The Complete Rockstar Series (71 page)

“Okay.”

“What happened with Grant?”

Fuck. Bile rises in my throat. “Grant?” I squeak.

“Yes, Grant, your partner. Tell me what happened. Why you quit,” she insists.

“Sasha…” I warn. “I don’t like discussing it.”

“I understand, but it’s important, Mitch.” Her eyes are pleading with me, begging me to open up.

“Shit.” I rake a trembling hand through my unkempt hair.

“When was the last time you had a shower?” She asks, her pert little nose wrinkling up in distaste.

“Bloody hell, Sasha, I don’t have a clue,” I growl.

“Sorry, continue.” Sasha gives me a contrite look.

I reluctantly explain what Grant did to me, the teasing, the flirting, and the eventual betrayal. Her eyes get larger and larger as I divulge my relationship with my ex-partner.

“What a piece of shit!” she exclaims, her pretty mouth curled into a snarl. “I always knew there was something fucked up about him. I could never get him to trip up in front of me.”

I shrug. “It was over a year ago, Sasha. What does it matter?”

“Mitch, you know that finger they found backstage in Gavin’s dressing room?” she asks.

I wrinkle my brow, “Yes. What about it?” My brain is struggling to make any connections that might include Sasha.

“It matched up to the victim of a serial killer the taskforce has been tracking.”

I’m stunned into silence. When I finally speak, my tone is hesitant. “That’s Van Zandt’s case.” I don’t know the agent well, but I’m grateful to have someone competent searching for Gavin’s stalker—the man who shot me, the sick, twisted human being who brought us together only to tear us apart with a single bullet. Yet I’m also paralyzed by fear. The stalker isn’t just a stalker. He’s a murderer, and an active one at that.

Faint memories of the case fill my mind. The bodies, stripped naked, their left ring finger snipped off postmortem. All men, some gay, some straight, but all of them similar in appearance—tall, blonde, blue eyed… like Gavin.

“Yes, Mitch. It is Van Zandt’s case, but they assigned him a new partner after you left last year. That’s why I’ve been trying to reach you. His partner is Grant.”

I
t’s a beautiful day
. The sun is shining, the waves are glistening, people are walking the beach, dipping their feet in the water and enjoying the weather.

I’m wearing my swim trunks, scowling at nothing in particular. I got up early with the intention of getting some surfing in before the crowds become large. Yet here I am hours later, sitting on the beach next to my board, not having gone anywhere near the water.

Some young men are playing Frisbee nearby, laughing and joking around. Even the sight of their tanned and toned bodies does nothing to lift my dark mood.

A pink Frisbee hits the sand nearby. I could get up and throw it back, but my disposition is too shitty to care. One of the men trots over to retrieve it. Before he can reach the bright disc, a member of the Bigfoot squad intercepts him, trying to keep him away.

“For fucks sake,” I snap. “Let the guy get his Frisbee.”

Sasquatch scowls, but backs up, apparently realizing that a dude wearing nothing but a tight red speedo isn’t likely to be hiding a weapon.

The man snatches up his Frisbee and grins. “Wanna play?”

His eyes sparkle and it’s as if I’m punched in the gut. I suck in a ragged breath. Grey, his eyes are grey. With the tousle of dark hair the man reminds me of Mitch. They don’t look much alike otherwise, but it hurts all the same.

“No thanks,” I murmur, attempting a smile.

“You’re Gavin Walker,” he observes.

“Yeah.”

“That’s cool.” Confirmation of my identity brings a change in the man’s demeanor. “I’m Chase.” Those grey eyes drop to scan my bare chest and he bites his lower lip.

Hell, I’m being cruised on the beach in front of my house. Not the first time, but probably the first time I haven’t welcomed it. Though, a good hard fuck would get Mitch out of my head, right?

Chase is hot, with a perfect six-pack and a seductive smirk. I’m seriously considering his silent offer when a voice calls out from the direction of my house.

“Mr. Walker!”

Christ. It’s the Feebs. Agent Halifax to be precise. Cringing, I look over my shoulder, praying his partner is with him.

Thank god. Agent Van Zandt is trudging through the sand a few feet behind Halifax. I turn back to Chase. “Sorry. I have to go.”

Standing up, I brush the sand off of my swim trunks.

“Nice to meet you,” Chase says, holding out a hand. I shake it and he caresses my wrist with his thumb. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

Those grey eyes hold a promise of mischief and a damn good time. “Maybe,” I reply.

Chase winks and returns to his friends. Being out has definitely made it easier to get laid, that’s for sure.

Irritated at the interruption, I turn to the Agents. “Did something happen?”

“Let’s go back to the house,” Van Zandt suggests. “It’s hot as hell out here.” When he tugs at his tie all of my blood rushes to my feet, leaving me lightheaded. Memories of Mitch assault me, nearly knocking me to my knees.

“Sure,” I whisper. My voice is sucked right from my lungs along with my breath. We trek back up to the house, the two agents dump sand out of their uptight business shoes before heading inside.

Sasquatch closes the door behind us and waits outside, arms crossed and face in a perma-scowl.

I grab a Red Bull out of the fridge and crack it open. Right now, I’m feeling a little petulant, so I don’t bother offering the agents anything to drink. They didn’t call ahead before barging in on my afternoon. That means courtesy on my part is optional.

I choose to opt out.

Especially when Agent Creepy is giving me the once over again. His eyes graze over me lasciviously, stopping at my piercings. I feel naked and embarrassed, which pisses me off.

I stomp over to the couch and grab my shirt, yanking it over my head.

“Can I help you?” I sneer, staring pointedly at Halifax as he smirks.

“We wanted to go over some things. We’re trying to overlay the timeline and locations of the victims’ deaths with your past travel schedules,” Van Zandt says. He opens a binder and searches, extracting a few sheets of paper.

Do they not have computers for this shit?

“Do
you
have my old travel schedules?” I query.

“No. We were hoping you had it so we could compare it to our killer,” Agent Halifax says, his eyes drifting from my chest to my mouth as I take a sip of my drink.

I’m seriously on the verge of punching this guy. Is that a federal crime? I notice a wedding ring on his left hand and nearly choke on Red Bull.

“I don’t have those things here,” I snap. “The tour company that hosted the tour, the record label, or hell even Ross would have those things. I’m just the talent. I show up, sing and dance, and go the fuck home. I don’t know shit about schedules.”

“Excuse me,” Van Zandt says, heading for my bathroom.

Fucking make yourself at home, asshole.

Shit. Now I’m alone with the closeted Agent Dickhead.

This is such crap. Why are they really here? I’m about to call Halifax out on his shit when he suddenly stands up.

“It’s really important that we figure out if any of the notes arrived in cities at the same time victims were killed,” he maintains, slowly walking over to where I’m standing.

My fingers tighten around my beer. “If it’s that important, you should have called. I could have told you I don’t have that kind of information here at the house,” I growl.

Halifax stands next to me, staring over my shoulder to look out the kitchen windows. I begin to move away. Uncomfortable is not even in the same universe as how I feel with this asshole so close to me. Before I can take a single step, his hand brushes against mine.

I scowl and he pretends to be shocked. “What the fuck are you playing at, Halifax?” Livid, I give him a dark look.

The fucker holds up his hands in mock defeat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

There’s that damn smirk again. I put down the drink, ready to punch this asshole into next week, when the front door opens and one of the bodyguards calls out. “Mr. Walker, you have visitors.”

Halifax jumps back, nearly falling on his ass in his haste to get away from me. Before I can blink, someone tears into the room and Halifax is being thrown against a row of floor to ceiling cabinets with an earsplitting crash.

My mouth falls open when I see who is holding Agent Asshole up by the lapels, growling in his face.

“Mitch?”

T
he big man
at the front door nods as I storm up the front walk of Gavin’s beach house. I recognize the man from on tour, thank god. Otherwise he might not let us into the house.

“Mr. Hale,” he nods.

“I need to talk to Gavin. I’m assuming he’s home since you’re here,” I say to the man.

“He is. The FBI arrived a little while ago. They’re inside with him now.”

My entire body coils up, tension vibrating through every nerve and muscle. I flinch when Sasha puts her hand on my back.

“Mitch. We’re here to talk,” she murmurs.

I don’t reply. My only thought is to get that twisted asshole Grant as far away from Gavin as possible.

“This is Sasha Knight,” I tell the guard. “She’s also FBI.”

Sasha helpfully produces her I.D. handing it to the large man. He inspects it, his sharp gaze matching the picture to Sasha’s face, then hands it back. “Go on in,” he says, turning the knob and pushing the door open.

The bodyguard leans in the foyer, calling out our arrival. “Mr. Walker, you have visitors.”

Across the length of Gavin’s open floor plan, I see Grant crowding Gavin against the countertop in the kitchen. My blood pressure rises to near explosive when he stumbles back as if caught doing something inappropriate. Which, in fact, he is.

Dark, primal instincts unfurl in my chest. The need to protect and fight for what’s mine roars through me like a feral animal needing to stake its claim.

Operating on reflexes, I sprint through the house and grab Grant by his jacket, slamming him against the nearest wall, which happens to be a pantry of some sort. The door behind him cracks like a thunderclap, splintering from the force of the blow.

“Mitch?” I can hear Gavin’s surprised voice, but my only focus is on keeping this predator away from the man I love.

Love?
I shake my head, too enraged to think about that right now. “What the fuck were you just doing?” I snarl, literally bearing my teeth in anger.

“Hale?” Grant sputters. “You’re insane! Let me go!” He tries to twist out of my grasp, so I clamp a hand on his throat to hold him still.

His partner comes into the room and I hear Sasha trying to keep him out of the fray.

“You fucking piece of shit,” I hiss, my inner caveman rejoicing at the chance to defend Gavin and get payback for the years of torture Grant subjected me to. “Don’t go near him.”

Hatred bubbles up, burning my throat like bile. The urge to punch his smug face gnaws away at my lizard brain, refusing to be tamped down by reason.

“You’re fucked up, Hale. Just like you were at the bureau!” Grant laughs, but it’s a high-pitched, nervous laughter.

I pull my fist back, ready to break this fucker’s jaw.

“Mitch, stop.” Gavin is at my shoulder, his warm hands curled around my wrist, attempting to calm me down.

“Did he fuck with you?” I growl, glancing at Gavin over my shoulder.

God, he’s beautiful. The adrenaline, the loathing, the need for revenge, Gavin’s presence… they all combine into a high so perfect, so rooted in the deep part of my brain that still responds to my animalistic needs, that my cock begins to stiffen.

Van Zandt is becoming agitated where Sasha has him pinned in a corner of the kitchen. My gaze returns to Grant, his face red, a line of spit trailing from the corner of his mouth, and I see it. The man is shit-his-pants terrified of me. That cocksure attitude I used to find so attractive is gone, the façade peeled back to expose the manipulative coward that he is.

I remove my hand from his throat and push back, not breaking eye contact until I’m sure he won’t retaliate, but I already know he won’t. Grant Halifax is only good at the mental mindfuck. He can’t and won’t hold his own with someone physically.

Reaching deep into my rational side, I turn and take Gavin’s hand, towing him from the room and straight up the stairs. With a booted foot I kick the door to the master bedroom closed behind us with a deafening
bang
. When Gavin opens his mouth to ask a question, I grab his face and crash my lips down over his.

Stunned, it takes Gavin a minute to respond, but when he does, he’s almost violent in his need. Gavin’s strong hands circle my ass, long fingers digging into the muscles painfully. His hard cock presses alongside mine and I counter by thrusting my hips forward, not caring that the rough fabric or zipper of my jeans is probably chafing my dick.

“God I missed you,” I moan, plunging my tongue into his mouth, reveling in the familiar taste. I inhale deeply, letting the scent of coconut, and sun, and sweat overwhelm my senses.

Breathless, Gavin rips his mouth away long enough to yank his threadbare T-shirt over his head and shove down his board shorts. He grips the hem of my shirt, practically tearing it off and tossing it behind his head. I can tell by the way his eyes widen that he’s going to ask about my scar.

To distract him, I fumble to undo my fly. It works, Gavin slapping my hand away, deftly undoing it and kneeling as he pulls my pants down to my ankles.

“Baby,” he moans, grabbing my ass and burying his face in my groin, inhaling deeply.

“Jesus, Gav,” my breath hitches, then stops completely when he swallows my cock. “Fuu-uuck,” the air punches out of me in a huff at the pleasure of his hot mouth and perfect suction.

Gavin moans, sending a shudder through my balls all the way up my spine. Much too soon, I can feel my release straining to be contained.

“Gav, stop,” I pant.

He pulls off my dick with a pop, staring up at me with those big blue eyes, his full lips swollen and wet.

Desperate to claim him, I haul Gavin to his feet and throw him onto the bed, climbing on top until we’re eye to eye, our bodies lined up perfectly.

“What about everyone downstairs,” Gavin rasps as I lick my way across his lightly stubbled jaw to the sensitive pulse point on his neck.

“Fuck ‘em.”

I bite down on that sweet spot and grind our hips together simultaneously, earning a long, loud moan.

“Shit, Mitch. Oh god. Fuu-uuuck.”

I slide down his body, licking and kissing my way across his chest, following the blonde hair down his stomach.

“You don’t have to, Mitch,” he whispers.

Breathing in his scent, I reply. “I want to.” Tentatively, I drag my tongue up the base of his smooth cock and then swirl it around the head. He moans, arching back as his fingers thread through my hair.

“So good, baby.”

Holding the thick length upright, I stretch my mouth around the flared head and suck, hard.

“Fuck! Holy shit, Mitch,” he stutters. His hips thrust off the bed and I choke a little. “Jesus, sorry. It’s just so…”

His words die as I recover and begin to move my hand and mouth in tandem, getting a taste of precome with each lash of my tongue over his slit. As his breathing gets louder, I pull off, my chest already sore from exertion. “God you taste good, Gavin.”

“Come up here,” he rasps, his eyes unfocused and his mouth half open. I climb up the bed, once again settling on top of him with our hips lined up.

One of Gavin’s hands finds my ass, pulling me closer to add pressure between our stiff cocks. His other hand weaves into the thick hair at the top of my skull. Gavin tugs hard, sending a shock of pain/pleasure across my scalp. He uses my hair to direct my lips back to his, claiming me in the messiest, hottest, dirtiest mouth fuck of my life. His tongue plunges in deep, pulling back before diving in again.

My breathing kicks up another notch as he lifts his hips to thrust against me. Now my wound is on fire, but short of my chest tearing open, nothing is going to stop me from being with Gavin.