Interlude (Rockstar #4) (27 page)

I opened it and Levi was standing on the other side. He was seriously hot, and not at all what I needed right now. He was tall. I was not short by any means at 5’9,” but he was at least four inches taller than me. His hair was dark brown, and in that messy style guys our age always wore.

“You ready?” He smiled at me.

“Yeah.” I sighed and stepped back out into the hall with him. He gave me a look, but didn’t say anything. We found everyone else piled onto some couches in one of the common rooms.

Layla looked slightly miserable. I could tell right away that she and I would get along great as she would not be dragging me to parties in the future. Mel was flirting with Julian, who seemed to be enjoying the attention. Sadie was sitting by herself, looking irritated, but her whole face lit up when she saw us approach.

“Hey, Levi, I saved you a seat.” She patted the brown couch cushion next to her. He slid next to her and motioned for me to join them. Sadie shot me a look that clearly said not to, so I sat next to Layla instead. I should be pissed off. What if I had been interested in Levi? Would I have been expected to just step aside?
But I’m not interested in starting anything with Levi, or anyone else.

So there we were, Layla and I completely miserable, and the other two in hot guy heaven, flirting their brains out.

After another thirty minutes of people watching and listening to the girls shamelessly flirt, I turned to Layla. “Want to go?”

“Very much, yes.”

I stood and announced that we were leaving.

“Aw, you should stay, it’s still early.” Sadie pouted.

“I’m tired, it’s been a long day, and I just want to get some sleep.”

“Me, too,” Layla chimed in.

We wandered back to our room, stepping over people sitting in groups on the floor against the hallway walls.

“So the party scene isn’t for you, either?” I asked Layla as we walked.

“No, not really. I’m more into my books and the library than boys and beer. What’s your excuse?” She smiled and pushed her bangs out of her eyes.

“Not much for alcohol of any kind, and as for boys, I have no time for them. I have too much I want to accomplish; a relationship will only slow me down.”

“Maybe we should switch rooms. It sounds like we’re on the same page.” She laughed.

“I think having Sadie and Mel will be good for us, maybe force us out of the library every now and again.”

We went our separate ways, me to my room and Layla to hers. I grabbed a quick shower before bed, was not in the mood to sleep with the smell of beer on me.

Sadie was in the room when I came back in. “You’re home early,” I remarked.

“Yeah, Levi and Julian left a little bit after you and Layla.” She frowned.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’ll see him around, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, he lives in the dorm, so I’m sure you’ll see him all the time.”

“That’s right; they do live here!” She perked up a bit. “He was hot, and so was his friend, Julian. Don’t you think?”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

“What do you mean, you guess? They were total hotties.”

“I don’t have time for boys; they’re too much trouble.”

“Oh, Becca, I have so much to teach you,” she said.

Comb
ative

©2015 Jay McLean

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

I flex my fingers, watching the dried blood shift around my knuckles. I should be at home icing the shit out of them. But I’m not. Instead, I’m in a tiny room with nothing but a table and two chairs. I don’t know how the fuck I got into this mess. Actually, I do, but the asshole was talking shit and I had no choice.

That’s a lie.

There was a choice.

I made mine and I ended up here.

The door swings open, and a suit walks in; his back to me—talking heatedly with someone on the other side of the door. “I’ll handle it, Pulver,” he says, before shutting the door and then...nothing. He just stands there staring at the closed door. His shoulders heave once, his head moving from side to side. And then slowly, he turns.

The corners of my lips lift, but drop when I see him jerk his head. The action’s so slight that if I weren’t focused on him, I would’ve missed it. His gaze shifts to the camera in the corner of the room. It’s a split second movement, but one I understand. He rolls up the sleeves on his crisp, white shirt and takes the only seat available on the other side of the table. Resting on his forearms, he leans forward. “Parker.”

I smirk. “Officer.”

“Detective,” he corrects.

“Who’d have thought,” I mumble.

His features falter for a second, but only a second before his mask is back in place. He looks down at the open folder in front of him, his eyes scanning the page from side to side, and then he lifts his gaze. “Kyler Parker?” he asks, but he already knows who I am.

I nod once.

His eyes fix on the cuffs digging into my wrists. Letting out a breath with a huff, he leans to one side and shoves his hand in his pocket, revealing a set of keys.

The second he removes the cuffs; there’s a banging on the door.

His eye roll makes me chuckle.

Another suit, a fatter one, stands at the door with his eyes narrowed. “Davis,” is all he says.

“I said I’d handle it!” He stands up and walks to the door, then proceeds to forcefully shut it in fat-suit’s face.

Once he’s settled back in his seat, he resumes his stance from earlier. “You’re in a bit of a mess,” he states.

I nod again.

He pulls a picture from the folder, now settled in the middle of the table, and pushes it under my nose. “You recognize him?”

Another nod.

“You broke his jaw, his nose, busted a rib, and punctured his lung. You also did some heavy damage to his right eye. They don’t know if it will have full functionality again.” He raises an eyebrow. “Was it worth it?”

I clear my throat and lean forward, matching his position.

Amusement fills his eyes. Then, just like that, it’s wiped. “Are you mute?”

I bite my lip to stop from smiling. The taste of my blood hits my tongue.

He hides his smile. “Does it taste like victory?”

I drop my chin to my chest and do my best to keep it together.

The scraping of his chair grabs my attention. He’s on his feet now, working his way over. Stopping next to me, he takes a seat on the edge of the table.

“Ky,” he starts, then pauses for what I assume is dramatic effect. “I can call you Ky, right?” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before adding, “Here’s the thing. Witnesses say that you had to be pulled off of him, and even then you kept throwing blow after blow. The damage you did—there’s too much of it. Obviously he’s pressing charges, so is the owner of the bar you just trashed because you couldn’t control your temper.”

“Fuck you.”

He raises his eyebrows. Then, clearing his throat, he slowly crosses his arms.

“I could just leave you here. You could go to court—do the whole trial thing. I bet you think your chances of being let off are high—ex-combat vet suffering PTSD...all that shit. But the truth? The truth is it might have worked if we were talking assault, but we’re not. We’re talking attempted murder, Parker.”

I lean back in my chair and look up at him.

“I’m here to make a deal—one that you should take.” He sighs and drops his head, then pushes off the table. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out a pair of handcuffs, the same ones I was wearing when he walked in. He circles them around my wrists—looser than they were before. “You have one night.” He places his business card in my hand. “An officer will tail you. I suggest you get a drink and think about taking the deal.”

“Fuck your deal.”

He smiles. “Fuck your life.”

Identi
ty Crisis

© 2015 Rochelle Paige Popovic

All rights reserved.

Edited by Monica Black

Cover designed by Sara Eirew

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 permission in writing.”

Sweeping my gaze across the glitzy casino, I absently ran my finger under the collar of my shirt. Damn bow tie felt like it was strangling me. I couldn’t help but wonder how the hell I’d managed to find myself here, living in the lap of luxury with such a cushy job. Even though this had been my life for the past year, it was so far removed from my childhood, I felt like I would never belong. When my phone buzzed, I yanked it out of my pocket — relieved by the distraction and hoping like hell it would help me pull my head out of my ass.

When I glanced down at the notification, I was surprised to see a text from Serena Taylor. Talk about a blast from the past. The last time I saw her was before my first deployment overseas. We’d met for dinner at my hotel when I went to Atlanta to see her and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been hoping for more than just dinner. Training and the pre-deployment workup that followed were grueling and the idea of hooking back up with the girl next door, one who’d fueled most of my high school fantasies, was more appealing than hitting a bar and picking up some random chick wanting to bang a SEAL. It didn’t take long for me to feel like I’d been there and done that.

I was surprised when things didn’t work out as planned. We had a nice dinner and Serena caught me up on all the news from back home, but the spark wasn’t there anymore. She wasn’t the same girl I’d known growing up, and it wasn’t just the move to a big city far from home. Gone was the girl who had been soft and vulnerable, in her place was a sleek and sophisticated stranger. I’d been looking for a piece of home to hold onto while I was overseas and it didn’t take long to realize Serena wasn’t it.

I wasn’t an idiot, though. I still would have banged her, except, it turned out, she had a boyfriend. When she talked about the new man in her life, the reason for the change became immediately clear. She’d hooked up with some rich guy who wanted her as his arm candy. I was disappointed to realize the girl I’d cared for had turned into a woman who wanted nice things more than she wanted a good man in her life.

But it didn’t stop me from worrying about her. She was still the girl I grew up with, the first one I’d ever kissed. Hell, she let me pop her cherry when we were sophomores.

Before she left, I made sure she had my contact information and I told her she better use it if she ever needed anything. Time had passed and I hadn’t heard from her again—until now.

Serena:
 I’m in trouble. Need help.

Me:
 What kind of trouble?

Serena:
 The kind where I’m on the run and looking for a place to hide out.

Me:
 Still in Atlanta?

Serena:
 Yes

The only time I’d ever been there was my quick trip to see her, so I didn’t have any contacts available to help with something like this. But I knew someone who could find some quickly.

Me:
 Hold on.

With the nine-hour time difference, odds were high Brody was sound asleep. He’d become a night owl ever since we made it home. I pulled up his name in my contacts and listened as the call rolled to voicemail, redialing two more times before he finally picked up.

“You better be calling me to bail your asses out of jail,” he rasped in a low tone.

“Like your brother wouldn’t be able to get his hands on as much cash as we needed at the drop of a hat,” I reminded him.

His snort of laughter made it clear he was just yanking my chain. “Then why the fuck are you calling me this early in the morning?”

“Do you know anyone in Atlanta who can help someone lay low for a couple days?”

“Someone?”

“Serena,” I sighed, knowing an interrogation would soon follow. Not only did Brody know me better than any other person alive, including my past with Serena, he was the reason my life had changed so much in the last year.

As someone who saw their mom poorly treated by wealthy people, I used to despise them. My father died when I was five, leaving her to raise me on her own. They’d been high school sweethearts and married young. With no education or job experience, she ended up cleaning houses to make a living.

She was damn good at her job, but that didn’t mean the families who hired her ever saw her as a real person. In their eyes, she was a convenience—a disposable one, at that. If something was broken, blame the maid. Can’t find a piece of jewelry? Blame the maid. It didn’t matter whether she had done anything wrong, or that it was usually their spoiled kid at fault. The bottom line was: she was replaceable and her wealthy employers never had a problem letting her go. Watching her accept their mistreatment, year after year, left me with a chip on my shoulder the size of a boulder.

Needless to say, I wanted better for my mom, and myself. My grades in high school were good, but not great since I’d juggled school, sports, and a part-time job to help lessen the load. With a full ride scholarship out of the question, college wasn’t an option for me. I finally found my way out when I joined the Navy. It broke my mom’s heart when I enlisted. She was scared to death of losing me too, but she accepted it like she did everything else in her life: with grace. I comforted myself with the knowledge that I didn’t need much to maintain my bachelor lifestyle and would be able to send money to her every month.

If I was going to dedicate my life to the military, I was determined to be the best of the best. Before I joined, I told the Navy recruiter I wanted to take the SEAL Challenge. It guaranteed me the opportunity to become a candidate and I wasn’t about to waste my chance when my time came.

Oddly enough, it was during BUD/S when I moved past my prejudice against the wealthy. I didn’t have a choice when Brody Slater blew all my preconceived notions out of the water.

Everyone knew his story since the exploits landing him in the military were in the newspapers. He was the  spoiled rich kid whose older brother used their wealth to bail him out of yet another mess when he was a junior in college. Except, that time, he’d royally screwed up by hacking into a government computer system and the prosecutor wanted to make an example out of him. The best his brother’s lawyers could do was get them to agree to military enlistment instead of prison. How he managed to qualify for SEAL training was a mystery to me since one of the requirements was having a clean record. Sometimes they granted a waiver, which I assumed meant his brother pulled strings for him—again. Though, it didn’t really matter. No one could help him through the training and I didn’t think he had the mental toughness to make it.

When we were paired together as swim buddies on day one, I was pissed right the hell off. I knew I had what it took to be a damn good SEAL, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be saddled with Brody.

The number one rule was to never leave your buddy behind and having him as my buddy was bound to be a major liability. When I first saw him, there was no doubt in my mind he would be one of many to ring the bell and signal their defeat. Not only was I going to have to make sure I never rang that damn bell, I would need to stand between him and it anytime he was ready to call it quits.

Quickly, I realized he wanted this as badly as I did and I was never so happy to be proved wrong in my life. Brody was the one who figured out the trick that helped us both survive. We got four meals a day, one every six hours. After our first day, Brody started to measure our time in meals. We pushed hard with one goal in mind: making it to the next meal. After a couple days, we were both operating on auto-pilot, focused on each six-hour block of time, pushing hard until we made it through the final day. He more than earned my respect and blew my misconceptions out of the water.

His skills on the keyboard had saved our asses on more than one mission—something I later realized the Navy had counted on when they gave him the chance to become a SEAL. I could ask Brody for anything and there was no doubt in my mind he’d either get me what I needed or die trying.

“You know you’re going to owe me an explanation later, right?” Brody asked, drawing my attention back to the problem at hand.

“I know.”

I heard the sound of typing in the background. “Found someone. I’m sending you contact information now.”

“Thanks.”

“You need me to meet you in Atlanta?” he asked.

I had no idea what was going on with Serena, but I knew what it took for Brody to make that offer. I didn’t want him to leave Vegas unless it was absolutely necessary. “Hold tight for now. I’ll let you know once I get there.”

“Does Damian know you’re heading out?”

“Not yet,” I answered. “I’ll talk to him after Serena has what she needs. I’ll let you know more once I know the plan.”

As soon as I hung up, Brody’s text was waiting for me. I forwarded it to Serena.

Me:
 Call this guy ASAP. He’ll help you until I can get there.

Serena:
 Got it.

Me:
 WTF is going on?

Serena:
 Not sure it’s safe to text. Tell you when I see you.

Me: 
I’m overseas. It will take me about 24 hours to get there.

I waited a few minutes, but there was no reply. I figured she had either turned her phone off or was giving the guy a call. With that taken care of, I needed to talk to my boss—Brody’s big brother, Damian.

Even though Brody and I were as close as brothers, six years passed before I met Damian. At the time, I was flat on my back in a naval hospital with Brody in the bed next to me. Our last mission had been fucked up beyond belief. Brody had been riding shotgun when we were hit by an IED. I’d been in the back of the humvee and was thrown clear of the wreckage. By the time I made it back to my team, three of our teammates were dead and Brody was hanging on by a thread. We were less than half a mile from our extraction point and I managed to carry him to the helo before taking a round to the knee as I was climbing on board.

 When I awoke in the hospital, my injuries weren’t as bad as Brody’s, but we both knew we were going to be found unfit for duty. Brody’s doctors had already sent a summary of his condition and records over to the nearest designated medical treatment facility. Mine were on their way since I was going to undergo knee replacement surgery. Damn bullet to the knee completely fucked it up and blew my chances to stay with the teams.

Eventually, Damian wanted to take his brother home and get him the best medical care possible, but Brody wasn’t willing to leave without me. Once he told his brother I’d saved his life, Damian was more than willing to smooth the way for me to be discharged at the same time. The next few months were eye-opening for me. I had an up close and personal view into the lives of the rich and famous.

Damian attracted attention wherever he went. He liked to take chances and risked a decent amount of the family fortune to build a casino on the strip in Las Vegas a few years back. The gamble paid off when the resort became wildly popular, but it put them in the public eye more than Brody wanted. It wasn’t a problem when he was rarely home, but now he just wanted to be left alone while he struggled with his rehabilitation and learned how to deal with people’s reactions to the scars on his face.

 People wanted what the Slaters had and being accessible meant Damian was the one in the crosshairs. It didn’t help that Brody had become a paranoid motherfucker. The security around Damian was good—the best money could buy. But Brody knew there were men who were trained better, those who would put his life before theirs. Men who had served their country with a blind loyalty that was hard to find. And he wanted the best for his brother.

When my recovery was complete and I started looking for a job, Brody asked his brother to hire me as the head of his personal security. He didn’t have to push hard to get him to say yes and with the salary Damian offered, it was a no-brainer for me to accept. A strange path brought me to where I was today: a casino in Monte Carlo, dressed in a tux, while Damian played a high-stakes game of poker for more money than I made in a year—which was a hell of a lot of money.

Heading over to the table, I turned my attention to each of the players before focusing on  my boss. His pile of chips had steadily grown over the last couple hours.  I had enough experience watching him play over the last year to know it wasn’t going to be much longer before he’d walk away from the game victorious. I motioned to the two guards traveling with us, preparing them to be ready to leave soon, before moving to stand silently behind him. I waited until the current hand was finished before tapping him on the shoulder—our signal there was a problem that couldn’t wait.

Damian leaned back in his chair, tilting his head so I could whisper in his ear. “I have a personal emergency and need to head back to the States.”

Surprised by my words, he swiveled in his seat to stare at me silently for a moment. “I was beginning to think you didn’t have a personal life,” he murmured.

“Fuck off,” I grumbled.

“Is that any way to talk to the man who’s going to let you borrow his private jet?” he joked before raising a finger, gesturing ‘one minute’. Turning back to the table, he focused on cards he was dealt and the other players as the round proceeded. After a few minutes, he pushed his pile of chips into the center. “All in.”