by Caisey Quinn
“Yeah, um, me too.” She glanced at the small cabin to her left. Must be where she was staying for now. Van filed that information away for future reference. Trying to form a complete thought while her exposed skin begged to be touched was proving damn near impossible.
“Walk you to your door?” Van flinched at his own words. Apparently his mouth was just working on its own now, flying solo instead of consulting his brain first. It must’ve been the right thing to say though, because her eyes lightened, the stormy shade they’d been clearing, and she grinned at him like he’d made her whole damned day. She didn’t say anything, just bit her full bottom lip and nodded. He held out his arm and she took it. A breeze blew past, wafting her delicious scent to him as they made their way to her door. Together.
Oh fuck.
It all made sense now. He was dead. He’d OD’d and died after the party and this was Heaven. Or maybe it was Hell. Because as far as he could tell, Val wasn’t here. He was probably going to spend eternity wanting this perfect creature he could never have. Well, that was a fitting punishment. Probably could’ve been worse.
“Your name isn’t really Walker, is it?” the demon of desire asked, pulling him from his painful realization.
“No. It’s Ransom.” Guess they don’t have a roster in hell. “I’m in a band and my manager makes me check into these places under a pseudonym. Not that the shit doesn’t always get out anyways.”
“Ah. So why Walker?”
Van laughed, low and deep. “You know, as in Johnnie. It’s my drink of choice so I use it to piss Sid off.”
“Sid?”
“My manager.”
She nodded, but her beautiful face still held traces of confusion. Good Lord she was actually trying to figure him out. He couldn’t imagine why in the world she would want to.
He ran a hand through his hair and tried to explain. “We have an understanding. He tries to turn me into someone I’m not and I keep being the asshole I’ve always been.”
“Interesting.”
“Nah, not really.”
She took a deep breath, probably realizing she’d just wasted five minutes of her life that she could never get back on his sorry ass. “So, Mr. Ransom, can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Do you think everyone deserves a second chance?” Her eyes clouded up again and he didn’t know if she was asking about him personally or something else entirely.
Glancing from side to side, to remind her of their surroundings, he gave her a sardonic grin. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
She laughed, a light, sweet sound that warmed him in a way he’d never experienced before. “Yeah, good point. Stupid question I guess.”
“You don’t strike me as a woman who asks stupid questions.”
She met his gaze and shrugged, drawing his attention to her smooth shoulder. He clamped his mouth shut so he didn’t add that she struck him as the type of woman who kept everything under control in her day-to-day life and pretended she liked to be on top when in reality she wanted to be broken and made to beg. He had to take a deep breath in an attempt to clear the images from his mind.
“Speaking of questions, any chance you wanna tell me your name? Or I can just call you Beautiful. Either way.” He almost groaned out loud. But she rolled her eyes and smiled. She’d been crying when he found her, and he’d made her laugh and smile. Twice. Not that he was keeping track. Oh, who the fuck was he kidding? Hell yeah he was keeping track.
“It’s Stella. Stella Chandler. My family calls me Stella Jo but, um, I haven’t been home in a while.”
Even her damn name was beautiful. And good God, that sexy Southern drawl was more addicting than any drug had ever been. He could listen to her talk forever. Maybe Hell wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“And where is home, Stella Jo Chandler?” He rocked on his heels as she leaned against the door of her little house.
“It’s here. I mean, not here here, but near here. Shit.”
She shook her head, and he could tell she was embarrassed. But he couldn’t think of much else because her perfect mouth forming the curse word and the flush in her cheeks that followed made him instantly hard. Jesus, he had to get away from her before she noticed.
“A ranch several hours north of here is home, or where my parents live, or whatever. I went to college at Texas A&M and then came straight here so…”
So she only lived a few hours from home and she didn’t go back. Ever? He wondered why. Not that he didn’t understand. He’d grown up in New York and taken off for LA as soon as he could afford a car that would make the drive. He’d never been back either.
Silence stretched out between them, and she glanced back at her door. It was getting dark and he didn’t know the land well enough to get back to where he was supposed to be. Even though leaving her felt like a horrible idea, something told him that whatever was singeing between them wouldn’t last much longer.
“I better get going. It was nice to meet you, Stella Jo.”
He held out a hand and she shook it. When her fingers grazed his palm, he had to square his shoulders to keep from letting a shiver through. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Walker, um, Mr. Ransom.”
“Van,” he told her with a grin.
“Van,” she repeated softly.
Damn, his name sounded so good in her mouth. Nearly made him as hard as hearing her curse had.
“Goodnight.” Beautiful, he wanted to add but figured it would come off like a lame attempt at a pick-up line and he’d already reached his quota for the evening.
“Goodnight,” she whispered. She smiled and turned her back on him, letting herself into the house and closing the door.
“Sweet dreams, Beautiful,” he said quietly to no one.
Stella Jo closed her door and leaned against it.
Van Ransom. His name sounded as dangerous as he looked.
He’d caught her in a moment of weakness, reminiscing about home after an excruciating phone call with her mother. And unlike most men, he hadn’t run at the first show of tears. He’d been sweet. Surprisingly gentle. Kind even. And something about him… She couldn’t even explain it to herself. His rough exterior pulled at overpowering urges within her. She’d bet she could smooth out some of those jagged edges. It’d probably be a lot like breaking a horse. But a hell of a lot more fun.
Lying in her new bed later that night while trying her best to fall asleep in unfamiliar surroundings, she succumbed to the desire to learn more about the mysterious man who had taken possession of her thoughts. He’d seemed to have a direct line to her thoughts—and a few other parts of her anatomy.
The new employee manual she’d been reading was sitting on the night table, and under it was the MacBook she’d brought from college. Thankfully the ranch had Wi-Fi that extended to the employee residential area.
Sitting up and turning on the bedside lamp, she fired up the computer. Her generic background greeted her. A nagging thought about how Tess always had a million photos of her friends collaged on her background tugged at her for a second. Ignoring it, she opened the browser and went to her usual search engine. After typing in his name, she waited for the results to load. Mid-yawn she choked on the breath escaping her throat.
The results were in and they were not good. The first article’s title read, “Lead Singer of Hostage for Ransom Collapses. Drugs and Alcohol a Factor.” Okay, well, he was in rehab. She’d expected as much. But as she scrolled down it got worse. So much worse.
According to the headlines, Van Ransom had been in rehab three other times. All three times, he’d been kicked out for one reason or another. He’d punched orderlies and photographers, and he’d even faced assault charges against an unnamed female. Jesus.
And the images. Heaven help her, the images.
A few were tame—tabloid shots of him carrying a cup of coffee, crossing the street, and some seriously hot ones of him and his band. But some wrenched her stomach into a twisted mess of disgust. A cell-p
hone-quality photo of him being arrested for drunk and disorderly, another of several uniformed officers dragging him from the middle of what looked like a bar fight, and a horrific mug shot.
She clicked on the image of his face from where he was featured on the cover of Rolling Stone. His steely eyes stared up at her and she was lost in him. The tagline read: Van Ransom, Madman or Just Misunderstood?
She had no intentions of finding out. Whatever had happened between them today, that was history. Probably mostly in her imagination anyways. From now on, she’d be strictly professional when it came to all things involving Van Ransom.
Monday morning, Stella had new employee orientation. During the presentation that covered much of what she’d already read in the manual she’d been given, she learned that SCR was also owned and operated by a company called Alliance Health. Alliance had faced some financial difficulty, and a country singer whose name was familiar had backed a complete renovation last year.
After filling out paperwork for health and life insurance, tax purposes, a retirement plan, and stock options, she was feeling like quite the grown up. And she was more than ready for the break for lunch.
The Atrium was a glassed-in café-style enclosure behind the welcome area. Stella purchased a grilled chicken salad and a bottle of water using her shiny new employee badge and seated herself at a back corner table. Several of the new employees in her training session were nurses. Either they’d already known each other or just formed fast friendships. Laughing loudly as they converged on the table beside her, none of them even glanced in her direction.
She wondered how people bonded so quickly. She’d never been so hot at relationships with humans. Animals were another story. They needed you, trusted you unconditionally unless you gave them a reason not to, and never set out to hurt you. Even though, like people, sometime they did. She had the scars to prove it.
“…so hot, bet his dick is pierced.”
“I plan to find out. I’ll report back to y’all. Soon.”
Giggles erupted, and Stella had the odd sensation of warping back in time to high school. The conversation from the table full of nurses spilled over onto her, nearly causing her to choke on her water. They weren’t even trying to be quiet. So much for professionalism.
“Not if I get to him first,” an attractive blonde in black scrubs announced.
Possessive jealousy pinched her nerves. She had an overwhelming feeling of certainty that they were talking about Van. Or maybe she just thought they were talking about him because he’d taken up permanent residence in the back of her mind.
“This seat taken?” A deep male voice startled her out of her thoughts.
Blinking, she looked up, half-expecting to see steel-gray eyes and tattoos. What she actually saw was a blond man in a white coat with a smile fit for a toothpaste commercial.
“Um, no?”
He chuckled softly and lowered himself into the seat across from her. “Dr. Tyler, but you can call me David.” He offered her his hand.
She shook it and smiled. It was kind of nice not to be sitting alone. And she wanted to get to know her colleagues, not shut everyone out like she’d been doing for far too long.
“Nice to meet you. I’m—”
“Stella Chandler, the new patient care coordinator,” he broke in. “Or client care coordinator. Whatever they’re calling themselves these days.”
She bit her lip and gave the doctor an apprehensive shake of her head. “How did you—”
Before she could finish the question, he grinned and gestured to her ID badge. Oh, yeah. Right. That was going to take some getting used to.
“Of course. I’m an idiot.” She laughed nervously, and the man across from her smiled.
With a wink, he eased her anxieties. “Nah, actually I knew because everyone kept talking about a pretty new brunette joining the staff and I knew the moment I saw you that you had to be her.”
Stella’s eyebrows shot up. She couldn’t tell if he was serious, but she had a strict policy about not dating anyone she worked with. A failed relationship would lead to her being miserable—or at the very least, uncomfortable—at work. And if things didn’t work out at SCR, the only other place to go was the absolute last place she wanted to be.
Giving the doctor a smirk she hoped would discourage any more come-ons, she rolled her eyes. “They were probably referring to someone else. But thank you.”
Dr. Tyler opened his mouth to respond, but a sharp squeal from the table next to them interrupted him.
“Oh my God, there he is.” Several of the nurses began whispering and nudging each other as the one who’d squealed pointed across the Atrium.
As if he’d been conjured by the potent combination of the nurses’ running commentary and Stella’s thoughts, Van Ransom stepped into the Atrium with another man. The two of them were joined by a statuesque blond woman in a coat identical to Dr. Tyler’s. Stella watched at they shook hands.
In her periphery, she was aware that the nurses at the nearby table twitching like cats in heat were practically falling out of their chairs to get a good look. Swallowing hard, she forced her eyes away from him.
Her not dating men she worked with was an umbrella policy that definitely included not getting involved with patients slash clients where she worked.
“So how long have you worked at SCR?” she asked, focusing her full attention on the man across from her. Whose name she’d forgotten. Thank God for ID badges.
“Long enough to know that guy won’t make it through the program.” Dr. Tyler jerked his head toward Van. His voice took on a snide tone that made her nerves twist in annoyance.
She took a drink of her water and composed herself before saying something she shouldn’t. “That’s a pretty negative outlook to have. Especially since he just got here. Not a very fair assessment, is it?”
He rolled his light blue eyes. “God, not you too. I expect the ditzy nurses to fawn all over these types, but you actually looked like a girl with a decent head on her shoulders.”
Whoa. Stella felt her blood pressure rising. “Excuse me? Just what the he—um, what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Dr. Tyler began, leaning in toward her, “guys like that don’t come here for actual help. The come here because someone in charge of their career says they have to. Surely you’re smart enough to recognize a thoroughbred loser when you see one.”
The man who’d been kind to her the day before didn’t have a single loser quality about him as far as she’d seen. This one, on the other hand…
Stella’s body ejected out of her seat without her having officially deciding to get up. Her knee bumped the table and it smarted like hell, but sheer adrenaline protected her from the brunt of the pain. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I was raised on a horse ranch, so I do recognize a thoroughbred loser when I see one.” She glared down at Dr. Prettyboy McAsshole.
“Calm down. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He stood and came around to her side of the table, effectively blocking her view of the rest of the room. “Sit back down before you make a scene.”
“Dr. Tyler, I can assure you, the only one making a scene is you. What a shame that someone in charge of helping people who need it is such a judgmental ass,” she hiss-whispered in his face.
As soon as the words left her mouth, his strong hand gripped her upper arm, while the other rested on her lower back. Eyes widening in surprise, she jerked backward in an attempt to free herself from his grasp.
“Get your goddamn hands off her. Now.”
The throaty voice was male. And eerily calm. Now had come out low and with the promise of violence behind it.
Chills shocked her spine and ran clear to her toes at the sound. It must have caught Dr. Tyler off guard too, because he dropped her arm like she’d caught fire. Kind of felt like she might have.
“Van, come on.” The same bald man who’d been with him the day before had a hand on Van’s arm and was doing his best to convince him to back a
way. Probably a good idea since his eyes had murder in them. They were only getting darker as he advanced in her direction.
It felt like the whole room had stopped to take in the scene. This was the stuff Stella’s nightmares were made of. Every nurse at the table next to them gaped at the show. All they were missing was the popcorn.
“I’m fine. If you’ll excuse me,” she said, edging around both Dr. Tyler and Van on her way out.
Her intention was to leave. Because that was the adult thing to do. Walk away and all that. But those nurses were still staring at Van like he was a piece of meat. So she stopped, and turned, giving them her best Texas pageant princess smile even though she’d never been in a pageant in her life.
“Y’all are gonna catch flies in those big open mouths if you’re not careful.”
And then she hightailed it out of there and back to the conference room where orientation was being held. So she could wait for someone to come fire her in peace.
“The son of a bitch grabbed her, Sid.” Van paced in his overcrowded room. “What was I supposed to do? Just sit there while he assaulted her?”
“Lower your voice,” his manager commanded. “I get it. I saw. Not that it doesn’t warm my cold, dead heart to see you suddenly turning into some random woman’s knight in shining armor, but you picked a damn fine time to do it. You get kicked out of here Van, and that’s it. No deal. No Epitaph. No band. No me.”
“Yeah, I get it,” he grumbled, dropping heavily onto the couch by his bed. “Just couldn’t find much cause to care at that particular moment.” Because Sid was wrong. She wasn’t some random woman. And apparently he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. Dr. Aggressive Ass had come very close to getting a special lesson on how to keep his hands to himself. Van had just finished his very first therapy session. It hadn’t gone well and he wasn’t in the mood to see some white coat dickhead pawing the woman he hadn’t been able to get out of his head.
Sid left him alone to stew in his residual anger. If this were real life, instead of this messed-up parallel rehab universe where he actually cared about someone other than himself, he’d get high about now. His body felt weak, drained. The darkness threatened to surface and he craved that feeling of power. The rush from his confrontation in the Atrium was fading, lowering him quickly into the viper pit of hell that was solitude.