Sympathy For Diablo (Breathless Eternity #1)

by S. E. Chardou

I knew enough about the band to know none of them were born with silver spoons in their mouth and they came from pretty rough backgrounds. There was a rumor that Diablo and Damien’s father was a motorcycle club president and their mother was his old lady. I didn’t know much about MCs except what I’d read in a few books and watched on Sons of Anarchy. I could only begin to imagine that would have been quite a way to grow up. Living outside of the rules that society dictated never much appealed to me—I was definitely more of a “go with the flow” type.

  That certainly didn’t mean I wasn’t without a rebellious streak. I actually had quite the temper but most of the time, I managed to keep it under wraps.

  While Angie and Lizzy stood talking to the guys, I walked over to the table where an assortment of alcohol beverages was set on buffet-style table. The band’s rider was on the table but so far, only their pre-concert items had been set out. That included assorted bowls of chips, German-style pretzels, Nutella crêpes and crêpes filled with goat cheese, Brie and ham.

  We’d all been so nervous about the concert; none of us had eaten much that day. I grabbed a cheese and ham crêpe, deposited it on a small plate and took a seat in the corner. With a bottle of Beck’s in one hand and the crêpe in the other, I was in heaven. It was so freaking good. In fact, I hadn’t had a crêpe that good since we happened upon a crêpe stand in a not very desirable part of Paris that was actually a bit rough. However the crêpes made up for the piss-smelling streets, graffiti and general dinginess of said neighborhood.

  I finished the last bit of my crêpe and continued to chew as someone cleared their throat. I looked over to where the noise had come from and froze, mid-chew.

  Oh. My. Fucking. God.

  It was Diablo Bissette himself.

  The lead singer of Breathless Eternity and he was hotter in person.

  I swallowed the chewed up crêpe and chased it down with a third of a bottle of Beck’s.

  He sauntered towards me and my heart began to thunder in my chest. A cool sheen of sweat seemed to cover my body and all the sudden, the room felt too warm despite the frigid temps from the air conditioning vent I happened to be sitting under.

  The whole scene felt like a dream but I wasn’t too far-gone to lick my teeth with my tongue to make sure I didn’t have crêpe bits between them. I smiled at him and although I hoped that it would dazzle him, it was the smile I reserved for my closest friends and family. It didn’t show too much teeth but it was genuine and I wondered why my lips hadn’t cooperated with me. Why had my face decided to betray me as if this man and I had known one another for a lifetime instead of a few moments?

  He wore black jeans, relaxed enough for him to breathe in yet not baggy enough to the point of falling off his ass, and a black t-shirt he was famous for throwing into the audience. Although his whole wardrobe should have been a rock cliché, I couldn’t deny how good he looked.

  Although most of the tour, he’d kept his hair black, it was now back to its original color and my mouth salivated even further. The man was gorgeous, a walking god of perfection and he’d decided to talk to me of all people.

  I swigged again from my beer for liquid courage, wishing I had something stronger like hard liquor but this would have to do.

  The moment he entered my vicinity, I felt drunk. He smelled good, a delectable scent of some expensive cologne laced with citrus and sandalwood along with his own manly smell and soap. He stared at me, his gorgeous sky-blue eyes sizing me up though a look of pure, unadulterated lust was there, hidden beneath the depths of something far more sinister.

  It turned me on.

  The good girl I’d always been had flown the coop and left behind someone who wanted to revel in whatever deviancy existed inside of him. I needed to know him, touch him, feel him—be a part of him. The question was would he let me?

  “So,” he began in lightly accented English, “are you the guilty party who ate one of my crêpes? They’re my favorite and I noticed one is missing.”

  “Guilty as charged,” I managed to say while still smiling. “I was starving and I didn’t have a chance to eat before the limo picked us up from the hotel—”

  “How is that my fault and why aren’t you over there with the rest of your friends, flirting with my band mates?” Diablo interrupted rudely.

  “Well . . . Damien managed to get us backstage passes and . . . there are a lot of crêpes on that plate. How the hell did you realize one was missing?” My attitude had changed from embarrassed to indignant. Who the fuck did this guy think he was?

  He leaned closer to me, and the scent from his body fully enveloped my senses. “It might be a surprise to you but I’m an observer, chérie. I specifically saw you take the crêpe and devour it like it was your last meal. Do you have some sort of idea in that head of yours that believes a backstage pass means you can do whatever you want backstage—including eat the food set out for the band according to their rider?”

  I glared at him, my heart deflating by his craptastic attitude. “No, but I really did think that meeting the members of Breathless Eternity would be refreshing as opposed to the typical rock band. I had no idea celebrity and fame had gone to your head to the point where you’ve got your own head shoved up your ass.”

  I stood before he could insult me any further and walked out of the room. I had to go to the bathroom, and I was beyond pissed off. At this point, I didn’t even want to stay to see the fucking concert.

  To hell with Diablo, and his band of assholes.

  My anger had me in such a state, I didn’t know where the fuck I was going but I wanted to get the hell away from him. I heard him as he called after me but I pretended I’d gone deaf. There was no sense in me answering him when he’d thoroughly angered the hell out of me and I had nothing to say to him.

  Unfortunately, my high heels were no competition for his stride or height. He caught up with me easily and grabbed my arm before flinging me around to face him.

  “Get the fuck off of me!” I said through clinched teeth.

  “Wow, aren’t you quite spirited?” Diablo smiled at me and it disarmed me completely.

  I breathed deeply and managed to get a grip on my temper. “What do you want?”

  “I wanted to apologize. I wasn’t serious about the crêpe—apparently, I haven’t gotten the hang of the whole . . . American sense of humor. Please, allow me to say I’m sorry if I offended you in any way.” His hand dropped my arm before he tucked a loose strand of my hair delicately behind my ear. “Your name is Sierra, yes?”

  My mouth gaped open like a fish before I closed it just as quickly. “Yeah, it is. How did you know?”

  This time his smile took a devious turn and his blue eyes looked positively lust-filled and less playful. “You’re on the manifest . . . for fans who have backstage passes. Who do you think approves them besides my brother?”

  “Yes but there are quite a few names on that list if I’m not mistaken—”

  “True,” he cut me off casually, “but there are only three names that were granted backstage passes for before and after the show. It’s a rarity we meet any fans before the show unless they are friends of the family—or in your case, dating our manager. It’s not something we usually do.”

  I nodded my head politely before I looked down the long hallway. “Listen, I’m sorry about being a bitch earlier. I’d be forever grateful if you’d direct me to where the bathroom is because I’ve got to pee.”

  “Aren’t you ladylike?” Diablo shook his head as he began to lead me down the long hallway, his left arm pressed gently against my lower back.

  I didn’t mind him touching me but there was still a part of this whole situation that seemed so damn surreal. Diablo Bissette was showing me where the bathroom was before a Breathless Eternity concert! How cool was that? I knew I was making way more out of the situation than I should have but I couldn’t help myself now that I’d calmed down and realized the gravity of the situation.

  One of the hottest and sexie
st rock stars in the world had his hand pressed against my skin. He was warm—the heat from his hand easily penetrated the jersey material I wore. I tried to ignore the tingling feeling that had ignited sparks throughout my whole body. After all, he was still just a man, whether he was famous or not.

  I chalked it up to my long celibacy after my last boyfriend in college and I decided to part ways almost a year ago. That was the only reason I could think of why I was acting so coy in front of a man. I wasn’t a vestal virgin who’d never had sex before. There was no reason for me to freak out by a man’s hand being pressed against the small of my back.

  However, he was making me feel like a sexual being—a woman with needs and desires. I physically throbbed between my legs and my sex felt slick with excess juices that shouldn’t have been present. I had to go to the bathroom—in no way should my body be preparing itself like I was going to be royally fucked.

  The chances of it being halfway decent were a long shot anyway. Superstars were notoriously bad lovers—only interested in their own pleasure and never taking the time to make sure a woman was satisfied. I should have felt grateful he decided to add me as another notch on his belt.

  Well, that wasn’t me and I wouldn’t be any man’s easy lay, whether he was famous or not. I didn’t have sex for my health—I wanted to get off like any red-blooded woman did, and if I wasn’t going to get anything out of it then what was the point?

  We arrived to a private office and Diablo opened the door with a gentleman-like flair. “There is a bathroom in there. Go on, chérie. You can empty your bladder in peace.”

  I turned toward him, still confused as to what this situation was between the two of us. I felt the tingles between us, and I know he did too but I didn’t know men nearly as well as I should have by my age. My only source of knowledge was my limiting dating experience, my father, and my older brother, Caleb. Dad had always treated Mom like she was a queen, and Caleb was a complete and utter gentleman, and would never treat a woman like a piece of meat. There was a reason why he was engaged to an extremely wealthy, incredibly stunning blonde whose family had a major stake in the east coast steel industry.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t in the presence of a man who probably knew what the word meant despite his chivalrous behavior. He might have been acting this way just because he was with me and wanted to fuck me.

  Now I regretted my choice of outfit, which was little more than a slip of a black dress that came down to mid-thigh and a pair of Yves Saint Laurent gladiator high-heeled sandals. They weren’t sky-high but they had enough of a heel and platform for them to accentuate my long legs despite my short stature of five feet, four inches and my slender yet athletic frame.

  I wasn’t anywhere near being in the anorexic category but I was thin enough that I had enough curves in all the right places yet had a small waist, slightly muscular arms and thighs thanks to swimming during high school and university, and a flat stomach. My breasts were big enough—a thirty-four C-cup but I always wondered whether I had too much for some men and not enough for others. My ex used to complain all the time that I wasn’t adequate enough, not glamorous enough, not quite good enough.

  I wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous like my two best friends. Not that I thought I was ugly either. Truth be told, I was attractive and yet somewhat ordinary. I inherited some of my mother’s coveted exotic looks but none of her heart-stopping beauty or my father’s dashing good looks. I was basically just a girl who looked all right when compared to her very gorgeous brother and two good-looking parents.

  If I was completely honest with myself, I would always identify more with women like Chelsea Clinton and Rumer Willis than the Kardashian or Jenner sisters.

  If I could make all my insecurities vanish, I would but at that moment, all I could think about was my bursting bladder. I walked as quickly as possible to the bathroom, closed the door behind me, and relieved myself before I flushed the toilet, washed my hands and looked at myself in the mirror.

  High cheekbones combined with an oval shaped face, a nicely shaped nose, slightly full sensual lips and my eyes that were hazel like my mother’s with a green crescent around the pupils. I looked at my makeup, which was a minimal amount with a dark pink gloss that accentuated my face, tanned bronze from soaking up the French summer rays.

  I nervously ran my hands through my hair. “Calm the fuck down, Sierra. He’s just a person—like everyone else. He just happens to be massively famous and drop dead fucking gorgeous but he’s still a man. Play your cards right and maybe you might just get laid by a rock n’ roll star.”

  God, what the hell was I even thinking? Had drugs been slipped into that beer I’d washed down. Yeah, Diablo was hot but I’d never been one for casual sex. It did nothing for me, and the fact that I was contemplating it at all said more about me than it did about him.

  This whole vacation was starting to affect my judgment. I just couldn’t believe what I was thinking anymore. I quickly unlocked and opened the door to face the brooding rock star who still looked good enough to be served up on a tray and presented to a very lucky woman that night. I just hoped to God she wasn’t me.

  “Everything all right?” His blue eyes bore into mine own, and instead of answering him verbally I smiled and nodded my head.

  “Good because I have a concert to attend to and as far as I know, you and your lovely friends have front row seating. I’d hate to disappoint such a mysterious and enchanting woman such as yourself.”

  Did the French just make up bullshit as they went along or was it an innate trait?

  The man was smoother than silk and dangerous as a bite from a rattlesnake but he had me intrigued with his sexy look, killer body and all around badass attitude.

  “I highly doubt I could be disappointed at this moment. This whole situation is so surreal.” I startled as he draped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer like we were already lovers.

  He smelled heavenly; the cologne he wore along with his own body chemistry made me want to melt with its touches of sandalwood, mint, citrus and just the right amount of mandarin. It was complete heaven but I knew none of this was real at the end of the day. He probably seduced silly little fans like me as a way to escape boredom. I certainly wouldn’t let this go to my head and think I was special to him in any way.

  “Listen, I don’t do this often. I just got out of a long-term relationship and I can’t say if I’m willing to go there yet again any time soon but . . . I would like it if you accompanied the band back to my apartment for a private show after the concert. Your friends will be there too so you’re safe.” Diablo spoke so casually as if he were offering me the choice of red or white wine.

  You’re gonna regret it if you say yes but if you say no, you’ll spend your whole life wondering, “What if?”

  No way. I had enough of being the safe girl, the one that protected my friends like a mother hen and never really got to have any fun.

  To hell with living life on the safe side.

  If I died tonight, I wouldn’t get any extra brownie points for being the good girl, the nice girl, the girl every decent boy wanted to take home to meet his parents.

  I wanted to be daring, dangerous and bad for once. After all, I only had one life to live.

  I turned toward him, studying his profile. “Sure, what have I got to lose?”

  “From this vantage point, I would imagine everything you’ve worked hard to achieve in your life up until this point but I don’t believe in playing it safe, Sierra.” My name dripped from his lips like honey dipped in snake venom but it’s exactly what I wanted to hear.

  He stopped us from walking down the corridor and suddenly turned my body to his. We were so close, I could feel the body heat radiating off him and it was an aphrodisiac within itself.

  “I must warn you though that there is a perfectly good reason why I am called Diablo,” he continued in that sexy masculine voice of his. “I’m an unstoppable force . . . a perfect disaster looking for my impos
sibly imperfect opposite. You, my dear, are beautifully flawed yet I couldn’t imagine granting this opportunity to fulfill my perfect dream with anyone other than you.”

  My eyes couldn’t part from his and in some way, I almost felt like I was in a trance. As we began to walk down the hallway again, I wondered whether what he’d told me was a warning or prediction. Either way, I wouldn’t heed it.

  I couldn’t.

  Something inside me pushed me toward the edge to see exactly what kind of person I was dealing with and he intrigued me, more than anyone I’d ever met in my whole life.

  I was Alice, falling down the rabbit hole. I had no wish to turn back now and miss whatever might happen to the fear that ensnared around my heart like vines, and refusing to let go no matter how much I bled from their poisonous thorns.

  “WHAT THE HELL do you think you’re doing?”

  I glared at Damien coldly as he pulled me aside right before I was about to make my grand entrance on stage. I had strapped on my own rhythm guitar and needed to plug it into its amplifier as soon as I got on stage. Last thing I needed was an argument with Damien to fuck with my stage vibe.

  Zero and Tricky were playing their lead and bass guitars like champions while Ziggy had begun the opening percussion to “Sympathy for Diablo.” I didn’t have time for this crap from my brother, especially not now.

  “What the fuck are you talkin’ about? You hear that crowd? They’re going wild and if I don’t get my ass on the stage in a minute, there will be pandemonium. Whatever you need to discuss can wait.” I stepped toward the stage but not fast enough.

  “I saw you with the girl. Sierra,” he remarked. “She’s off limits, Diablo. I didn’t acquire her for you as your personal sex toy. In fact, the plans I have in store for her don’t include you at all.”

  “Well you could have fooled me. How the fuck did I end up with Sorsha?”

  “You needed a girlfriend for your image—she was perfect at the time. What you have done to her will keep me and the PR rep busy for some time so don’t go throwing the mistakes from your love life in my face.”