“Yeah, well, based on the story she just told me, I can tell Regi needs me in her life. I can be the voice of common sense.” Gilleon laughs, his gait just a little off from the wound in his thigh as he comes to sit next to me, sighing in relief as he takes the weight off his leg and sinks into the sofa.
“I can agree with that,” Gill says and then looks over at me, love filling his blue eyes. “You be her common sense, and she can be mine.”
I roll my eyes, but … he has a point. Gill needs me in his life. Today, tomorrow, forever.
“Oh God,” Leilani groans in anticipation, but what can I do? I'm in love. And love is selfish.
When Gill leans over and presses his mouth to mine, I wrap the fingers of my right hand in his hair and let myself get swept away into a memory.
A memory of us.
“Hey Gill?” I roll over onto my side, Gill's hoodie wrapped around me, his spicy scent drifting up from inside the folds of the ebony cotton, heady and dangerous and mysterious. We barely know each other, but … it feels like he's been living with Mom and me for years.
Gilleon turns to look at me, that beautiful dark hair of his falling over his forehead into his eyes. He might be seventeen, but he has a gaze that goes deeper than any of the other kids at my school, like he's been places, done things. It's not a bad look, but I think it makes him weigh what he says, what he does, carefully. He's still goofy sometimes, still has a sense of humor, but there's a darkness there that's he cautious about.
I should ignore it, treat him cordially, like the acquaintance he is, a stepbrother who will never feel like a brother, not when we didn't grow up together.
But today, I forgot my jacket; he gave me his sweater. I can't stop sniffing it. Does that make me crazy?
“Yeah?” he asks, grinning at me from his spot on the floor of my bedroom. His arms are covered in bruises from the mother he still loves, the one he had to leave behind. I can't even imagine. “What's up?”
I swallow hard, toying with the strings at the neckline of my borrowed hoodie.
“What do you want to do when you grow up?” I feel a red blush color my cheeks and struggle to correct my statement. What am I, five? “I mean, like, what do you want from life?”
Gill turns to face me, wrapping his arms around his knees, his blue eyes bright as sapphires, his perfect mouth twisted to the side in a smile. Our faces are so close we could kiss. We don't, but … we could. Just a few more inches …
“You mean what do I want to do? As a job? Or what do I really want?” I shrug, keeping my honey brown gaze on his. No way I'm looking away first. This is my bedroom, my turf; Gill's the new guy.
“Either one.”
He pauses for a moment, thinks, and then his smile gets wider.
“Je veux être avec toi pour toujours, Regina.” Gill unclasps his hands from around his legs and sits up on his knees. Our mouths are even closer now … oh God. My mind struggles to translate, but I'm not far enough into my French class to do much more than say my name and classify school supplies.
“Not fair!” I say, sitting up and putting some distance between us. I don't know how many times I can feel his breath feather against my cheeks and not do something about it. “What did you just say? You know I can't translate that.”
Gill follows me forward, standing up and putting an arm on either side of my crossed legs. He leans in, closing the distance I just put between us, headphones hanging over his neck.
“Veux-tu être ma petite amie?” he asks and I laugh, smacking him in the chest. When he grabs my hand and curls his fingers around it, I can hardly keep my breath.
“I don't know what you just said,” I whisper, but Gill won't stop smiling.
“Just say yes,” he tells me, and I do.
It takes me fifteen years to remember—and properly translate that.
I want to be with you forever. Would you like to be my girlfriend?
I smile.
One day, he'll ask me to marry him—again.
I'll say yes—again.
And this time, this time we'll get what we always deserved.
A second chance.
A happily ever after.
Fin
The End
Turn the page for a sneak peek at Violet Blaze's next novel ...
Dash Buchanan should never have walked into my life.
When he did, he made a mess of it.
A hot, wicked, tangled mess that I'm not so sure I want to crawl out of.
If only I'd been more careful, if only we hadn't been seen.
One night, one mistake that changes everything.
Dash and me, we're in way over our heads, drowning in our demons.
I can only hope he has the strength to swim.
***
Adelaide Vaughn should not have been at my concert.
Hell, she shouldn't have been anywhere near me.
As the son of the CEO of Buchanan Bikes, there are a lot of rules.
First, never touch a Vaughn girl.
Second, never let anyone see your weaknesses.
This girl, this daughter of the Weeping Bones Motorcycle Club . . .
Damn it, but I'm pretty sure she's going to make me break all of them.
CHAPTER ONE
DASH
I love it when my dad calls me into his office - mostly because I like to screw his secretary.
“Fuck,” I groan, grinding my hips against the petite little blond's, twisting my fingers in a handful of her hair. She tilts her head back and gives me access to her pale, perfect throat. I run my tongue along her skin, tasting the sweat that's beading there, eating up the proof that I'm doing this right, doing her right.
See, I don't just like to fuck women, I want to pleasure them, shake them to their core and feel them tighten around me when they come. Can you even believe Laura didn't have her first orgasm until she was twenty-four? That's a goddamn travesty if you ask me. Thankfully, I was able to take care of that for her. Imagine how many other women must be suffering in the same way.
I might just be one man, but I aim to make the world a little better - one hot, frenzied fuck at a time.
“Oh my god, Dash,” she moans as I ram her into the granite countertop of the ladies' bathroom. Hopefully nobody walks in on us. But if they do? Oh well. I'm the prince of this palace so to speak, future CEO of Buchanan Bikes. They can deal. “Deeper, Dash. Deeper.”
“Turn your ass over and I'll be happy to oblige.” I slide out of Laura's slick, wet heat and spin her around, pushing her chest into the sink. We both groan as I fill her up again, pound my pelvis into her firm round ass.
And I thought working for my dad was going to be boring?
Hell, if this is on the agenda for my workday, I'll gladly quit the band and come over full time.
I glance up and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, sweat beading on my forehead, a stray droplet sticking to my lower lip. I flash a grin and then lean over, curling my fingers gently around Laura's pale throat, drawing her head up so I can meet the eyes of her reflection. She bites back a gasp, tucking that red rouged lip of hers beneath white, white teeth. Her eyes are ringed in liner, and they look huge, open, bare as I keep our gazes locked, ramming into her again and again and again.
An orgasm catches her first; I can see it building in the curl of her spine, the tightness of her fingers as she claws at the countertop with her perfectly manicured nails.
“Dash!” she screams, loud enough that I wouldn't be surprised if one of the security guards came traipsing in here. “Oh God, yes.” Her voice breaks like a wave cresting on a rock, crashing around me as she squeezes tight, holding my body captive for one, perfect moment. One fucking perfect moment where I don't have to be anyone or anything except myself. Sex is like a drug, isn't it? And I can't seem to stop myself from leaping between highs. “Wow,” Laura says as I pull away and drop my used condom in the stainless steel trash can. I fix my jeans as I watch her turn around and gather herself together,
smoothing strands of blonde back into place, adjusting her suit jacket and skirt, pulling up her panties. “That was amazing. Please tell me you'll be coming into the office more often?”
I shrug and reach into my back pocket for a smoke.
“I'm going on tour this summer with the boys,” I tell her and pretend not to notice when her face crumples. Laura's nice and all, but she's got this attention to detail that drives me nuts. Everything with her is so perfect, so put-together. I like messy girls, girls with frizzy hair, makeup on one eye but not the other, a bedroom floor strewn with books and T-shirts and high heels still in the box. I don't have to ask myself why or get introspective about it - I know why I like chaos. The answer's pretty simple: my father made me this way. “I'll see you when I get back?” I light my cigarette and watch as Linda's eyes crinkle at the corners. Last time I saw her, she gave me a packet of brochures on the dangers of lung cancer.
“Sure thing, Dash,” she says and then points a red-nailed finger at me, “just don't tell your dad we did it again.”
Next up: a juicy excerpt from C.M. Stunich's Hard Rock Roots Series
Turner Campbell is an asshole.
I fucking hate him.
But I can't get enough either.
He sings like an angel and fucks like a devil.
If I could, I'd run away and never look back because to tell you the truth, I think this man might be the death of me.
X X X
Naomi Knox is a bitch.
I can't fucking stand her.
But I can't stop thinking about her either.
She looks like an angel and plays like a devil.
If I could, I'd fuck her good and forget all about her, but to tell you the truth, I think this woman might be my last saving grace
CHAPTER ONE
NAOMI KNOX
There's a metamorphosis happening right before my eyes. I'm watching a devil shed its skin, shrink its horns and grow wings. The dark haze in the air is lifting, banished by the bright lights of the stage. Even metaphorically, a trick like that is hard to pull off. I'm impressed. Or I would be if I didn't hate the asshole so much.
“He looks like a fucking angel,” I whisper as I sip my beer.
“What?” Blair shouts, cupping her hand around my ear. I swipe some hair away from my face and lean over, so that she can hear me above the booming of the bass. It pounds down through the wood of the stage, into the concrete, and across the floor where it catches on the rubber soles of my boots and ricochets up through my bones. If I close my eyes, I can see it tainting my blood, forcing my heart to pump faster and faster, until I feel dizzy from the beautiful poison in the air. The phrase slaying the crowd wasn't made up off the top of someone's head; if the fucks on stage do it right, it really does feel like the music is killing you softly.
“Turner Campbell,” I yell back at her, my lips brushing against the small, black plugs in her earlobes. “He looks like a fucking angel up there.” Blair leans back and raises one pierced brow at me. Her blue eyes say that I'm full of shit. I take another sip of cool, cool amber and watch as she turns her heart shaped face to the stage. Her gaze rakes Turner from head to toe and then slides across the heaving, thumping crowd, landing right back on me.
“A fallen angel,” she shouts. Pauses. “Maybe.”
I shrug and ignore her pointed stare, watching Turner as he moves across the stage, lights glistening off the blue-black highlights in his hair and making him look like he has a damn halo on his head. His brown eyes scan the crowd, catching on faces and holding them as he purrs into the microphone and caresses it like he fucking owns it. I bet every bitch in here can practically feel his hands on her body, taste his tongue in her mouth. What am I shitting myself for? They've probably all had a nice, big slice of the real thing anyway. Let's just say that Turner's reputation proceeds him.
Devil.
I have to remember that he's not just a devil, but The Devil.
I take another sip of beer and try to focus on something else – the crowd of people clusterfucking at the bar, the mosh pit up front, Blair's white feather eyelashes. Nothing works. My gaze finds Turner Campbell again and stays there, focusing primarily on his lips and the words that tumble out of them.
“What the hell did you do to leave me broken, barren, and bleeding? What gave you the fucking right?” Turner sucks in a massive lungful of air, blowing his hot breath across the microphone and breaking my heart with a single gasp. I'm not alone. The crowd starts to hum, men and women alike pulsing with the heat and the energy of the song. Goddamn, that's good, I think as I allow myself to sink against the cool concrete of the back wall. Doubt those lyrics are his though. Fucking hypocrite. Just yesterday I walked in on Turner fucking a roadie over a PA speaker. When he saw me, he just pulled out and left the girl there with her panties around her ankles. She cried for a half a fucking hour. Devil. I want to hate him, but it's really hard from down here. I like it better when I'm backstage, when I can look at him hitting on groupies and roadies, watch him running his fingers across the lips of a dozen girls in a dozen cities. It's a lot easier to hate him that way. How am I going to make it through six months of this?
I finish my beer and push away from the wall, dropping the empty bottle on the edge of the bar before sneaking out a side door. My hands slide across a collage of torn stickers and scribbled Sharpie as I heave the heavy metal out of my way, snatching one last glance before I go at the lead singer of Indecency. Sweat slides down the tattoos on his neck and soaks into the fabric of his black T-shirt. Ironically, it's one of ours. Amatory Riot. I doubt he even really knows who we are. I bet one his roadie bitches dressed him this morning.
I drop the door shut behind me, not caring that the sound of it slamming is like a gunshot in the still air outside the Pound. I'm glad our set is over because it would be hard to follow an act like that. No matter what I think of Turner, his band is good. I guess they'd have to be since they're the headliners. Still …
I put a cigarette between my lips and light up. The tangy coastal air feels good against my moist skin and the breeze smells like salt, waking me from the buzzed trance I was nursing and thrusting me back into the real world. Not always a good thing.
“Hey, Naomi,” a voice calls out from the end of the alley. I don't turn my head because there's only one person I've ever met that sounds like a demonic version of Mickey Mouse. “Hayden got drunk and vomited all over the bathroom. There's like three inches of fucking puke in there.” Wren pauses next to me and tucks his skinny hands into the front pockets of his acid washed jeans. “It smells like tequila and it's making me sick.” I take a drag on my cigarette and close my eyes. The music from inside is drifting through the walls and poking the bare skin on my arms like a chorus of needles. I sigh and flick my smoke to the grimy cement.
“So clean it up,” I tell him as I crush the butt to ashes with the toe of my stiletto boot. “I'm tired of being Hayden's bitch.” Wren watches me, but doesn't say anything else. He knows I'll do it. That I'll walk in there and pick our lead singer up off the floor, wipe her down and strip her naked, put her to bed and tell her a goddamn fairy tale. I'm no stranger to cleaning up Hayden's messes. I just have to get my head in the right place before I do it. Wren shifts his weight to the side and continues to stare. “Fuck, don't just stand there and stare at me. You know I'll friggin' do it. Gimme a minute, why don't you?”
I turn away and start down the alley, back towards the front where bouncers in black shirts wait, passing around a silver flask and sharing a joint. They know me, so they don't say anything, just watch as I step into their circle and reach out my hand. Both items make their way to me quickly.
“I love your shit, Knox,” says a man with bright blue eyes and a tattoo of a dragon curling up his left arm. I swig some of the alcohol from the flask. Ugh. Cheap whiskey. I wipe my hand across my mouth and hand it the person standing next to me.
“My shit?” I ask as I pinch the joint between my fingers and slide i
t into my mouth. I take a nice, long drag and wait for the smoke to fill my lungs and cloud my brain. I can't look at Hayden if I don't get fucked up first. Ever since that day, the sight of her makes me sick to my stomach. God, I hate that bitch.
“Your music. It's good shit.” I blow white smoke into the air and smile with tight lips.
“If you ever call my music shit again,” I say as I pass the joint to dragon-boy. “I will kick your fucking ass to the curb.”
Listen to this playlist for FREE on Spotify by clicking here or visiting: http://goo.gl/wTHHHo
The Agonist – Thank You, Pain
Alesana – It Was A Dark And Stormy Night
Alesana – Comedy Of Errors
Alesana – Oh, How The Mighty Have Fallen
Alesana – Fatal Optimist
Alesana – What Goes Around... (Justin Timberlake cover)
Alesana – Apology
Alesso (and Tove Lo) – Heroes (we could be)
Alizee – A cause de l'automne
Alizee – Blonde
Alizee – Alcaline
Alizee – Moi... Lolita - Single Version
Alizee – J'En Ai Marre
August Burns Red – ...Baby One More Time (Britney Spears cover)
Bleachers – Rollercoaster
Bleachers (and Charli XCX) – Rollercoaster
The Cab – Disturbia (Rihanna cover)
The Cab – Angel With A Shotgun
Charli XCX – Boom Clap
A Day To Remember – Over My Head (The Fray cover)
Escape the Fate – Gorgeous Nightmare
Escape the Fate – Les Enfants Terribles (The Terrible Children)
Escape the Fate – Smooth (Santana cover)
Escape the Fate – One For the Money
Eths – Crucifere
Eths – Detruis-moi
Eths – Bulimiarexia
Stepbrother Thief Page 36