Taken (A Bad Boy Romance Book 1) (3 page)

I’m taken aback by her appearance. “You look like shit,” I say. Probably should’ve edited that before I said it, but seriously. Her eyes are pure bloodshot and her dark brown hair looks like an abandoned bird’s next lying sideways on the ground.

“Thanks, I feel a lot better now that you just insulted me.”

I glance at the digital green numbers on our cable box, then over at the empty food containers off to the side of the couch. “I’m sorry, I’m just…” I can’t finish telling her how worried I am about her, how she keeps me up at night because I’m terrified she’s going to lose all hope and try to hurt herself. Instead I grab a stray pillow off the floor and start my compulsive tidying spree. “How did the job searching go?” I ask, changing the subject.

Sarah squints her eyes and looks off at the blue light coming from the TV. “I’ll start tomorrow. I promise. I just need to chill here for one more day,” she says.

Same old same old. Depression will do that to someone; it’ll make them think that they’re moving forward, when they haven’t even gotten off the couch yet. But the last thing I want to do right now is to make her feel worse about herself. That’s not fair to either one of us.

“Great, start tomorrow.”

She sits up even straighter on the couch. “Are you mad at me?”

I shake my head. “Honestly… no. I just wish you’d get some professional help.”

My sister’s eyes sink down into her cheekbones. “I’m not like you. I can’t just let some total stranger pry me open and try to fix me. Face it, I’m useless.”

I walk over to Sarah and bend down to kiss her forehead. “Will you at least try to stop saying those things about yourself? Every time you do that it’s like your stabbing yourself in the heart. You’re just reinforcing the same self-doubt over and over again.”

My words pass in one of her ears and out the other. Her eyes widen as she points to the purple canvas bag slung over my hip. “What are
those
?”

“What are
what
?”

She points again, and it’s as though she’s momentarily snapped out of her self-loathing trance. “Those.”

I look down and see the gold trimmed tickets, an instant reminder of the nightmare that ensued less than an hour ago. I knew I should’ve shredded those tickets when I had a chance. Remember the whole control switch thing? Something inside me just wouldn’t let me destroy those two tickets.

“These? They’re called tickets.” I pull them out of the bag and hold them in front of her face as if to prove that they mean absolutely nothing to me, just two stupid pieces of paper that are about to get tossed into our blue recycling bin.

My sister’s jaw opens as far at will go. This is the most animated I’ve seen her since the day I found out she dropped out of school. “You have backstage tickets to the Shadow Room?
Tonight
? Jesus, let me see those!”

Reluctantly, I hand the tickets over to my Sarah. I don’t want to be reminded of him. But the look on my sister’s face might, and I say
might
with extreme caution, be the only thing worth it. I would do almost anything to protect her.

Anything.

Sarah stands up on the couch and starts jumping up-and-down like a 6
^th
grade girl who just got kissed on the cheek by Justin Bieber. “Oh my God! Oh my God! You have backstage passes to see Invictus!”

I squint my eyes. “In-what-cus?” To say that I’m out of the loop when it comes to anything that’s hip would be nothing short of a colossal misnomer.

“Invictus,” she repeats.

“Okay?”

“As in the coolest band in NYC. As in the same band whose tickets sold out online within sixty seconds. It’s their last small club show before they go big time huge!”

I gawk at my sister, mesmerized by her sudden onslaught of spunk. “I’ve never seen you so in love,” I say.

Her cheeks flush red. “Have you seen the lead singer. He’s like a living god with tattoos!”

I raise my eyebrows. “I just told you I never even heard of this band.” I shrug my shoulders as I look down at the tickets one last time. “They’re all yours. My clubbing days are over.”

The last thing she needs to know right how is how I got these tickets in the first place.

My sister clings to them as if they were her own flesh and blood. Then she looks up at me with a wicked grin. “You have to come with me! If anyone sees me there alone I’ll feel even more humiliated than I already do.”

I shake my head from side to side as walk towards the kitchen sink. “No way. Don’t lay your guilt trip on me Sarah.”

“Easy killer. What’s with the super drama?”

If only you knew
.

“I’m not being dramatic. I just don’t like clubs anymore,” I lie.

My sister gives me
the look
. I can fool a lot of people in this world, but not her. I shake my head, “I don’t care, I’m not going. I’ll do anything for you, but I’m not going to some shitty club tonight.”

Then she reverts to the one tactic that always works, as sick as this sounds. She shows me her wrists, reminding me of the self-inflicted slits that cover most of this part of her body. “I need this, Layla,” she says. “Even if you don’t, I do.”

Ugh
. This isn’t fair. But she’s right, she does need this.

Still, my stomach sinks at the thought of running into
him
.

I shake my head in order to force myself out of the trance I’m in.
I’ll just ignore him
, I tell myself. And if he finds me and tries to talk to me, I’ll just make him wish he didn’t, that’s all.

“I’ll go. But I’m only doing it for you, and you owe for this shit,” I say.

Sarah’s green eyes nearly light up the room at the sound of my words. She can’t help herself from bouncing up and down on our Craigslist couch as says, “It’s not shit, but thank you! Thank you!”

I roll my eyes, pretending to be more annoyed than I really am.

My stomach aches, but there’s no way I can turn back now.

Really
bad move.

I ignore the warning altogether. My sister needs my help. And besides, if I do run into Brady Stone, I can settle this situation once and for all by letting him know that everything that happened was honestly just some weird fluke
and
that he can never,
ever
, come back to my office again.

Judge or no judge.

Sounds simple enough, right?

* * *

I give myself a quick once over in the mirror and feel unusually satisfied with the way my skin-tight skirt and white crop top accentuates my curves and chest. I even paint my lips with the only shade of red I own.

For my sister
, I tell myself.

Sarah barges into our closet-sized bathroom. She does her best impression of a cat meowing as she looks me over. “Who stole my boring sister and put this hot piece of ass in her place?”

I roll my eyes. “Will you seriously knock it off?” Not that I blame her for reacting like this. I don’t get dressed up like this.

Ever.

My sister’s mouth is still gaped open. “You look hot, Lei. If we weren’t sisters, and if I was a lesbian…”

I let out a long exhale as I squeeze between her and the doorframe. Sarah pinches my ass before I can make a full escape. “What’s wrong with you?” I shout back playfully.

“Do you really want to go over all of that again?” she asks.

I know she’s joking, but at the same time she’s not. My sister and I have literally been through hell and back. Yeah, we’re both barely holding on, but I really feel like she’s been hit the hardest. I’m struggling to make my career work. She’s
struggling to stay alive.

* * *

As we pull up to the front of the club, I barely notice that the cabby is talking. “Let’s go women! Yous two broads ain’t the only ones with places to go tonight. Twenty-six, ladies.” The cabby reaches his weathered hand back for his money.

I fish for some cash, but it’s too late. Sarah hands the man two twenty-dollar bills and pushes me out of the car door.

From the outside alone, the club is a mob scene. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds to recognize that I don’t belong here. I see more tattoos, piercings, and dyed hair in that first ten seconds of being here than I’ve see in the last five years of my life. There are literally thousands of people lined up outside. Normally I’d panic, but I quickly take solace in the massive crowd knowing that it’s statistically more unlikely that I’m going to run into
him
.

Sarah starts bouncing up and down on her toes, trying to see to the front of the line. “I still can’t believe you scored these backstage passes! I mean I’ve heard these guys are total animals backstage.”

I have no intentions of staying for longer than ten seconds after the show, but I’ll wait to break that to Sarah.
Backstage my ass
, even if I have to leave her here. A line has to be drawn somewhere.

“You definitely owe me for this,” I say as I survey the rabid fans lined up outside.

As we inch our way up to the front of the line, a thick, guttural voice calls out. “Ladies, move it or lose it, unless you feel like getting freezing those asses off like the rest of these fools.”

Horror fills my veins as I look over at the doorman and realize that he’s talking directly to me and my little sister. “Yeah you! And her,” he says, pointing to Sarah.

My sister is grinning from ear to ear. “Come on, let’s do what the man says! She giggles as she turns over her ticket to the colossal-sized man dressed in tight, shredded jeans and a sleeveless leather jacket. “Here you go, Mr. Bouncer man.”

I hand him my ticket, take a deep breath, and enter the club. There are literally thousands of people in this place, but one person stands out immediately, catching all of my attention. That could be because he’s walking right towards us the second we enter the club. The lighting is dark, but light enough to see this guy’s dressed in a casual black suit with a silver undershirt beneath his suit coat. His hair is pitch black, and it’s slicked back over his head. He looks cleaner, more sophisticated than anybody else in this world.

And the way he’s walking towards us, it’s like we’re old friends as he reaches his hand out to greet my sister. His eyes are cold and warm at the same time, if that makes any sense. “Welcome, we’ve been waiting for you.”

My sister tilts her head and bites down on her lip. This guy could be a serial killer for all we know, and yet here she is immediately flirting with him like they’re about to get engaged. “I’m Sarah,” she offers.

The man hands her a drink. “I’m Rex, manager of Invictus.” He turns to look at me. “And you are?”

“I’m Sarah’s sister.”

He smirks. “Good to meet you, Sarah’s sister.” Then he hands me a drink that I have no intention putting in my body. But
he doesn’t need to know that right now.

“Thanks,” I say as I bring the drink up to my lips and pretend to drink some of it.

His eyes immediately shift back to my sister. Suddenly I’m incredibly non-important. And that’s not a bad thing based on the vibe I’m getting from this Rex guy so far. “Come on, let me show you two ladies to your seats. I think you’ll be pleased.”

I start to feel a major pit of regret pool in my stomach. But as creepy Rex takes us further and further away from the crowd, my chances of avoiding Brady Stone are increasing. Maybe these tickets do have their privileges. Not sure how Brady got them in the first place, or why he gave them to me, but…

Rex leads us through a side door and then immediately through another door until it’s clear that we have the best seats in the club- directly
on
the stage, off to the side where the rest of the fans can't see us.

Sarah is literally bubbling over. “Oh. My. God!”

“Not bad, am I right?” Rex adds.

She giggles again and bats her eyelashes at him. “Definitely not bad,” she says.

Rex looks up at the lighting, then down at his watch. “I got some shit to do. Make yourselves comfy.” He grabs my sister’s hand and kisses the top of it. “And I’ll see you backstage.”

Gross.

My sister looks like she’s about to faint. Rex disappears onto the stage itself and starts to fiddle with the mic. The crowd starts to roar in his honor.

I jab her arm with my elbow. “What’s the matter with you? You act like you’re in love with that creep.”

She rolls her eyes. “Did you not hear who he was? He’s the band
manager
. And he's sooo hot!”

“Whatever… Did you see the way he was looking at you?”

My raises her brows and takes a quick swig from her cup. “Like he wanted to fuck my brains out? Yeah I saw that look. Are you not getting the picture here Leila?” She rolls her eyes and takes another swig from her drink. “If you even had a clue how big these guys are you wouldn’t be so judgmental.”

My sister stares at me and waits for my response. I swallow hard as the crackling sounds of amplifiers heat up in the background.

I should just tell her the truth… that I scored these tickets because I went completely and started hooking up with my client. Then maybe at least she’s understand where I’m coming from right now.

But time is up. Rex, the slick, shady band manager, steps up to the microphone. He raises his hands in a V-like formation and the crowd erupts into a sea of noise. He screams at the top of his lungs, “The one! The only! Invictus!”

Normally I would cover my ears, possibly even go hide in the nearest bathroom. But something steals my attention before I even have a chance to react. A tall, familiar, brooding figure walks onto the center of the stage.

Good god.

It’s Brady.

He’s gripping a shiny black guitar with silver trimmed edges as he steps up to the main mic. My chest tightens and my palms start to melt at the mere sight of this man. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans, a tight, black t-shirt, and black boots. When he grabs the mic, the tattooed muscles in his arms practically glow beneath the stage lighting.

His thick, god-like hair is slicked back over his head. “Thank you for coming, New York City!” he shouts into the mic. A spotlight frames his figure with a circle of red light. “TWO! THREE! FOUR!” he screams, sending the rest of the band lurking in the shadows behind him into a full speed rock anthem. His hand comes crashing down onto his electric guitar and the crowd loses their collective mind. “For those of you who believe that tonight is all we have… This show’s for you motherfuckers!”