by Amity Cross
Unstoppable
The Unexpected Trilogy Companion #6
Nicole R. Taylor writing as
Amity Cross
Unstoppable (Unexpected#6) by Amity Cross
Copyright © 2014 Amity Cross / Nicole R. Taylor
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All song titles, song lyrics, products and band names mentioned in this book are the property of the sole copyright owners.
Cover Design: © Nicole R. Taylor
Contents
One – Rob
Two – Lilly
Three – Rob
Four – Lilly
Five – Rob
Six – Lilly
Seven – Rob
Eight – Lilly
Nine – Rob
Ten – Lilly
Eleven – Rob
Twelve – Lilly
Thirteen – Rob
Fourteen – Lilly
Fifteen - Rob
About Amity
Rob
When I was sixteen, I had nobody.
One day you come home from school, the school that had just suspended you for fighting again, and you find an empty house. No furniture. No fridge. No TV. No Mum. What do you do?
Then one day you're sitting behind a drum kit in one of the hottest studios in LA wondering how you even got from there to here. Staring up at my mates, West, Joe, Mick…they had no idea what I went through. Life had been fine. I belonged for a while and for someone who'd never belonged anywhere, that shit was priceless. But right now, they were currently too wrapped up in their own little worlds to see into mine. Couldn't blame them, since I'd never mentioned my pre-Affliction bleakness. They wouldn't get it.
Rob Hancock was a reformed shithead of a kid who'd made good. I didn't need anyone to help me get through life because I was just fine on my own. I didn't need a girlfriend, I didn't need parental supervision and I sure as fuck didn't need to fall in love.
My band mates, or the only real family I'd ever had, had all gone and got themselves other halves and here I was sitting in the middle of another conversation about sex. Apparently sex with some bird you were in love with trumped every fuck ever. Like I'd know.
"No random ever let me go near the back door," West was saying.
"Mate, fucking bare back-" Joe said, rubbing his dick.
"Amazing."
Mick was laughing like an idiot. "No chick ever woke me up in the middle of the night with her hand around my dick."
"You never actually slept with a woman, Mick," Joe said.
"B likes to sink her teeth in," West put in.
"You don't know creative, mate, until you've been with a fucking writer."
I sat behind the drum kit, the vein in my forehead throbbing. They were all taken, all tied up in their own fuckin' worlds and it was like I didn't exist. I hadn't spoken a word for at least three hours and nobody had noticed.
Seventh fucking wheel.
"There's only so much you can get away with with a groupie," Mick said.
"Found some new limits huh, Savage?" Joe said, suggestively.
A fucking synapse snapped in my brain and I took a drumstick and stabbed it with as much force as I could. It pierced the acrylic skin on the closest snare with a loud crack and everyone turned to stare in surprise, shock, confusion and all of the above. Scrambling to my feet, the stool fell over and I kicked the ruined drum over with surprising accuracy, cymbals and crap falling to the floor with a crash.
"Rob, what the fuck?" Mick exclaimed.
"What the fuck? What the fuck?" I yelled, stepping over a dented cymbal. "Fuck you."
West went to grab hold of me, but I shoved him away. I knew I was overreacting, but I'd had a gut full. I was the last one left and suddenly I was all alone. Forgotten. Left behind again. Fuck them.
Pushing through the sound booth, past a startled looking Sasha, I stormed out into the hall, searching for the nearest exit. I had to get the fuck outta there before I punched someone.
What, was I fucking jealous of them all of a sudden? Fuck, no. I didn't want that. I didn't need it and sure as fuck didn't want it shoved down my throat. Next they'd be talking about marriage and shit. I wanted to beat my head against a brick wall and feel the burn.
I was standing in the middle of the lane beside the studio, the orange glow of the streetlights tinting everything an unnatural color. We'd been recording late every day of the week, so it was dark, silent and empty. I didn't know why it got to me so much. It wasn't like I wanted what they had, did I? It all seemed so fuckin' easy for them, like they hadn't had to work a day in their lives, like they didn't know what Skid Row felt like. West had his problems, but shit, he grew up with a rich to-do Mummy and Daddy. If I had anything in common with anyone, it was Blair and she was busy letting West go near the back door apparently. Fuckin' puke.
Leaning against the wall, I rubbed my eyes. It wasn't their fault I had fucked up abandonment issues, but it sure as fuck didn't help to have it rubbed in my face like their shit don't stink.
A scream pierced the silence and my head snapped up. What the fuck? Suddenly, my mood shifted and I stood up straight.
Shit, I mean there was screaming, then there was screaming. The kind filled with blind fear and I knew all about that. Someone, a woman, was in trouble and if I was going to hit something, then it may as well be in the name of fighting crime, like I was fuckin' Batman or some shit. I jogged down the street like a wannabe hero, looking for the source. Really, what kind of douche would I be if I ignored this?
Another scream split the air and this time it was cut short, but not before I caught sight of a dark opening up ahead. Mugging one-oh-one.
"Where is it bitch?" a rough male voice said as I stopped at the mouth of the alley.
Just inside the darkness, a man was holding a woman against the brick wall, his body pressed up against hers. She was struggling against him, but couldn't break free. Fucking asshole scumbag.
"No, no, no, no," the woman was pleading.
That's when I saw the glint of metal. The fucker had a knife to her throat, his free hand groping her, looking for money...looking to assault her in the worst possible way. I'd already snapped all the pathways in my brain labeled 'sane' and before I could think twice, I strode forward into the alley and curled my fist into the back of the man's jacket. Without blinking, I hauled him backward off the woman like he weighed nothing.
He stumbled in surprise at my silent appearance, but like it was an ingrained reflex, he turned and swiped the knife with an annoyed roar. I easily evaded him and grabbed his wrist, twisting with all my strength to make him let go before he actually managed to get in a good shot. He was a total meth head. Junkie scum. Looked like he hadn't washed for days or weeks or ever.
"Feel big threatening a defenseless woman, huh?" I snarled. "Need five bucks for your next hit? Fuckin' scumbag."
"Eat shit, asshole," the man hissed, trying to pull his arm free.
"Wrong answer." I drew my hand back and punched the fucker right in the face. It startled him enough that he dropped the knife and it clattered to the footpath, glinting in the darkness. I let him go, but he started to run like a fucking coward. I fully intended to chase the cunt down and smash him one, but I felt a hand on my arm.
Staring at her, I'd almost forgotten she was there at all and now that I was looking right at her, I didn't want to look anywhere else. Her hair was bright fuckin' purple and I think her eyes were blue. I couldn't really see. She was staring at me with an expression I couldn't read, her lip quivering.
"Are you okay?" I asked, snapping out of it.
She shrugged and I couldn't really blame her.
"I'm calling the cops."
The woman leaned back against the wall, starting to shiver like it wasn't a balmy summers night. I'd been around enough of these kinds of scenarios to know that shock was setting in because having a knife at your throat wasn't anyone’s idea of a good time.
"Hey, what's your name?" I asked, putting my hands on her shoulders. She flinched at the contact, but I didn't let go.
Her gaze finally met mine, tears spilling down her flushed cheeks. "Lilly."
"Lilly, I'm going to call the cops. We'll get someone to make sure you're okay."
I went to move off, to call 911, but she grasped my forearm, a frightened expression on her pretty face. "You're not going to leave me are you?"
Startled, I shook my head. No one had ever counted on me before - not like this.
Fingers trailed down my bare arm and curled around my hand and for a moment I stared at the purple-haired woman who'd suddenly placed so much trust in me and didn't know what to do. I reckon there was something I should've said right then, but I was too dumb to know what it was. I wasn't good at comfort. I didn't know what that shit was.
Instead, I pulled out my phone and called the cops, tightening my grip on hers.
I didn't mind the color red. Or blue, for that matter. What I didn't like was the two mixed together, flashing in my face.
Two LAPD cop cars were parked by the footpath and an ambulance had pulled up in the front. A couple of cops were scouring the alley behind me, probably looking for evidence, but somehow I knew it was useless. That guy had been just one face in a thousand just like it. Desperate. Hungry. In the clutches of withdrawal.
Standing on the footpath, I watched the paramedic check Lilly over, suddenly realizing how hurt she actually was. The mugger had slashed her arm and where he'd had the knife at her throat was a small cut that had bled down her creamy white skin. Even though she was safe, she still looked completely scared out of her wits. They'd had to pry her hand from mine and she'd only let go when I promised I wouldn't leave her line of sight.
"Sir?"
I glanced at the LAPD officer who'd finally deigned to take my statement. He was just a kid, probably a few years younger than me, some rookie stuck on the beat.
"You witnessed the attack?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Name?"
"Rob Hancock."
"Australian? Are you a US citizen?"
"No, I'm here on a work permit. It's legit. I can get details if you need it." The thought of calling Sasha to tell her I was with the cops didn't really float my boat right now. After my temper tantrum, she'd probably think I was the one being put into the slammer for the night. I wasn't ready to cop that serve - that would be epic and she didn't deserve my anger right now.
Glancing at Lilly, she was talking to a female cop while being prodded by a paramedic. My gaze connected with hers as the cop beside whipped out his notebook.
"Do you know the victim?"
Victim. I snorted. "No, I just heard her scream and went to help."
"You do know that being a hero is not recommended, sir."
"I don't like to follow recommendations," I drawled. I never got along with the cops and this one was all business, talking down to me like a naughty child. Like I hadn't saved a poor woman from being stabbed to death for five bucks. Like he wasn't just a kid himself. Pissed me off.
The cop raised an eyebrow. "What were you doing here?"
"I'm a musician. I'm recording at the studio across the street."
"And what were you doing outside?"
"I needed a break." I explained what had happened. "It was over in two seconds. He ran off after I clocked him one."
"Crackhead," the cop said and I sneered at him. I glanced at Lilly again and she rolled her eyes. She'd been listening to the whole exchange. I gave her a look that said, 'totally fan-fucking-tastic at his job, hey'.
"Almost upgraded that to murder."
"Sir, in most of these cases, muggings hardly ever escalate that far. The perps are just out for something to pawn or some cash to fund their drug habit."
"You're not reassuring me."
"We're doing what we can, sir, but the likelihood of finding-"
"I know, I know. The likelihood of actually catching the fuck is slim to none, but you still have to write your little report."
The cop grimaced. "That's bureaucracy for you."
Rolling my eyes, I strode off, Lilly firmly in my sights. The paramedic glanced at me, then hopped into the back of the truck to give us a minute.
"Did you stop to think that maybe he could've stabbed you?" Lilly asked, hugging her arms around herself like it'd protect her from all the bad shit in the world.
I shook my head. I never stopped to think.
"What if he had a gun?"
I shrugged. "I'm into doing stupid shit."
She just grimaced and looked away. "They want to take me to the hospital."
I nodded.
She stared up at me through her smeared mascara, her blue eyes tinted an odd shade in the light from the back of the ambulance. How the fuck could I just leave her on her own?
My phone started ringing and when I saw it was Sasha, I turned it off and shoved it back into my pocket.
"Do you need to get that?"
"No, I'm busy."
Lilly cocked her head to the side.
I shrugged. "I've got to take this pretty, purple-haired woman to the hospital."
"I'm okay now," she said, glancing away again like it was a nervous tick, her cheeks starting to turn red. "I'm sorry I acted like a freak."
There seemed to be two Rob's now. Before Rob was the prick in that studio who'd never care to comfort a woman who was upset. Then there was after Rob, who'd spend his night making sure a woman who'd had one hell of a scare was okay. I didn't know who the fuck that guy was. "I'm trying out this thing called chivalry."
"Why?"
I shrugged like it was my equivalent of her nervous 'eye contact avoidance' tick. "Believe me, it's a Christmas fuckin' miracle."
Lilly glanced up at me again, this time more confidently, a curious spark in her eyes. "Why?"
Thinking about the guys back at the studio, I replied, "I really need to get out and make new friends."
Lilly
People say they run from things all the time. Money problems, a dead end job, a lonely life. For me, it was either stay and die or run and possibly die. Which one do you think I chose?
Moving to LA to disappear sounded glamorous. I could be whoever I wanted and nobody would bat an eye. Seemed everyone had the same idea and some didn't come off so well. Chewed up and spat out. Prime example being the junkie who'd almost stabbed me to death for the five bucks and cell phone I had in my pocket.
I'd had my life threatened before, but this time was different. This time, the man who held the knife was going to slit my throat. All those other times? I was better off alive because I still had some kind of use. Spectacular.
As the ambulance pulled into the hospital, I stared at the hand of my rescuer. It was firmly squashed in mine and there was no way in hell I was letting go. Not yet, anyway. It felt calloused and rough and I remembered he'd said to the cop with the attitude that he was a musician. My gaze travelled up his forearm and I studied his tattoos. There was blood on my jeans.
He was a stranger, but he made me feel safe in a world where I was constantly looking over my shoulder. Tonight might've been a random attack, but it so easily could've been something else. When that day came, and it
was coming, nobody would be there to protect me. You couldn't run from your past forever and not stumble along the way.
He'd told the cop his name was Rob Hancock. Australian.
The back doors of the ambulance opened and the paramedic from before gestured for me to get out. A nurse was waiting and she offered me her arm as Rob helped me down onto the pavement. Inside, the whole place stunk like puke and disinfectant.
"Are you her partner?" the nurse asked, glancing at me.
"No," he said. "I found her in the street. I stopped the attack…"
"Wow, you're brave."
He shrugged and I sunk down into a seat near the door.
"She's a bit beaten up," the paramedic told the nurse. "Nothing major, there is a cut on her arm, though it's shallow. Should get away without stitches."
Tuning out, I watched the nurse sidle closer to Rob and narrowed my eyes. Pulling out my insurance card, I shoved it at her. Details, formalities, I didn't give a crap.
"I'll have this right back to you," the nurse said without making eye contact with the poor woman, i.e. me, who'd just been attacked at knifepoint. Obviously she thought more about her vagina than patient care. Bitch.
She made eyes at Rob again as the paramedic left and I sunk further into the hard, plastic seat.
"Please let me know when the doctor can see her," he said, not seeming that interested.
The nurse nodded and walked away, her sneakers squeaking on the shiny floor. A moment later, I felt him sit next to me.
"You don't have to stay," I said, my voice sounding hoarse. "I'm okay waiting on my own."
"I can't."
I was saved from one crazy man and shoved into the lap of another. "Why?"
"Because I'd be an epic asshole if I left you here alone after what happened."
"I'm fine."
"I'm still staying."
"Why?"
"Why do you keep asking?"
"Because I don't believe your answer."
Our back and forth was so fluid it kinda scared me more than that psycho with the knife. Keep your head down, Lilly. Keep it right down and don't look up.