Rock Reclaimed: Rockstar Romantic Suspense (Rock Revenge Trilogy Book 2)

by Cari Quinn

  And I’d put him on it.

  I flicked the sheet back over it, but Ian moved into my space. “Is that—”

  “It’s a job.” Lie. Utter lie. My job had been the photos. Which I still had to digitize and turn into Lila. Not this. Even if I hadn’t been able to get it out of my mind since the show. And I’d happily shove him out the door to work on it again.

  Except he swayed. Or maybe it was me. Both of us had reached hot-mess express status. I hadn’t slept in thirty-plus hours, had been nearly attacked, and I was pretty sure I’d only had a pretzel since this morning. Not good.

  Evidently, working would have to wait.

  I steered him away from my current work-in-progress and into the bathroom. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  “Don’t get used to it. As it is, I’m going to have to disinfect my shower after you get out of it.”

  He pulled away. “I don’t have a disease.”

  “Easy.” Defensive much? “I mean because you’re bleeding everywhere. I don’t care who you are, that’s going to require a full bleach out after you clean up. Let me get you a towel.” I reached into the little built-in cupboard just inside the door. “No guest towels for you.” I pushed aside the plush sage-colored towels Lila had sent me as a housewarming present. I handed him the stained gray ones I used after painting.

  “What did you wash these with? Crayons?”

  “Crayons were so last year. Try acrylic.”

  He lifted the towel to his nose. “Smells like primary school.”

  “You went?”

  “Occasionally.” He sneered as he went for his pants. “Gonna wash my back?”

  “Might need extra triple antibiotic for that.” I shoved a washcloth into his belly and stormed back out.

  Overreact much? Whatever. I wasn’t going to be another girl on his probably lengthy list of babes. And why that pissed me off, I didn’t know.

  I lived in a community of artists. The word “monogamous” was as shunned as art critics.

  I blew out a breath. I so didn’t need to get myself twisted about this. While the shower was running, I rushed around my studio, putting my paintings away. And because then it looked like I was hiding my work, I dragged out a few of my commission pieces and stashed them on various easels.

  The only one I still couldn’t move was the one under my tarp.

  Nope. Not that one.

  It was still crazy wet. I’d put down so much paint it would take days to dry. “Stupid,” I muttered and peeked under the paint-splattered sheet. At least none of the paint had been smeared. That would have required a lot of damn surgery. Or even a total repaint.

  Getting that utter blackness to the stage with the halo of white and purples had taken painstaking hours. And it had been worth it.

  I arched my back in memory of how tight my shoulders had been late last night. And now, they were just as bad for a whole different reason.

  A flash of Rattlesnake eyes superimposed itself on the stage.

  The glint of his rusty blade made me twist my hand behind my back, up to where he’d cut me. God knew what was in my bloodstream. I dragged the shirt over my head. My blood stained the cotton along the back.

  My fingers shook as I ripped off what was left of my bikini top. Loose pieces of hair from my braid were twisted in the knot. It was so thick and the curls were forever strangling me.

  I ripped at it, my hair tangling more.

  “Easy.” Ian’s voice was low.

  I jumped, my eyes darting around the room.

  Again, I was half naked in front of this man. So, why didn’t it feel as terrifying as it should have?

  Six

  His eyes never left mine as he reached around the back of my neck. “Shh. There’s a girl. Just hold on a minute.”

  The sounds coming out of my chest would haunt me for days. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this, let alone him.

  He threaded his long fingers into my hair and patiently worked at the knot. He smelled of my coconut body wash and my shampoo. I dragged in a breath and tried to calm my racing heart. I didn’t want him close to me. I didn’t want any of this.

  But he was there.

  And he kept humming a song. Not one I knew. But it was something to focus on. Especially since he was only wearing a towel, for God’s sake.

  Too damn close. I tried to back out of his loose hold, but it only caused him to bump into me. My breasts swayed against his cool chest. I stilled and slammed my eyes shut.

  Just focus on the humming. Not him.

  Not a naked stranger in my place being kind to me.

  Not freaking out like some seventeen-year-old virgin. It had been a long time since I’d been that girl. I wasn’t exactly the most worldly girl in all the land. Especially for a place like Los Angeles. And probably leagues different than the sort of women who ran in his circles.

  But it didn’t stop the flood of frustrated tears backing up in my chest as Ian slowly and methodically untangled me from my ruined bathing suit. The song settled me in ways I didn’t want to examine.

  Finally, it was free and we stood toe to toe. I couldn’t look at him just yet, but the art on his body drew my attention. Tattoos were just as beautiful as work on paper or canvas. Especially on his body. I wasn’t exactly into the huge muscular guys filling the beaches. He was quite a few inches taller than me, but he was all lean angles. Maybe a little too lean in spots. But he was young and strong with ropey muscles urging me closer.

  All the tension curling inside me slowly dissipated. I found myself lightly tracing the intricate cherry blossoms along his rib cage. Such a soft and delicate flower on such a hard body. But there were other bruises hidden in the color, older ones that were starting to yellow. The muscles of his belly danced under my fingertips and his towel definitely twitched.

  I curled my fingers into my palm. I knew firsthand what it was like to be touched without my permission today, and here I was doing the same thing. I glanced up and his eyes were closed. They slowly opened and the stormy sea color held a softer edge. Not the sharp, calculating gaze I was growing used to.

  Like the man onstage as he bended the crowd to his will.

  Or the one with rage exploding out of his fists and feet matched with a flinty harshness that had scared me even as it thrilled me.

  I took a step back and turned around. He touched my hair, but I couldn’t go there. It was bad enough I had him in my space. My ruined braid tumbled down the middle of my back as I crossed to my dresser. I grabbed the first shirt I could find and yanked it over my head. I dug for my favorite pair of comfort pants and stretched-out panties. The least sexy things in my possession seemed like a smart idea at the moment. When I turned back around, he had the discarded T-shirt in his hands.

  “I saw the bruises.” He touched his chest. “Did he hurt you?”

  Immediately, my hand went up to my aching breast where Rattlesnake had grabbed at me with cruel fingers. My nipple pushed against the cotton, urging me to cup it. I didn’t want to react to him at all, but here I was. And evidently, he wasn’t that much of a gentleman.

  “I couldn’t help it.”

  “Shocker.”

  His gaze flattened. “Not that way. Your skin is very fair there and an ugly bruise is easy to see. I’ve seen my fair share over the years.”

  I swallowed and twisted the soft gray pants in my hands. “Sorry.”

  “I saw him crouched over you and I…” He lifted his chin and his Adam’s apple bounced. “Men shouldn’t hit women, ever.”

  I touched my cheek briefly. The backhand had surprised me. “Just each other. Looks like a few of those bruises on your face and ribs are a bit older than today.”

  His hands fisted at his sides. “Yeah, well, boys will be boys, right?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that one, but it didn’t feel like the entire truth, either. “There’s food in the fridge. I need a shower.”

  He
tipped his head in much the same way he had as he’d studied my paintings. I wanted to shove him out the door and tell him to lose my name, but he’d saved me today. And he wasn’t in any shape to go back out into the streets right now.

  He was holding it together, but he was definitely favoring his ribs and one leg. Tough guy. I hurried past him and closed the door quietly behind me. I paused for a moment before flicking the lock on the door.

  I just… Better to be safe than sorry.

  The space was steamy and smelled like…burning leaves and me. As if the steam had melded our scents together.

  I jerked my shirt and ruined overalls off and set the water to scalding. I scrubbed away the paint, the sand, the chalk he’d left behind. Tears raced down my face as I used everything in my arsenal of beauty products.

  Loofah, washcloth mitten, half a bottle of body wash.

  “Zoe.”

  I lifted my face to the water to block out his voice.

  “Zoe. Are you all right?” The door shook as he knocked furiously.

  “I’m fine.” I squeezed the mitten in my hands until soap erupted between my fingers. The suds were red. Blood? My paint? A layer of skin? “I’m fine,” I said again.

  I didn’t even realize I’d been in a full-blown panic. But it must have lasted a little bit because the water ran cold. With shaking fingers, I turned it off and huddled into a towel. Normally, I wore my towel around my studio while I dried out, but I couldn’t stand to be naked right now.

  I pulled my clothes on over my wet skin and tried to squeeze the water out of my hair. I didn’t even remember if I’d washed it. Based on the knots and tangles, I definitely hadn’t used conditioner.

  “Zoe.”

  I tried to drag a comb through it, but it was no use. I pushed through the bottles in my cabinet for my detangler, but they just scattered into the sink in a jumble. I couldn’t read the words and was pissed off that the tears of frustration were building up again. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had cried and now I was a freaking geyser. “I said I’m fine.”

  “Just open the door so I can see for myself.”

  I stormed over to the door, comb in hand. I yanked it open. “You don’t even know me. What the hell is your problem with me having a goddamn good cry in the shower to get the fuck over it?”

  He was wearing the same pants from earlier, but no socks and certainly not the half-shredded boots he usually wore. I frowned when I noticed there was a shoelace around his waist where a belt should be. Why the hell was I looking at his damn waist again?

  I dragged my eyes up to meet his gaze. His ever-changing green eyes were lit with something different this time. He sighed and lifted my hand clutching my comb. “Come on.”

  My hand was shaking as he peeled each finger away from the oversized comb.

  “There’s a good girl.” He slowly drew me out of the bathroom and into the main living space. He bypassed my studio for the little alcove I’d created by the smaller window. My personal space. My bed. I had four different blankets bunched together on top of my quilt.

  The one my aunt May had made for my sixteenth birthday. It was one of the few things I hadn’t been able to leave in Turnbull.

  He sat me down on the edge of the bed and crawled in behind me. I stiffened. “What are you doing?”

  “What girl doesn’t like a little soothing after a bad day?” He drew my wet hair over my shoulder. I shivered. I had a lot of hair and it soaked the back of my shirt. Then he started slowly detangling my hair at the ends and worked his way up.

  He began humming again, as if he knew I didn’t have words right now.

  And he was right.

  I was utterly devoid of them.

  I swayed as each stroke through my hair dragged me closer to sleep. I didn’t know this guy. In the space of an hour, I’d let him into my place, showered while he was in my studio, and now he was in my bed.

  Yet I’d never felt safer. Or warmer. Or more relaxed.

  I didn’t remember falling asleep.

  But I did dream of green eyes. Eyes I knew would never leave my brain until I painted them.

  And maybe not even then.

  Seven

  I jerked straight up in bed.

  Not my bed. Not my flat. Not even the shitty pay-by-the-hour motel I’d hidden away in to avoid Sabrina and Jerry and to avoid staying on the streets like Donovan had suspected I would.

  My heart hammered in my throat as I squinted into the darkness and tried to orient myself. A hip bumped into mine, and I nearly swung out until it all came back to me in a rush.

  Taking the bus to Carson. Wandering the streets on a tour of former homes of America’s desperate and destitute. Not destitute now, but back then?

  They’d been where I was now. Minus the woman letting out soft sighs in her sleep.

  I glanced at Zoe. She was curled on her side, all tucked into herself. Her long, still-drying blond and purple hair covering half her face, leaving just a hint of her bow lips and her stupidly cute nose.

  The beach. Those two assholes who’d been bothering her.

  What would have happened if I hadn’t been there? She’d posted on Instagram and I’d gone trotting after her like a besotted puppy, hoping to catch a glimpse of her expressive eyes and pursed lips. That calculating look in her gaze as she evaluated me like artwork that was far too mouthy to be a worthy subject.

  When I’d seen her in that guy’s hands, blinding rage had filled me. The kind that could kill. I wouldn’t have stopped if not for the sirens. My big career would’ve started with an arrest and murder charges.

  And if Zoe was safe, it would’ve been worth it. More than.

  She made another low noise. Not so calm and sweet now. She thrashed in her sleep, her arms and legs spasming as she swung out against an imaginary threat.

  “Shh, shh, you’re okay, you’re safe. Zoe.” I gathered her in my arms, ignoring the blows she rained against my torso, my arms, anything she could touch. Her final punch landed just above my ear.

  I shook off the ringing in my head and banded my arms around her, murmuring her name over and over. My body hurt all over from the fight on the beach, not to mention my stinging sunburn, but nothing compared to the pain of knowing she was struggling with what had happened.

  That it could’ve all turned out so much differently if I’d been a few minutes later. If I hadn’t come at all. Who knew if anyone else would’ve stepped in?

  You couldn’t count on anything in this world. Least of all other people to help you in your time of need.

  “Zoe, that’s a girl. It’s me. Just me. I’ve got you now, love. You’re mine.”

  The last made me go still, my hold on her going slack.

  She wasn’t mine. She couldn’t be.

  No one was mine. Even my own family denied me.

  I didn’t even have a true address anymore.

  “Ian?” She stared at me in the darkness, drawing the back of her hand over her mouth. “You’re still here?”

  I smiled faintly. Proved my point, didn’t it? I belonged to no one, and no one belonged to me.

  A man with no country, no honor except my own—and that was dubious at best.

  “I fell asleep too.” Until I’d awakened so rudely, I’d slept better than I had in months. Possibly years.

  Definitely not because of her bed. It was not a high-end model. I had a feeling she dropped onto the board-stiff mattress after a night working on her photographs and artwork without even really noticing it. She likely fell into an exhausted rest before the discomfort had a chance to take hold.

  I’d done the same. Just fallen into a black hole of sleep with her soft body curved into my side and her sweet scent of coconut and acrylic paint surrounding me.

  “The sun takes a lot out of a person.” Her voice was weak, and I hated it. It made me want to go back to that beach and lie in wait until those two bastards returned so I could finish the job.

  This time, I wouldn’t stop.


  “And the fight.” She swallowed audibly. “Are you sore?”

  “I’ve been better.” I rubbed my chest. Strangely, that part of me ached more than all the rest of me combined.

  She seemed so small in the darkness. So fragile and impossibly beautiful, though I couldn’t make out much of her features. But I could recreate them in my head. The fringe of her dark lashes laying on her freckled cheeks. Her rosy lips, one side tipped up in a smile. Her big eyes, so wary and guarded.

  Were they always that way? Or did I scare her?

  God knows she terrified me.

  “You probably should’ve gone to the hospital.” Though she extracted herself from my hold and put definite space between us on the bed, she didn’t dart away as if I were made of poison. Progress.

  “Nah. I was worse off after Simon.”

  Which wasn’t long ago. Christ, I was racking up the brawls lately.

  So much for protecting my instrument. Meaning myself. My battered guitar only sounded better with some scars. Me? Not so much.

  “Simon?” She cleared her throat. “Your brother.”

  “You heard about that mess?” I scratched the back of my hair, strangely embarrassed. Since my goal had been for my lineage to be known the world over, it didn’t make a lot of sense that I wasn’t sure if I liked Zoe knowing what had occurred.

  None of my reactions to this woman made sense.

  “I did. I know him.” She didn’t elaborate. Didn’t mention her connection to Lila or the rest of Ripper, just let the statement hang between us like a cold vapor.

  “And? What are your thoughts?”

  “About Simon? He’s different than you.”

  “So he’s determined to prove.” As was I, when it came down to it. I’d use any weapons I had, including my last name, but I was no carbon copy off the old block. I was my own man. Could be an icon in my own right. Even Sabrina had said so.

  Fuck, Sabrina. Had she returned my call while I’d been dead to the world?

  But I didn’t fumble for my phone. I wasn’t in any hurry for this…whatever the hell it was to end. My shoulder blades itched with the need to move though. To not sit here in the scope of Zoe’s far too perceptive eyes.