Twisted Rhythm: A Dark Rockstar Romance (Twisted Rhythm Series Book 1)
Page 31
“Time to put your love to the test bitch,” he opened the revolver’s loading gate, showing her as he spun the cylinder.
Only one 22 magnum round inside the Ruger Single Six. Five chances to live. One chance to die tonight.
“Ready?” he asked as he spun the cylinder again for good measure.
“No,” she shook her head desperately but stood frozen, petrified to say anything else or move.
“Tough shit.”
He walked towards her. Obeying his gesture, she scrambled onto the bed.
“Kneel,” he ordered as he knelt on the bed before her. “Time to see what ya want,” he smiled sweetly. “Time to see if ya wanna live or die tonight.”
“Jake, please,” she pleaded but was silenced as he pressed the Ruger’s barrel to her head.
For some crazy reason she pictured his fans at the last Steel Demon concert she’d attended. Well before their notorious final incident so long ago. The screaming, writhing sea of more than 700,000 in Brazil at the famed Rock in Rio festival. All craving an impossible touch, fleeting acknowledgement, even a glance from their exalted rock warrior. Their divine messiah and she had all his attention, concentration and focus here tonight.
But not the way she wanted it. Not the way she’d craved. Shaking uncontrollably, she lowered her head. Keenly aware of the gun’s cold six-and-a-half-inch barrel, she shut her eyes tightly and silently began to pray.
“Look at me, ya fuckin’ whore,” Jake screamed and she opened her eyes.
He was still kneeling before her, so close they shared breath and life and imminent death. She looked into his eyes submissively. He was inches from her and she couldn’t look away.
Dear God, even now he’s so gorgeous, she nearly balked at the realization. So confident and invincible and defiant beyond compare. His deep green eyes were blazing, full of raw, sexual fire and deeper, unimaginable pain and despair. He leaned into her and her breath quickened. His soft, silky locks fell forward and gently caressed her cheeks and face. This was the man she’d always asserted she’d die for. And he was going to hold her to her declarations tonight.
“Last words?” he crooned softly.
She stared into his heated eyes and was chilled to the bone. His expression was empty and lost and unforgiving. She’d finally pushed him to the edge and over with all her vindictive games. He cocked his head expectantly, waiting for her answer. She stammered but no words came.
“Time’s up baby,” he laughed softly, kissed her gently on the lips, raised himself higher on his knees and pressed the gun more firmly against her head.
“No!” she screamed, panicked. “I fucked up but I don’t deserve to die.”
Seconds passed like hours. He laughed maliciously and lowered his gun.
“Did ya really think I’d make it this easy for you?” he asked her as he leaned closer.
He raised her chin with his hand.
“Ya really think I’d let ya off this fuckin’ light?”
He glared at her, eyes blazing, and she timidly shook her head.
Leaning back suddenly, he raised the Ruger and pressed it against his own head.
“Jake, no!” she gasped.
He stared at her rebelliously as she continued, barely able to speak because she was trembling so violently, barely able to think or catch her breath.
“Jake please, listen to me. You have everything in the whole world to live for. You have a billion reasons more than anyone else on the planet not to die.”
He laughed.
“Russian roulette, remember? I might live,” he said.
She stared at him incredulously.
“Don’t think I got the balls to pull the trigger?”
She raised her shaking hands and covered her face for a moment before speaking.
“Jesus Jake, I know nothin’ scares you. Everyone in the world already knows you got the balls to do anything, even die. But you got nothin’ to prove, to me or anyone else out there. Nothin’ to gain and everything to lose.”
His muscles flexed in his arm as he gripped the gun tighter. His hand was sweating, his fingers were numb. He shifted his blazing eyes ever so slightly and she caught the look that always impaled her. The raging, restless innocence that hypnotized his fans and drew them into his chaos, his raw, exposed, egregious turmoil and sweet, intoxicating demise. Shivering violently as she realized she’d caused this, she prayed silently to God, to the universe, to anyone or anything out there that would listen. Please God, she begged, let it be me and not him if someone has to die tonight.
“I’ll die for you Jake,” she whispered. “I’ll be the one to play your goddamn game.”
He cocked his head slowly and raised his eyebrow. Lowered the gun to his lap and leaned forward into her face.
“Real fuckin’ valiant ‘a you,” he sneered. “Pity you weren’t as loyal when you were seducin’ Zack or bendin’ over for Wade.”
They were less than an inch from each other, almost nose to nose, and she didn’t dare back away. Their breathing was heavy with tension and exhaustion and finally, fumbling for words, she thought of something to say.
“I’m as loyal as you get,” she said decisively. “You want me to play roulette instead of you, I’ll fuckin’ play.”
They stared at each other, motionless for a few moments, until Jake huffed and leaned back slowly to prop up on his elbows. His deep green eyes remained gloomy and vigilant. His right hand still gripped the gun.
“Let’s make this easier,” he offered, “as a little reward for your belated loyalty.”
“How?” she asked, instinctively knowing it would be anything but.
“Let’s say we take this outside,” Jake suggested.
She looked confused.
“Into the tiger house. Maybe Morocco would like to play.”
“No!” she screamed louder than he’d ever heard her.
Louder than he’d ever heard anyone scream in his entire life. She scrambled off the bed, bolted across the room, and threw herself against the bedroom door.
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare!” she screamed. “I’m the one that hurt you, Jake. Not Morocco. He’s just a precious, sweet, innocent cat. If you hurt him you might as well just kill me. Living without him,” she was sobbing uncontrollably, “is worse than anything, even death.”
Oh God, she realized suddenly as the icy tentacles of fear and horror gripped her. This was Jake’s plan all along. His final torture. Killing Morocco with her knowing she’d caused it was his ultimate, heinous, hideous revenge. He slid off the bed as she crumpled against the door crying. She fell helplessly to her knees as he reached her, the Ruger still gripped tightly in his hand.
“Me, you, or Morocco,” he said.
She stared up at him, hopeless. There was no best answer. No satisfactory way out or conciliatory escape. He stood rigid and unyielding as she crawled over to him. Groveling like a slave on her hands and knees. Climbing, winding up his inviting, sensuous body. Grasping his calves, then thighs as she slithered up to sway shakily before him.
She leaned into him, against his hot, tight, muscular body. Petrified he’d recoil or push her away. He glared at her through eyes that were cold and depthless with impenetrable fire, but said nothing, did nothing to move her away. So, nuzzling closer, she ran her hands firmly along his heated, tensed body, caressing his chest, arms and shoulders as he waited and watched her. She finally leaned forward and kissed the smooth, delicious curve of his neck.
“Not Morocco...not you Jake. Make me pay any way you want to,” she whispered, knowing that more than anything it was really what he wanted to do anyway.
Knowing that somewhere not so deep beneath the surface, it was really what she wanted too.
Chapter 20
Morocco raised his head abruptly, inexplicably woken from a deep and restful sleep. His round, sensitive ears pricked forward to listen if something was out there. If anything was amiss. He blinked slowly, his piercing amber eyes scanning the room as h
e anxiously turned his head. The tiger house was cloaked in semi-darkness. Nothing but a dim night light illuminated the room.
He rose slowly, leaping off his favorite perch and landing silently in the soft straw. Nearby, his cubs were sleeping blissfully in their dens. Only Seh-Khan and Kontikki stirred as Morocco paced nervously. Lightly brushing against the caging of his night quarters while Kahari and Sahara rolled over in the comfortable ignorance of sleep.
Danger lurked, Morocco knew it, sensed it with every tightening muscle and sinewy fiber of his being. His two-and-a-half-pound heart slammed and vibrated within his massive chest. He wasn’t used to this uncertain feeling and it unnerved him. Set him huffing and then moaning before finally yowling loudly until finally he rose six foot high on hind legs and roared.
Within the dense birch and oak forests of his native habitat, his roars would have been heard up to two miles away. Perhaps even five miles if he’d been out in open, unobstructed territory. As it was, his vocalizations disturbed Tyler in the house because he’d been barely sleeping. Katelyn and Rachel tossed fitfully in their sleep and Amanda, still pressed up against Jake in her bedroom, anxiously squirmed at the sound. Wade, sitting outside on a bench about a quarter acre from the tiger house, just about jumped out of his skin.
“What the hell?” he mumbled and stood immediately, after his initial paralysis waned.
Morocco’s roar had literally rumbled right through him. He’d never heard anything like that powerful blast before. Of course he had no knowledge of the roar’s subsonic component, the infrasound below the range of human hearing that aided in paralyzing the tiger’s victims. The silent sound and invisible force that amplified the tiger’s most menacing vocalization, causing terror and confusion to its unfortunate prey. Wade ran his hands up and down his arms to calm himself, left with a delicate tingling sensation now that the cold chill was done icing up his spine.
“Jesus...” he mumbled, still shaken, and actually took a few steps away from the direction of the tiger building, wondering if everything was all right in there.
Maybe this is normal, he told himself unconvincingly. He peered towards the house but saw only jagged fractions of light because it was obscured by numerous pine trees. In any case, there were no approaching footsteps and no one came running. He sat back down on the bench nervously, feeling even less at home than Jake had already made him. Wondering what had upset the big cat in the deceiving calm of darkness and just what the hell was going on in the house between Amanda and Jake.
***
“One ‘a your cats is restless,” Jake said.
Amanda stepped back when she heard the sound. For a moment, she just stared at him blankly. He still had the gun in his hand.
“It’s Morocco,” she said, reluctant to admit it.
Afraid to steer Jake’s thoughts in Morocco’s direction. But determined to prove to him that, despite her favorite cat’s beckoning calls, she was staying put in the bedroom, attentive and acquiescing by his side.
“How d’ya know that?” he eyed her suspiciously.
He’d never been able to distinguish one cat’s vocalizations from another, yet she recognized each one distinctly without effort, without any thought or consideration.
“I just know,” she said assuredly, without apology and her conviction cut Jake to the bone.
He realized just how jealous he’d always been of her connection and affinity, her union and bond with her big cats. It transcended far past the limitations of their own relationship and even any loyalty or love she had for him. He wondered if given only two choices in roulette, him or Morocco, which option Amanda would instinctively choose. He didn’t offer the game in this updated version or even ask her. He was afraid of the outcome and everything he’d lose.
“Take your fuckin’ hands off me,” he scowled, grabbing her wrists and forcing her hands to her sides.
His eyes were injured, irreparable cold fire and she shuddered at the consequences, the prospects and possibilities of what he could do. He released her wrists and shoved her backwards, taking a long, deep breath and then turning away. She stood rigid, frozen, bolted in place by fear and trepidation. As she watched him stride to the mini bar and grab the bottle of Jack Daniel’s, she wished, harder than anything, that she’d never written her book, never threw herself at Wade like a cheap, desperate tramp, and stayed the fuck away from Zack regardless of her predicament and what Jake did to get her there.
Jake tossed the cap off the bottle and drank deeply. Desperate to quench the fire of jealousy and rage burning within him, desperate to dampen and weaken his pain. She watched him intently as he swallowed, remembering how much he’d drank during their final incident, recalling mournfully how, near the end of his violent, degenerate assault on her, he’d curled up on the floor in the corner, sobbing, rocking back and forth like he’d went insane.
Her then unadmitted tryst with Wade had thoroughly gutted him. His inability to stop beating her had destroyed his precarious inner compass and what little conscience he had before the attack. And now Wade was here, sleeping just one room over. And she’d invited Jake here to toss it defiantly in his face.
He slammed the bottle back down onto the table and glared at her. It was time to pay.
“Think ya got it all wrapped up, don’t ya? Think ya got this whole slimy, miserable, putrid mess all under control.”
His eyes narrowed, his mask of control and confidence melted away.
“I...I don’t think anything,” she whispered. “I just know I wanna take away all the pain I’ve ever caused you. I just want you to believe that, no matter what I’ve done I’ve always loved you. No one’s ever, ever in my whole life, meant more to me than you do Jake.”
He laughed, spun and slammed his fist on the table. When he turned back towards her his face was driven and cold.
“You’re nothin’ but a lyin’, cheatin’, disgusting whore,” he lunged towards her.
She should have known it was coming but wasn’t ready for the crippling slap to her face. She groaned, lost her footing and sprawled on the ground before him. He pulled her up by her hair. Yanking her forward up against him, he forced her head back to look into his face.
“Think ya can play me, ya stupid ignorant tramp?” he screamed. “Think ya can spread your legs for every goddamn dick on the planet and come groveling back to me for more?”
He leaned menacingly into her until their lips touched, until his long, soft hair hung alluringly into her heated and bloodied face. Held tightly against him, she could feel his raging, powerful heartbeat. His anger and desperation and spiraling loss of control.
“Wanna make me look like some fuckin’ idiot?” he sneered. “Like a gutless loser in front ‘a my fans and even break up my band?”
He wrapped his shaking hands tighter in her hair. Still reeling from the stinging slap he’d given her, Amanda struggled to stay focused, gather her disjointed thoughts and clear the fog. If he hadn’t been gripping her so tightly against him, she would have crumbled and fallen, helpless and defeated at his feet.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he raged. “You got the balls to deceive and exploit everyone around you, manipulate ‘em for your own sick games to fuckin’ destroy my life and now ya got nothin’ to motherfuckin’ say?”
She raised her arms, grabbing him just below his shoulders. His eyes flared as she swallowed hard, fueled by his heated breath to give him the answers he wanted.
She finally murmured, “I wasn’t thinking. I was so upset and hurt and destroyed I just couldn’t think straight anymore.”
He yanked her backwards and tangled his hands more tightly in her hair.
“You weren’t thinking?” he rasped sarcastically, his voice cool and smooth and full of venom. “Are ya thinkin’ now?” he screamed and shook her violently by the hair.
Clutching his wrists as he jostled her, she barely managed to stay on her feet.
“I fucked up Jake, I told you that,” she murmured br
eathlessly. “I’ll make it all up to you somehow, I promise. All I want is for you not to hate me anymore. All I want is for you to be OK.”
He held her at arm’s length for a few minutes and they stared distrustfully into each other’s eyes. She shuddered as she watched the change come over him. The benign, cushioning calm after the hurricane. The deceiving serenity before the larger, more vicious storm. He let her go carelessly, stepping back from her as if she was poison.
Still shaken, breathing heavily within his festering anger, he reached up and brushed his hair back defiantly, alluringly tilting his head.
“Wanna be a star?” he crooned softly.
“I am a star,” she said and smiled.
He laughed, bitter and jaded, and strode over to his suitcase, placing the Ruger on the floor. He pulled out his laptop, crossed the room and plugged it in on her nightstand, laying the gun there too.
“What are ya doin’?” she asked.
“Gonna livestream,” he smiled, turning to face her. “And lucky for you, you get the starring role.”
Frozen in shock for a few moments, she quickly tried to fix her disarrayed and tangled hair. She rushed to her mirror and gasped in horror. The corner of her mouth was slightly swollen and bloody, and blood stained her nose and cheek and had gotten into her hair at the side of her face.
“Jake, look at me,” she cried. “I can’t do it looking like this.”
He laughed indifferently and raised his eyebrow.
“Really Amanda? How pretty you look should be the least ‘a your fuckin’ worries right now.”
“Someone’ll call the cops,” she said stubbornly. “D’ya really want ‘em here tonight?”
Then kicked herself for her thoughtless warning. That might have been her only way out. And listened to Morocco still calling for her from his night quarters. Jake wasn’t finished. Not by a longshot. And it might have been Morocco’s only conceivable way out of this too.