Revenge: The Complete Series (Erotic Rock Star Suspense Romance)

by Mimi Strong

  I smile and roll my eyes behind my dark glasses. They couldn’t be more wrong.

  I glance up at the fundraising banner as the three of us march in the front door on our spiked heels. Everything’s perfect. Considering this was a last-minute event, everyone’s done an incredible job.

  Inside the restaurant, the bouncers at the door whistle at the three of us.

  Amanda says, “How do we look, boys?”

  The tough-looking bouncers can’t stop smiling. “I think I like charity stuff,” one of them says.

  The other one gets on his knees before Amanda and Riley. “Ladies, it’s crowded inside. Would either of you like a shoulder ride?” He stares at their bare legs and shoes. “You can’t walk in those heels.”

  They laugh and tell him they can handle it.

  I’d laugh, but I’m too nervous.

  Tonight will not just clear Dylan’s name with the media. It’s also a huge fundraiser for a local women’s shelter.

  This charity was actually Ryanna’s suggestion. After our lunch together, she called them to get some personal help. She’s currently working with investigators and other models to get the shady modeling agency shut down.

  When I was looking around for a good charity for tonight’s fundraiser, she suggested the agency. It was perfect.

  More flashes go off in my face, but I just keep smiling. These photos don’t bother me like they used to.

  Once I decided to use my notoriety for something good, everything changed. I stopped hating the paparazzi so much. I still find them annoying, but at least something good will come of it.

  Riley leans in to shout near my ear, “There’s not an empty table in the place. You’d think you were inside the Hard Rock Cafe, except for those bare walls!”

  There’s only a smattering of sparse music memorabilia hanging on the walls.

  “They won’t be bare for long,” I answer over the noise of the crowd.

  I’m not surprised Maggie Clark had so much time on her hands to get into my business. Until tonight, she hasn’t exactly been busy running the restaurant.

  We stop near the bar, and I ask the bartender to tell Nick we’re here and ready.

  The bartender uses his phone to send a message, even though he can barely take his eyes off Riley and Amanda. The girls act cool and pretend not to notice. I swear every guy in the place is looking at the three of us, and some of the women, too.

  Ryanna has disappeared, to the curtain behind the small stage. She’s probably doing last-minute preparations with the representatives from the charity. The stage is empty, waiting for us.

  My former co-worker, Nick Clark, walks up to us, looking like Casper the Unfriendly Goth, as usual. His face is pale and dotted with piercings above his black clothes.

  “My mother’s suspicious,” Nick says.

  “She should be,” Riley and Amanda say in unison.

  I introduce Nick to my friends. They’ve all heard so much about each other, but this is the first time they’ve actually met.

  There’s an awkwardness in the air, and the three of them keep looking at me, waiting for me to say everything’s okay.

  We’ve joked about tonight being for revenge, but it really isn’t. Revenge doesn’t get you anywhere. You hit someone, they keep hitting you back.

  Back at the house I share with Dylan, we have a new postcard framed on our personal wall of memorabilia: holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Every time I read it, I believe it more.

  The crowd in the restaurant begins to cheer.

  It’s happening.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The crowd cheers wildly. Someone is out on the stage now, tapping the microphone. It’s Ryanna, ready to start the introduction. She looks stunning, her golden hair radiant under the lights.

  Nick comes to stand beside me. There’s nowhere to sit, so we’re still huddled near the edge of the bar, but that’s fine. I don’t have time to sit down, because I’ll be on that stage soon. The butterflies in my stomach go into a frenzy.

  Ryanna starts her speech by thanking Maggie Clark for letting the charity use the restaurant tonight. I spot the top of Maggie’s gray-blonde head. She’s at a table near the stage, and stands up to wave one elegant hand at everyone.

  I duck down to make sure Maggie doesn’t see me yet. She doesn’t know about the announcement Nick will be making later, and I don’t want to tip her off.

  Amanda hands me a shot glass. “Liquid courage.”

  I toss it back without question. I can understand why musicians enjoy a drink or two before the show. I’m glad I’m not singing tonight, because my throat is so tight, I couldn’t squeak out two words.

  The crowd quiets down, listening to Ryanna.

  She walks back and forth across the small stage like a professional, making eye contact and speaking with confidence.

  “You’ve probably never heard a story as original as mine,” she says. “I came to L.A. from a small town, with dreams of stardom in my eyes.”

  The crowd laughs at her joke, and I relax just a little. Ryanna keeps talking, telling the crowd about how she got mixed up with the wrong people. Soon she was doing things she didn’t want to do, working for a man who was a monster.

  As she talks, I find myself leaning forward, along with everyone in the place. At times, she speaks softly, forcing people to pay attention.

  If modeling doesn’t work out, she could do publicity or media training for the music label.

  She finishes her story, everyone applauds, and then she brings out the head of the charity. That woman speaks for a few minutes, about the good work they do, and then they ask the audience for questions.

  The first question is about Dylan Wolf. I’m not at all surprised. The people packing this place from wall to wall came to hear about him, about how he abuses young women.

  Ryanna sniffs and wipes at her face. “I’m so sorry about that,” she whispers into the microphone. “When the photographs surfaced, with the bruises on my arm, I didn’t know what to do. I blamed poor Dylan, when the truth is, he’s actually a sweetheart.”

  The person in the audience asks more questions. I can’t hear them because they don’t have a microphone.

  “That’s right,” Ryanna says. “The bruises were from someone else, not Dylan Wolf, and I deeply regret that I lied to the press. I hope you can forgive me.”

  The woman from the foundation adds, “Sadly, sometimes abused women will lie to protect their abuser. This only makes the situation more complicated, and only makes the need for help greater.”

  The crowd goes quiet, and the women goes on to quote some statistics. I can hear the discomfort in the audience. This isn’t what they came for, but they’re getting the message. I can feel it in my gut: these people are going to write some checks tonight.

  Some good will come of this whole mess.

  There are more questions, still about Dylan.

  Ryanna takes over the microphone again. “Let me tell you something about Dylan Wolf.”

  The crowd cheers with excitement.

  “He is so sweet. I was at some music events with him, and I have to admit, I was overcome with emotion.” She looks directly into the crowd at someone specific—Maggie Clark. This is where she lies to save Maggie’s bacon, and she’s letting her know.

  Laughing, Ryanna says, “I threw myself at the poor guy. And before he could fight me off, I planted a kiss on his sweet, gorgeous lips.”

  The crowd roars to hear more, and someone shouts out a question.

  This guy is so loud, yelling, “How was Dylan in the sack?”

  “In the sack?” She giggles. “Do you mean sex? Honey, I wouldn’t know. I only sleep with girls.”

  Everyone in the crowd inhales at once, the restaurant going surprisingly quiet.

  Behind me at the bar, I hear the bartender grumble about how life isn’t fair.

  “Dylan never wanted to kiss me,” she says. “Unfortunately for him
, his music and his voice have a powerful effect on people. I don’t even like guys, and I ambushed him with my lips. Say, do you guys think he’ll ever forgive me?”

  There’s a din of confused muttering in the crowd.

  Nick pats me on the shoulder. “Show time.” He leads the way, pushing through the crowded restaurant.

  The three of us follow behind him, tottering on our high-heeled blue shoes. I’ve got the big guitar case, and I knock into a few people who are seated, but I manage to get through and up onto the stage.

  Amanda, Riley, and I take our spots. Nick takes the beat-up guitar case from my hands and then accepts the microphone from Ryanna.

  He introduces himself as one of the partners in the restaurant, but I hardly hear his words. Everything’s a blur, and the stage lights are blinding. The whole world looks different from up here on the stage.

  Ryanna comes over to hug me and wishes me luck. She gives me a lingering kiss on my cheek. “Have fun,” she says.

  Nick is having difficulty talking over the roar of the crowd. He’s trying to explain that the restaurant is forming a partnership with Morris Music, and that they’ll be hosting more live events, but the crowd doesn’t care about the future. They don’t care that Dylan’s beat-up old guitar will be in a display case on the wall next week.

  They just want to see him. Now.

  And so do I.

  Nick throws one arm in the air and yells, “Ladies and gentlemen, DYLAN WOLF!”

  The curtain moves, but nobody comes out.

  Nick repeats himself, “DYLAN WOLF!”

  The curtain moves, but still there’s no Dylan.

  The crowd starts to make unhappy, impatient noises.

  Nick begs them for a minute and turns to me. “Jess, would you go back there and check on him?”

  I nod and push my way back through the curtain.

  The tiny space behind the stage is dark compared to the lights on the other side. I take off my dark sunglasses, which helps a lot.

  There’s nobody else back here, except for Dylan. He’s standing in a casual pose, hands in his pockets.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. “This isn’t part of the plan.”

  He winks at me. “Yes, it is.”

  Suddenly, Dylan’s down on one knee before me.

  “Jess Rivera.” He holds out the engagement ring. Even in the dim light backstage, it sparkles with fire. “For a long time, I tried to ignore the cracks that were forming. I thought I could keep going, and that I didn’t need to change. But when I lost you, I finally realized my life wasn’t just about me anymore.”

  “Yes!” I say. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  He grins. “I haven’t asked you yet.”

  “Oh. I didn’t want to mess up and wait too long.”

  “You weren’t the one who messed up.” He reaches for my hand and slides the ring onto my finger. My legs are really shaking now.

  “My life is about the two of us now,” he says. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to see the light, but I get it now.” He squeezes my hand. “You are the light, and I must have had those cracks so I could let you in.”

  I stare at the ring on my finger. “Yes.”

  “I still haven’t asked.”

  “Oh.”

  “Jess Rivera, think about it for thirty seconds before you give me your answer. I’ll count down. Here it comes. Jess Rivera, will you marry me… in a castle, in Italy?”

  “Um…”

  He holds up a finger and starts counting down the thirty seconds. “Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight…”

  My answer is yes. I think. My head is swimming, and the crowd on the other side of the curtain is making so much noise. I look over at the curtain, and I am reminded of that moment in the hospital room, when there was only a green hospital curtain between us and the world.

  And the curtain was enough.

  We may not have the privacy of a normal couple, but we don’t need anonymity, as long as there are curtains and stolen moments together.

  I look down at the ring, which is just a ring.

  I look into Dylan’s eyes, which are more beautiful than any ring.

  He’s finishing the countdown, “Three, two, one.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Ask me a thousand times, and I’ll keep saying yes. Sometimes I might need a few minutes to think about it, but I’ll always say yes.”

  He gets to his feet and kisses me.

  He pulls away, wiping the red lipstick off his mouth with the back of his hand, and says, “Wow, you are tall in those shoes.”

  “You like them?”

  “You know I love you in blue shoes.” He nods for us to go back through the curtain. “We should get out there before they set the place on fire. Then this new Morris Music acquisition won’t be worth a dime.”

  He pulls me in for one more hug before we step through the curtain.

  “We’ll get married just outside of Rome,” he says. “There’s a castle that will be perfect.”

  “Rome?” Just saying the name of the city makes my heart ache, but I think about something Chet said, about getting back on the horse that bucked you off.

  “We’ll bring all our friends with us, and they can even join us on the honeymoon.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Let’s get married in Rome. Yes. I love you.”

  “I love you.” He hugs me one more time, then I put my dark sunglasses back on and we walk through the curtain, out to the stage.

  The whole crowd is chanting his name.

  I spot Maggie Clark, sitting with her back rigid and her eyes wide. Everything about the partnership with Morris Music is news to her, a complete surprise. She was part of the charity event planning, but that was partly to distract her while we set up the deal with her son, Nick. The look on her face is absolutely priceless.

  I can see it in her eyes that she understands the situation. We have all the evidence Clay Veritas gathered, and we could sue her for tampering with my phone and creating lies about Dylan. She did cause pain, and we can show a financial hit with Dylan’s sales. We could bankrupt her if we wanted to.

  But I feel sorry for the woman. She did all this because she was used for years by a powerful man. I can only hope that she takes this opportunity, and dedicates her life to doing good, for a change.

  I give her a wave, but she doesn’t even blink. She’s in her own world of shock.

  I take my spot in between the girls and lean over to tell first Riley, then Amanda, to check out my sparkly engagement ring.

  They both grin at me, not surprised at all.

  “We knew,” Riley says.

  Dylan has his old guitar in his hands. He takes a moment to check the tuning, driving the crowd wild. Once they’re worked into a lather, he starts playing one of his signature songs, Blue Shoes.

  The three of us shuffle in unison, his backup girls for this very special performance.

  I hiss at Amanda, “You two knew about this backstage surprise proposal?”

  She leans her head toward me. “We’ve already booked time off work. I can’t wait to see Rome.”

  Riley says, “Nan is going to love Italy. She wants to visit the local farms, of course.”

  I start laughing so hard, I lose the rhythm of our groove. The girls sandwich my hips between their hips to keep me moving on the beat.

  Dylan keeps singing, charming the crowd with every word.

  He glances over at me, giving me a special look to let me know he’s always thinking about me, even when he’s on stage and the crowd is screaming his name.

  He’s told me this before, but it isn’t until now that I believe it.

  I’m here tonight, but this isn’t any different, to his heart.

  When he’s on stage, singing about me, I’m always with him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ROME, ITALY

  Dylan rented a castle. An actual castle. In the countryside outside Rome. I feel like a princess.

  I’d marry
him anywhere, but I have to admit this place is much more beautiful than the mansion in Malibu. We’re up in the hills, far from the sea, but we’ve got an amazing view of vineyards.

  Nan and her gentleman friend arrived two days before us. She insisted she needed the extra days to get used to the time change. She swears they’re both going to keep up with us younger folks and not miss a thing.

  Our flight to Italy was thirteen hours, but it didn’t feel as long as my first trip, because all the people we love were on the flight with us.

  My boss and friend, Chet Morris, sat next to my sister, Riley. I’m trying to hook those two up, but either they have no chemistry or they’re great at hiding it.

  Amanda brought her boyfriend, Caleb. He and I have been talking quite a bit lately, and I have a secret. I know he’s going to propose to her in Italy. I’m not telling anyone, except Dylan, of course. I tell him everything now.

  After we got engaged for the second time, he kept seeing his therapist, because he didn’t want to screw things up again. I tagged along for a few sessions, just so we could talk about couple stuff.

  The therapist is a decent guy. He’s a little odd, with his crystals, wood-paneled walls, and trickling water fountains in the therapy room, but it is L.A. People in the city like that sort of thing. Maybe it’s what we need to balance the energy of an entire city that’s so image conscious.

  The guy said Dylan never really dealt with what happened with his first wife. He felt Dylan had been suppressing his pain and rage, but that a deeper part of him wanted it brought to the surface, which was why he kept dialing up the drama in his life. Subconsciously, he was pushing for a train wreck.

  I don’t know if I believe all that stuff.

  I do know he seems happier now, and he gets happiness from more places than just his music. We take more time to see movie matinees, walk in gardens, and visit museums. The week before we flew to Italy, we visited MOCA, the Museum of Contemporary Art.