Pure Wicked (Wicked Lovers Novellas)

Chapter One

May

Austin, Texas

Wasn’t regret a bitch? In fact, Jesse McCall couldn’t remember another time in his life when it had come off its leash and bit him so viciously.

As he emerged from the modern, mostly glass hotel, flashbulbs burst in his face, blinding him.

He jostled past reporters who shouted questions his way.

Beside him, his shark of a publicist, Candia, ran interference, barking “no comment” in a nonstop loop, as she led him to the waiting limo at the end of the crowded walk.

As they approached the sleek black limo, Jesse glanced at the big blue sky. Late afternoon blistered, but he felt somewhere between exhausted and numb.

Twelve hours ago everything had gone horrifically wrong. Why the hell hadn’t he asked more questions? Hung around longer to ensure nothing got out of hand? Something that might have prevented this fucking tragedy…

Raking a hand through his hair, Jesse squinted as he dragged his gaze over the surrounding skyscrapers. He was in some downtown area. Austin. He remembered now.

Hell, half the time when he woke up, he didn’t know what day it was, what city he’d preformed in the night before, or the name of the naked woman he was lying next to.

The life of a rock star was frenetic and nomadic.

He had sold out one stadium tour after another since age sixteen.

After twelve years, he didn’t know any other way to live.

He reached into his pocket and tossed on a pair of Armani shades, grateful that, on top of last night’s shit show, he wasn’t hung over. Sobriety had ensured that.

As they approached the limo, Candia strode beside him on her usual platforms, tight-lipped and tense. That wouldn’t last. The second they were alone, she’d ply him with questions he couldn’t answer.

When the driver opened the back door, Jesse climbed in behind his publicist as she settled into the leather seat and smoothed the professional twist of her dark hair. Their chauffeur enclosed them together, and Jesse counted down to Candia’s imminent explosion.

As he’d predicted, he didn’t have to wait long.

“What a fucking awful night.” She tossed her gray Prada briefcase onto the floorboard and shot him a frustrated stare.

“Damn it, we’re on tour and the album just dropped last week.

Your bad-boy image always worked because you’re young and hot.

But this shit…” Her gaze narrowed. “Tell me you didn’t fall off the wagon. ”

His head jerked up as fury threatened to ignite his temper. “Don’t you fucking dare suggest—”

“Jesse, you know I have to ask…”

“No. I didn’t. Okay?” The words came hard and fast. “You know I’ve worked damn hard for my thirteen months of sobriety.”

She held his stare for a silent beat, then exhaled. “I know, but the rest of the world doesn’t. We just let everyone believe you’re still that guy because it sells records. And if we try to change the narrative about you now, no one will believe it.”

As much as Jesse wanted to, he couldn’t argue with her logic. “Look, I left well before any of that shit went down. And you heard the police; they cleared me.”

“They did.” Her tone softened only slightly. “But I’m not convinced the public is going to care. In their eyes, what happened was way over the line. I’ve already seen theories online that you bribed your way out of prosecution.”

“Jesus!” Jesse scrubbed a hand down his face with a frustrated sigh. “As if I could.”

“Why don’t you give me the whole story now?”

“You heard every word I told the pair of detectives over the last three hours. Do you really think I held back?” The interview had finally ended when the detectives had realized he knew nothing and hadn’t been in any way involved.

The hotel’s security footage had corroborated his statement.

After that, the paunch-bellied one with the scowl had asked him to sign an autograph for his teenage daughter.

After a few strokes of his pen, Jesse had pushed his way out of the suite, doing his best to hold himself together.

Through the tinted window, he looked back at the reporters clustered around the sidewalk. He’d hoped Candia could keep a lid on this until he could figure out what had happened, how to process this loss, and what the fuck to say.

“Sorry about all this.” She tipped her chin toward the crowd. “Someone at the hotel tipped off TMZ. They’re all over this shit. You even made cable news.”

Fuck. “That will make a bad situation worse.”

But that also meant he had to respond now. He couldn’t wait until he got some sleep, a meal, and figured out what to say.

“I’ll make it go away,” she promised. “Just tell me what else you know.”

“You’ve heard it all. After last night’s show, Ryan caught me as I was leaving my suite. He said he’d met a girl and asked to borrow my room since he couldn’t find the key to his. He was in too much of a hurry to get under her miniskirt to fetch another one from the front desk.”

Of course Ryan had invited him to join in, too. Girls and drugs, just like the good ol’ days. Jesse had declined and begged Ryan to come with him. No dice.

“Then you went out for a ride?” Candia asked.

He nodded. “You know cruising the city on my motorcycle helps clear my head after a show.”

And it kept him away from the partying that had nearly ruined him over the first decade of his career.

Candia nodded. “Did you get a good look at the girl before you left?”

“You mean, did I know she was only sixteen? No. I barely glanced at her. But her makeup and the adult way she was dressed… I would have pegged her as twenty-one or so.” Definitely not a sophomore in high school.

“If you’d made him go to the lobby, maybe someone would have stopped him… Maybe he would have used the head up north.” She pressed her thumb between her eyebrows, obviously fighting off a headache. “Maybe… But it’s done.”

He wanted to be pissed that Candia had put this off on him, but she hadn’t voiced anything he hadn’t already thought. He could have done more. He should have.

And now it was too late.

“At the time, I figured if Ryan was screwing some cute blonde, maybe he wasn’t getting high.” Jesse scoffed at the terrible irony.

“Oh, he absolutely was. He got her high, too.”

Yes, his bandmate and buddy had overdosed the girl—in Jesse’s suite. So naturally, everyone assumed he’d been involved.

“And now the press is having a field day.” At barely three in the afternoon, Candia already sounded damn tired.

Of course the court of public opinion had already found him guilty.

Never mind that he hadn’t even been in the building when Ryan had pumped his jailbait hookup full of heroin and taken her to bed.

Then, once his backup vocalist had realized the girl was unresponsive, Ryan hadn’t called 911 for medical help so she might have lived.

No. He’d apparently panicked and shot himself in the head, doubling the body count and the tragedy.

Besides being a PR nightmare, Jesse had lost a friend he’d tried for months to save.

And when the dead girl’s parents had arrived at the hotel, her mother’s scream had cut through his composure.

Her father hadn’t made a sound. He’d just…

frozen, shocked as he retreated somewhere inside himself.

Those faces would haunt Jesse for the rest of his life.

“So, social media is firing up with condemnation and hate.” He stared out the window at the thick traffic. “Perfect.”

“I’m nervous. You’ve got sympathy from the hard-core fans but… I think we have to cancel the rest of the tour,” she murmured. “The noise is too negative. You look like an insensitive asshat if you continue on as if nothing terrible has happened.”

“We had six shows left.” It could have been more, but he wished it was fewer.

“Yep. That’s a few hundred thousand disappointed fans.

And those are merely the ones who held tickets.

It sucks.” She hesitated. “You’ll be thirty in less than eighteen months.

I’m starting to think you lie low until this blows over.

Then when you emerge again, we float your new image—less bad-boy-gone-wild—and see how fans receive it. Hope it isn’t too little, too late.”

She was right. Jesse didn’t bother asking if his parents would be proud.

They’d cashed out on his fame years ago.

His dad now played golf with celebrities.

His mom trained other stage parents and gave interviews about where they’d gone wrong with their only son.

He hadn’t talked to them in forever. But none of that mattered now.

The reality was, he didn’t expect anyone to be proud of him when he wasn’t proud of himself.

He hadn’t been in a long time.

“While you lie low, we need a distraction,” she told him. “Maybe you should start an anti-gun crusade.”

Jesse shook his head. “Too political, and it’s not relevant for overseas fans.”

“What about a series of PSAs about suicide prevention?”

“Ryan didn’t want to take his own life. He was too high to realize he shouldn’t. Besides, taking either of your suggestions will be seen as an admission that I should have done more—and I know it.”

“You’re right.” Candia heaved a deflated sigh, then began chewing on her bottom lip as if sorting through the problem. “I’ll keep working on solutions.”

“While you think about my public image, find out how we can help the Harris girl’s family, like providing funeral expenses or whatever else they need.

” He paused. “In fact, have my lawyers work up a confidential settlement and set these folks up for life. After what they’ve been through, they shouldn’t have to worry about money. ”

“But you had nothing to do with her death.”

“All those parents know is that the last time their daughter walked out the door, she was coming to my concert. She’ll never be home again because of the choices my bandmate made. They will never recover from that loss.”

Candia got quiet. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Great. I appreciate you coming with me to talk to the rest of the band.” They’d all been devastated but not stunned when he’d broken the news. “And when the police contact Ryan’s parents and you get the details of his funeral, let me know.”

She nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Thanks. So…I guess you’re canceling all my appearances for a while?” When she nodded, the career-driven part of him grimaced. The rest of him exhaled in guilty relief. He hadn’t had a day off in years.

“I’m afraid you won’t be laughing it up with Jimmy Fallon to promote this album,” she quipped.

“In fact, I think it’s better if we proactively back out on these appearances for now, citing grief over the loss of your friend.

We’ll have an easier time rebooking in a couple of weeks, once this crap has died down. ”

“Wait. Maybe I should use those appearances to tell everyone that I had nothing to do with it.” But he couldn’t deny that on plenty of nights in the past, it could have been him—and everyone knew it.

The fact that Maddy Harris had died in his hotel room simply splashed another stain on his bad reputation.

And it made him feel so shitty. What a waste of life…

“That’s not what they want to hear. ‘Rock Star Overdoses Underage Fan on Sex and Heroin’ makes for a juicier headline. Until the police finish their investigation and release the details, people will assume you had a hand in the incident.”

Jesse stared at the tinted glass and saw his own reflection staring back—hollow-eyed, wrecked.

Strip away Ryan’s name and that headline could have been his.

Thirteen months ago, it almost certainly would have been.

He’d been wasted, reckless, too far gone to check an ID or notice if a girl stopped breathing beside him.

The only difference between him and Ryan was a resolution to clean up his act and live better.

But that didn’t matter. The girl was still dead.

He sighed. “So what do you want me to do?”

“I’m going to issue a statement expressing your grief and deepest apologies to the Harris family. You’re going to disappear—way off the radar—until I say otherwise. No swanky resorts. No high-profile outings with other celebs. And absolutely no backsliding into intoxication. Think sober monk.”

The sober part he had down now. But monk? “Will anyone believe it?”

“Good point. Hey!” She snapped her fingers and excitement lit her eyes. “I’ve got it. You can go to rehab.”

Jesse scowled. “I’m not an addict. Never have been.”

But for over a decade, he just hadn’t wanted to see the reasons he should curb his partying.

“So? It would look good. Repentant.”

“It would also be pointless. Everyone goes to rehab and no one cares. No.” He glared her way. “If I hole up, this dies down.”

“All right,” she said grudgingly as the limo stopped in front of the executive airport outside the city. “But I don’t want to see a new pic of you on X or Instagram for at least the next two weeks. Once we’re back in L.A., hide out in your house. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to come out.”

His ultra-contemporary mansion was decorated with every luxury and technological delight known to man, not to mention blessed with sick city and ocean views.

But it had never felt like home. Despite the place being eight thousand square feet, Jesse couldn’t imagine being cooped up there for the next fourteen days.

It would only remind him of everything wrong with his life or the fact that he had no one he trusted to share it with.

“Paparazzi know where I live. If I get on that plane with you and go to L.A., they’ll figure it out.

So will fans.” Even now, he imagined that if he looked at his phone he’d find a full voicemail box and hundreds of text messages.

He couldn’t deal with anyone else’s expectations right now when he’d done so poorly at meeting his own.

“If you really want me to disappear, we’ll have to come up with another plan. ”

“You’re well known on every continent but Antarctica. The press will spot you almost anywhere you travel, especially if you take a security detail. They seem to have eyes and ears at every airport. I…” Candia huffed. “I need to think about this.”

“I’ll give it some brain power too, come up with a few ideas.” Though he had no idea what to suggest, Jesse did know that what he’d done in the past—disappearing into the bottom of a bottle with some recreational blow and a woman under each arm—wouldn’t do a damn thing to clean up his image.

“Ideas?” She sounded as if that horrified her. “You? No.”

“I’m a grown-ass man. And I’ve learned a few things over the years.” He lowered his sunglasses and stared at her over the rims. “Go. You handle the press. I know how to disappear.”

When the driver opened the limo door, Candia grabbed her bag and turned to him. “You sure? Can I really trust you not to fuck this up?”

“Yeah. I understand how much is on the line. Call me when the coast is clear.”