Rockstar Untamed: A Single Dad Virgin Romance

by Michelle Love

  “I don’t want anything in that way, Dash. I just wanted to trust you and I don’t. It’s over. Please go.”

  He was desperate now. “I love you, Emily.”

  She smiled through her tears. “I love you too. But it isn’t enough. Please, Dash, go …”

  Dash Hamilton stared at the woman he loved for a long moment, then silently walked out of the apartment.

  He hadn’t realized heartbreak would feel like a death.

  Bay woke, a haze of agonizing pain. The room was too quiet. Her ears rang from the concussion of the gunshots. She moaned, gently putting a hand on her ruined belly. Jesus. She groaned as her hand touched the torn skin and felt the blood pumping from the wounds. It felt like an inferno was raging inside her abdomen, the pain searing, making her gasp for breath.

  “God …” she whispered. She had to get help—get to a phone. Kym. Stu had Kym. Bay knew that she might not survive this, but Kym could. Kym would, she could help it. And Tom. She moaned. Oh, god, Tom, I love you so much. The thought of his pain made her pull her body across the floor, searching for her cell or anything to attract attention. She wondered how the hell the bullets, fired point blank into her, had missed her spine and how she could still feel her legs. Every movement was agony. Ironically, the pooling blood helped her slide across the wooden floors. She saw her purse overturned across the room and a small glimmer of hope started. She pulled herself along, clutching her wounds and trying to stop the blood, black spots threatening her vision. Her chest felt tight and darkness was coming.

  Bay managed to pull her purse toward her, but as she did, she saw her cell beneath it and all hope left her. Stu had smashed it. Bay moaned. No one’s coming to help you. She felt the darkness coming now and the strength in her body leaving her.

  Oh, god, Tom, I love you, I love you …

  Tomas had probably broken all the speeding laws as he sped through the city, but he hadn’t noticed. All he could think of was seeing her, getting to the city hall, and marrying the hell out of her. Bay … Every time he thought of her, a ribbon of warmth and certainty would curl in his stomach. I’m yours, she had told him, and he kept reliving those words, belief and disbelief mingling in the best way.

  Now, as he was pulling up to the sidewalk near the houseboat, his excitement grew. He glanced at his home—he couldn’t quite believe that she was there, waiting for him. He slammed the door of the car in anticipation and halfway ran up the staircase. He walked around the balcony and to the deck doors. It was only as he approached the door that something seemed wrong. He frowned. The door was ajar. Maybe she had opened it in anticipation of his arrival, but with Stu still out there and unstable, he doubted she’d do something so reckless. And the quiet. Too quiet. His pace slowed and he pushed the door slightly.

  “Bay? Sweetheart?” No answer. His heart started to beat uncomfortably hard. “Kym? Anyone here?”

  He walked into the house and stood, listening for a second. “Bay?” A haze hung around the apartment. Cordite. He’d recognize that smell anywhere. God, no, please …

  All he could hear was the pounding of his heart. “Bay, sweetheart, it’s me. You here?”

  He took a deep breath in and stepped into the house. The breath was knocked from his body when he saw the blood smeared across the wooden floor. It took his brain a few seconds to tell his eyes to follow the path of the blood across to the living room. He saw her lying prone, facing away from him.

  “Bay? Jesus, Bay!” He darted to her side and nearly recoiled at the sight of her bloodstained body, the paleness of her olive skin, and the pain etched across her face even while she was unconscious. He could see straight away that she’d been shot by the three tell-tale wounds in the center of her abdomen and the gunshot residue around the holes in her dress.

  “No. No. Nonononono, God, no …” He gathered her into his arms. She was still breathing, barely, and Tomas fumbled for his phone while he stared into her still face. Quickly, he gave the emergency response the details.

  “They’re on their way, sir. We already got a call about a disturbance. Hang on in there …”

  He dropped the phone and pressed his hand against the wounds, trying to keep her blood from spilling out any further. “God, Bay,” he whispered. “Please don’t leave me now …I just found you. Live. Breathe. Please …” He choked back a sob, pulling her closer and burying his head in her hair, breathing her in. In the silence, he could hear her tiny gasps for air and his heart cracked wide open. “Jesus…who would do this?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to listen for sirens and trying not hear her desperate fight for life. Trying to pretend, even as she lay broken in his arms, that she was merely asleep and not shot and dying. It was only when he opened his eyes that he saw it. In her blood, on the floor. She’d obviously written it before she lost consciousness, even then looking out for someone else—for someone she loved.

  Don’t let him hurt Kym

  Tomas’s heart cracked. Stu did this. Stu shot Bay. Of course.

  Of course.

  Emily groaned as she heard a knock at the door and when she pulled it open, she could barely believe it was Dash. Fury rose in her.

  “What the hell, Dash? I …”

  Dash held up his hands and she noticed how deathly pale he was. “Wait,” he said in a broken voice. “This isn’t about us. It’s Bay. She’s been shot. Stu shot her and now Kym is missing. Jesus …”

  Emily, shocked to her core, lunged forward automatically as Dash began to collapse in her doorway. Her mind could not compute the horror.

  Her friend. Her client. Bay.

  Bay was shot and Kym was missing. Emily felt all of her anger drain away as she and Dash clung to each other. “Is she …?”

  “They’ve taken her to the hospital. Tom’s a mess. Emily, I’m so sorry.”

  Emily shook her head. “How bad is it? How many …” she couldn’t get the words out.

  Dash tightened his arms around her. “She was shot multiple times. That’s all Roman said. Multiple times.”

  “They don’t know if she’s going to make it …”

  End of Part Two.

  Quartet #3

  Crazy for You

  Shae Groves clamped her hand over the microphone of her cell phone and cursed loudly. Count to ten, slowly, she told herself. It was the same old crap. Jason was holding up the divorce again, out of nothing but spite. Oh, he said it was because he still loved her and that he wanted to work things out—that he wanted to try counseling.

  Bullshit. Jason just hated to lose and to look like the bad guy. Then you should have kept your prick in your pants, jerkwad. Shae gritted her teeth and answered her lawyer.

  “You still there?”

  “I’m here. Look, he has half the money, the house, and the car. If he doesn’t sign this time, take everything off the table and tell him he’ll get nothing from me. Then in two years, I’ll sue for divorce and cite infidelity. In the meantime, I won’t stop talking about his infidelity to our friends, his work colleagues, hell, the press. That will show Mr. Big Time Rock Star exactly how serious I am.”

  She ended the call and let out a low roar. She stood on the roof of the hospital and looked out over the beautiful city of Portland, Oregon. When she’d gotten here, two weeks ago, she had been used to the frenetic pace of Cedars Sinai, Los Angeles, with its rotating intake of the rich and famous. That was where she had met Jason Kline, the biggest star in country music. At first she had been utterly professional, but over time he had worn her down with his easy charm and thousand-watt smile.

  “I cannot date a patient,” she had said firmly, but Jason grinned at her, a twinkle in his eye. His leg was still in plaster, fractured from when he had fallen off a stage in San Francisco, but he was going home to rehabilitate. The horror of never seeing him again had overridden any last doubts, and when he was released, they had dated, fallen in love, and gotten married in the space of two months.

  Jason had cheated on her less than a
week later—and he hadn’t been shy about it. She had walked into their bedroom, her shifts having changed at the last minute, and found him being ridden by a girl who couldn’t have been older than twenty and who screamed as she bounced enthusiastically on top of Jason. Shae had stood there, a sense of inevitability settling over her.

  Without a word, she had gone to the closet, pulled out her suitcase, and started shoving clothes in it. It had still taken the lovers on the bed another few seconds to realize she was there—in fact, it wasn’t until the flash went off on Shae’s camera phone that they uncoupled with a shock, Jason staring in disbelief.

  “Baby, please …”

  Shae waved the phone at him. “Caught on camera, dillweed.”

  If she knew anything, she knew that Jason’s “good-guy reputation” meant the world to him. Jason reacted by leaping from the bed and making a grab for the phone. Shae whipped it behind her back. “Won’t do you any good,” she smiled. “Already sent it to the cloud.”

  “Fucking bitch.” His spittle had misted her face. The groupie in the bed had whimpered.

  And just like that, it was over.

  Now she was about to start a rotation under the mentorship of Otis Ford, the most renowned and respected orthopedic surgeon in America. She he had been surprised he hadn’t interviewed her, rather letting his assistant, Helen, make the decision. Shae had liked Helen immediately, her warmth and efficiency calling to Shae’s sensibilities.

  She went back inside and went to Helen’s office to see if she wanted to go for a coffee. Since she’d been here, Helen had become her confidant—even a mother figure in some ways. She soon discovered Helen was an activist as well as a surgeon, championing African-American women like herself in the medical world. Shae had to ask her the question.

  “Is that why you chose me?” She looked into Helen’s warm, dark brown eyes, so like her own, and saw nothing but genuine friendship.

  “No,” Helen said firmly, “I chose you because you were by far and away the best candidate. But,” and she grinned, “if you hadn’t been the best candidate, I would have been on your ass until you were the best candidate.”

  Shae had wanted to hug her, tears springing into her eyes. She had missed this. Since her mother had died so suddenly—a simple fall turned to pneumonia—in her first year of medical school, she had deliberately squirreled herself away. She knew many of her cohort thought she was aloof and arrogant, but she didn’t care. Jason had been the first person to get through to her for years. And look how that had turned out. No, Shae Groves was all work all of the time, but her friendship with Helen was one she cherished.

  Otis Ford—well, she hadn’t met him yet. He was on vacation on his private island—no cell phones and no lap top. He was completely off the grid. Helen told her he did this a couple of times a year, just to clear his head. Shae knew his work, of course. Who didn’t in this field? Otis was a superstar. She had Googled him after the interview. Forty-three, twice divorced, olive skin, and such thick dark eyelashes, he looked like he had eyeliner on. She squinted at his photo. Nope, they were his natural lashes. Jeez, I would kill for those, Shae thought, studying the rest of his devastatingly handsome features. He stared into the camera with confidence and not a little arrogance, his expression showing his impatience with having to stand there, as if he had much more important things to do. Which he did. Shae read down his list of accomplishments and whistled. Badass mofo, she grinned to herself. She was surprised, though, when she read that he was also a quarter partner in Quartet Records, along with his twin brother Roman and two friends. She hadn’t realized he was tied to the music business. Ugh. She’d had her fill of that for a lifetime.

  She knocked on Helen’s door. The older woman was staring at the T.V. screen, a look of shock on her face, but she waved Shae in.

  “Isn’t this awful?” Helen’s voice was shaking and Shae glanced at the screen. Helen turned the sound up.

  Once again, this just in, the lead singer of The 9th & Pine, the hottest band on the iTunes chart, Bay Tambe, is in a critical condition in a Seattle Hospital after being repeatedly shot in a home invasion. The twenty-four-year-old was attacked in the home she shares with her fiancé, Quartet Record’s head honcho, Tomas Meir. A suspect has been identified and police will issue a statement shortly. This is a breaking story. Stay tuned for updates …

  Helen groaned and Shae looked at her. Helen’s eyes were filled with tears and Shae got up and went around the desk to hug her. “I’m sorry, Helen. Do you know her?”

  Helen shook her head. “I know Tom, but I’ve never met his fiancé. God, this is dreadful.”

  “Listen,” Shae held her hand. “The guys in Seattle are great. They’ll take good care of her, I’m sure.”

  Helen nodded. “I know, but this would have to happen when Otis is incommunicado. Damn, I had better call Roman.”

  Shae left the room to give her some privacy. She felt sorry for Helen. It was an awful thing to happen, especially to a young kid like that. Twenty-four …jeez. At thirty-two, Shae still felt like a kid herself. She hoped the young woman would pull through.

  The expression on Tom’s face was one Roman Ford would never forget--utter and complete devastation. His friend’s clothes were stained with red, his face and hands soaked with his lover’s blood. Tom, all six-foot-five of him, was crumpled in a chair in the waiting room, his head down and his eyes closed, waiting for news on Bay. Emily Moore sat beside him, rubbing his back, her own face drawn and gray. Dash was slumped opposite them, staring into the middle distance. Pete, Bay’s friend and band member, was being comforted by his husband, Hank, who was as wide and tall as Pete was. The couple stood at the far end of the waiting room and Roman could see that Pete had been crying. It looked so wrong on the big man that Roman’s heart went out to him.

  When Emily had called and told him, he hadn’t been able to process the news at first. Stu Lawson had shot Bay and kidnapped Kym. The police were looking for him. Bay was in a critical condition. Tom had found her. It was that last sentence that had spurred him into action—his desperate need to be there for his best friend.

  Now, as they waited to hear from the surgeon, Roman cursed his own brother who was down in the Caribbean, out of reach on that damned private island he’d bought. We need you, I need you, Bay needs you.

  He went to Tom’s side and sat beside his friend. Tom seemed to have aged a hundred years in the space of a few hours. His finely-angled face was hollow-cheeked, the fear in his eyes raw. Roman could not imagine what he had gone though in the last few hours—the last few hours when he should have been celebrating his wedding to his beautiful girl. Bay had been shot while she wearing her wedding dress. The thought made Roman want to hurl; the heartlessness of it—the cruelty.

  “Tom?”

  “His friend looked up and Roman tried not to recoil from the heartbreak in his eyes.

  “Hey, buddy. Look, I’m going to fly down to the island and haul Otis’ ass back here. Bay needs him.”

  Tom nodded gratefully. “That would be good. Really good.” He looked at his watch. “They’ve been operating for hours,” he said softly and shook his head. “They can’t save her, can they?”

  “Don’t think like that,” Roman said fiercely. “Don’t. She’s in the best place, Tom. If they’re taking their time, they’re doing everything they can.”

  He hoped he was right.

  Now, on the private jet hurtling towards the Caribbean, Roman closed his eyes. Damn it all to hell …Why hadn’t they gone to the police the last time Stu had attacked Bay and beaten Kym? Because Kym wouldn’t let them. Roman wondered if the blonde guitarist, Bay’s best friend, was even still alive. He found himself hoping she was, because when they found her safe and well, he wanted to drag her to Bay’s bedside and say, “Look. Look what you did by not letting the police have Stu.”

  He knew it wasn’t fair, that Kym could never have known the lengths Stu would go to, that she was just a scared kid too, but hell …one
phone call and Bay might not have three bullets in her belly right now.

  Roman hissed in frustration. He hated this—hated feeling helpless, useless. As the plane began its descent onto the tiny island runway, he leaned his head back against the seat. At least this is one thing I can do. I can do this.

  Shae woke to find her beeper going. She had only been in bed for an hour after a long forty-eight-hour shift and groaned as she picked it up. 911, call Otis Ford. She picked up her phone and dialed, suddenly wide awake, her heart thumping.

  “Groves? Good. Pack a bag, say for a week. A car will be by to pick you up and bring you to the airport. You’re coming to Seattle to assist me. See you in a couple of hours.”

  The phone clicked in her ear and she hadn’t said anything but, “Yes?” Shae grinned in bemusement. Well, hello, nice to meet you too, doctor. She rolled out of bed and went to the shower. She knew what she was headed for—Otis was flying in to be Bay Tambe’s guardian angel and he was asking her to help him. She was flattered, but at the same time, she’d be around music industry people again. Gross. She drew in a deep breath. All that mattered was that Bay Tambe was okay. The rest she would have to deal with.

  Emily Moore rubbed her eyes; they felt gritty and raw. Dash Hamilton draped an arm around her shoulders. “Look, you should get some sleep, baby.”

  She moved enough that his arm was left hanging. “I’m fine.” Awkwardness hung in the air between them and she hated it. A few days ago, Bay had been fine, Kym was safe, and she and Dash were happily in love. But that was before Stu decided to kill Bay and before Dash had tried to blackmail Emily’s rock star sister, Paige, into giving up custody of the son she had previously left in Emily’s care. Emily knew Dash had meant well, but he’d risked not only her relationship with her sister—as fragile as it was—but Henry’s happiness. For that alone, she couldn’t forgive him.