Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1)

by Lyrica Creed

  “Sure. How rude of me.” The other man appraised her with undisguised interest, but his once over seemed respectful. This respect didn’t carry over to a statuesque beauty in a barely-there skin-tight dress, who happened by. When his palm landed smack on her backside, she squealed. Turning back, she giggled, and he stopped speaking to Gage long enough to address her with his hand up. “What’re you looking at? Get the hell outta here.” In five smooth seconds, the girl had disappeared from sight.

  They’d worked their way inside while talking. Scarla soon found herself with an unwanted martini on the rocks in her hand. Reading Gage’s look, she knew to roll with it, so she sipped at it while following the two down a hallway.

  By the time they made it to an airy room, they’d picked up a small entourage, and the door closed behind them. Gage indicated a chair, and after holding his pinned gaze a moment, she let her knees bend and sat on the edge of the cushion.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised when he pulled a bag from his jacket pocket. As before, his look had already warned her to be prepared―to remain cool.

  Gage’s offering was served up as a dozen fat white lines geometrically adorning a crystal tray. These were hoovered one by one up nostrils, and their host turned to her. The invitation was clear, and she gulped the sip in her mouth as she took in the two remaining rails.

  Stepping forward, blocking her line of sight, Gage glowered. “She doesn’t party.”

  “No?” This seemed to be a clear surprise to anyone listening. She could almost hear the unsaid. What’s she doing with you then? But it didn’t disrupt the main dialogue. None of the men even looked to her for confirmation when he answered for her. Everything she’d seen from the men here since crossing into this casa of craziness bordered on misogyny—or maybe simply apathy toward women.

  She traced the condensation on her glass, noting how Gage kept the conversation going and expertly gleaned the information they wanted. “Where’s Pax?”

  “New York.”

  “He doesn’t even slow down for his own parties, huh?”

  “Dog’s always got something going.”

  As they talked, she looked away from the uncomfortable scene of Gage and drugs. What had happened to her sweet, overprotective brother? Once, he would have beaten the shit out of anyone daring to do drugs in her presence. Now he was the one doing it.

  “Who’d he go with?”

  “Who you want to know about?”

  “A girl. Blonde hair to about here.” Gage tapped his hand against one of his belt loops.

  “Ah, Ivy.”

  Scar sat up straighter and looked before she could help herself. Jerking her eyes away to the window and beyond, she watched the twinkle of lights in the dusky horizon.

  “Hotter than a firecracker that one. No, he’s with some Kardashian-looking chick currently. But no one went with him to New York. It was a family thing.”

  “Know where I can find the firecracker?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “She may be working at Rock and Reilly’s.” Another guy piped up.

  Gage nodded and tipped his head toward her in a ‘come-hither’ motion. Putting out his hand, he bumped fists with a few of the guys and said his goodbyes. She noticed he left behind whatever was in his bag, and he grabbed her hand as they made their way to the front entrance.

  Too late, she realized she should have kept her gaze straight ahead. Or down. Or anywhere except through one of the doorways they passed. The door was an ornate iron and glass design. There was even a sidelight, offering a better view into the game room. Two pool tables dominated near the center, and a woman, naked as the day she was born was bent over one, her head in the lap of one man and another rutting behind her. The sight pulled her gaze, and the moment they’d passed, she whipped her look to Gage. His eyes hadn’t strayed. Obviously, he was more suave than she in the midst of such debauchery. She pressed closer to his side and he squeezed her hand. Comforting. Maybe he had seen…

  Outside, she was again transfixed by the view, and suddenly the steep cliffs terrified her. “You’re not driving, right?”

  “Why? Who would be driving?”

  “Not you.” She was firm.

  As their argument over driving continued, another person from the party emerged from the house. “Rem. Thought you were gone.” The man moved in, extending his arm. “Hey, heard you were asking about…” Noticing Scar for the first time, he trailed off. “…someone.”

  Gage extracted the fob from his pocket and passed it to her, a clear indication to go ahead to the car. The locks disengaged when she neared. Seating herself in the driver’s side, she strained her ears, but their voices didn’t carry.

  She now understood why she was getting nowhere prior to Gage joining her search. These beautiful people were elite and aloof. They spoke of trivial things in mixed company, and when it came to matters of any importance, spoke only to other beautiful people.

  Gage folded into the passenger side of the car and sighed his acceptance of her behind the wheel. “Creep down this road. And I mean creep.”

  “What did he say?” She coasted to a stop at the end of the drive instead of turning onto the twisty road. Suddenly, she was fearful of navigating the hairpin turns now when it was dark. She became irritated at Gage for his partaking of whatever was in the bag. Sucking in a fortifying breath, she transferred her foot to the gas and arced onto the road.

  “He remembers her well. Because she had a few bruises. But she wasn’t with Pax anymore when he met her. She was with some actor.”

  From behind, a car careened around a curve. Its brights in the rearview were glaring. Instead of dimming them, the offending driver rode their bumper while laying on the horn before zooming around.

  Temporarily blinded, she blinked and for a second, only saw a dark gulf ahead before jerking the wheel and coming to rest against the canyon wall.

  “Don’t stop here. Too dangerous, Scar. Just keep moving.” His hand settled on her jeaned thigh, fingers closing on her leg in a comforting squeeze. “You okay?”

  “Who the hell was that? And why?”

  “Some people are shitheads.” He seemed to blow it off.

  But she couldn’t help wondering if the incident was related to their questions about Ivy.

  Chapter 11

  “Better?” Gage asked. They were in the pool, a bottle of wine on the edge between them.

  She had finally calmed since the harrowing drive, and she nodded.

  “A little more will make you even better, better,” he teased, while suspending the bottle above her glass. She smiled her answer and he poured. “The roads suck. That’s why I was going to pick you up at the airport. Didn’t want you in a rental, driving in the dark, trying to find my house. Then I fucked up and forgot you.”

  “If bad roads are the price to pay for the view, well worth it.” She ignored his reference to her first night in L.A., and he knew his words were, at best, a half-assed apology. But the mood was so peaceful between them; he didn’t want to bring the aura of their argument the night she had arrived into the atmosphere. Her worried gaze moved over his face. “Do you think it happened because we were asking around about Ivy?”

  “The insane driver tonight? No. There’s a lot of hating goes around in those circles. I’m sure it was someone who recognized my car.”

  “And tried to run you off the road?”

  “No. Just mess with me. Maybe thought it was me driving slow because I shouldn’t have been driving.”

  “Do you do that? Drive when you shouldn’t?”

  “Not usually.”

  “Are there a lot of times you shouldn’t?”

  She’d twisted her inquiry, and he struggled a second to figure out what she was asking before admitting, “Probably.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, Scar. Fuck!”

  “I’m just worried about you.”

  “I know. Don’t be. I’m fine.” What a lie. Had she heard the false flat p
itch of his voice? Quickly he changed the subject. “How long have you and Ivy been friends?”

  “Forever.”

  “I don’t remember her.”

  “Ivy is Vanna.”

  “Vanna? Give me that picture again!” Remembering the plain Jane best friend of his stepsister from their childhood days, he grabbed for her phone. It was no wonder he hadn’t recognized her. Seemed Scarlette wasn’t the only one to change hair color. Vanna, the skinny, ordinary looking little girl with brown hair, had evolved into a blonde beauty. Scar seemed desperate to retrieve her phone from his clutches, and he teased her by swiping through the pictures. “So how did Vanna become Ivy?”

  “Ivannah is her name. She made us all begin calling her Ivy the summer before high school, when she decided to be a movie star.” She made another grab for her phone, and in that instance, he saw why.

  His breath caught, and he knew he should look away from the video in case it was her likeness on the tiny screen… In case it’s her lips on that guy’s junk… And that guy’s mouth on her… Oh, fuck… Okay, there it is. A facial shot. And it’s not her… Thank God.

  The phone flew out of his hand and into hers, and she waded toward the pool incline so fast he had a hard time catching her. “Scarlette, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

  “That’s right. You shouldn’t have.”

  “But since I did… What was I watching?”

  “You don’t know? Really? A big rock star like yourself?”

  He rolled his eyes, as usual, hating the mocking way she said rock star. Her shields seemed to drop and she asked, “Why is it such a big deal? Guys watch this shit all day.”

  “Not all day.” He mumbled the protest. Is that what she was doing with it? Watching it? That was intriguing… And then it hit him. Seth hadn’t been putting on an act in the media room—Scar had been watching the Playboy channel. “It’s not a big deal. You’re right. I was just surprised. But only because we grew up together. And it’s really different, seeing you now.”

  “I understand completely.” Her stance relaxed, shoulders slumping some from their squared-off-to-battle posture.

  But more than that, he heard it in her tone again. The trace of… aversion. And when she talked on, he wanted only to shut her up.

  “It’s been more than strange seeing you the way you are now. With the women and the shit going up your nose—”

  Curving his fingertips beneath her chin, he rubbed his thumb over her lips, stifling the rest of whatever she was about to say. Because with every microfiber of his being, he was tired of hearing the disappointment in her voice. Seeing it in her gaze. His eyes fell closed for a second, and he reopened them to an entirely different view.

  Standing before him wasn’t a disappointed sister. Standing before him was a beautiful woman, and if he was correctly interpreting the new look in her eyes, she was wet from more than the pool. Her throat moved with a gulp, and he sensed her ‘surrender-versus-scram’ moment.

  His phone beeped with an incoming text, and when he automatically looked that way, she took the opportunity to escape. Letting her and the magic of the moment go, he waded back to his cell while calling casually after her, “Rockin’ Reilly’s tomorrow?” Back on track, boy.

  “Yeah.” She turned and paused for a second. “Oh wait. Crap. I’m supposed to meet Colt tomorrow. I don’t know what I was thinking. You were right. I shouldn’t have said I’d go. I’m here to find Ivy.”

  Words he’d have given anything to hear her say the other night. Yet now with the singe of her lush lips still on the callused pad of his thumb, seeing her with someone else was probably exactly what he needed. “Why don’t you get Colt to take you there? To Rockin’ Reilly’s. After all, you just need to see if she’s there or not, right?”

  “Right.” She smiled, but the curve of her lips seemed stiff.

  Turning his attention to the text, he read, and then re-read the next clue in Ivy’s search.

  His instinct was to blurt it out. But when he looked up, she’d disappeared beyond the confines of the house, and he was glad he hadn’t.

  Tipping the wine bottle to his lips, he took a glug. He sincerely hoped Rockin Reilly’s would come through, and they wouldn’t have to resort to the destination mentioned in the text. The house on Outpost was not somewhere he ever wanted to think about again.

  Chapter 12

  The dark road twisted like a snake up the mountain. With each turn, her stomach knotted up more. Meeting Colt for their date was supposed to have been her way of maintaining a level of control. It was her habit with first dates—and sometimes the second and third if she let things go that far.

  Date not going good? Make an excuse and leave. Don’t want a goodbye kiss? Wave and jump in the car. Driving away solved most any uncomfortable moment.

  But Colt had shown up at the house to drop Seth off and had talked her into riding with him. She couldn’t come up with an excuse to refuse him. Now, after an evening observing his suave, flirty behavior, she was sure he had intentionally foiled her plans to take her own car.

  Colt was a hotter than sin rock star. Like Gage. His every move was sexy. Like Gage. The husky rumble of his voice tingled and tickled some very deep places. Like Gage. He was funny and fun. Like Gage.

  So why did she want to run the other direction? Because he’s a rock star. They were disturbed. She knew that better than anyone did. Her mother had never hidden the dirty details of her lineage.

  In the dark confines of the car, she couldn’t see the tattoo on her wrist. But she could feel its presence.

  Scarla’s father, punk rock legend Tyler Conterra, had died of an overdose after a history of drug abuse. At less than two years old, she’d been too young to remember him—not that her parents had married or that he’d been around much according to her mother. What Scarla had witnessed firsthand in later years was the ensuing montage of rocker boyfriends in and out of her mother’s life, each bringing along their own variety of destructive behavior and contributing to her mom’s alcohol and drug addictions. Gage’s father had been the only exception.

  She tried to sneak a look at Colt, but he caught her assessment and curved a sexy grin. What was his vice? More importantly, she knew he had one, so why had she agreed to this date? Had her reasoning been as stupid and rebellious as Gage’s dark look and slight shake of his head when Colt had asked?

  “Hey! Wasn’t that Gage’s house?” She was certain the gate whipping by her window had a winged dragon on it.

  “I want to show you my place.”

  “Oh, no!” Her heart pounded. “Not tonight, thank you.” Thank you? “I’m really tired and… yeah, tired. Really tired.”

  “Gage warned you away from me, didn’t he?”

  “No. In fact, I was going to cancel, and he talked me into it.”

  “Why were you going to cancel?” His lip actually jutted out in semblance of a toddler’s pout.

  “Something came up. See, I’m here in L.A. to see a friend and…” She trailed off, unwilling to tell him about Ivy and unsure where to ramble with that vague fib. So she did what she always did when cornered. Attacked. “Why would he warn me away from you? Should I have been warned?”

  The car idled off the narrow street, in a private drive. The headlights illuminated the resident’s closed gate. His brows drew together, and he swung the vehicle back into the road the way they had come. “I have a reputation for treating women like Kleenexes.”

  “Use them and throw them away.” She nodded, knowing the term. “That kind of goes with the territory, right?” Rock star debauchery.

  “See, you get it.” His frown disappeared, and his smile returned. They bantered back and forth as he punched in the gate code, the dragon gate swung open, and they cruised up the drive. His glower returned when she jumped from the car instead of leaning in for a kiss when he took her hand.

  After coming and going for almost a week, she knew the code for the keypad and pushed open the large entry door. She d
id, however, politely wait for Colt to catch up before entering the foyer.

  Rascal barked a greeting, and his paws clipped the polished floor, the sound coming closer and closer until he pranced before them. She bent to pet him before following him down the hall and descending the stairway behind him to the media room. Runner lights along each level of seating flashed on when she pushed open the door.

  Seth was stretched across the lounger pad with pillows scattered around him. Gage was draped in one of the cushy chairs with one leg resting on a matching ottoman.

  If the chase scene onscreen was any indication, they were in the middle of an action flick. Gage waved her over, but Colt’s voice boomed from behind her when she would have taken the seat next to him.

  “Not corrupting my kid are you, Remington?” He moved into the room, holding the beer he’d apparently detoured by the kitchen for. “This guy leaves the Playboy channel on for kids looking for cartoons to find.”

  “Dad, seriously? Anime is not cartoons.”

  “And neither is what you were watching in here the other day.”

  Realizing she must have been the one to leave the receiver on the channel, she burned with embarrassment.

  Gage broke in, interrupting. “Chill, Colt. I said I was sorry. It won’t happen again.” He hadn’t paused the movie yet. Perhaps he was hoping it would deflect the discussion if it continued to play.

  He had kept his eyes averted from her during the exchange. But when she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, determined to set the record straight, his gaze landed on hers, and his chin moved ever so slightly in a negative shake.

  Colt and Seth left almost immediately, and she was still standing when she turned to Gage. “You shouldn’t have taken the blame. You have to live here.”

  “Well, you’re living here for now. And you’re right. It’s stupid, but it is more accepted for men to be into it.”

  She felt a tug in her chest—a déjà vu of Gage in older brother protective mode. Like when he’d stepped in front of her screaming mother and lied, saying he and his friends had trashed the den.