Sweet Temptation: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 3)

by Jaine Diamond

“Got a knife,” Maddox offered, and reached over to dig in the glove box. From under the random tools and papers, he produced a giant ball of keys on a keychain with a Swiss Army knife on it.

  I’d take it.

  I unhooked the knife and palmed it. “I’m gonna check it out. Park out of sight and follow me up.”

  “You want more backup?”

  “I’ve got backup.” I threw him a look. He was still wearing his white greaser costume T-shirt with no jacket, just the way he’d left the bar. “You have your Kings cut with you?”

  “Nope. Got a hoodie in back, I think.”

  “You want to put it on, that’d be swell,” I told him, and slid out of the van.

  I headed over to the motel as Maddox drove around the block. As I slipped alongside the building, keeping to the shadows, I scoped out the parking lot. There were no motorcycles in it, not many cars at all.

  I headed up the same stairs Sanchuk took and approached his door. The rooms on this side of the building backed onto the rooms on the other side, so at least there was no chance of a back exit or a window he could crawl his ass out of.

  I heard nothing through his door, though I’d heard TVs and voices from other rooms as I walked up. I pressed in closer, listening.

  Considering my options.

  Kicking the door right in, while effective, might take a couple kicks and would be loud. Definite last resort.

  Last thing I needed was the police showing up before I wanted them to.

  I wanted answers, and the only person who could give them to me was the man inside this motel room. Which meant I needed to get him to open the door. Preferably quietly and willingly… which was where Maddox came in, I hoped.

  I waited until Maddox appeared in the lot below. He was wearing a black hoodie with the hood thrown up. He climbed the stairs in silence and slipped up the walkway toward me, his arm down at his side, and in the shadows I could see he was carrying something.

  “Is that…?” I crept toward him, my whisper fading out as he held it up a bit. The light caught the brand name and the long, shiny drill bit.

  It was a fucking power drill.

  “Creative,” I muttered.

  He shrugged. “Work with what you’ve got.”

  I motioned for him to hand it over, and he gave me a disappointed look as I held out the knife. We swapped, and I nodded for him to stand in front of the door. I flattened myself against the wall, where Sanchuk wouldn’t see me through the peephole. Maddox palmed the knife.

  When Sanchuk looked through that peephole, or out the window, all he’d see was Maddox in his hoodie with the Kings spade on the chest. Just your friendly neighborhood Open-the-fucking-door-before-I-call-my-entire-club-down-here visit.

  I knocked on the door, quietly.

  “I can’t believe you’d use me like this,” Maddox muttered, feigning hurt feelings as he stood there like the bait he was.

  I rolled my eyes.

  A moment later, the deadbolt on the door turned.

  Stupid motherfucker was opening the door.

  By now, though, he knew he had little choice. Obviously Maddox had followed him here from the club, and he was fucked either way.

  The door opened a few inches, Sanchuk’s face looking out through the crack. The security chain was still engaged.

  But Maddox’s boot took care of that. One quick kick and the old wood of the door frame splintered.

  So, fuck it.

  Maddox plowed through the door, and I went after him. It wasn’t elegant, but it got the job done.

  I shut the door behind us.

  Sanchuk had been knocked back, and I barely saw the gun before it fell from his hand. He let out a garbled scream. Maddox had his gun arm, and I took care of the rest of him.

  All my MMA training went out the window in favor of the power tool in my hand.

  I shoved the drill bit up under his jaw and put him flat on the ground, a knee in his sternum, holding him there with the full force of my body weight and just the right amount of don’t-fuck-with-me pressure on the metal bit pressed to his skin.

  “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

  He was panting, but he didn’t try to move.

  I was panting almost as hard as he was as I held him down, my free hand grabbing a fistful of shirt collar. At least he’d taken off the creepy cloak. “Jesus Christ… Did you just try to shoot us?”

  “I try to shoot you,” he grit out, “you’d be shot.”

  True enough.

  Maddox had scooped up the gun, and checked it. “Loaded,” he said casually, and tucked it in the waistband of his jeans.

  “Check the back,” I told him.

  Maddox went to check the washroom in back and the closet.

  I yanked Sanchuk up a bit, by his shirt, and slammed his head down on the floor, as a warning not to try to pull that shit again. Lucky for him, there was carpet, so it didn’t do much damage, just hurt like a bitch. He groaned and swore.

  I only realized then that he was bleeding. Maddox had slashed his gun arm with the knife.

  I took a quick inventory of the scene as adrenaline kept punching through me. Standard dirtbag motel room. A half-unpacked duffel bag on the floor, the bed unmade.

  No one pounding at the door. No sirens.

  I didn’t expect any. We hadn’t made all that much noise coming in, considering.

  “It’s clear,” Maddox said, emerging from the bathroom. Then he went about searching the room for anything of interest.

  I held Sanchuk down with the drill, studying his rat eyes. Anticipating those pre-attack indicators; if he was about to try to attack me, I’d know it before he did.

  A small, primal part of me hoped he would, so I could go ahead and kill him.

  The rest of me hoped he wouldn’t, so I wouldn’t have to waste my energy holding him down more forcefully.

  I needed my energy for other things. Like holding myself back from exterminating his ass, like the cockroach he was, right here and now. I had him on his back on the floor, and I had the power drill, my weight, strength, and training over him, not to mention Maddox, a gun, a knife, and as many of my guys as I wanted to call in for backup.

  But I could do a whole lot of damage with my one hand and a power drill. I was getting all kinds of creative ideas right now, and he fucking knew it.

  He was watching me like I was watching him. And he was definitely thinking about fighting back… weighing his odds of doing any damage before Maddox pulled out that gun and shot him.

  I pushed the sharp tip of the drill bit into his throat and gave the trigger a tap. The drill bit spun, destroying skin, and he grit out a growl through clenched teeth. But only for a couple of seconds.

  “You move, next time I don’t stop.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Tell me why you’re after her.”

  “I’m not after her.” His eyes darted to Maddox as he moved around the room. “You told me to leave her alone, so I left her alone.”

  He thought I was a King, then, maybe.

  I didn’t dispute it.

  “I’m asking you the questions,” I said, “not him.”

  Sanchuk refocused on me. “I wasn’t gonna hurt her.”

  “Did someone send you after her? Tell you to target her?”

  “No,” he grunted, as I pressed my knee harder into his chest.

  “You’ve been trying to set up business here for the Bastards. Giving drugs to Summer’s friends at her shows. You got anything to say about that?”

  “We were just partying. There’s no law against partying.”

  Christ, this guy was dumb as fuck.

  I could see his pulse beating fiercely in his throat, belying the icy calm in his eyes. I pushed the drill bit into his flesh, making him bleed…

  Crossing more boundaries.

  Breaking more rules.

  Because I couldn’t fucking stand this asshole trying to hurt her in any way.

  “Found a phone.” Maddox held up a bat
tered iPhone with a cracked screen. “Just need that print…” He grabbed Sanchuk’s right hand, forced his thumb to the Home button with the fingerprint scanner in it. “Gotta fucking love technology,” he muttered, and started scrolling through the phone.

  I kept drilling Sanchuk, so to speak.

  “Where did you first see her?”

  “Just at a party.”

  “What party?”

  “I don’t know. A show she played.”

  “In Vancouver?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you just randomly showed up at her show one day? You expect me to believe that?” I jabbed the drill bit into his ruined skin, forcing his head back.

  “I was invited.” His eyes kept darting to that goddamn phone in Maddox’s hand. He was sweating, and I wasn’t even sure which was scaring him more, the flesh-rending power tool at his throat or that phone in Maddox’s hand.

  “Who invited you? Your Bastard friend? Boasty?”

  Sanchuk’s rat eyes met mine again. “You know I can’t tell you that, man. I tell you that, I die. You might as well just drill that shit into my brain right now.”

  “You know,” Maddox said, sounding bored as he scrolled through the phone, “he’s got a point.”

  I supposed he did. If he gave up information about anyone working for the Bloody Bastards up here, to the Kings, he was dead already.

  “Yup,” I agreed. “Your chances of surviving this night are looking pretty slim to me any way you look at it.”

  “Ronan. You’ve gotta see this.” Maddox held out the phone to me.

  I looked at the screen. It was a photo of Summer.

  Wearing her fucking Halloween costume.

  It was taken at the club show. Tonight.

  Goosebumps ripped across my skin as I went cold.

  Maddox thumbed through, showing me more photos… and more fucking photos… of Summer.

  “He’s been stalking her,” Maddox said, overstating the obvious. “For fucking sure.”

  It was a goddamn stalker shrine. Photos of Summer at clubs. Onstage. Recent photos. I knew, because I’d been there with her. Most of them were blurry and far away.

  But he was there, at her fucking shows.

  “These are all from the last two weeks or so,” Maddox said.

  I couldn’t look anymore. I just saw fucking red.

  “Uh… Summer’s not the only girl in here, either…” Maddox kept thumbing through. “Motherfucker’s been busy…”

  I tossed the drill and slammed my fist into Sanchuk’s face.

  How many women had this freakshow been stalking?

  Lots, apparently.

  And he’d been coming to Summer’s shows. Right under my fucking nose.

  Violating the restraining order.

  Taking fucking photos of her, so he could come back to his stinking motel room and, what? Jack off while looking at them and planning how he was gonna break into her house the next time?

  “What do you want with her?” I growled in his face. I was cracking. I knew that. I knew he was stalking her, just saw it with my own goddamn eyes. But now that the evidence was right in my face, I couldn’t handle it. “Does this have anything to do with your MC?” I struck him again.

  Of course, he couldn’t exactly answer me.

  Least effective way to interrogate anyone: lose your fucking shit all over their face while asking them questions they’d never answer anyway.

  “You’re just a fucking psycho, is that what you’re telling me?”

  I slammed him in the face again, and blood spurt from his nose.

  Then I released him and stood up. He slumped on the floor, groaning.

  I turned away, panting, fucking raging… half of me wanting to walk right out the door, and the other half wanting to pick up that power drill and slam it through his heart.

  Instead, I grabbed the TV remote. I snapped it in two, tossing one piece aside. The other piece, in my hand, was pretty much a jagged plastic knife.

  “Well, look at that,” Maddox said, sounding halfway impressed. “You just made yourself a shiv.” He slipped Sanchuk’s phone into his back pocket, and while he was still pretending not to give a fuck, he took a step closer. But he didn’t try to stop me.

  I stood over Sanchuk with my newly minted weapon and what had to be a scary-as-fuck look on my face. I was kinda scaring myself at this point.

  But the adrenalin and the rage were keeping me going.

  Sanchuk scrambled away from me on all fours like a wounded crab. “You’re just gonna let him kill me?” he asked Maddox. “I can… I can tell you things. About the Bastards.”

  Right. So now he was willing to sing like a canary to save his own ass.

  So much for brotherhood.

  Maddox leaned on the nearby wall, watching. “Kill? Looks to me like he’s about to cut off your balls, which might be worse for you, all things considered. But since you’re a fuckin’ pervert who’s been stalking his woman, I’m not feelin’ too inclined to stop him.”

  Sanchuk went white… as he finally got the fucking picture. That this was so much worse than he’d thought it was.

  That this was personal.

  That he was looking at Summer’s man, standing right over him.

  “If I were you,” Maddox went on, “I’d start talking before he permanently changes your channel.”

  “It’s sharp,” I said, turning the weapon in my hand. “But not that sharp. Might take a while. You’ll probably have to hold him down for me…”

  Sanchuk held up his hand to ward me off. “I wasn’t gonna hurt her.”

  “Riiight,” Maddox drawled. “You were just gonna break into her house to serenade her with hymns.”

  “I… I was high,” Sanchuk said. He was getting desperate. But his face was flushing red now, because he was also getting angry. His hands were shaking as he tried to sop up the blood pouring from his nose. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “Try again,” I said.

  “I just wanted to talk to her.”

  “Try. Again.”

  “You,” he spat, blood and saliva flying. “You don’t fucking deserve her. You don’t even know her. And you can’t make me stay away from her.”

  I laughed. Did he just fucking say that to me?

  “Oh, fucking yes, I can.”

  “You have no right,” he said, and his voice lowered to a growl, like a wounded dog with no way out. “She used to talk to me. You said something to her. You made her stop talking to me.”

  “Think you arranged that yourself,” Maddox said. “With your fuckin’ charm.”

  “No. No, you don’t know. Her music speaks to me,” he grit out, with so much force that he spit through his teeth.

  And now I was starting to get the picture. Of just how crazy this asshole was.

  There was something so deeply wrong in his eyes, it made my neck itch.

  “Jesus,” Maddox said. “How much meth you need to smoke to believe the shit comin’ outta your mouth right now?”

  “I just wanted to talk to her,” Sanchuk repeated, in a feral growl that rattled right through his clenched teeth.

  I got down in front of him, and poked the tip of my remote control shiv into the hole I’d made with the drill, until I’d forced his head back against the wall and he had nowhere left to go—and the weapon in my hand had nowhere left to go but into his jugular.

  “Oh, no. No. You’re never talking to her. You’re never getting near her, ever again.”

  He swallowed, and blood oozed out of the hole.

  “See, that drill? I brought it in here. I use it against you, it shows forethought, premeditation, all that shit. Bad idea, right? But who knows. Maybe I just came in here to talk, and you pulled that gun on me. I had no choice but to use the only thing I could… this TV remote… in self-defense.”

  “I…” he tried to say something, his voice garbled, but I pressed the jagged plastic deeper and he shut up.

  “Who do you think th
e cops are gonna believe? Me? The bodyguard of the woman you terrorized? Or you, the asshole who violated his restraining order tonight and as a consequence, ended up bleeding out with a broken remote control in his throat in some shit hole motel?”

  My words were calm, even cold. But I was trembling with anger, with adrenaline, as I held myself back. Struggling to keep thinking straight… as every lizard brain impulse in me told me to go ahead and make him hurt for what he’d done to Summer.

  For how he’d scared her and made her feel unsafe in her own home, in her own fucking life, when all she’d ever wanted to do was make people happy with her music.

  And for whatever he’d been trying to do to her when he climbed the wall of her house and tried to break into her bedroom.

  But something was holding me back.

  A sense of humanity? Sanity?

  Fear of going to prison for the rest of my life for murdering a man with a TV remote in some nasty motel room?

  Then I froze. I barely even heard the knock on the door through the pounding in my skull. But my eyes met Maddox’s.

  He slipped over to the door and looked out the peephole, and my mind raced…

  Motel manager.

  Police.

  Bloody Bastards?

  Then Maddox opened the fucking door faster than I could get to my feet.

  Piper was standing outside, and he wasn’t smiling. He walked in, with two of the guys he’d been with at the club tonight. And Blazer.

  “You called your fucking club brothers?” I spit out, as Maddox shut the door. I couldn’t fucking believe it, and yet, of course I could. These assholes always stuck together.

  When he went to park the van, or maybe before that, Maddox had been on the phone, spilling everything to his fucking VP.

  “Hey, now,” Blazer said. “What kinda welcome is that?”

  Piper was looking around the room, taking everything in, his cold, serious eyes finally landing on Sanchuk on the floor. And me standing over him with my ridiculous shiv.

  There was blood on the floor and the wall. Sanchuk’s blood. His face was beaten, his nose, arm and neck were bleeding, and my knuckles were battered.

  I must’ve looked like a fucking psycho.

  So maybe I wasn’t so different from any of these guys after all.

  Maybe I was just as fucked-up as they all were, and this moment was the hard proof.