Wayne Ketchum.
Press was limited. A ceremony such as this in Tinsletown was almost a guarantee that someone would be a known name or have a close friend or relative in the audience looking on.
“What are you doing here?” Normally, she was friendly with press and paparazzi. But the unwanted attention of this particular one throughout the past months brought out the worst in her.
“We need to talk. Your security team guards your home like the White House. And your mother won’t give me your phone number to set up a meeting, which I realize would be the polite way of doing things.”
“It would,” she agreed coolly, and backed up a step since he was advancing as he spoke. “Give my publicist a ring.” Automatically, she pulled one of the business cards from the pocket of her phone case. But suddenly he was so close, she could feel his breath. The card glided to the floor. “Really, Mr. Ketchum.” Yeah, that surprised him. He blinked upon hearing she knew his name. “Now isn’t the time.”
Double doors to her left led to the balcony of the auditorium. She wasn’t sure if he was familiar with the layout, or if he got lucky when he clamped a hand on her arm, dragging her through them. She jerked away as the doors swung closed behind them. Since everyone had vacated the auditorium—at least this section of it—there was no traffic on the stairs. Her heart pounded in fear as a realization settled. They were unlikely to be interrupted, and he was blocking her exit. Her neck craned upward as she contemplated escaping up the stairs. She did put the distance of a few steps up between them and decided she would scream if he closed in again.
“Fine.” She forced bravado into her mutter of assent. “I’m listening. You have one minute.”
He smiled and it was then she thought of how many different types of smiles there were. A truly happy smile was only a fraction of his expression. His lips held a sneering curve while he assessed her, as if taking note of something for the first time. And then his mouth thinned into a line and his smug demeanor faltered some.
‘Ghosted’ was her first thought. But he’d observed her for months. He’d had plenty of time to see her father in her face.
“Scarlette Ketchum.” His beady eyes studied her reaction to these puzzling words. “Not nearly as pretty a name as Scarlette Conterra, is it?” And he smiled—an ugly smile—again. “You can keep your pretty Conterra name, though. No worries. I never wanted a kid anyway. Your mother has my banking details. She paid me yearly, but my price has gone up. I expect to be paid the same, but biannually now. I’ll expect the first deposit within thirty days. And I’ll do you a solid, since we’re kin and all. I’ll waive last year.”
His words bounced around her skull making no sense, and she opened her mouth. Whether to question him, scream at him to leave, or simply scream, she didn’t know. Because no sound came out. The alcove was bright, likely so people wouldn’t trip on the stairs, but the light seemed to dim and the walls pressed in around her. When his foot connected with the first step between them, she automatically grasped the rail for support. Before she could haul her weak knees up one more step, one of his arms arched between them, snatching her purse.
Finally, she did scream. The sound came out in one long blood-curdling yell and she backed up two steps while he ransacked the Birkin contents, pulling cash from her wallet. Dropping the bag, he reminded, “Thirty days. Don’t make me find you.”
And he was gone!
Two men burst through the doors. She realized she’d collapsed onto the stairway and shoved to her feet. The younger of the two picked up her purse from the bottom of the stairway as they both inquired of her wellbeing.
“I fell.” She swallowed the words wanting to push out. A man who has been stalking me for months pulled me in here, claimed to be my father, threatened and extorted, and then stole what cash I had! “I just fell.”
By now, a few more people were gawking in the doorway, and the older of the two men inquired of the man they’d seen running out as they ran in.
“I just fell.” She accepted her purse and thanked them both.
“Can you walk?”
She supposed the scream had been louder and scarier than the average I’ve-fallen-down-a-couple-of-stairs scream. “Yeah. Thanks again.”
Her mother and Logan burst on the scene. Amid more ‘I fell’ explanations, she was escorted to her car. The initial plan had been for them stop by her house and drop her car off. Then she and Logan would take his car to the restaurant and her mother would meet them there.
However, as they made the twenty-minute drive to her apartment, Logan leading, Scarlette in the middle, and Henni driving in the rear, she grilled her mom.
After relating what had really happened, she waited a beat. But when Henni’s voice didn’t come through the car speakers, she pressed on. “He said you’ve been paying him. How long and how much? And why?”
“There was a chance he was your father.” Henni’s answer was a reluctant breath of words. “It was complicated. Tyler didn’t want to be tied into a relationship. And since I knew he was getting it on with groupies, I had my fun too. It was only fair.”
“And protection?” Scarlette couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. Who had to speak of these things with their mother?
“It was a different time. There weren’t so many diseases. Most women relied on the pill. And I was drinking a lot. Sometimes I guess I threw it up or something. I got pregnant. At first, I thought I wanted money to make the pregnancy disappear, and I went to Wayne. When he refused to take responsibility, I told Tyler. What I didn’t count on was him being thrilled to be a dad.”
Thrilled to be a dad while my own mom was wanting to abort me…
“Tyler said he’d take care of me. Of you, when you were born. And he said he’d stop whoring on the road. That we’d be a family. And we were. Off and on. When we were, those were the best days of my life. And then when he died… Like my whole world wasn’t crashing down enough… Wayne, like the weasel he is, came out of the woodwork. I had to pay him. What if he was the father? Your inheritance was on the line.”
Scarlette’s fingers bit into the steering wheel, and she made the exit from the freeway to suburbia. Henni had grown quiet.
When her mother’s voice filled the car again, it was obvious she’d been crying. “I always saw Tyler in you. Especially your eyes. But I thought ‘what if I was wrong?’ I couldn’t take the chance. Then, this last couple of years… Now that you’re the age he was when… And now that your hair is the same color… That with your eyes… There’s no doubt in my mind. In anyone’s mind. My God, you look just like him. I’d already quit paying him a couple of years back when the money ran out and promised him once the trust got settled we’d talk. But now it’s so clear you’re not his, I told him to fuck off. I’m sorry, baby, that he came at you like that.”
“What are we going to do?” There was no doubt in her own mind of whose child she was—although sometimes she wondered how she could be Henni’s! But Tyler… She felt a connection to Tyler Conterra with every cell in her body. Maybe that surety is why her mind tacked off the main problem to what should have been the miniscule. “I don’t need this kind of publicity after that damn sex video!”
“Scarlette, I want to tell you something. You should know. The sex video. He did it.”
“Ketchum did it?”
“He was following you looking for an opportunity to hit you up for money and took that opportunity instead. Then I guess that was easy enough money, and he turned paparazzi full time.”
“How do you know this?”
“He told me when he came to Belize. He wanted ten thousand dollars to hold him off from asking you for money until you and I talked. I said no, and he bragged how much he made from the video and threatened to do something like that again. So I gave him five to leave you alone. Now I’ve been talking to a friend who is a lawyer. He thinks―”
“Stop!” Scarlette knew Logan had to be wondering where she was as she had slowed to b
arely rolling along her neighborhood streets with Henni behind her. “I can’t believe you’ve fucked this up like this!”
“I’m the victim! And I’m trying to fix it so we never see him again! The lawyer says―”
Scarlette jabbed the ‘call end’ button, becoming aware of just how many times her mother had driven her to the breaking point of hanging up. Drawing in deep breaths, she tried to compose herself as she was dangerously near tears. Too much drama had been crammed into a very short time span.
When they reached her house, she waved to Logan who was a shadow inside his car lit by his phone screen. Before she put her own phone away, she texted her mother that she needed some thinking time and asked her to stay at a hotel.
Instead of joining Logan inside his car, she watched her mother drive away and leaned into the window on the driver’s side. “I’m not feeling up to going out after all. Come up and we’ll order pizza or Chinese or something?”
“Sure. If takeout is what you want on your graduation night, takeout you get.”
When the food arrived, she only picked at it while picking at her guitar. The conversation with Ketchum only stopped replaying in her mind when the conversation with her mother went on repeat.
For some reason, the personal confessions Henni had shared niggled at her more than some of the broader ones. The slight change in her mom’s voice tone when she spoke of Tyler being unfaithful on tour began to eat at her more than the enormous sum she must have paid out to a seedy extortionist.
Fuckin’ rock stars. Why were they so fucked up?
To think since the day trip to Dallas she had seriously contemplated the life of a career musician for herself. To think every night before she drifted to sleep she contemplated making up with Gage.
Her fingers dwindled and the melody slowed. Logan began stacking the trash and offered to put the leftovers away.
“You want to take them home? I don’t think they’ll hold out until the end of the summer.”
He threw her a sheepish look. “It doesn’t seem real yet that you’ll be gone so long.”
She set the guitar aside and stood. Rounding the sofa table, she moved close. “Doesn’t seem real to me either.” Resting her palms on his shoulders, she tipped her head back, locking gazes. “Will you text me every day?”
“You know I will.” His bottom lip was slightly fuller than his top. She’d always found it sexy, especially when he smiled as he did now.
“Will you sext me?” Going up on her tiptoes, she whispered the inquiry against his lips.
He wasted no time kissing her. She was enjoying the glide of his tongue against hers when she realized he hadn’t answered. No matter. It had been a rhetorical question. A foreplay of words.
She was taking him to bed tonight. ‘No’ was not an option. She wanted her head clear of rock stars, and fathers, and rock star fathers. The kiss progressed into the next few minutes. She tugged the hem of his shirt from his dress pants and tunneled her fingers beneath the fabric to trace his chiseled abs. The continued fusion of their lips soon had them both panting. When his hands heated the skin beneath her shirt and dipped into her bra, she skimmed one of hers down the front of his slacks.
Encouraged by his groan of pleasure, she fumbled with the unfamiliar fly. The moment it parted open, he stilled. “This isn’t a good idea. You’re leaving for a long time.”
“So? That’s why we should. I’ve wanted you a long time. Haven’t you wanted me?”
“Yeah.”
Why did his affirmation sound like an admission of guilt she’d dragged from the depths of his soul?
“I’m not trying to trap you with sex into a long distance relationship, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I know. I wasn’t thinking that.”
“So?” She clasped her fingers at the nape of his neck and used the traction to lift her lips to his again. “Let’s do this.”
Gripping her forearms, he pushed down, breaking her embrace. “I can’t.”
Suddenly only one scenario made sense. “Are you gay?” And yet if he were, why was he responding so heatedly any time they started something?
“No!”
“Married?”
“No!” His expression seemed tormented. “Do you really think I’d string you along if…” And then she saw something suspiciously like guilt glaze his gaze. “I can’t do this. I like you. So much.” So quick, she didn’t have time to turn away—because she would have—he kissed her. “Take care on tour. I’ll see you when you get back.”
Religious?
The speculation came after she’d been staring at the closed door for a minute or two.
Deep down though, she knew. It was Gage. Whether Logan was extremely loyal or he was afraid of losing his job, she was positive it all came down to Gage. She hurled food into the trash and carried it out, washed the last of the laundry and dishes, and packed with a furious fervor.
Before falling into bed, she showered, positioning the spray of the water just so. Closing her eyes tightly, she imagined the fuller bottom lip. But as always happened, whether her illusion was Logan, her hot chemistry partner, or her latest celebrity crush, it was an engaging sexy pout, lengthy layers of tousled hair, inked up skin, and long, strong talented fingers that pervaded while her quiet moans echoed in the closed space.
Chapter 27
“This place is a pigsty. Dammit get the clothes outta the floor!” Gage never stopped wiping down the bathroom as he yelled from it into the main area of the bus.
Landon, his least favorite of the Rattler clan yelled back, his voice carrying over the explosions of the game onscreen. “Why? It’s that chick’s job. Tomorrow’s Monday. She’ll clean.”
How these Neanderthals had managed to secure travel options for a shared personal assistant slash maid slash whore—yeah she fucked them too—he had no idea. This tour wasn’t the size of Fire Flight’s last few, and they’d only had room for essential crew—managers, tech, and their one luxury had been a chef. Damn but a chef was a wet dream now after weeks of fast food and roach coach catering.
“She shouldn’t have to pick your shit up off every surface before cleaning it.” Gage tossed the scummy paper towels he’d been cleaning with into the wastebasket and washed his hands. Stepping into the galley, he grabbed a few clean squares to dry with.
“Wait!” Landon threw the game controller aside the moment the game ended. And he had the attention of the rest of the band when he dramatically jumped to his feet. “I get what’s going on. This bitch arriving today… She’s the one in your video… The famous chick…”
“Scarlette Conterra.” One of the other guys supplied.
“Yeah. Her! The sister or something he banged! I just put that together.”
As they mumbled on, he tuned them out for their own protection. He was managing his anger better these days. These guys still being alive was a testament of that fact.
The bus was currently parked at the venue where they would be playing a show in approximately eight hours. They had checked out of the hotel, had lunch, and were now killing time. He was excited that Scarlette would be with them once they began rolling again. However, he was not looking forward to sleeping on the road, and he wondered how she was going to handle it. That was another thing different about this tour. Hotel nights only happened a couple of times a week. With Fire Flight, they’d slept in a comfortable bed at least five nights out of seven.
Rattler was a talented band, but instead of being happy to be a part of it, these inconveniences made it easy to feel sorry for himself for being downgraded from a headlining band to a supporting band.
“…The chick from the video? She’s the one joining the tour?”
The inquiry sounded far too eager. He went to the back room for his shoes with the intention of getting away from this conversation before he went off on them.
“…Yeah. To babysit Landon’s ass.”
“Happy to let her babysit my ass…”
Okay
. That was fuckin’ it. He jerked at his shoestrings and imagined how purple Landon’s face would be while being choked in about ten seconds. The rap on the door had him pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. Yep. It could be Scarlette already if she was running slightly early. Jumping to his feet, he sprinted down the narrow aisle between the bunks ready to save her from the obnoxious men of Rattler when she entered.
“Damn… You lied, Landon. Wrong girl…” Disappointment dripped from their bassist’s words just as not Scarlette, but Allison ascended the stairs and came into view.
Her gaze was unsure as it bounced around the bus interior, skittering from one of his bandmates to the next. But when her thickly charcoal lined eyes landed on his face, she grinned, held her arms wide, and hurled herself at him. “Surprise!”
Ahh fuck.
“Yeah. Surprise is right…” Ignoring the scrutiny of his bandmates, he held still for her kiss of greeting and then gently set her away. “C’mon. Let’s get outta here.” He grabbed his pass and they debarked the bus. It was always a relief to close the door, even temporarily from the other guys. Outside was a hive of activity, and he scanned the area for a place to speak in private. “How’d you get back here, anyway?” She was the only person in the vicinity without a laminated card attached to a lanyard swinging with each step.
“How do you think?” Pushing her shoulders back, she proudly gave her titties a shake.
“Right.” Reaching out, he tugged her to a stop behind one of the line haulers without a hive of activity around it. Watching the handoff of a tour case to a pusher, he pondered his next words. “Alli, you should’ve texted or called. You can’t just show up like this. In fact, we agreed to only a couple of shows.”
“I miss you though.”
And I miss you. He stopped the sweet-talking lie right before it left his lips. Obviously, he needed to be firmer—probably even a dick, to keep her at a bearable distance. “Then call me. Like I said. Don’t drop in. This is a tour, not a party.”
“I do call you. And you don’t call back.”
Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance Page 41