RUTHLESS: The Complete Rockstar Romance Series Boxed Set

by Vivian Lux

Murder flashed in Banner's eyes, but he looked from me to Halligan and back to me again, muttered something profane, and walked out the door.

  "Say hi to your mom for me! I called after him. My pulse beat in my temples and my fists itched. It had been months, no, fucking years since I'd felt so alive.

  I turned to look at the rock star, the beautiful, talented keyboardist from my favorite fucking band in the world and I finally felt good enough to say, "Hi there. Can I buy you a new drink?"

  Chapter Five

  Piper

  I was angry and I didn't know why, but more than that I was exhilarated. Those two guys wanted to hurt me, but I didn't get hurt. I passed the test! I won! I was fucking invincible!

  The guy, my protector, stared at me. Did he say something? I couldn't hear him over the rush of triumph that thudded in my ears. I felt like standing on the top of the bar and shouting at the world to come at me. Nothing could touch me. Nobody could fucking hurt me anymore.

  "What?" I panted. I felt the heat in my cheeks and shrugged myself out of my black jacket. I waited for the guy to look at my tits, but he didn't.

  He was staring right into my eyes.

  "I want to buy you a new drink," he repeated.

  "Since you knocked mine onto the floor?" I laughed, looking away from his piercing eye contact. I'd only smoked pot once before, hating how out of control it made me feel, but this feeling had me flying much higher. It was strange how I didn't want to look at him, but I didn't want him to stop looking at me.

  He nodded without smiling. "I didn't want you to get hurt." Then he glowered a little. "You should be more careful."

  I whirled on him. "But why?" That was the same shit Lowell was always telling me, reminding me that I wasn't stable, that I didn't make good decisions for myself. That I wasn't ready to be a fully functioning adult, not yet. The high dissipated a little, but the anger crystallized. "That's not fucking fair," I spat, my voice rising. "Why the hell should I have to be careful?"

  He blinked once and I waited. I waited for him to launch into the litany of worry that people who claimed to want to protect me from myself always launched into at times like these. Times when I got caught seeking danger. I inhaled sharply because I knew I didn't have much longer before he'd tell me exactly why I needed to be careful. Why I wasn't free to live my life without fear the way everyone else seemed to be.

  As I inhaled, I detected that odor peculiar to dive bars. Cheap beer soaked into the floorboards, layer upon layer laid down for generations, while above it a cloud of ripe body odor hovered. The smell of men who worked hard all day and didn't give a shit about how they looked once night came. They'd show up to these places in their coveralls, their dungarees, the grease still shining under their fingernails. I could smell them too.

  It's always been a smell that both repels me and draws me in.

  It brings me back to a rank smelling arm, the pit ripe with nervous sweat, and the sloshed beer that I spilled as I fought him, soaking down the front of his chest. It mixed with the odor of liquor oozing from his pores and filling my nostrils with a scent I'd never forget. It was elusive, because I could only take a few breaths of it before that beer-soaked arm pressed the air out of my five-year-old chest as he clapped his hand over my mouth.

  I came to these places because not everything in my life went back to that one moment twenty years ago. I could be a person completely apart from that moment. And I needed to prove it to myself and everyone else.

  That's a problem with telling. I told my parents when I was twelve, got the nerve up with Lowell's help, expecting to be unburdened. I wanted the catharsis of giving my burden over to the grown-ups...

  But spilling my guts didn't do anything except tear my family apart.

  My father refused to believe that his brother had done anything, so he chose to leave us rather than live with the daughter he deemed a liar. My mother, she believed me, but at what cost? Her sanity? Her self? It was too fucking much for her, and when she wrote her note, her apology, to me and to Lowell, she tried to tell me that it wasn't my fault she was swallowing the pills. But I knew. I knew that if I had just kept my fucking mouth shut, everything would still be okay. My father would still be around, my mother would still be alive. We would still vacation as a family in Reckless Falls, New York once a year, swimming in the dark, cool waters, where I'd dive under and swim with the current, coming up with a smooth, polished river stone in my hand.

  What did it matter if my secret ate me up inside? I was strong enough to handle it.

  It's better to keep your secrets. Keep a wall up inside.

  As soon someone knows something tragic about you, that's all they see when they look into your eyes. Piper Stowe. Piper Stowe, survivor. Molested as a child. These fucking labels defined me before someone even got to know me. That's why I sought out the anonymity of these far-flung outposts. There I didn't have to be me.

  It made me fucking ecstatic to realize, sitting in this bar, that not a single person here knew who I was or what had happened to me.

  So, I stared this guy down, waiting for him to tell me to be careful. Just let him try to put a soothing, proprietary hand on my arm. I'd knock him into the next fucking county.

  He looked down at his hands for a moment and then back up at me, expelling a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. "You shouldn't have to be careful. You're right. I agree."

  That was not what I expected him to say at all. I blinked and for the first time, I really looked at this guy, my white knight, who'd come out of nowhere to save me.

  His hair was cut close to his scalp, so short I had no idea what color it might be, but his eyebrows were light enough that I could see the fine structure of his brow bone underneath. In the low light of the bar, I couldn't tell if his eyes were gray or blue, in a way they almost seemed like both, somehow, at the same time. They were the kind of eyes that the word piercing was invented for, sharp and intelligent, and unwavering in his gaze.

  A worthy opponent.

  "You say I shouldn't have to be," I said to him. "But you think I should be anyway, right?" The old defensiveness, the armor I'd built up over a lifetime wasn't about to let me go ahead and be nice to a guy who'd butted in on me at a bar. Even if he had the best intentions, he still had no right to interfere.

  "Well," he said slowly. "I guess I'd be a fucking hypocrite if I told you how I think you oughta live your life. Lord knows I've made a pretty good hash of my own."

  All of a sudden, the heat of his gaze was too much to bear. I looked down before the eye contact scalded me and my gaze rested on his hands. Immediately I saw the calloused fingertips. "You're a musician?" I blurted. That was surprising.

  He seemed pretty surprised, too. "You can tell?"

  "I know hands," I said, looking more closely. That's when I saw it. His ring finger, still dented into the shape of a wedding ring, a perfectly white tan line burned into the bronze of his skin. Why was my heart sinking with disappointment? I didn't give a shit about this guy. "Married, huh?" I asked, feeling a small measure of triumph that I had finally figured him out.

  "Divorced," he coughed. The word seemed to stick in his throat and he had to take a sip of beer to wash it back down again. Like it tasted bad. "Official as of last week."

  "For real?" My sinking heart suddenly rose again, and once more I had no idea why.

  "Look," he said, setting his beer back down again. "I'm not trying to get in your pants. I'm not like that guy." He gestured to the door. "Fuck, I'd kill myself if I ever ended up an asshole like him. I'm not going to get in your space and act like you owe me anything." He looked at me again and his eyes looked very blue, and then they looked slate gray and I realized I could spend hours just watching the way his eyes changed in the light. He bent his head so his lips were close to my ear. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay," he said.

  I swallowed. "I'm fine."

  He straightened up. "I'm glad."

  "Good."

 
"Okay then."

  We both fell silent.

  "I'm going to go now," I said, pushing back on my stool. "Thanks for, um, just... thanks."

  "Okay," he said, sliding back on his stool and standing up.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm walking you to your car."

  "You don't have to do that."

  "I know. But humor me, okay?" A slow grin spread across his face. "I've been wanting to kick Johnny Banner's ass since sophomore year in high school. If I see him out there in the parking lot, waiting for you to come out, I'll finally have the excuse I need."

  A giggle bubbled up from my chest and suddenly I was laughing. "You actually want to get in a fight?"

  "I do."

  I looked at him for a second. "I do too," I whispered.

  He didn't act surprised at all. In fact, I got the distinct impression that he understood. That the idea of punching and kicking your way through the numbness just so you could feel something, even if it was only physical pain, was something he was very familiar with. "Okay then, Piper. If Banner tries anything, I'll let you get the first shot in. I'll have your back though, okay?"

  I smiled and started walking to the lot. He fell in step behind me and it felt so right to have him there that I almost didn't wonder how he knew my name.

  Chapter Six

  True

  I should have known better. If there was one thing Johnny Banner was, it was a coward. I never should've expected to see him waiting out here, ready to face me, ready to fight me. I should have known that he'd do something underhanded, that he'd have his petty revenge and then leave before he'd have to look us in the eye.

  "My car is over there," Piper gestured. Across the parking lot, a brand-new SUV, shining with wax and practically gleaming in the low yellow light of the streetlamp stood out like a sore thumb. It was practically a beacon, sitting there in a dusty lot full of broken down pickups and beat up sedans. And I could tell, even at this distance, that all four tires had been slashed.

  "Oh my God!" she cried, breaking out into a run. She sprinted around, gasping each time she saw the damage that Banner had done. "Oh my God, that fucking bastard! How the hell did he know this was my car?"

  I shrugged. "Small town," I explained. "Your car stands out. I'm actually surprised he didn't go after mine as well." I looked across the lot to where my old truck still sat. As far as I could see it was completely undisturbed. But it wouldn't have made a difference anyway, that wouldn't have been how Banner got his revenge. He knew that I worked in a garage, that messing with my car would be no skin off my back.

  He'd have to find some other way to hurt me for embarrassing him.

  I couldn't wait to find out.

  "What the fuck am my supposed to do now?" she asked, exhaling a huge sigh.

  I looked at her. "I can help."

  "What, you're going to be my savior again?"

  "Seems like you need one, doesn't it?"

  "How you can help this time, are you going to beat up the guys that did this? You can go follow them on foot or something? Track them down?"

  I shook my head. "It sounds tempting, and I have a feeling you might enjoy that, but no. I work at a garage. I can drive a tow truck."

  Her eyes widened. "You're kidding."

  I looked at my watch. "I'm not, although technically my shift isn't supposed to start until tomorrow morning. But I can make an exception for new friends."

  "So what, you can go get your truck? Take my car in?"

  "If that's okay?"

  "How will I get my car back?"

  I couldn't help but smile. "Well, I guess you have to see me again Piper."

  She stiffened, and I instantly regretted my overstep. "How do you know my name?" she demanded.

  I winced. "Okay, I'm sorry, that was awkward."

  "How the fuck do you know my name?"

  I held up my hands to ward off her accusatory tone. "I'm sorry. It's just, Ruthless is my favorite band. I'm serious. I really like your music."

  "You like music," she said slowly, drawing out the word. She looked down at my hands. "You're a guitarist."

  "I was," I corrected. Then I thought about my plan, however half-baked it was, maybe if I said out loud it would make it solidify. "And I'm trying to be one again."

  She softened a little, but she was still stiff. I realized that I had ruined her fantasy of anonymity. Why the hell else was she all the way out here, hours outside of LA, unless she was trying to fly under the celebrity radar? I held out my hand, extending it in a gesture of friendship. "Okay fine, it's not fair that I know your name and you don't know mine. I'm Cash Truman."

  Even in the low light of the streetlamp, there was still no disguising that twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "Cash? Like money? That's your name?"

  I let my hand drop to my side. "I know. It's funny because I never actually have any money, either in my wallet or my bank account. No, my dad was a big fan of old country. My name's Cash and my brother's name is Conway."

  "Like Conway Twitty?"

  "One and the same."

  "So people just call you Cash? No way to shorten that into a nickname I guess."

  I winced. "Some people do. Have a nickname for me, I mean. They call me True."

  "Drew?"

  "No, True. Like the first part of my last name. True-man."

  She blinked.

  "It's one of those things. Around here they called my dad that too. It was funny because he wouldn't know the truth if it bit him in the nose. They should have called him Liar."

  "So you don't like being called True?"

  "I don't. But I can't stop people, so I try to live up to it. I'd rather be True than a Liar."

  She blinked slowly and then flashed a smile so beautiful that it hurt. "Okay True," she said softly, rolling my name around in her mouth as if to taste it. "If I let you drive me home, you promise not to tell people where I live, right?

  "Name for a name, house for a house. If you want, I'll drive you past my place, show you where I live so we're equal that way too."

  She nodded and made to move to my passenger seat, but I had to pause for a moment and lean against the door to let the internal war waging in my guts play out. Fear squirted its acrid taste in the back of my mouth and I spat on the ground, ashamed of myself.

  She was a celebrity, a rock star, rich as fuck. What the hell was I doing, outright volunteering to show her the shithole where I lived?

  The fact that I was poor as fuck was just that. A fucking fact. A fact that had taken me a long ass time to accept. You don't notice those things when you're a kid, but slowly and surely the world goes out of its way to let you know you're a piece of shit in its eyes. Rory didn't see it yet, and I ached to change things for her before her parents' poverty became apparent.

  I loved that she didn't know yet. She was happy. And back when I was her age, I was happy too. Back then, Con and I, we didn't know we were different. That's the thing. With my grandparents hovering over us, ready to step in with a few dollars here and there for a Happy Meal, a wiffle ball bat and a pack of chewing gum, we were happy. The people in our lives, they lived like we did, close to the bone, but resigned to it. I'd go to school and no one gave a shit that I wore the same pair of jeans every day. They were always clean, my mother made sure of that, so who gave a fuck?

  The first time I noticed something was off was when Missy Hawkins caught my eye. I think she thought I was dashing, with my guitar slung on my shoulder and my notebook in hand. She'd sit with me on the back lawn of our middle school and ask me to write songs for her. I played her Stairway to Heaven and pretended I wrote it myself, and she was so smitten she let me feel under her shirt for a while. I was king of the fucking world, in those moments, and I never wanted them to end.

  So, I invited her back to my place. I had visions of laying her out on my bed, maybe seeing my first pair of tits, and whatever wonderful mystery lay between her thighs.

  I first noticed her face falling when w
e turned down my street. I thought maybe she was getting cold feet, so I hustled her faster, past the clapped together shacks with the sheets in the window, until we reached my house.

  That's when she stopped short.

  I followed her line of sight and suddenly I saw it. The way the house sagged to the side like a man too tired to stand up straight anymore. I saw the bare socket above the front door, where the glass still stuck out in dangerous shards from when it broke six months ago but none of us had the time or money to fix it. I saw her face fall to the rip in the screen door, patched with duct tape, and the scuffed wood in the hallway. I noticed for the first time, the way the couched slumped in the middle and how tiny our TV was. I saw the bare kitchen and my mom's bed on the back porch through her eyes.

  She winced at everything, and then her face took on a glassy, glazed look, her lips stretched back more like a dog baring its teeth than a smile.

  The next morning, she broke up with me. "We come from different worlds," she explained, holding my wrists in her hand like she was trying to take my pulse. "It's just never going to work."

  "Okay," I replied. I wasn't mad. I was confused. That night I went to my mom with that confusion.

  "Yeah," she sighed, brushing her hands down her too big jeans. She'd been losing weight lately and I only just noticed then. "We're poor, Cash. No shame in the truth."

  No shame.

  I lifted my chin as Piper and I turned down the drive. "So that's it," I said, gesturing to the beat trailer that no longer contained my wife, or my child. In the dark, it looked even more tired and sad than it had in the daylight, as if all the fights that Lizzy and I had over the years left it exhausted too.

  Piper squinted, pressing her nose up against the glass. "You know, I really can't see anything," she pointed out.

  I exhaled a breath I didn't know I was holding. Was I worried she was going to laugh? Make fun of me somehow? Why would I think that? No shame. "Here," I said, reaching into the console for a pen and one of the work order forms that I kept on a pad in there. "I'll write down the address for you. You can drive past in the daytime if you want. Be a freaky stalker or something. So we're square."