Dark Seduction: Millennium Mayhem MC

by Naomi West

  Pierce took another calming breath, trying not to show Clay how much he was getting under his skin. “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”

  Clay opened and closed his mouth like a fish, unsure of how to respond. Pierce chuckled darkly, but didn’t say anything else, opting instead to stand behind Felice, resuming the bodyguard duties she so obviously needed when Clay was around. He didn’t want Clay dripping any more of his poison into her ears; he was so good at saying just the right thing to make Felice feel like shit. “I hate that power he has over her.”

  Filming started, and they had Felice and Pierce ride in on a motorcycle, posing several times for the camera before they were happy with the takes. Clay remained on set somehow, grumbling the whole time about shitty acting skills, which Pierce pointedly ignored.

  “This kid is really trying to start a fight, and I don’t think he knows what he’s begging for. Little shit has probably never been in a real fight; I’d punch him through a wall.”

  But instead of allowing his baser instincts to take hold, Pierce took a deep breath and buckled down, forcing himself to ignore everything that came out of Clay’s mouth. Unhappy, he and Felice got to work, doing the best they could to block the sound of Clay’s whining.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Felice

  Felice’s mouth was dry as she stepped into the so-called “Confession Booth,” where the Domiano family could spill their guts in “private” about whatever was happening on the show. Felice always felt weird about talking to the camera like it was a priest in a confessional, but the producers loved it.

  Sitting down in front of the signature red curtains, Felice waited for the light to come on, trying to formulate what she was going to say. Her head was empty. So much had happened, but she couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. Mind blank, Felice sat down in front of the lens and stared forward as the makeup artists flocked around her.

  “Alright, Felice,” the producer James said to her, looking happy to see her back. Felice was a pretty popular part of the show, and he’d been rather upset when she wasn’t at the house waiting for filming to start. Hopefully she’d more than made up for it by bringing a bad boy for them to film. “Whenever you are ready.”

  The light came on, signaling silence to the crew. Everyone was staring at her, their eyes trained on her face. But she couldn’t think of anything to say, so she stared dumbly off into the corner.

  But then all of a sudden, like a dam breaking, words just started spilling from her mouth. “I spent the last month or so getting my new boyfriend out of jail,” she whispered, her voice like broken glass. “It was horrifying; I knew he didn’t do it, but the police didn’t want to believe. But he is innocent. He’ll not spend a single day in jail, even though he originally ran from them when they tried to pin a murder on him. It was because he was ‘helpful in providing resources to properly close the case.’” Felice was rambling and she knew it, but she seemed unable to stop herself. Her fingers twisted around the hem of her skirt, putting permanent bends in the fabric.

  “So I spent a month with him in his hometown while we waited for the charges to be cleared. I — ” She turned away from the camera, her eyes filled with something forlorn. “I wanted us to get back to normal, get back to dating and getting to know one another better. But then — ”

  The staff were all staring at her, all of them holding their breath. Tears pricked the edges of her eyes, blurring the whole world. “But then, I found out I was pregnant,” she whispered, closing her eyes as the crew silently gaped at her. “Having a bad boy biker for my boyfriend is all well and good, but a bad boy biker father of a baby?” Her insecurities poured out of her like a faucet turned on full blast. “What kind of life would that be for our child? Can he be a good dad?”

  Wiping her tears away with shaking fingers, she seemed unable to stop the tremendous flow of words that had been hiding behind her lips. “Maybe, just maybe, I need someone a little more stable. But then again, Pierce might be that man. What do I do? Should I tell him? Should I — ” Tears finally overwhelmed her words and she sobbed at the camera, burying her face in her hands. “Is this what I should be doing?

  “I haven’t told anyone; not my mother or my family or even Pierce. I don’t know if I want him to know. I don’t know if I — ”

  Felice stopped mid-sentence as the sound of scream came from the other side of the soundproofing of the confession booth, muffled but loud enough for her to hear. Voices cried out, and Felice was on her feet in a second.

  She ran out into the living room of her mother’s home, fearing the worst.

  And unfortunately, her fears were realized.

  Clay and Pierce were hitting each other, their fists up and in fighting position. The world slowed down as Clay took a swing at Pierce’s face, only to be blocked by Pierce’s arm. He looked cold, colder than any human being should be allowed to look. There was nothing left in him that Felice recognized, and her heart froze into a solid block of ice inside of her chest.

  Crying out, Felice ran to them as they swung at one another.

  # # #

  Pierce

  “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” Clay said, his whole body quivering with rage.

  Pierce looked away from him, trying to master his anger. “Please fuck off, Clay.”

  But the pretty-boy ex of Felice’s wouldn’t shut up; he would never shut up. He followed Pierce around the house, spitting accusations. He called him low-class, revolting, and ugly, hoping for something that would sting, a weakness he could exploit. But Pierce held firm, continuing to do his best to keep away from the brat.

  “Can you do something about all of the noise in here?” Pierce asked Dolores as he made his fifth lap around the house, Clay close on his heels. He wouldn’t shut up, and the sound of his voice was grating on Pierce’s nerves.

  Dolores chuckled. “You seem to have picked up a duckling somewhere.” Then her face became serious as she turned to Clay. “If you want to stay in my home, Clay, you will leave Pierce alone. Any more of this, and we’ll have you removed.”

  Clay backed down, leaving Pierce in peace as he walked into the kitchen. Dolores’ taste was a lot more colorful than Felice’s, and the too-bright yellow walls actually made him miss that monochromatic white house. It had been too long since they were there; he missed it like he imagined he’d miss home, if he’d ever had one.

  Despite the rules laid out by Dolores, it didn’t take long for Clay to find a way around them. As Pierce, much calmer after a quiet moment in the kitchen, came back to sit with the producers, Clay decided to join in on the discussion, interrupting Pierce with every word.

  “So, we’re going to have more of you on the motorcycle,” one of the crew said. His eyes were wide and glittered with the idea of filming all of those “action scenes” with Pierce. “We’ll probably take some more stock footage of you on the bike tomorrow morning, if the weather is clear.”

  “Whatever you would — ” Pierce started.

  But Clay was ready, interrupting his words with a kind of malicious glee. “It would be better if you filmed those scenes at night; it would have more of an impact.”

  “I don’t care when — ” he started, grinding his teeth.

  Clay interrupted again. “Oh, let the professionals talk; you just don’t know how these things work.”

  Grinding his teeth together, Pierce shut his mouth, listening with growing anger as Clay tried to alter all of the scenes Pierce would be in. Every time Pierce opened his mouth, Clay would be there, loud and juvenile, to yell over his words.

  It didn’t take long for Pierce to snap. “All right, Clay. You need to shut the hell up.”

  The little snob laughed; even his laugh was annoying. He sounded like a braying donkey. “And who is going to make me shut up?” he asked, gleeful.

  Pierce knew he was playing right into his hands, but couldn’t seem to stop himself. Red tinged his view of the room as he stood up. “Stop acting l
ike a child,” Pierce growled, his fingers forming fists as he stood from the couch. “She doesn’t want you anymore. These games, the rumors you spread around to hurt her, make you looked obsessed. All you’re doing is hurting her; don’t you care?”

  Clay laughed. “All I’m doing is helping her to make the right decision. Besides, she doesn’t need my help ruining her reputation. You two did that for me, all on your own.”

  Dolores stepped in between the two of them, no emotion on her pretty face. “Clay, Pierce. Both of you shut up before I throw you both out of my house.”

  But Pierce could no longer hear her, no longer see her. All that was left was the sound of his blood boiling in his veins, the tunnel of red around his vision that cut out all of the world except for Clay.

  “I’m going to kill him.” Without his permission, Pierce’s feet started to move toward him, his body an unstoppable train. He walked around Dolores, her protests falling on deaf ears.

  Clay’s stupid, childish face looked so smug. Pierce was ready to punch that expression right off of his spoiled little mug; this would be a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget. But as he reached Clay, his hands balled into fists and his face full of rage, Felice’s voice cut through his mind. “You shouldn’t be fighting Clay; you’re only giving him what he wants,” her voice said, so clear that he was tempted to look around and see if she was actually in the room.

  Sighing, Pierce turned away from Clay, his voice still trembling with rage. “Look, man, say what you want, but Felice doesn’t want you here anymore; she’s tired of being with a cheating, lying sack of spoiled shit. So just go, okay? You’re not going her any good by being here.”

  But it was pretty clear, at least to Pierce, that Clay didn’t care about Felice’s feelings at all. Especially when Clay took a swing at him, his fist barely missing as Pierce jumped back. “Stop it, Clay, or I will kick your ass.”

  But Clay swung again, and Pierce put up his fists. He wasn’t going to stand here and let this asshole take swings at him. So he swung a fist out, hooking his arm, aiming for the little prick’s temple, hoping to end it quick.

  Despite his lack of skill, Clay was fast. He ducked away from Pierce’s fist, sliding across the floor and swinging his arms like a cartoon at Pierce’s back.

  Someone screamed, something broke. The sounds of glass shattering filled the room, but still Pierce kept his eyes locked on his prey.

  “What is going on here? Stop!” Felice’s voice said from behind Pierce. Instantly, he backed away from Clay, keeping his hands in a defensive position. But Clay wasn’t going to give up. He followed him back, his limbs swinging around in an imitation of karate movies that would have made Pierce laugh if the situation hadn’t been so dire.

  “I said stop!” Felice was in between them, putting her face violently into theirs. Clay pushed her aside, his eyes only for Pierce. “YOU CAN’T PUSH ME, CLAY; I’M PREGNANT,” Felice suddenly screamed.

  But still, Clay remained focused only on Pierce.

  Pierce’s concentration, however, was completely gone. He turned to Felice, his eyes huge in his face. “You’re what?”

  A fist came from his right side, smashing into his temple with the force of a car crash. The last noise Pierce heard before the world went black was Clay chuckling.

  The little asshole thought he won.

  Perhaps he had.

  Chapter Thirty

  Felice

  “Well, if nothing else, you won that horrible bet you made with your brother.” Dolores was sitting on the outdoor couch, looking out across her land, a cigarette between two fingers. Back when Felice was a child, Dolores had been a hand model; it was the way she’d started her strange career. Her hands were still very beautiful, even though age was starting to swell her joints ever so slightly. Before all that, they had been a normal, middle class family, until her mother married some rich old man for his money.

  The Domiano Empire had been built off of that foundation, exploding into the reality show and fashion empire the world knew today.

  Felice wished none of it had ever happened. She wanted to be an anonymous girl without a string of reporters looking for her every fault. She wanted the cameras out of her face, to not be followed around by paparazzi like ducklings after their mother.

  They sat in silence for a long time. Felice didn’t care that she’d won the bet with Matt. She didn’t care about the extra money coming to her; no matter how many zeroes she added to her bank account, none of it mattered.

  Pierce…

  But he wasn’t the father that her child needed. He’d proven himself unable to stay out of a fight for five minutes. The damned cameras had eaten it up, but Felice could feel the stress of it filling her veins. No matter how unhappy it made her, her unborn child mattered more than what her heart told her.

  It was time to let Pierce Normandy go.

  There was only one man who could make her feel more secure, who could give her baby the father it deserved. There was only one who could fix her reputation, too, putting her career and her show back on track this season. The market research was clear.

  That man was Clay Patterson.

  Sneering, Felice threw her head back against the couch, her hand automatically going to her belly. She knew she wouldn’t feel anything just yet, kicking under the surface of her skin, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from trying.

  Dolores was studying her when Felice looked back over at her mother. “What is it?” she asked quietly, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

  “What are you going to do now?” Dolores looked like she was aching to tell Felice exactly what to do, mostly out of habit, but was holding back to see what she’d decide on her own. Smoke spilled out of her nose and mouth.

  Felice glanced down at her shoes. “I’m going to put my life and reputation back together. If the show wants Clay, we’ll give them Clay back. I’m going to build a family for the TV audience until they love me again.” She sounded a little like a robot saying it, her voice empty and lifeless. “I need to put everything back together,” she repeated, more like she was trying to convince herself rather than her mother.

  Dolores frowned, taking another long pull on her smoke. The acidic smelling scent of the cigarette reminded her acutely of Pierce; it cut deep into her ribs, piercing her heart. But she ignored the pain. She had to look forward to the future.

  The pain would fade soon, leaving her with nothing but wonderful memories and a quiet life with her child.

  And soon, Pierce would forget her, too.

  # # #

  Pierce

  “I’ll never get her out of my head.” Pierce took a long swig from the Jack Daniel’s bottle, drowning his sorrows in deep brown liquor. Even after a good part of the bottle, the pain of losing Felice still cut him deeply. He was bleeding out all over the dirty carpet of this shitty motel room, his heart empty of anything but pain.

  “I should apologize for everything I’ve done.” But he remembered Felice’s wild outburst, her screaming at him. “How dare you start a fist fight like a criminal in my house!”

  Felice was right; she didn’t need a loser like him tangling up her life. She didn’t want a criminal for a husband or a biker for a father.

  After he’d woken from Clay’s sucker punch, he’d looked over to the couch, finding Clay comforting Felice as she cried. She’d let him. She’d let Clay fucking Patterson comfort her after their fight. That he had started.

  It was proof that Pierce didn’t belong in Felice’s glittering, intense world. He belonged back on the east coast, no matter how much it felt like his heart was being torn from his chest. Pressing his face into his hands, Pierce could feel bile rising in his throat. “She wants a man like Clay, who will help to put her name and her life back together. At least for the crowds.”

  Although he knew that Clay would never make Felice happy, he was too selfish and slimy, at least her sterling reputation would be buffed of all of its tarnish with Clay’s squeaky clean repu
tation. He may have been an asshole, but he was a law-abiding, charity-running asshole that the public adored.

  It was pretty obvious that “the public” had never met him. If they had, they wouldn’t think such nice things about him.

  All that left Pierce alone in a dirty hotel room, waiting for his flight out the next day.

  “I can’t let it end like this. She deserves an apology.”

  Screwing the top back on his bottle of liquor, Pierce dialed her number from the hotel’s phone. He felt dizzy with regret.

  “Felice,” a familiar voice said on the other line, her voice empty. She sounded hollow, and Pierce’s soul cried out at the sound of that beautiful voice gone flat.