asked, “What’s your name?”

  “None of your business,” she shot back as the elevators doors opened and she bolted.

  He watched her go, admiring the sway of her ass. Someone had her name. Photo I.D. was required to prove their age. Never hurt to be too careful. The last thing any of them needed was a sex scandal with a minor involved. That was known as a career killer.

  Jase rapped his knuckles on the front desk’s counter. “I require a vehicle,” he said as he lost sight of the girl.

  The hunt is on, my sweet virgin.

  Sam peeked at her watch. Jase was just over an hour late for the jet. And so was Tab. They could leave without Hot Wired’s agent, but Jase set the beat for the entire concert. Her brother might be vocal about how she lived her life, but he’d never let the band down.

  “Where’s Jase?” Something’s wrong.

  She drummed her fingers on the arm of her seat, and her foot tapped against the floor.

  “He’s pissed off at us.” Heath tangled their fingers together, halting one anxious movement. It’s more than that, but she held her tongue, her worry too focused to argue. “I’m not surprised he’s running a bit late.”

  “You think his tardiness is a power play?” She didn’t have to look at Keys to hear the disagreement in his voice. Big Al purred as he wove in between Keys’ legs.

  Derringer braced his hands on either side of the door and regarded the runway. “Much longer and we’ll be tardy for the concert.”

  “If push came to shove, we could borrow Tone Deaf’s drummer.” Keys popped the lid on a can of soda. “Maybe not since he doesn’t know our songs. They can extend their performance enough to give us some time.” He set the untouched soda aside.

  “When he arrives, I’m going to kick his ass for being an asshole.” The frown gouging Derr’s smooth forehead confirmed his unease,
which served to increase hers.

  “He’s not responded to my texts and my calls go straight to voice mail.” She stared out the window. I’m worried. Thinking it and saying it were two different things. Superstition vouched spoken fears could jinx any outcome. Just thinking the thought had her knuckles itching to knock on wood.

  “He’s throwing a tantrum, he’ll show,” Heath repeated, but the rapid swish of his thumb against her wrist suggested he wasn’t buying his explanation.

  “He doesn’t let the band down.”

  “Sam’s right. We’ve had our share of arguments over the years”—as much time as they spent together, it would be impossible not to have controversies—“and he’s not once ditched the band.” Keys pinched the bridge of his nose, his blond hair in disarray over his forehead, and his blue eyes displayed his concern.

  “Maybe he got drunk and passed out.” Sam hoped Heath’s option was a possibility. “The way he’s been drinking lately….”

  Thanks to them her brother had dialed up his liquor consumption.

  “Here’s Tab. Maybe she’ll know something.” Derringer stepped away from the door so she could enter the jet.

  Tension drenched the cabin, and suddenly Sam wanted to bolt.

  Something is wrong. She couldn’t shake the feeling. Felt it in her bones, as her granny would say.

  Footsteps hit the stairs, the metallic ring of each step struck Sam like a cane intent on dishing out punishment. Sam vaulted to her feet and lost contact with Heath. She wrapped her arms around her waist and waited. Waited for the worst to happen. Waited for her life to be altered forever again.

  Chill out! She wasn’t a pessimist, so why the sudden doom mentality?

  All eyes centered on Tab when she stepped into view. The outside light silhouetted her in a halo. If anything, she could be likened to a fallen angel. Their agent looked haggard. Her hair mussed, her nose red, and her eyes were blotchy.

  I don’t want to hear this! Temptation to stuff her fingers in her ears overwhelmed her. Experience taught her even the bad stuff couldn’t be denied by the childish act.