Annoying Pest...

by K. S. Adkins

  

  Copyright © 2016 K.S. ADKINS

  Published by K.S. Adkins

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: K.S. Adkins 2016

  Other works by K.S. Adkins:

  The Detroit After Dark Series

  Brutal

  Brawler

  Berserk

  Ballistic

  8 Mile & Rion

  Convincing Bet

  When Time Stood Still

  Motown Down Series

  Motown Throwdown (Motown Down #1)

  Motown Showdown (Motown Down #2)

  Motown Takedown (Motown Down #3)

  Motown Breakdown (Motown Down #4 & 5)

  Mercy F*ck

  

  Table of Contents

  Annoying Pest

  Playlist

  About KS Adkins

  

  “Stop annoying Pest!”

  Like an overworked, frustrated single mother stuck with two asshole kids, Guy was always repeating himself and we never listened. In fact, we went out of our way to drive him insane. It’s the only time he called me Pest. To Guy, I was Tempest. Unless he was demanding that I be left alone. Considering how often I was annoyed, Guy had his work cut out for him.

  Stop annoying Pest…

  I missed those three words.

  

  I was not supposed to be the one he walked away from.

  But exactly one year ago today, he did walk away. Actually, he snuck away, which was infinitely worse in my opinion. Any other woman would visit a he-stable to get back on the proverbial cock-horse, but not me, I was too pathetic. Three hundred and sixty-five days strong, I still pined for the guy who left me without an explanation or goodbye. Never let it be said I was a quitter! But don’t get me wrong, I may be pathetic, but I was also righteously pissed off. I was mad I didn’t see it coming. That I had no chance to prepare, and I was still kicking myself for being so fucking gullible as to believe he’d want me forever.

  Motherfucker promised me forever.

  Sitting at the table inside my RV that I both loved and hated, my best friend, Guy, was explaining to me the seriousness of my current situation. You could only hear stalker so many times before it lost its ability to make you pee your pants. Trust me, I’m speaking from actual firsthand experience. Because the first six times I heard stalker, I did pee my pants. Wearing a super absorbent pad in case you had an accident was no laughing matter. One, they’re uncomfortable. Two, I swear they made noise when you walked; and three, I was too old to be pissing my pants. So after the seventh threat, my bladder finally stopped reacting, and I was beyond grateful.

  It’s not like I’m treating this as a joke, I’m not. I’m just sick of being scared. Of being helpless. When it came to crazy fans, I retreated into my world. The one place they couldn’t touch me. Did that stop him from preaching? No. And as usual, I was only half listening. If I wasn’t writing or performing; I was pretty much useless to have around. I’m not the one you want in a crisis either. Because my life was a series of unreal bullshit, I could not make time for anyone else’s. Hell, let’s be honest; I didn’t even deal with my own. Guy handled it for me. These days, he handled everything for me. Why? Because I was a living, breathing chickenshit who most days refused to go outside. Was it any wonder he left without a word? Most likely he didn’t want to be stuck watching me fall apart and begging him not to go. Because trust me, I did fall apart and the begging would have followed. Would I have gone so far as to wrap myself around his ankles forcing him to drag me with him? Yep. Would I have worked guilt in? Totally. Cry? I’d leak like a faucet. Hell, I’d have jumped in front of his bike if the chance presented itself. I would have done anything, everything to make him stay. I loved him that much. So yes, I was pathetic, but at least I was honest about it.

  “Tempest,” Guy waved his hands in front of my face. Yes, I was ignoring him because I was right back to stewing. I did this a lot. Stew that is. “You trust me,” he said knowing he’s the only one I did trust. Guy has never betrayed me, and if he ever did, I’d never recover from it. One stab in the heart was all I could take and we both knew it.

  “Yep.”

  “Good, because he’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

  “Cool,” I shrugged, pretending not to care, when in actuality, I cared a lot. Guy and I have never been apart. Not since I was in fifth grade. A night here and there, sure. Long term? No. But because of some freaky fan bullshit, he was going behind the scenes to figure it out since the police had no real place to start. So he was taking off on a crusade to save me, thus leaving me with a stranger. A Tempest-sitter. To avoid crying, or begging him to reconsider, I announced, “I’m taking a nap.”

  “You don’t nap,” he said with an eye roll. “Ever.”

  “If you trust him—and I trust you—I see no reason to do a meet and greet.”

  “We’ve got some challenges,” he hedged. Guy never hedges. “I want us all on the same page before I take off.”

  “What am I? Four? I can play nice.”

  “No, you can’t. So when he gets here, whatever your initial reaction is, don’t act on it.”

  “You’re preparing me for something.”

  “No, Tempest, for someone.”

  When I heard a motorcycle pull in and the engine cut off, I narrowed my eyes and literally snarled. Sure, I was a pathetic wuss most days, but I could be a straight up bitch when necessary, too. Pretty sure this was necessary. “Who the fuck is outside?”

  “The one who can protect you better than I can. Better than anyone can.”

  Before I could argue with him, the door to the RV opened, my entire body going cold and hot all at once. My heart stuttered then sped up. My breathing became erratic. My eyes narrowed. I felt light-headed. I picked up on his scent. My stomach bottomed out, my mouth went dry, and my fists balled up.

  Annoyance burned bright inside of me.

  One year ago today he walked out.

  Tonight, he walked back in.

  “Well, hello stranger,” he grinned slyly. “No kiss for daddy?”

  “Chevy,” I whispered, right before I attacked.

  

  Her fans used to say our love story should be a novel or a movie.

  To the world we had a love so epic, so extraordinary, it gave them hope.

  While this was true, it wasn’t an easy love. It wasn’t a love without challenges and hurt. We had our fair share of setbacks and disappointments, same as anyone else. But the world never saw that. The world never saw what her life was like off stage. We didn’t give that to them. Guy knew the truth, that’s it. We struggled, we fought, and we made up. We loved making up. So much that I pissed her off on purpose just to get back to making up. Annoying her always worked in my favor. Tempest riled up was a thing of beauty. No one possessed the ability to set her off like I did.
/>   Until I stopped doing it.

  Me and Guy, our relationship changed after I left. Not that I blame him for pointing the finger at me. Leaving was my decision. The three of us always made decisions together—no exceptions. I didn’t tell him I was taking off and I sure as fuck didn’t tell her. Had I sat her down and explained several things would have happened. 1) She wouldn’t have believed me. 2) She’d have thrown herself on me, refusing to let me go. 3) She’d hit me with a hard object before throwing herself on me. 4) She’d start bawling, and I’d cave. 5) We’d fuck.

  Because I couldn’t risk any of those outcomes, I packed my bag while she was meeting with her manager and left without a word. Since then, when Guy called it was about business. The two of us had always split the work when it came to her. I didn’t check him; he didn’t check me. It was automatic, we got shit done. Picking up my slack, plus managing his side of things, likely made his life hell. I hadn’t cared about that when I took off.

  Two days ago, I got the order to come home. The call I anticipated and dreaded. According to Guy, her safety was at stake. This wouldn’t be the first, or the last time, a fan crossed the line. Over the years, we’ve seen our fair share of crazy. But this was the first time Guy had no backup. He said it was serious, and Guy was not known to be an alarmist. Nor would he put us in close proximity unless he had an alternative. I hurt Tempest. He loved her. Coming back would hurt her further. He’d be stuck with the fallout, again. He didn’t want to call me. He made that clear. Without argument, I packed my bag and hit the road to come home. Not because I missed her—thought about her every fucking minute of every fucking day—but because I couldn’t allow anything to happen to her when I had the means to stop it. Fact was, when I was around no one, and I mean no one, fucked with her. If they tried, they paid in pain. The two of them were my only family. The three of us had been inseparable since we were kids, and I don’t remember a life before them. Hell, I haven’t had a life since them either, and I needed a chance to repair the damage.

  Tempest Wilder.

  We never fell in love. Swear to God, there just wasn’t a time the love wasn’t there. The second we saw each other all those years ago, boom, game over. Her and I were explosive from the get-go. We never agreed on a fucking thing, fought twenty-four-seven. I had her heart and she had mine. Our souls were one. I lived to annoy her. She lived to let me.

  It’s what sustained us.

  It’s what tore us apart.

  Leaving had been on my mind for some time. Nothing was going right. Every day there was a fight over irrelevant shit. The three of us were constantly at odds. Tempest was always crying; Guy was always bitching me out. And I remember staring at the door wanting to run for it. I wanted a taste of freedom. I wanted to know what life was like beyond the door of our duplex, outside of our trio. I needed a taste of the unknown.

  Turns out I fucked up. Freedom wasn’t what I needed. A reality check was.

  What I should have done was stay and make the goddamn effort, whether she liked it or not. Instead, I ran. Sometimes a man makes a mistake he doesn’t know how to fix. He doesn’t know where to start; he just knows he needs the chance. He can’t even pinpoint exactly when it happened; he just knows that it did.

  Leaving her was the biggest mistake I ever made, and I planned to come back, eventually. One day turned into two, two into a week. She never called, did not beg for me, or even came looking. Weeks turned into months, and from a distance I watched her move on without me.

  As if I didn’t exist. As if we never existed.

  Add in all the dumb shit men do when they try thinking on their own instead of just asking the woman what she needs. Do that and then see her attached to him, and next thing you know, a year had passed. She wasn’t ever going to call. She was not going to beg. She had no need to. She had him now.

  Guy has loved her as long as I have. He found himself an opportunity. I saw them together at events, on the red carpet, and when they thought the camera wasn’t looking. Private smiles, light touches, and the public rooting for them. Funny how fickle the public was. They had rooted for me once. The bad boy and the rock goddess—an unlikely love. Turns out they didn’t give a fuck who they rooted for as long as it was someone.

  Guy took my place in every way until he made that call. I only needed the invitation to come home and take back what I had lost. However, I needed to figure out if I wanted her back, or if I just didn’t want her with him.

  There was no question as to whether or not I loved her. I always would. But loving her was a lot of work, and I needed to decide if I was up for the job. As in full-time. Cutting off the bike, I walked up to the RV, ignoring my racing heart and opened the door as if I hadn’t bailed on them both. As if I hadn’t missed the love of my life. Hoping she’d kept my heart and soul safe while I was gone. Praying that she’d gotten better so loving her would be easy again. And there she was, at the top of the steps, and she’d never looked more beautiful.

  Or more unhappy to see me.

  “Well hello, stranger,” I announced. “No kiss for daddy?”

  With a whisper of my name from her lips, Tempest cocked back and hit me so hard I flew off the step and found myself flat on the concrete, staring up at the sky. Coming to stand over me, she ordered, “Stay down,” with a finger in my face. Grinning up at her, she stomped off, yelling every profanity I ever taught her, plus a few more.

  Extending a hand, Guy helped me up and kept his eyes on her at the same time. “Will you ever stop annoying her?” he asked, shaking his head in disappointment.

  “It’s what I do.”

  “No,” he said sadly. “It’s one of the many things you do. Get inside, we need to talk.”

  “Isn’t this the part where you run after her and make a fool of yourself?”

  “You know what?” he started. “Never mind.”

  “I’m here,” I pointed out as I sit. “Now tell me why I’m here.”

  “I assume you’ve at least kept tabs?”

  “No,” I bold-faced lied. Of course I kept tabs. Like a fucking pathetic, love-struck teenager I went to every show, watched every interview, read every article. I lived in a constant state of jealousy and regret. But I wasn’t sharing that. I also wasn’t sharing that I never went far. Or that when she wasn’t performing, I stayed in that city, riding around aimlessly on my bike, killing time until her next show.

  “This is serious,” he said, pushing an envelope forward. “Letters, photos, social media, you name it. I can’t figure out if it’s one person or a fucking group. Whoever it is has no issues being bold. It scares the shit out of me, Chevy.”

  “Any attempts? An approach?”

  “Not yet, but her being back home where her fan base is largest puts her at the greatest risk. She’ll be out in public, making appearances, she’ll be accessible. My gut is screaming it’s going to happen here.”

  “And you’re leaving your precious at such a crucial time?”

  “Yes,” he informed me angrily. (He hated “Lord of the Rings”) “I have a few leads to follow up on, and I need to be focused. But I can be reached in an emergency.”

  “How long?” I asked. “And before you answer, understand the risk you’re taking by putting us in close proximity. The less time this takes the better. For her.” And for me… Losing her to him again when this was over would put the final nail in my coffin. But there would be no holding back with her. I was incapable of it, and she was too. I’d fuck her, protect her, and annoy her. I’d do this because I loved her. I’d do this to Guy because no matter what, she was still my girl.

  I might fight the world for her, but he shielded her from it.

  So who was the better man? I was.

  “I don’t know how long; however long it takes. But I’d suggest you pay close attention to Tempest now versus a year ago. Since you left she’s different, Chevy, and I’m not talking progress. I’m talking deterioration. She’s going backward.”

  “Her anxiety,” I
mumbled, hating how she let that shit control her life. It's one of the reasons I left. Fine, it was the main reason. It was one thing to be anxious sometimes. It was another to be anxious all the time.

  “That’s part,” he admitted. “Neither of us knew the extent of what we were dealing with, so we didn’t get her the help she needed. At this point, if she could get away with it she’d stay indoors forever. She is being treated for enochlophobia and severe anxiety. Her anxiety is one thing. But her fear of crowds is crushing her.

  I was against this tour, but she swore she could see it through. I’m not confident about this. Especially now with a new threat hanging over her head. She is not stable in public, period. That first security fuck-up set the stage for her to go downhill, and since you left she’s picked up speed.”

  That first security fuck-up was a year and a half ago when I turned my back to engage a pushy paparazzi. In a blink, a male grabbed her. One second she was there, the next she was being pulled away. He didn’t get far, maybe ten yards, but when I caught up, I beat him half to death for touching her.

  Once the cops got him talking, he made it clear he planned to make her fall in love with him by any means necessary. When they raided his house they found sedatives, ropes, chains, and photos of her everywhere.

  The court process was grueling and public. Her name, her face, was everywhere. She even had to testify in court. She had to sit there and listen to him wax poetic on how he planned to essentially torture her in the name of love. It didn’t matter he was put away; the damage had been done. That scene fucked with Tempest hard and the media refused to let it die. And of course, Guy blamed me for it. He was right, too. I did fuck up. My job was to protect her, and I hadn’t done that. I left her vulnerable.

  The saddest fucking part about all of it was the attempted abduction and publicity surrounding it is what took her from being semi-famous to a household name. Her anonymity was gone. The more the masses wanted her, the more she withdrew. People wanted to know Tempest and in their quest for information, made her life hell.