Resisting Velocity

by Trinity Evans; Xoe Xanders

  Lola took her back to the RV-turned-home-on-the-road, slinking through the streets like an alley cat with Charlie hot on her heels. Pulling open her closet, Lola revealed a mass of perfectly slutty clothes and, amid giggles and obviously searching questions about the guys, the two of them picked out a killer outfit for the concert.

  Standing in front of a cracked, full-length mirror, Charlie stared at her reflection. Half appraising. Half horrified. She wore an electric blue mini skirt that was practically painted on and illegal in most family embellishments, paired with a white button-up half shirt kept in place with matching blue suspenders. Peeking out from the low-cut neck of the blouse, you could see just enough of her lacy black bra to kick start the imagination.

  And even being with Lola hadn’t been all that bad. Charlie had restrained herself from discussing anything that had to do with the band, because High Velocity’s business was their own and if Zane wanted groupies to nose around in his private life, he could invite her out to dinner. Again.

  A smile danced at the corners of her mouth as Lola tried to one-up Charlie outfit wise and failed. Charlie almost wished she spent more time bonding with people her own age instead of hitting her job so hard.

  Oh well.

  Her stomach churned as she slid on a pair of chunky black heels and turned a full circle to see how it felt. It felt…odd, but tonight was all about feeling like a hedonist. She wasn’t allowed to feel awkward. Her wolf seemed to twist beneath her skin, anxious, and Charlie felt another flare of nerves.

  “Let’s go, baby. Knock them dead.” Lola’s cat eyes gleamed at her, as if she expected Charlie to tuck tail and run. Charlie tipped her chin up and kept her head high, meeting Lola’s gaze evenly. Fearlessly. Bring it, bitch.

  And then they were off. They split up once they got there, but that was fine by Charlie. She strutted through the crowd like a peacock—she looked good, despite knowing she couldn’t do this, couldn’t pull this off, on a daily basis. And a wicked little part of her wanted everyone to know that she was something sexy.

  Passing familiar faces on her way to a nice backstage seat, Charlie couldn’t help but wink at those faces and enjoy a couple of double takes from those who recognized her. Stopping short just behind Conner, she straightened, then barked in her usual, confident Charlie Banks tone, “Everything running smoothly, I hope?”

  Oh, if only she’d had a camera.

  Conner spun around, did a double take, nearly swallowed his tongue, then snapped to attention—in that order. “Yeah, things are running like they always do. I’ve got a whole load of respect for you; you always seemed to make things run like clockwork. Sleep has become a creature of the past and I know the guys are still coming to you for shit. I can do this, but Jesus, dude.” Conner’s voice rumbled like a growl and Charlie felt for him. But tonight wasn’t about playing boss.

  Tonight she was here to party.

  Patting Conner on the shoulder, she did a little circle and winked. “Think I’ll be able to raise the blood pressure around here a little bit?”

  He snorted. “I’m going to have to assign you your own little section of security once Alexander gets a look at you.”

  She feigned innocence and batted her dark lashes. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Cut the crap, Charlie. You and I both know who you’re all dressed up for. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t take much more than two plus two to figure out who you’re going to strut around in front of. Be careful—you’re playing with fire.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve known these guys a long time. I know them.”

  “Honey, when a woman goes around looking like you do right now, she doesn’t know jack-shit about men. Especially when the man you’re dressing up for doesn’t care to share and he’s forced into said sharing anyway.”

  Deflating a little, Charlie shook it off with a huff and a raspberry. “Party pooper. I’ll leave you to your job. I’m gonna go see Benji before the show.”

  “Your funeral.”

  Heading towards the stage, she spied her friend fiddling with his bass, cradling it like a lifeline. Charlie grinned and threw herself onto Benji’s back, looping her arms around his neck. They were friends, sure, but this out-of-character act made Benji stagger and stiffen beneath her. He turned his head to look at her. She winked.

  “Hey Benj, what’s good?”

  “Uh… Charlie?”

  “Yep.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Having fun, what’re you doing?”

  “Getting ready to work. Think you could let me go?”

  Releasing him and stepping back, Charlie’s eyes skittered out into the stadium, to all the fans that seemed to be pouring in like Noah’s flood. “Good lord, what’s the capacity here?”

  “Fuck if I know.”

  “Oh yeah, you’re just here to look pretty and fiddle with some strings.” She waggled her eyebrows, then inwardly winced as his demeanor darkened, his eyes turning sharp as knives.

  “Fuck off, Charlie. You’re so full of crap tonight. What gives?”

  “I’m bored.” What a lie.

  “Oh, poor baby. What a reasonable reaction—get bored, so play dress-me-up-slut.”

  Her jaw going slack, she could only stare at him. She recovered a heartbeat later and planted both hands on her hips, glaring at him. “Do you really think calling me a slut is going to make me feel friendly right now?”

  “Do you think being offended is going to make that,” he pointed to her skirt, “Any less trashy?”

  “I’ve received a lot of compliments on this,” she said, panic rising in the back of her throat. Shit. Why was she even acting like this? This was Benji, for Christ’s sake. She tried to reel herself back in, but she was already in too deep.

  “Oh yeah, by who? Anyone that you actually respect?”

  “What’s your problem?”

  “My problem is that you’re not acting like your usual self and I don’t like it.” His words were a growl.

  “Maybe I didn’t like the old me.”

  “Okay then. Put on a bit of makeup, buy some new clothes. But lose the stripper shit.”

  Her face heated up. “Screw you. You’re acting like an old lady.”

  “And you know what I think you’re acting like.” Green eyes darker than a storm, the bass player stomped off in the other direction and Charlie’s stomach churned. Maybe this was a bad idea… She took a deep breath to try and calm her shaking nerves.

  She was going to ride it out. She’d earned a night of fun. The rest could just be pretend. Still, it didn’t stop the worries that ate away at her insides like parasites, making her stomach ache and her sides clench.

  Then a hint of spice touched her nostrils and her worries seemed to float away. Straightening out the mini skirt, she spun in Zane’s direction as her wolf tugged to get free, yearning to shed her human skin and go four-legged. The beast didn’t care about screaming fans or rock and roll; the wolf inside of her wanted to run and play games with Zane.

  Too bad. She was about to play an entirely different game now.

  Chapter Six

  After a little practice session in his trailer with Parker, strumming his trusty acoustic and softly singing the words to the songs they were to play that night, Zane made a beeline for makeup with just enough time to spare. His personal artist, Reese—a bubbly young woman from his pack, who had quite an eye for beauty—worked, humming quietly to one of High Velocity’s older songs while Zane went over everything in his head. Music helped him think, helped him finalize plans or, in this case, obsess a little bit over the ones he’d already laid.

  It would all go down—one way or another. This would either be brilliance in the making and land him a chance with Charlie, or a big fat failure. In that case, she’d probably figure out his plan, give him a couple of black eyes, and strut off and he’d never see her again. He let out a soft sigh. No choice now but to stick it out and wait.

  Zane leaned forward in his cha
ir and inspected his reflection—perfection, plain and simple. He was beautiful, he could be a little bit vain. “You did damn fine tonight, sweetheart,” he told Reese, who beamed at the compliment. Ruffling his hair so it was picture-perfect, he kissed her on the cheek and headed for his Fender.

  What he found instead, as he slipped backstage, was the wafting scent of blueberries—Charlie—with a tinge of chemical perfume lacing her natural aura. He shook his head as a smile crept across his lips.

  At least until he caught sight of her.

  Zane stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide as he took her in. She stood just off of security, alone in her own little world…looking like something that came out of Playboy magazine. He’d never seen her outside of her uniform and shit. Her slender frame was wrapped in a tiny neon blue skirt that barely skimmed past her thighs and a shirt that showcased a lean stomach. A sparkle of diamond caught his eye as she turned her head and smiled right at him when she met his gaze.

  Damn, but she was beautiful. So much skin, it kicked his imagination into overdrive as he imagined stripping each skin-tight piece of clothing off and laving over her bare form. A wave of want surged through him, hot and fierce, and his wolf rose to the surface howling. He bit down, clenching his teeth, squaring his jaw as he fought off the urge to change. Once he was sure he had him tamped down, he strode forward.

  He wanted to say screw the concert. He wanted to gather her up in his arms and carry her to his trailer, to rip her clothes off and fuck her senseless. He wanted to hear her voice, husky and edged with passion, screaming his name for the world to hear. He wanted to take her, to claim her…

  He was surprised how calm his voice was when he spoke with those images swarming through his head. “What are you doing, Charlie?”

  She’d seen him coming and was moving in his direction. They met halfway. The air was still, but he could smell the faint tinge of anxiety that veined through her essence, cinnamon sprinkled on blueberries. She tipped her chin up and held herself, poised. “Having fun.” Her smirk was all too sexy. “You?”

  “Trying to keep my wolf reigned in so he doesn’t take you, right here on the stage, in front of thousands of sets of eyes.” This time, emotion made his tone a rasping growl. Barely controlled. She set him on fire, made him wild…

  Her eyes widened a fraction, but her laugh was careless.

  Daring.

  And oh, he would dare.

  Zane took one fluid step forward, his fingers clasping around her wrist. Charlie stiffened, met his gaze, but he was already pulling her into him. She made a soft sound as he claimed her mouth, his lips fierce, tongue demanding. Need billowed over him in a torrential downpour and he was barely able to break away, nipping her lip on his exit as Parker shouted something from across the set.

  He took a shaky breath in and straightened, his gaze lingering on the soft curve of her lower lip. “That’ll do for now,” he said, more to himself than to her, and Charlie only stared at him. She looked torn—torn between reaching up, grabbing him by the hair, and stealing a second kiss—and running with her tail tucked.

  Zane took a step back. “Get out of here so we can make magic. I’m assuming you have an amazing seat?”

  “Yeah.” Her eyes gleamed with defiance, annoyance.

  “Good.” He flashed a quick grin. Just as she thought she was out of the red, he took another quick kiss. There’s plenty of time for that later, Alexander. Before she could say another word, he was jogging towards the band.

  With dimmed lights and the murmur of anticipation in the crowd, High Velocity set up on stage. And when Zane strummed the first chord, people began to shriek. He swelled with a certain sense of pride as he nailed the song, dancing with his mic and belting out lyrics. He was a showman, through and through.

  This here, right now, felt amazing. No. Better than amazing, better than he’d ever imagined it would be growing up, yearning to play a simple chord on his beat up pawn shop guitar.

  Zane turned his head as Parker’s deft fingers danced across the keyboard, his solo flying free. The gleam of the lights made the chunk of Velocity Violet streaked through Parker’s—and the other guys’—hair light up as if under a black light. Then shadows fell across the stage and Parker winked as he ducked out to do his dirty work.

  Zane’s stomach tightened. No. Everything would be fine. He trusted his guys. He trusted his plan.

  The last song in the lineup was a softer one, acoustics and jazzy drums. Zane’s mind spun in three different directions, making him a little jumpy. He finished up and, with the crowd’s cheers as backdrop, headed backstage.

  Parker was guzzling a root beer and when he caught Zane’s eye, his grin was smug. Pleased with himself. Micah hadn’t said two words since they went on stage. Maybe he felt a little guilty.

  Benji cradled his bass to his chest, glancing between the three of them. He caught Zane’s eye for a moment, then swung and pinned his gaze on the lower-ranked Parker. “You look like the cat that ate the canary. What’s up?” His tone was testing and nerves punched Zane square in the gut.

  Shit. Did he know?

  Parker let out a hoot. “Gonna get lucky tonight. Twins. Hells yeah.” The lie was smoothly executed and highly believable, if you knew Parker. Zane let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. The guys broke into laughter about something that he didn’t hear, but he couldn’t be bothered.

  “Hot. Damn.” Micah’s whistle was approving and Zane knew that Charlie was headed their way. Parker was nearly drooling and Benji’s face went red. He turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction. The other two quickly made haste, probably to give Zane some room.

  Zane stepped towards Charlie, one hand extended as his mind whirred with the possible outcomes.

  ***

  Tonight Charlie’s eyes were a bit clouded from the magic web the music had spun around her. As they band had burst into their opening song, she’d been in the front row in her ridiculous rebellion outfit and heels, trying valiantly to seem like she belonged there.

  Slowly, their music—but most importantly Zane’s voice—had lulled her into swaying with the beat. The beast within had switched between itching to move as the concert had built to deafening highs, to being soothed with that silken voice. High Velocity had a way of getting the fans going as wild as possible, only to cool them down fast to avoid the riots. The rollercoaster inside her soul had been an…awakening.

  Perhaps the revealing clothes and wobbly heels weren’t something she would want to deal with on a day-to-day basis, but after getting to blend and merge into the crowd, the fandom, Charlie felt like she had finally found and accepted a little part of herself, the part hidden away from the world. The part that was going to want to walk a bit on the wild side some days, but not go rip-roaring through it at a hell for leather pace. She could do without that.

  Looking up into Zane’s eyes, her wolf began to pace and burn, wanting to run and play, just like a few short nights ago. Charlie stepped forward, placing her hand on his forearm and gave him some of her weight to bear. She couldn’t help but stare at him—his music, his warmth, his soul were all-consuming in her mind and her lips parted to speak of the heat between them.

  She never got the chance.

  An explosion lit up the stadium with a crash of sound. The stage shook with the effect and the few fans still at the back of the seating screamed their terror. Flames danced, cackling merrily as their destruction ensued that the first few rows of seats would never be used again.

  Reacting purely from instinct, Charlie threw herself in front of Zane, shoving him to the ground. He let out a hoarse sound beneath her, but her mind was too busy racing, splitting the surface of the reverie from moments ago. Conner was already running in their direction, shouting and cursing a blue streak.

  She could see the other members of security with their walkie-talkies glued to their ears. From her position, crouched on top of Zane, her posture aggressive and alert, she tried to see if anyone
had been on stage—or worse, down in the first few rows.

  “Conner?”

  The slight hesitation in her voice was the only outward sign of weakness she gave. She’d been trained for disasters like this. Fans sometimes had twisted minds and bizarre ideations on how to create publicity, all the way down to political groups that would do anything for a chance to get on their soapbox to discuss their cause. Too bad High Velocity had always been pretty easy going and neutral on hot-button topics. Mostly because it was hard to hate a group that didn’t answer one way or another to direct questions.

  “We’ve got confirmation on the other three guys; they were already on their way out when it happened. So far, no injuries, thank god.”

  She released a small sigh of relief as she digested this news, but before she could say anything else, Zane was jostling her from his spot flat on the ground. “Off, woman,” he growled, his wolf right under the surface.

  Refusing to be embarrassed for doing what came naturally—protecting Zane—Charlie took her time climbing off of him, making sure that her ridiculous excuse for a skirt stayed down as far as it could to ensure her modesty remained intact. Right now, she’d really do just about anything to be in a pair of slacks and one of her blouses, if not her old security uniform.

  “Thanks. Not that I didn’t appreciate the view, but I was facing the wrong direction to get the full effect. If you like to try it again…”

  “Can it, Alexander. Someone just blew a big chunk out of the stage. A few minutes earlier and you would’ve been cat food. We’re just lucky no one got seriously hurt.”

  He at least had the good grace to look a little sheepish. “Heh, yeah. That’s good.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, a slight bout of paranoia creeping up on her, then waved Conner over. “If you have everything under control, I’m going to get the boys gathered in one place and keep them there until things settle down.”

  Zane tapped her shoulder. “I can hear you, you know, and I wouldn’t really consider myself a boy—”

  “Not in the mood right now. You could’ve been blown up.”