Red Hot Bikers, Rock Stars and Bad Boys

by Cassia Leo

  Pastor John shook his head. “Tim, this isn't the time. We'll discuss it later.”

  “There is no later. Are you going to let this continue? Are you going to fire her? Abandon her?”

  “She's found a new income source.” A voice from the crowd. It matched the disgusting.

  Pastor John frowned. Resigned.

  Tim was resigned too. Literally. “I quit.”

  The collective gasp sucked all the air out of the room. Let them suffocate on their righteous indignation.

  *

  Chloe stared at Tim from across the sea of parishioners. He stared right back.

  Protests sprang up—first one, then another. Bursts of color in a harsh wasteland. “But you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “We don’t want you to leave.”

  They were talking to Tim, of course. Tim, who had graduated with honors with a masters of divinity. Tim, who welcomed every lock-in, potluck and choir practice. Tim, who had gotten sucked into the Miller sisters’ vortex. It wasn’t his fault. No one would blame him.

  First Chloe had seduced him. She couldn’t even pretend it had been otherwise. She was everything they would accuse her of, when her tummy grew large and obvious.

  And now Hailey…what had Hailey done? Chloe didn’t even know. Mrs. Wilson had said something about a video. About a musician? It was hard to tell, but it was bad. Even Pastor John looked grave, and he had always been welcoming to them, even knowing who their mother had been.

  Her stomach lurched, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Oh God. Oh no. Not here.

  But then Tim was at her side, his arms around her, guiding her. The crowd parted for him—of course it did—and she closed her eyes against the faces. Macabre expressions of horror and prurient interest. She felt the weight of that scarlet letter suddenly stitched onto her T-shirt, except instead of A for adulterer, it would be S for seductress or J for Jezebel. She was a full alphabet of condemnation, and she wasn’t even sorry.

  None of these people had ever cared about Chloe—or even Hailey, who had been so nice to everyone, always. Who had taken the best care of their kids. Let them rot in hell for all she cared.

  All except Tim. He loved this place. And now he was going to lose his job.

  “Where are you taking me?” Her fingers muffled her words.

  “Bathroom,” he murmured. Tim pushed them into the main hallway. They weren’t alone, though. She could feel the eyes on her, laserbeam judgment, cutting her open.

  “No. Outside.” She needed to get out of here. She needed to breathe again.

  They made it into the courtyard near the back, adjacent to the playground, and at least here it was empty. Pine needles formed a crunchy carpet on the loose cobblestone. She broke away from Tim’s hold and leaned against a thick tree, panting.

  “Are you going to…?” His voice was cautious.

  She laughed roughly. “Throw up on the statue of Mary? Don’t worry. I get crazy nauseous, but nothing ever comes out.”

  “Let me help you,” he said in a low tone that tugged at her. Earnest, that was him. Earnest enough to give up his career—his community—to stand up for her. Or her sister.

  She pulled out her phone and googled the name of the band. First three hits were YouTube videos. And there was Hailey. A very naked Hailey on her knees. Oh Jesus. Had Hailey seen this? It might not be her. Please let it not be her. But if it wasn’t, it was a damn good look-alike.

  And Hailey had been MIA over the past forty-eight hours.

  More than enough time to sneak backstage and end up banging the guitarist. Chloe should know. She’d worked that gig—well, she’d worked the merch counter. But she’d also flirted with musicians and roadies and everyone else who wasn’t Tim.

  “Fuck.” The word bounced around the empty courtyard. At least the video didn’t seem to have sound attached. Not that it mattered much.

  Tim touched two fingers to her arm, and she looked at him. His expression was sad—so sad. Had she done that? Was all his grief now for Hailey and none for the marriage they wouldn’t have?

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and it hurt that he meant it.

  “Hailey will land on her feet,” she said, not quite believing it. The old Hailey, she could handle anything. This new Hailey, who went on weekend benders to bang rock stars? Chloe wasn’t sure she even knew her.

  But she wanted to.

  “You don’t have to quit your job for her,” she said. “It probably won’t even change their minds. We’ll find something else.”

  His eyes darkened. “You think I did that for her?”

  Her stomach flipped again, threatening revolt. She pressed a hand to her stomach—still flat. How long until it grew? How long until that flip turned into the kick of a little foot?

  “Who did you do it for?” she whispered.

  The baby, she thought he’d say.

  He shook his head. “This is my church too. Or it was. We don’t shun our friends, our neighbors, without even talking to them.”

  “And if she did do this? If this is her?” And it was. The timing was too perfect. Or imperfect.

  “We don’t evict people for a single mistake.” He shut his eyes, looking pained.

  She was hurting him, but she couldn’t stop. “What if it wasn’t a mistake?” she whispered. “What if she liked being with that guy? What if she’s not sorry for her sins?” They weren’t even talking about Hailey anymore. She knew it, and so did he.

  His jaw clenched. “Is that what you think I want from you, Chloe? An apology?”

  She stepped closer and put a hand to his chest. Like she’d done yesterday, although she wouldn’t be falling to her knees this time. Wouldn’t unbuckle him in the open courtyard. There were limits—even to her own depravity.

  They were a breath apart. She could feel him waiting with each warm not-kiss against her lips.

  “Prove it’s not,” she whispered, and she didn’t mean sex this time. Lust wouldn’t be enough—not for a lifetime. Not for marriage.

  “What do you want me to say? I gave up my job for you. I proposed to you.”

  Tears threatened, but she wouldn’t back down. Not this close. “I love you,” she whispered.

  He sucked in a breath. “Chloe…”

  That was more than a flip in her stomach. It was like getting punched there. “We can be friends. We don’t have to— God, you don’t have to be a fucking martyr for me.”

  “No. We’re not going to be friends.” He sounded furious. “Why does it matter so much? Why do you have to hear the words?”

  Because I deserve it. She didn’t say that though. Didn’t want to hear his denial—that no, she didn’t deserve a husband who loved her. That was for other girls, with other mothers, ones who weren’t the church’s pariah. She clenched her jaw and let his words wash over her.

  His gaze softened, but the words still stung, like seawater—finding every raw spot in her past. “You just take and take, and there’s not going to be anything left of me. What am I going to have left?”

  And then she couldn’t hold back anymore. The fear of being pregnant, the humiliation in the rec room—they rolled down her cheeks in hot tracks. “Me,” she said simply, hopelessly, already knowing it wouldn’t be enough. She was never enough.

  Something broke in him then. She watched it happen: the tiny fissure turning into a crack. A fissure that let her see his horror at her words, his shame. His love. Why did she have to hear the words? She didn’t—not if she could look at him deep inside, without that guarded restraint. It kept him back from more than a blowjob. It kept him back from this.

  “You’re afraid,” she said finally.

  “I’m not.” His voice sounded thick. Like she did before she broke down and cried—no, after. “I’m terrified. All these years, it’s just been me. Just me. No one counts on me or expects anything.”

  Did he really not see? “Everyone counts on you, Tim.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not the same. I can
unlock the door and pour pretzels into a bowl. It doesn’t matter what time I come home.”

  “I’m not going to stick a tracking device on you.”

  “No, I want you to care. But the thing is, if I marry you, if I love you, I’d care too. And you’re…too much for me. You’re so full of life, and I’ve ruined it now. You should be out following the band or doing whatever you want to do. And now you can’t, all because I couldn’t keep it in my goddamn pants.”

  “Tim.” She waited until he really focused on her. Damn, those deep, soulful eyes. She hadn’t stood a chance, really. Even though it was kind of insulting that he’d thought she was her mother, she couldn’t blame him. She’d thought so too. “Tim. I’m not going to leave you.”

  He looked stricken. “I couldn’t take it if you did.”

  She tackled him then. It felt like the right thing to do, and it felt even more right with his unsteady heart thumps by her ear and his arms around her waist, pulling her tight.

  “I’m not leaving,” she said fiercely.

  He pressed her close until her nose was smashed into his shirt and his fingers were cutting off the circulation in her arms—still not close enough. It would have to do. His breath huffed warm against the crown of her head. “I love you,” he murmured.

  She sighed, feeling it slide home. “I know.”

  ***

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hailey jolted awake as the plane bumped against the ground a second time. The plane was small enough that she could feel the spring in the wheels, bouncing thousands of pounds of metal into the air before settling on the runway. The sudden lurch jerked her forward. Only the seat belt kept her from falling.

  “Lock?” she mumbled before she had her bearings.

  He didn’t answer. His head was resting on her shoulder, his body slouched enough to make up the disparity in their heights. She gently nudged him back so that his head was cradled in the plush headrest. His mouth hung open, so unguarded in that moment, almost…innocent?

  Where had that thought come from? He was the wolf, and she was the girl with the picnic basket, the fishnet stockings cloaking her as much as a red riding hood. But when he snored softly and clenched his fists where they hung off the armrests, she couldn’t deny he looked painfully vulnerable.

  He was vulnerable. He’d admitted that much to her. A recovering alcoholic. She knew exactly how brutal addiction could be. She’d watched it destroy her mother. It scared her a little, as if he might go on a bender and slap her face like Mom had done. But Lock was sober now.

  And she wouldn’t be around long enough to help him stay that way.

  The plane pulled to a stop, and she nudged him. “Lock?” she whispered.

  He grumbled something unintelligible.

  Her lips quirked, and she brushed dark hair from his forehead. It was softer now, lighter without whatever styling products he normally used. She ran her fingers over his scalp, relishing the small moment of intimacy, a glimpse of quiet power before he woke up and snatched it back.

  Sounds came from the front of the plane. Probably the stewardess or captain preparing for them to depart. Curious, she pushed at the plastic covering on the window. Just an inch and the orange glow almost blinded her.

  “Ouch.” She slammed it shut.

  A touch on her arm made her jump. She glanced back to see Lock watching her through slumberous eyes. Oh yes, there was her wolf. Her grabbed her chin and tugged her close, capturing her lips in a languid kiss. He fucked her with his tongue, hard and possessive, stealing her air and her peace of mind.

  A throat cleared.

  Hailey jumped back, startled and embarrassed, but Lock held on tighter. His hand cupped her neck, holding her still as he finished with slow licks of his tongue against hers.

  When he sat back, his expression was smug. Or maybe it only seemed that way to her because of how much he’d enjoyed himself. His lingering satisfaction hung in the air like incense, smoky and sharp. Even the flight attendant who’d interrupted them seemed to sense it.

  He cleared his throat. “Sir, ma’am, I—”

  “We’ll come out when we’re ready,” Lock said lazily.

  “Yes, but—”

  “You’re dismissed.”

  He looked dismayed as he ducked back through the curtain.

  “Mean,” Hailey chided.

  Lock’s shoulder raised in a half shrug. “Maybe he’ll learn not to interrupt.”

  Wry amusement made her smile. “Do you assume everyone is here to please you?”

  His gaze darkened, sweeping down her body and back up again. “Twenty-four hours, sweetheart. And I expect to be well pleased.”

  Heat spread all the way to the tips of her ears, and he chuckled.

  “Let’s go,” he said. When she reached for the bags, he shook his head. “They’ll follow with our stuff. It’s just you, me, and a fifteen-minute ride in the stretch limo to the hotel.”

  She flushed again, though this time it was more arousal than embarrassment.

  The captain waited at the door. He opened his mouth to speak—to thank Lock for his patronage? They were all fawning around him, every doorman and driver and waiter. All adoration, reverse patrons who were paid by his art.

  Lock brushed by him, holding on to her hand so that she was forced to wave a hasty thank you and good-bye. She turned back to the plane to do so, and when she faced the front, the brilliant sunset hit her like a tactile force. Only Lock’s grip on her—tightening, too tight—kept her moving forward.

  She heard them first. Shouts and mechanical whirs. She felt them second, bodies pressing around her, grabbing her, so many.

  Was it a publicity stunt?

  What does Moe think of the tape?

  Did you know you were on camera?

  She saw them last, a thick swarm of people surrounding the plane like goddamn locusts. They held notepads and cameras. A flash went off, and she was blinded all over again.

  Something tripped her, and she stumbled. Would have fallen but Lock hauled her up again. He dragged her through the crowd, his fist around hers like a vise, barely glancing back, never speaking a single word—not to her, not to the press. He was impenetrable, like a warrior moving through an enemy army, and she was just the limp and battle-scarred flag trailing behind him.

  A hand yanked the clip out of her hair, and something else tugged on her shirt. There were too many of them, all around; she couldn’t breathe. It felt like drowning, in flashing lights and endless questions instead of water, while the grasping eddies ripped her to shreds.

  Suddenly she was free. Walls of black closed in on her, but that was okay. At least she could breathe in this man-made shelter.

  Bodyguards, she realized. Security had arrived, not quite in time. They formed a fortress around her and Lock, moving them quicker than before. Their hands grabbed her too—not to take from her, but to push her forward and into the car.

  Falling, stumbling, she landed on butter-soft leather seats. Lock was on the opposite side, panting.

  She managed to push herself to sitting. “What…the hell…was that?”

  “Fuck if I know.”

  The limo pulled out quickly, fishtailing before straightening out. Lock got on the phone with someone—his agent?—and corresponded in a series of grunts. “Send it to me,” he said before ending the call. Then he watched something on his phone while she watched him.

  “What is it?” she whispered. It wouldn’t be good. That much was clear.

  When Lock’s eyes met hers, he smiled. Though that wasn’t the right word for it. He grimaced, maybe. But even that was too tame, too complacent to describe the expression he made.

  He bared his teeth. Like a wolf. Only not the sensual animal she had learned to love. This was something far more dangerous, a feral creature who would ruin her without remorse.

  “Do you know what those vultures were doing there?” he asked, deceptively calm.

  “They were taking pictures of you.”

>   The smile again. Not a smile. “And you, sweetheart. They were taking pictures of you too. You’re famous.”

  *

  "Famous?" Her mouth hung open in shock.

  As soon as he'd seen the crowd on the tarmac, he’d known there was a problem. The swarm of paparazzi, like wasps to a target, was more urgent than any he'd seen in a long time. His first thought had been that something had happened to one of his bandmates. Krist dumping his motorcycle on the interstate. Moe decking an asshole in a bar fight. Then he'd heard the questions.

  Did you know you were on camera?

  Déjà fucking vu.

  Was there more than what he'd just watched? What else was waiting to slither out of the darkness and bite him on the ass? He eyed the phone Hailey had clutched in her hand more than half the time he'd known her. Did it take video? Of course it did; all of them did. And she'd been poking around the hotel, looking for her sister's baby daddy. Like that was a real plan. She'd just stumble over the roadie her sister had fucked. Where? Waiting in line at the ice machine or having a drink in the lobby? He was an idiot. She could've passed some cash to a security staffer, leaked that elevator footage herself.

  If this spiraled out of control, his days with the band were done. The only real family he’d ever had. And Krist would never forgive him.

  “Give me your phone.” Anger and betrayal simmered just under the surface of his careful calm. Soon it would slip, and he couldn't stop it.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Give me. Your fucking. Phone.”

  Her hand shook as she extended her arm in compliance. She didn't even have a lock screen. He skimmed her contacts and checked her photos. Nothing recent. Nothing to indicate she'd been documenting their time together. He landed on a selfie of Hailey with a younger woman who looked vaguely familiar. The sister. He wouldn't peg them as sisters separately, but cheek to cheek he could see the similarities in their smiles and the shape of their eyes. The love between them radiated; they glowed with it. Better than any stupid Instagram filter. It pissed him off. It pissed him off more that he didn't find anything. No lurid video. No night-vision app.