ROCKED BY GRACE (LOVE AND CHAOS SERIES Book 1)

by M. J. Schiller

  Dex tugged on his earlobe and nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  I scanned the group again, trying to explain something I myself didn’t understand. “I just…I don’t know. I saw her in the audience and…” I stared off.

  Jericho jumped to his feet. “And what?”

  They all drew in closer. “I don’t know.” I rubbed my chin. “I guess I asked her to join me on stage.”

  “Mmm.” Dex raised his brows.

  “To dance?” Jericho continued.

  I raised my arms to the side, palms out. “No. To tell you the truth, I don’t know why I asked her.” I observed them, then tried again. “And I didn’t have a fucking clue what to do with her when I got her up there.”

  Dex looked at Rafe out of the corner of his eye. “Could have fooled me.” This was the most the drummer had ever talked since joining the group.

  “It sure the hell seemed like you knew what to do with her. We practically had to hose you guys down.”

  Jericho interrupted. “So, let’s review.” He held up a finger and stared at me. “You don’t know her.”

  “No.”

  “Never saw the girl before.”

  “That’s right.”

  He huffed. “Oh, come on. That kiss says differently.”

  “Yeah. That was hot,” Dex added.

  “You have no idea.” I zoned out for a moment, recalling the feel of her lips on mine. I rubbed my mouth.

  Rafe chuckled. “Well that silenced him.”

  “You don’t kiss girls like that,” Jericho insisted.

  “I don’t kiss girls like what?”

  “Dude. It was almost like you cared about her.” They all nodded.

  “I do care about her. Wait. I care about her?” Great, I was babbling now.

  “Kissing a random girl you snatch from the audience?” Dex jerked his head to the right. “Jericho, maybe but—”

  Jericho turned to him. “Shut the hell up.”

  Rafe jumped in. “What? You know it’s true.” They all laughed.

  Jericho was the horniest of us all. In fact, we had a running joke about a time when he had three girls in his bed. Two were doing each other for his entertainment while the third was going down on him.

  Afterward, Rafe ribbed him. “What? Can’t you handle four?”

  And Jericho responded seriously, “Not in a bed that size. And besides, you can only pay attention to so much at a time. Four is too much.”

  Ever since then it was, “How many donut holes do you want? Four?”

  “No. Four’s too much, right, Jericho?”

  “Yeah,” I joked. “At least I only pulled one girl from the audience.”

  They all stared at me for a second then Rafe took charge. “Don’t fucking change the subject.”

  I exhaled. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

  “Okay. Fine. We’ll go with…” he flapped his hands in the air “…you don’t know her.” He paced, which was hard to do in the tight confines. And roadies were now here and there, breaking down the set and acting like they weren’t interested in the goings-on. “So…she’s a professional dancer then who—”

  “She’s not a dancer.”

  They all stared at me.

  “I asked her.”

  Jericho slapped his leg. “Oh, come on. You’re telling us the samba cha-cha-cha shit you were doing to ‘Night Of Awakening’ was completely spontaneous.”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Oh, my God.” Dex spun around and mumbled something to himself. Rafe pivoted away, then back again. Jericho hung his head, shaking it.

  “Dude.” Rafe took a deep breath. “No way could you two just…do…what you did without practice.” He smacked me again, only this time it hurt.

  “Ouch.” I rubbed my arm.

  “You…you…you can’t even dance.” They chuckled and grunted at that.

  Dex, turned, raising a hand. “True.”

  I was becoming frustrated. “I know. All right? I can’t dance worth shit. Usually. But she…just….”

  Dex grinned. “God, she was hot.”

  Jericho sighed. “That tight little ass….”

  Rafe grinned. “Good God, yeah. She—”

  “Could you not—” My voice came out a little stronger than I intended. “We probably shouldn’t talk about her like that.” I regretted it the moment I said it.

  They all looked at each other. Jericho was the first to burst out. “Why the hell not?”

  “Yeah?” the other two added.

  “Because…” I started to move around them. “You know, I don’t need to deal with—” As one, they moved over to block my path.

  “No,” Rafe said sternly. “You don’t get to run away with your little secrets. I played acoustic for you, man. You need—”

  Al came running from the side of the set, winded.

  I rushed over to him. “Did you find her?”

  “No. I tried to, but….”

  I swallowed the crushing feeling pounding at my heart. “No. That’s okay. Thanks for trying.” I kept my head low so no one could see my face. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  “We’re not done here,” Rafe called, but I waved him off. One more word and I was liable to snap and slaughter everyone backstage.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Grace

  The lip-smacking coming from the back seat was making me nauseous as I sat behind the wheel of my car. I glanced over at the other guy. The guy who hoped to get down my pants but who was unequivocally shut down from the get-go. He was pissed and disappointed, possibly hurt. But it wasn’t that I was judging him. I couldn’t do those kinds of things without feeling something for the person I was doing it with. And he gave me nothing to make me feel for him. Right now he was acting like he was staring out the window, but I saw him adjusting the side mirror so he could at least watch the action in the back. So nice of Payton to invite both of them back to my car. Not.

  Ugh.

  “Payton. It’s time to go.”

  The fairly unattractive guy with a shaved head in the back cleared his throat. “Maybe you guys could go for a little walk.”

  The gentleman on my right nodded and reached for his door handle. I put a hand on his leg, which was all the action he was getting tonight from me. Tonight or ever. I looked at him. “No need. We’re not going anywhere. Payton?” I raised my gaze to the rearview mirror. Payton was pouting.

  “Why can’t I ever have any fun? You always—”

  I rolled my eyes and pounded on the steering wheel. “Hyacinth!” It was stupid but it was the word we used to say, “You’re being a moron and you’ll get us both killed, so listen to me.” It was a lot more concise.

  “Not Hyacinth,” she whined.

  “Hyacinth, dammit!” I snapped.

  “Isn’t she that Indian princess who did John Smith?” the guy next to me spouted, sealing my opinion he was a complete idiot.

  “Okay. Geesh. Hyacinth. Hyacinth.” Payton opened her car door and her “date” grabbed her arm. My anxiety climbed. I hated these situations.

  “Ouch.”

  “Uhh. Sorry. Where are you going?” He leaned up, spitting at me through gritted teeth. “Take a walk, Blondie.”

  Again the bozo at my side cracked his door. I grabbed his arm. “We’re not leaving.”

  “Well if you’re not letting me do her….” Faster than I thought possible, the guy in the back seat had one hand in my bra, the other around my neck.

  I opened my door, jerked away from him, and wrenched the back door open. “Get out.” Normally, I would be frightened of the hulking, bald dude in the back, but it had been quite a day/night. My emotions were raw. He didn’t move. I stomped my foot. “Get out of my fucking car.”

  He put his hands in the air and slid out. “Okay. Okay. Shit.” He tweaked my chin as he passed by me. “You need to get laid.” I slapped his hand away. “Ouch. You’re a little tiger. Maybe I picked the wrong girl to screw.” He started to come around the doo
r at me and I took advantage of positioning, steering the door into his crotch. He grabbed his balls, grimacing.

  What a baby. I only nudged him.

  “Come on, Keith,” he growled. Then he raised his gaze to mine. “You’re hot. Are you sure—” He again moved in my direction.

  “Are you kidding me?” I huffed. “Am I not making myself clear?” Beyond his shoulder I noticed a couple, probably in their forties. He was holding the door for her to get in the car, but they were both watching me. When I took my focus off Backseat Guy to peer their way, he jumped, grabbing my wrist. I gasped.

  “Hey! Hey!” the guy yelled from across the lot, rushing toward them. “What’s going on there?”

  Baldy threw a glance over his shoulder. “Damn.” He stepped up to me, squeezing my wrist, his jaw tight. “Your loss, baby.” He pulled back his leather vest to display a leather holster with a wicked looking knife in it. “I would have been gentle.” My heart clutched. He grinned with tobacco-stained teeth and spit to the side. I jumped at the movement, and he laughed. The older gentleman was approaching. Baldy shoved me, knocking me into my car door. The edge hit me down the center of my back, and I winced.

  The older guy behind Baldy had a hand on my trunk and was sort of bent over, panting. “You…okay?”

  Baldy jeered. “She’s fine, Gramps. Everybody’s fine. Only having a little fun.” He walked away, yelling without turning. “See ya around, Grace.”

  A stab of fear shook me. He knew my name.

  The man who came to our rescue brightened. “Hey. You’re the Grace who was on stage, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You have a helluva voice.”

  I switched my attention to him, while still watching over his shoulder to make sure Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dummer were actually leaving. “Thank you.” I gave him a smile. “And thank you for coming over. Most people would look the other way.”

  He waved it off. “Oh,” he glanced over his shoulder, “I could see those guys were up to no good.” He stared at my wrist, which I was rubbing. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I examined it. The creep’s fingermarks were still visible, and little white spots where he dug his dirty nails in. “Nothing a tetanus shot won’t cure.”

  He grinned. “You’re funny.” He checked on the lady who was with him. “Well, I better get back to my wife.” Twisting to face me again, he studied me. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive? We’d be happy to give you a ride.”

  His offer coincided with the sick splash of Payton’s puke hitting the asphalt on the other side of the car, followed by a moan.

  Great.

  He stared at Payton.

  “We’re fine. But thank you again for your concern.”

  He backed away, his gaze still on Payton. “If you’re sure.”

  “We’re sure. Thank you.”

  “All right. Take care.” He wrinkled his nose. The odor of the hurl must have wafted to him on the light breeze. He turned and jogged away, making a slight gagging noise.

  I eyed Payton over the roof.

  “I don’t feel so good.”

  No shit.

  I glanced in the back seat. Leaning in to scoop a Cheetos bag from the floor mat, I noticed a condom pack on the back seat. “Eww.” Pinching it between two fingers I dropped it in the Cheetos bag, swung the door shut, and walked around the back of the car.

  “Holy shit, Payton.” The diameter of the splatter was far bigger than I expected. The smell was making my stomach roll. Standing on the far side of the vomit puddle, I looked up. “Do you think you can make it home?”

  Payton bobbed her head and slid into the front, as the door was left open.

  I stretched to close the back door, careful not to get anything on my boots. I circled the car, got in, and handed the bag to my friend. “Just in case.”

  Payton nodded, her eyes closed and head hanging weakly. A wave of sympathy hit me. I put my hand on Payton’s shoulder, then noticed some puke in her hair and withdrew it. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes. Thanks, Grace. I’m sorry I was such a dumbshit.” And that was pretty much the last I heard from Payton for the entire two and a half hour drive back to Jefferson City.

  Which was actually fine with me. I wanted to sit and absorb what happened. Did I really go on stage with, dance with, sing with, and kiss Zane Sanders? It was every woman’s fantasy. And he was even better in person.

  Images flashed through my mind. The moment I took his shirt off and ran my hands over his gleaming pecs, unbelievably hard, yet as smooth as marble. And his tattoos…I normally wasn’t into them, but Zane’s were so him, they summed up the whole package. A tribal band wrapped around his huge bicep, accenting the definition of his muscles there. The little tattoo on his forearm that read, “If lost, return to library.” I only wished I’d gotten a firsthand look at the one on his back that I’d seen on the cover of “Rolling Stone” magazine. The picture had drawn me to it dozens of times, to stare at the detail, which was phenomenal. It was a bat, the body between his shoulder blades, the wings across the shoulders. Whoever did his tattoos was gifted.

  Then I relived the moment he lifted me off the ramp and let me slide down his luscious, amazing body. It had almost seemed like he wanted to kiss me then. Perhaps the most captivating image, his eyes, just his eyes, when he was singing “Don’t Fade Away,” the unshed tears making the green glow even more intensely. But then there was that cocky little smirk of his when he led my hands to the buttons of his blazer, inviting me in, ever closer. And of course, the dip. The way it felt to have his strong arm supporting me. The expanse of skin, tapering down to those leather pants of his, the black suiting the mystery of what lied beneath it. Even now it had my pulse racing.

  It was interesting…I didn’t imagine him to be so fun. I always sensed a…heaviness in him I didn’t see when we danced together. At the same time, I never understood the depths of his pain until I stared into his fathomless eyes when he sang “Don’t Fade Away,” the song about his mother’s death. In the moment, it made my heart cry out to him.

  As I thought about it driving home, it made my heart cry out for my parents, who I lost when I was eighteen. I understood his pain because I shared it. I was glad Payton stayed sleeping. I allowed the tears to slide down my cheeks and let myself return to that horrible time, a time I usually forbade myself to go back to.

  But before I lost it altogether, endangering my life and Payton’s, I had to rein it in. I thought about the kiss to distract myself, and it was quite a distraction. The way he looked at me before he lower his lips to mine…it was easy to imagine what it would be like to be kissed by someone who really cared for you. For him it was a moment forgotten. In fact, I was sure he was doing a lot more than kissing some lucky woman right now. But what I felt when he kissed me was unforgettable. It was an overwhelming feeling…a feeling of being alive, really alive, maybe for the first time ever. An exquisite, gripping pain and fear. The moment contained an unexplainable depth and an irresistible, electric draw to him I couldn’t fight. Surely simple lust. But something I never felt before with any other man. Odd….

  I ran a finger over my lips once, softly, closing my eyes for an instant. My body reacted even now. Only lust. Pounding, soul-searing lust. No wonder the man was so successful. If he could make a complete stranger feel that way…. Again I imagined what it must feel like to be loved by him. The words and music he wrote, I always knew he was one of those people who really felt things—love, loss, passion—at a cellular level. But to see it etched on his face, feel the pain and passion, and imagine the love, it was amazing.

  Like I imagined Zane did, I always knew I was different. As a girl, it isolated me. The other kids didn’t understand why the beauty of a sunset would make me cry. They didn’t get how someone could become so absorbed in books, to a point they lost track of time and circumstances. My sensitivity would occasionally, briefly endear me to someone when I sympathized with them when someone hurt their fe
elings on the playground. But when their group welcomed them back, the memory of my kindness evaporated like a Popsicle left out on the stoop on a warm summer’s day. It wasn’t long before they were ridiculing me again. Those times hurt the worst. When I hoped maybe I could connect with someone then they turned their back on me.

  It was this imagined connection I sensed I had with him. But like my childhood fantasies, it was unreal. Simply the product of my desire to belong to someone else. Be part of them. Even a hint of a bond like that couldn’t exist with Zane Sanders. We knew nothing about each other. The things I read into his music, into his actions, were more a creation of my flights of fancy, of the particular circumstances of my childhood and the way I was. I was projecting that onto him. I knew nothing about him. Maybe he promoted that image of himself, but was it real? I had no way of knowing. Still….

  I blinked. Was that my exit sign I passed a second ago? I peered into the dark ahead. Surely we weren’t home already. I glanced at the clock on the dash.

  Talk about being lost in your imagination.

  The exit sign confirmed it. I turned on my blinker. Within ten minutes I was pulling up in front of our five-story building. It was on the historical registry, built in the early 1830s, and used as an infirmary during the Civil War. Rumor had it the apartment directly across the hall from me was where they performed surgery and holes were drilled in the floor to allow the blood to drain through. Amputated limbs were thrown out the window, collecting in a pile. I didn’t know if it was true or not because the couple who lived there never spoke to anyone in the building, nor did they seem to have guests. Despite the building’s interesting background, the historical society didn’t do a lot for the upkeep of the place, but I still loved it. It had a charm about it and it was only four blocks from my flower shop. I was pleased to find a parking spot right in the front at the late hour we were returning. I peeked at Jamie’s window. I couldn’t help but be disappointed, even though I knew it was way past his bedtime.

  “Payton.” I touched my friend’s arm.

  She shook her head and opened her eyes. “Home already?”

  I laughed. “It seemed plenty long to me.”