In the Fast Lane

by Sherryl Hancock

  “Yes, you’re unique,” he agreed, smothering a grin.

  “I meant with you, brat,” she said, giving him a narrowed look.

  John laughed out loud, nodding his head. “Yes, little one, you’re unique with me too.”

  “Cool,” she said, grinning like a kid.

  A few minutes later she stood up, reaching for a towel. John got to his feet and handed her the towel that was just out of her reach. She handed it back to him, looking up at him pointedly. He smiled down at her, taking the towel and wrapping it around her. To her surprise, he then swept her up in his arms, bundled in the big fluffy towel. He carried her over to the bed and stood there holding her.

  Cassie wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his head down to her. She kissed him deeply, running her fingers through his thick, dark hair. He kissed her back, his hand at her cheek as he held her with one arm. After a few long moments, he lay her down on the bed, continuing to kiss her. Then he began drying her skin with the towel, his lips following, making her insane as his lips made contact with every inch of skin he dried and exposed. Within minutes she was pulling at his belt to get him to remove his clothes. He did as she wanted, then moved to lie next to her on the bed. He pulled her to him, kissing her again and touching her skin, exciting her all over again. When she pressed close, he rolled to his back, pulling her over him. They once again made love, enjoying each other thoroughly.

  Afterwards they lay together on the bed. He moved them so he could pull the sheet up, since the fan in the room was on. Ever the protective man, he wanted to keep her from getting a chill.

  “Mackie?” she queried, as she snuggled closer to him.

  “Yeah?” he replied, glancing down at her.

  “Does anyone call you John?” she asked.

  John thought about it, then shook his head. “Nope, everyone’s called me Mack or Mackie for as long as I’ve been an adult.”

  “Do you not like your name?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Never really cared one way or the other.”

  Cassie nodded, moving to kiss his shoulder. That was when she noticed the long thin white scar there.

  “What was this from?” she asked, running her finger along the three-inch scar.

  “A bayonet blade,” he said.

  “You mean like the old-fashioned guns with the knife stuck to them?” she asked.

  “Yeah, those,” he said, “that’s what a lot of the Middle Eastern countries still carry.”

  “So how did you get this?” she asked.

  “Some guy caught me with it as he was bringing his rifle around to point at me,” he said.

  “Oh my God,” she said, her eyes widening, “what did you do?”

  “Broke the knife end off his rifle and killed him with it,” he replied, his tone so calm that Cassie couldn’t believe what he’d just said.

  “You killed him?” she asked, sounding shocked.

  “Think he was planning on less than that for me?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “But you couldn’t know …” Cassie said, shaking her head.

  “I knew, Cassandra, trust me,” John said. “They hate Americans over there with a passion. They’d just as soon shoot us as look at us. And since I had a nice American flag patch on my left arm, he knew where I was from. So yeah, I knew. Hell, as it was I just about bled out because of this,” he said, indicating the scar.

  “Bled out?” she asked, not understanding the term.

  “Bled to death, little one,” John told her gently. “He’d hit a main artery.”

  Cassie’s eyes widened further. She blinked a few times, as she tried to process what he was telling her. He could have died? Almost died? Oh my God!

  She nodded then. “I can see killing him seemed reasonable then.”

  “Reasonable, doesn’t enter into it, sweetheart,” John said. “You do what you have to do to survive, that’s the name of the game out there.”

  “There being the Middle East?” she asked.

  “There being the world, honey,” he clarified.

  “Did you kill people when you were a cop, too?” she asked. She knew she sounded naive, but she wanted to know.

  “I killed one person when I was a cop, far less than when I was a SEAL. Military actions are totally different from law enforcement.”

  “In what way?” she asked curiously.

  “Paperwork,” he said, winking at her.

  “John!” she exclaimed, but then saw that he was teasing her.

  She rolled her eyes at him, then poked him in the ribs. He chuckled.

  “Trust me, little one. I never killed anyone that didn’t have a clear intention to kill me first,” John told her.

  She nodded, trying to grasp that the man she was lying next to had actually taken a human life. It was almost beyond her comprehension. She’d never been with anyone that had or had utilized that power. She had to admit there was something very exciting in knowing that he was dangerous enough to take care of himself and her. Yet knowing how gentle he was with her, made her feel like he worked hard to keep his abilities from taking over his personality. John Machiavelli was an exciting series of contradictions.

  She still wanted to see his “darker side” sexually, but she didn’t know if he’d ever let her. It was something she knew she’d come to crave in time. She did have to admit, that even what she’d experienced with him sexually so far had definitely been satisfying. But something about the way he moved, looked, and acted told her there was an experience to be had when he let himself go. She fully intended to be there when he did.

  They spent a couple of comfortable days together in Santa Barbara, reluctantly returning to Los Angeles two days before the start of the tour.

  ****

  The tour with Sparks began smoothly enough. Cassie and the rest of Fast Lane were thrilled to be going on their first tour of the country. They quickly found that it was a lot of work though, and more so for BJ and the rest of Sparks. BJ was onsite at each venue from the minute they pulled into town. He supervised everything, making sure every part of the stage set up was done to his specifications. Cassie had learned along the way that BJ Sparks managed everything for every stage show he gave. He was a perfectionist. It was something that frequently caused friction among the Fast Lane members as well as one particular member of Sparks, Devlin McGregor.

  Devlin was the only member of Sparks that was ever brave enough to stand up to BJ. He and BJ had known each other long enough, and needed each other mutually enough to allow Devlin to say what no one else would.

  By the third month into the tour, Devlin was regularly getting into arguments with BJ about what he considered “minor shit.” They were having yet another argument during sound check. John, Cassie, and Tommy were standing off stage watching the battle. John, as usual, stood behind Cassie watching for trouble.

  “He’s pushing it too much,” John muttered.

  Cassie glanced back at him. “What do you mean?”

  “BJ, he’s pushing it, he’s exhausted,” John said, pursing his lips in analysis. “Look at the circles under his eyes, he’s even moving slower.”

  Cassie looked at BJ and saw what John was talking about. She started to worry then about BJ. He’d been so nice to her when Fast Lane had been signed, and of course during everything that had happened with Mike and the hate mail. She considered BJ a mentor, and almost a father figure. She watched him closely over the next few weeks. She saw him get more and more tired, and the fights with Devlin got worse.

  In Iowa, the fight got physical and it took Tommy and John to break it up. None of the members of Sparks seemed surprised. They’d seen BJ and Devlin go at it before, but it worried Cassie no end. It was worse when BJ stormed off after getting Tommy to let him go. They had a night off that evening, but after a few hours, Cassie was getting more and more worried about BJ as no one had heard from him.

  Cassie called Brenden’s room but there was no answer. She tried calling Devlin and others fro
m the band but got nowhere. She looked at John, who sat out on the balcony smoking. He’d gotten quieter ever since she’d told him she needed to make sure Brenden was okay. She’d told him that she felt like she had to be there for Brenden, since he’d been there when she needed him with all the mess with Mike. John had nodded, and promptly walked outside to smoke. He hadn’t said anything, but she could sense that he wasn’t altogether pleased about her need to fix Brenden.

  She walked out onto the balcony and sat on his lap. He took a long drag off his cigarette, and Cassie noted there were five butts on the ground near his feet. So, he was smoking a lot.

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Everything’s fine,” he replied evenly.

  She stared back at him but said nothing. He was good at stone walling her when he didn’t want to talk about something. Usually he was better about diverting the topic. She wasn’t totally sure what to do. Worse still, she knew she needed to go to Brenden’s room and physically see him to make sure he was alright. She’d tried to call Allexxiss but had been told that she was out of the country on a film shoot and wasn’t available. Cassie guessed that if BJ wasn’t able to talk to his wife, things might get worse. By the same token, Cassie easily sensed John’s tension, and was worried that her concern about BJ might be being misconstrued.

  Cassie looked at him for a long moment. She knew he was at least slightly irritated; he didn’t call her Cassandra unless he was being formal or was setting her straight on something. She nodded, not knowing what else she could do.

  A little while later, they left the room together and took the elevator up to Brenden’s suit. She knocked on the door. No answer. She knocked again. Still no answer. She looked at John and he glanced around but they were alone.

  “Let’s go talk to the manager and get him to let us in,” he told her.

  His sixth sense was telling him something was wrong, and he wanted to make sure Brenden was okay now too.

  They went downstairs to the lobby and located the assistant manager. John explained to the woman who he was: he was “security” for Mr. Sparks and needed to get into the room to ascertain Mr. Sparks’s “well-being.” The woman, nodded, understanding that there had already been a lot of drama with this group, and she wasn’t eager to have any bad publicity associated with her hotel.

  She led them back up to Brenden’s room. She knocked again, then opened the door for them. John thanked the woman who smiled at him and said he was, “Very welcome.” Cassie caught the come on in the woman’s look and she glanced at John who was merely looking back at the woman unphased. He probably gets that so often he doesn’t even notice anymore! Cassie thought to herself snidely.

  She walked into Brenden’s room and looked around. “Beege?” she called.

  There was no answer. She walked into the bedroom, and there he lay on the bed. He was fully clothed with his boots still on. At first, she thought he was passed out, but when she walked around to the side of the bed and kneeled down, she saw that his eyes were open.

  “Beege?” she said, reaching out to touch his cheek.

  His eyes shifted to look at her.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, her gaze taking in the bruise on his cheek from where Devlin had landed a punch.

  Beege didn’t answer, he simply continued to look at her.

  “Can you please talk to me?” Cassie asked, desperate to help him the way he’d helped her before.

  BJ rubbed his face on the bed sheets under his head. “I’m fine,” he said finally.

  “You’re not fine,” she said, reaching up to run her hand over his hair. “You need to relax some, you’re over doing it and it’s going to kill you.” She glanced up at John who was standing against the doorjamb. She was so focused on BJ she didn’t notice the closed look on his face.

  She sat on the bed next to BJ, and to her surprise he moved his head to her lap. She stroked his hair and began suggesting things he could do to wind down from the tour. BJ would answer now and again, but for the most part remained unmoved. She was so focused on trying to be supportive and get him to agree to ease up, she didn’t see John step out of the doorway.

  It was another few minutes before she realized that John wasn’t there anymore.

  “Shit,” she whispered to herself.

  Brenden shook his head, as if coming out of a trance. He looked at her, then looked over to where she’d just looked.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Mackie took off, I think he’s pissed at me,” Cassie said.

  “Go after him Cass, I’m fine,” he told her, his tone stronger now.

  “Beege, I need to know you’re okay,” she said.

  “I’m okay,” he said too quickly. “Go, Cass, go after him. If he wants to kick my ass later for occupying your time, tell him I’ll be right here.”

  Cassie grinned, despite the knot of worry in her stomach. John had been worried about her coming here. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but she knew she needed to go find out. Finally, knowing she had to trust that BJ was an adult and could take care of himself, she left to go find John.

  As she made her way to the stairwell it hit her that John wasn’t with her. She’d grown so used to him being right behind her all the time. Whereas she’d resented it in the beginning, after the attack and the suicide attempt, she’d become secure in the knowledge that John would always be there to take care of her.

  A she walked down the stairs, she ran into a man coming up . He was a big heavy-set man, who’s beady eyes looked her up and down. Cassie recoiled as she moved past him and glanced back to see him watching her. She saw him start back down the stairs, and her senses went on overdrive. She ran down the stairs, not looking back to see if he was indeed following her. She didn’t see him pick up the piece of paper he’d dropped and continue up the stairs. Her imagination was already running wild.

  Once she was back on her floor, she leaned against the wall as the door banged shut. That’s when her brain started telling her what an idiot she was. Still, she felt totally vulnerable without John with her. She glanced at the people who were looking at her. They were whispering and talking. She pushed off the wall and hurried down the corridor to their room.

  As she walked inside, she called out to him. There was no answer. She walked through the entire suite, then went back into the living area. She sat down on the couch, thinking he was probably walking off whatever anger he had. Just like John to keep from getting mad in front of her. She sighed and leaned back on the couch.

  Cassie was pacing; it had been two hours since John had walked out of Brenden’s room and he hadn’t come back. Where the hell was he? Where did he go? The bar? No, that didn’t sound like John. He wouldn’t want to lose his edge. He couldn’t protect her if he was drunk. Unless he doesn’t care to protect me anymore, she thought to herself. That’s when the thought clicked in her head. What if he was gone?

  She strode into the bedroom and threw the closet doors open.

  “Fuck!” she yelled, seeing that his suitcase, leather valise, and clothes were gone

  John was so neat he kept everything he had with him in one small section of the closet. And it was gone.

  “Damn it, damn it!” Cassie raged, tears coming to her eyes.

  She strode out of the room, slamming the door, and headed for the elevator. She was in the lobby a minute later. She talked to the woman at the front desk, asking if John Machiavelli had checked out.

  “No, ma’am, he registered two hours ago,” she said as she checked her computer.

  “Registered?” Cassie asked. “He got another room?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I guess so. That’s what it looks like,” the woman said.

  “What’s the room number?” Cassie asked.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t tell you that,” the woman said.

  “What do you mean, you can’t tell me?” Cassie asked, giving her a look like the woman was crazy.

 
“Guest information is confidential, ma’am,” the woman said officiously.

  “Bullshit,” Cassie said. “You just told me he got another room, that wasn’t very confidential, now give me the fucking room number!”

  “What’s the problem here?” the manager asked.

  “This woman wants the room number of one of the guests,” the woman at the desk said, gesturing to Cassie.

  “He’s my bodyguard, okay?” Cassie told the manager. “I need to see him,”

  “Well, ma’am, if he’s your bodyguard, he should have told you where he was staying,” the manager said.

  “Just fucking give me the room number,” Cassie said evenly, her words measured as she did her best not to lose her temper.

  “But, ma’am—” the manager began.

  “Give me the fucking number!” Cassie raged, shocking nearby passersby.

  The manager and the receptionist jumped. “1012,” the manager said hurriedly.

  “Thank you,” Cassie said, smiling tightly. “Fucking idiot,” she growled to herself as she walked away.

  She got in the elevator and punched the button for the tenth floor. She eyed the other people on the elevator with disdain as they hit other floors that would keep her from getting to the tenth floor quickly. The manager got on the phone as soon as she was out of ear shot.

  By the time she got to room 1012, she was shaking she was so nervous about facing him. If he’d gone this far, she knew he was mad. She knocked on the door, and noticed it was ajar.

  “It’s open,” John called from inside.

  She pushed the door open and walked in. John was sitting on the bed, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

  “You leave your door open?” she asked, trying to put off the conversation they were going to have.

  “Only when the manager calls me and tells me some lunatic woman with black hair is screaming at them to give her my room number and is now headed for my room,” he replied mildly.

  Cassie’s eyes narrowed at the description the manager had given John, but she had to admit it was probably how she’d seemed.