He shook his head. "Like you pointed out, I didn’t need a nondisclosure agreement to fuck you."
I gaped at him, but before I could actually react further, Jared was torn from next to me and Lucas was basically dragging him out the door of the bar. I followed in time to watch Lucas punch Jared in his perfect cheekbone—twice—then continue to kick the shit out of him…at least until Grant pulled Lucas off.
Flashbulbs popped. I lowered my head and tried to disappear. Grant helped with that immediately, spiriting me away inside the waiting car, leaving Lucas to lunge at Jared again.
I watched through the dark window from inside the car. Jared was stunned, pointing at Lucas from his position on the ground, yelling, "I'll fucking sue you. And her."
Lucas lunged at Jared again but he didn't get very far before Grant caught him. Jared was scuttling backward on the concrete until he finally ended up being dragged from the pavement by what looked like a friend and into a waiting town car.
Of course, the paparazzi continued snapping pictures and shooting their video until Lucas and Grant got into the car with me. Grant, in the driver's seat and Lucas in the back with me.
As Grant maneuvered the car into the heavy traffic, none of us spoke. I was holding my breath until Grant found a break in the traffic and sped away.
Grant pulled in front of my building and Lucas and I got out. "I'll call you," Lucas told Grant.
"Way to keep it under wraps," Grant said.
"Fuck that. We can protect her. Let her goddamn past come for her. I'm not going to let her be held hostage anymore."
"I hear you, brother."
Lucas nodded, then shut the door. We went into the building, into the elevator and finally we were alone in my apartment. Lucas was still vibrating with a palpable anger.
I put my hands on his cheeks. "It's okay, Lucas. I'm okay."
Lucas growled, "I'll fucking kill him for doing that to you. It's not okay. But it will be."
His expression was stony and I didn't bother to argue. He scared the hell out of me, and I liked it. A lot. And he knew it, pulled me to him harder, held me tighter. He growled. Nipped my neck and I felt the wildness rise in him. It would push out of him, invade me the way he would when he took me. And I wanted to take that ride with him. Let him push me harder and higher, until I was breathing him, controlled by him fully.
"Yes," I whispered.
"You don't fully believe me." He popped buttons off my shirt, opening it bit by bit, slid it off my shoulders. "But you will."
"I know you were right—about Jared. About what he was doing," I murmured.
"I'm going to fuck you, and you're going to keep saying that to me. Over and over." Lucas swept me up and carried me into the bedroom.
After he put me down on the bed, he reached into his pocket and pulled out my knife that he must’ve taken from my bag. "I love that you carry this. Love even more that I bet you know how to use it to protect yourself."
I did. I wasn't sure how, but I knew I could protect myself…or at least die trying. I felt like I was living proof of that.
He lay the blade flat against my skin along my sternum. It was so cold, or maybe my skin was so hot—fever hot. I shuddered lightly, then held my breath as he slid the knife upward, then flicked it up casually. It sliced through my bra at the same time his fingers circled my clit, the tight bundle of nerves giving in easily to the relief of tension.
He never broke contact, his eyes boring into me as I shuddered and came against his fingers. The knife lay against my sternum the whole time.
And then he was naked, the knife gone, and he was seated fully inside me. I wrapped around him, still floating but wanting more.
"Greedy," he murmured.
"You made me that way."
"Good." He was throbbing inside me, so ready to come but holding off. For me. "I've been touching you in my head all night. Watching you on that stool with him…driving me crazy. I wanted to be between your legs. Licking you. Making you scream."
A delicious blast of heat shoots straight through to my core. His palms are on either side of me, his biceps a ripple of ink and muscle. And then he's devouring me.
Then again, I'm devouring him too, so fair is fair.
My body winds tighter and tighter until I'm sure I can't take anymore
But I can. I do.
Chapter Nineteen
"Got to go," Lucas murmured early the next morning.
"Where?" I wrapped a hand around his wrist in protest as he slid out of bed, trying to keep the connection with him even as he stood.
"Police station."
Immediately, I was up out of the bed and next to him. "What? Why?"
He pulled his jeans on and met my gaze head-on. "I'm wanted for questioning."
"Jared called the police?"
"Yes."
"He's saying you assaulted him? Are you turning yourself in?" I was gathering my clothes, prepared to go with Lucas to the station.
"Yes. And yes." He took me by the shoulders and stopped my frantic getting-dressed motions. "Please, stay here. It's better all around if you do. I can handle this, okay? Trust me."
I did. "I do."
"Good." He brushed his knuckles over my cheek. "After I talk to the police and my lawyer, I'll call you."
I wasn't sure how I knew he was lying about that last part, but I knew he was just the same.
That afternoon, the pictures concerning my date gone wrong with Jared appeared everywhere and anywhere, both in print and online. And someone had left a paper at my door so I wouldn't miss it. It'd been folded over to the picture and I wouldn't open the door, just in case. Brayden came down and brought it in when I called him about it.
He grimaced as he looked at it and then handed it to me. The first shot was me exiting, and then Jared following. And then Lucas and Jared fighting.
"This isn't good," I muttered. It had to be Dan Turner who'd left me that paper—I had no doubt about it. "Did Jared call the paparazzi there? Did he want these taken?"
Brayden shrugged. "It fits his publicity-hungry M.O."
My intercom buzzed and Brayden answered it. The doorman informed us that there was a police officer who needed to speak with us.
Brayden and I stared at each other after he'd agreed that the officer could come up, and we didn't speak a word until the knock at the door.
"Listen more than you speak," Brayden reminded me before opening the door and letting the man, who introduced himself as Detective Parker, in.
"You're Ryn Taylor?" Parker asked and I nodded. "And you're Brayden Hamilton?"
"Yes," Brayden said.
"I want to inform you both that Jared Connor is missing."
"Missing?" I echoed.
"What does she need to know that for?" Brayden demanded.
Parker eyed him calmly. "Because she was one of the last people seen with him, along with her boyfriend, Lucas Caine."
"He left the restaurant with someone—a friend or a driver, but he wasn't alone," I reminded the officer.
"Yes, he did. The employee drove Jared home. Jared called the police, gave a report by phone. He was supposed to meet with me this afternoon, and when he didn't show up we went to his apartment. Around the same time, his assistant called us to tell us that Jared hadn't shown for an important work event this morning."
"This is all fascinating," Brayden broke in, and I wondered what happened to the whole 'listen more and talk less' advice. "But this has nothing to do with us. We're not Jared's keepers."
"It has everything to do with Miss Taylor, as she was seen in an altercation with him," Parker pointed out.
"I didn't touch him," I protested.
"You fought with Mr. Connor and then your boyfriend punched him," Parker said.
"Maybe he ran off to lick his wounds," Brayden muttered.
"His agent said there's no way he'd miss a spot on a big morning news show."
"I thought you couldn't file a missing person’s report until after twent
y-four hours had passed," Brayden asked.
"In this case, I'm making an exception."
I frowned. "I honestly have no idea where he'd be. I don't know him that well. Wait, he said he was fitting in the drink with me because he was leaving for the west coast late last night."
"He lied," Parker said flatly. But why would Jared lie about something so innocuous?
Just then, Grant appeared. His feet were bare and he wore sweats and a T-shirt, like he'd come over from another apartment. Except he didn't live in this building.
He walked in, saying, "Sorry to interrupt. I'm looking for Brayden."
Parker stared at him and then at Brayden. "How well do you know Grant Loughlin?"
"Well enough," Brayden said easily. Grant moved closer to him, casually leaning an elbow on the countertop next to him.
"Where were you last night between nine and midnight?" Parker demanded of Brayden.
"He was with me," Grant replied. After half a second, Brayden nodded.
Parker's eyes narrowed, not in a disgusted way. "Bullshit. You're alibiing each other."
Grant caught an easy hand around the back of Brayden's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. And for the love of God, that set my heart on fire, because if this was their first kiss, it reached implode levels immediately.
"Just because you're hot for each other doesn't mean I believe you," Parker told them as they pulled apart. "You'd better hope I don't find a trace of either of you on the security camera footage I'm pulling from the surrounding buildings today."
"You won't," Grant said with a smile. He hadn't let go of Brayden's neck, let his thumb trace the fading hickeys with intent. Brayden looked sufficiently stunned and more than a little shaken. Grant just looked pleased with himself.
Parker turned his stony gaze on me. "We'll be in touch, Miss Taylor."
I didn't doubt it, but I held my tongue until he left the apartment. I shut and locked the door behind him and watched him, through the peephole, go down the hall.
When I turned back to Brayden and Grant, I noted that Brayden had put as much space as he could between him and Grant, all while trying to appear not-freaked out about their kiss.
"How did you know he was here?" I asked Grant.
"He came to Lucas's looking for me," Grant explained. "I figured he'd come here next. You already had the hickeys and I needed an alibi."
"Next time, find a different one," Brayden muttered.
"You needed one too," Grant reminded him. "You both do."
And I had Lucas as mine, which was probably the least helpful alibi ever at this point. "Where's Lucas?"
"He had to go out of town for a bit," Grant said cryptically, and my heart sank.
Chapter Twenty
Two days passed, with no word from Lucas. I remained holed up, not reading about myself online. Brayden and Grant promised they'd keep me up to date on the Jared situation, but as of that evening, no one had heard from him either.
"He's probably doing it to draw more attention to his movie," Brayden had surmised. "Either that or he's trying to screw Lucas."
Which meant Jared would be screwing me as well.
But all the waiting was getting me antsy. I'd gotten wind of a gallery showing of up-and-coming artists. I was one myself but I'd had far more advantages than most new artists, and Brayden agreed with me that it would be good to lend a show of support by going. Brayden was able to snag two last-minute tickets from a fellow gallery owner who wasn't able to go.
Gabrielle called me right as we were getting ready to walk in. "Two minutes," I told Brayden and when he moved to talk to some industry people he knew on the improvised red carpet, I slid into the background and answered the phone.
"You're all over the papers," Gabrielle said by way of greeting. "TMZ too."
"I thought you didn't read that."
"I do when it's not about me." She lowered her voice. "Jared's not on set. It's the first day he's missed since filming's started." That was a punch in the gut, but she didn't seem as concerned about it as the police were. "The director's thrilled. Frankly, so am I. Maybe you can ask Lucas to beat Jared up more often so he's got to stay home and lick his wounds."
"Anything for you," I joked, even though my stomach soured a little. I wanted to believe that about Jared, that he was embarrassed and hiding or plotting and hiding, but the fact that the police were involved…the fact that Lucas left town…
For work, I reminded myself.
We spoke for a few seconds more and then I hung up and joined Brayden to go inside, without mentioning what Gabrielle had told me. Brayden needed a break as much as I did. And even though people here would know about what happened, tonight also wasn't focused on me. Most people seemed to respect that.
I was sure the photographers wouldn't, which was why we'd avoided them and went in through a side door.
The event's venue was a full hotel ballroom and it was packed. There was a showcase of artists and the program explained that there would be scholarships and grants awarded that evening from several artist's foundations.
Most of those artists were deceased. One of them caught my eye. His name was Bane, and he'd died tragically, much too young. He became famous post-death, so much so that his art was worth millions. He'd been a big, blazing talent with a reputation for being crazy. He'd been well before my time, coming onto my radar not long after my hospitalization.
He'd died around that time and I studied his works for inspiration. I'd heard of Bane in that mythical way that young talent burns bright. Ultimately, it's unsustainable. Rumors said Bane was troubled. Crazy, some said, but I knew how easy it was to mistake extreme creativity for crazy.
Then again, I also knew they could be two sides of the same coin.
Brayden nudged me. “What’re you thinking about over there?”
“Where’s Zack tonight?” I asked brightly.
“No clue,” Brayden said with a tight smile. His hickeys had faded to almost nothing, but it’d been obvious how much they’d annoyed Grant. I was intrigued, but knew better than to ask about that part of it.
Instead, I pressed, “Do you want to have a clue?” as he sipped his Jack and Coke.
After a long moment, he replied with a simple, “Zack’s good for me.”
“And the problem is…?”
“I’ve never liked what’s good for me.”
I shook my head. “You seem to like it. Him.”
His grin was lopsided. “There’s the part I like, yeah. But the stuff that comes with it? No.”
“The relationship part?”
“Yes. That’s a drag. The 'tell me your life and I’ll tell you mine.' We’ll fuck each other up because of it. He’ll try to change me. What was once cool becomes annoying. I don’t want that.”
Neither did I, so I couldn’t blame him. “What if it doesn’t have to be like that?”
“Always is.”
I know he didn’t want to say it would happen to me and Lucas. It wouldn’t. Lucas wasn’t Jared. Lucas wasn’t like any man I’d ever met. He was too strong, too smart to bring that kind of shit into our relationship.
And when I told Brayden all that, all he said was, “So it’s a relationship now?”
“Like you didn’t know.”
He sat back. “From the second you two met, babe.”
He sounded a little sad though. I wanted so badly to reassure him, tell him that Lucas and I were fine. Better than fine—amazing, even—and that everything would work out. My past wouldn’t hurt me.
Because how could a past hurt me? Past was past, right? “I’m going to browse some paintings before the speakers start.”
“Go for it—I’m going to mingle and talk you up.”
I shook my head at his smile, knowing he absolutely meant it. And after several minutes and some beautiful artwork, I came upon a piece that grabbed me by the throat, shook me and then dropped me to the ground when it was sure I’d seen what I was supposed to see.
It was a piece
tucked into the corner—maybe not Bane’s most famous work, one I’d never actually seen before anywhere.
I’d remember it if I had.
I never believed in coincidences, but my life to this point had been all about looking for signs, for anything that would point me in the right direction.
I’d convinced myself that I was so obsessed with my past that I was the one making more out of it than was there. That if I simply stopped, I’d learn the truth, and that truth would be “everything’s fine and the past is gone.”
Dust.
Dawn.
Both were represented in Bane’s piece, a moody, dirty, just before the sunrise painting. A tribute to Aerosmith’s song and I got chills looking at what hung in front of me.
The past wasn’t past. It was right here, slapping me in the face, planning on taking my future and strangling it between its guiding, all-knowing hands.
The name of his piece? Past is always Present.
“It’s not over.” I said it to myself, out loud. My words were lost, snapped up by the noise of the crowds, the melee surrounding my dawning understanding of the situation.
The past was never past.
I had to give it to Bane—he’d known so much more than I ever had. Maybe he’d died because of it.
I was still reeling from the truth in the work of a man I’d never meet when the squeal of microphone feedback startled me back into the present.
Then the speaker started his introductions and after a minute the room was quiet. "Thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate the hottest up-and-coming artists. Tonight, we have a special guest who will award the first of several grants in honor of an artist we lost far too soon. Please welcome Grant Loughlin."
Lucas's Grant.
Brayden looked like he'd seen a ghost. He was staring at Grant as if seeing him for the first time. I looked between them as Grant approached the podium.
It was only then I noticed Lucas in the crowd. His gaze locked on mine, but then Grant began to speak, and his words most definitely caught my attention.
"I'm here tonight in honor of the artist you all know as Bane. He was an immense talent. A generous artist, as evidenced by those who knew him best. I'm one of those who did, because Bane was my brother," he began, and next to me I heard Brayden's sharp intake of breath, followed by a muttered, "Fuck me."
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