Chapter Eighteen
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
GEMMA
I am a bundle of unresolved rage and pent-up sexual tension ready to slice something in half.
The band is in the theater room, three hours into their livestream, and they’ve already switched games three times. I’m pacing the kitchen, Liam is hanging out at the theater room door, and Kade is monitoring things on two laptops over on the sectional.
The new sectional.
I had to keep my amusement to myself upon seeing it this morning. The puddle Bonnie had left was fucking glorious. I didn’t get to see on the cameras what happened when she woke up—whether she told Zeb she’d gotten carried away with solo play or decided to try and take care of the mess herself.
I wish I felt that same amusement now.
It’s taking all of my patience to keep my cool while waiting for Kade to announce Rad’s arrival on the stream’s chat.
“Are you sure we can’t block him?” I ask Kade for the third time.
“Again, I can block him from the chat and the live, but there’s nothing that says he has to be logged in to watch,” Kade replies.
“Let it go, boss,” Liam says from the door.
I pause to press the heels of my palms into the counter and close my eyes. The mention of Rad being back and anywhere in Bonnie’s vicinity has me itching for my suit, for the darkness and shadows so I can take care of him once and for all.
I have my own reasons for hating the bastard, and now that I know about Mads’ past with him, about the other girls he drugged, I’m all but begging him to come near the band so I can finally meet him face-to-face.
His name is at the top of my list, yet I haven’t had a valid alibi or excuse to cover my own ass when it comes to getting rid of him—and that’s if we can find him. We haven’t been able to find any new home address after his last lease ran out two years ago.
A commotion sounds from the theater room, and I glance at the live feed I have pulled up on my computer. Bonnie is high-fiving Zeb about something with the biggest smiles on their faces. I lean over the counter and squint at the chatroom. It’s mostly fans telling them ‘hi’ from different countries, though a few are trying to chat with them about the album or where they’re touring next.
Right now, the band has a system: two or three of them play a game while the other tries to answer questions, and Mads is currently in control of the chatroom.
“—estimating maybe the beginning of the year or the spring for the new album,” he’s answering someone. “Everyone is going to fucking flip at the vibes—”
“Horror shit,” Bonnie chimes in.
Mads laughs. “Hell yeah. We have some creepy ass violins on the tracks. Reed is back on the piano for a couple of them—”
“Vocals are insane— Move out of my lane! ” Bonnie says, shoving Reed as he flies into her lane on the racing game.
Reed shoves her back, hysterical, victorious laughter leaving him when he thinks he’s wrecked her.
I go back to pacing, arms hugged around my chest. Every second that we wait on Rad to try and join seems to get longer and longer, to the point that I wish I had something besides my hands to crush.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the rug,” Zeb says to me when he pads into the kitchen to get a drink.
My eyes simply shift his way, though I don’t stop walking. “Looks like the place is getting a makeover anyway,” I say, jerking my chin to the sectional. “What’s a new rug going to hurt?”
Zeb’s brows lift, and I realize how bitchy that sounded.
“Shit. Sorry,” I tell him. I brace my hands on the counter again and blow out a long breath in hopes it’ll get my blood pressure down.
“Do you count?” Zeb asks.
I peer at him again, head tilting in confusion.
“Counting. Like counting back from ten. Some people do three belly breaths. You know, for… anger,” he says as his gaze drags over me.
A smile dares to reach my eyes. “You think I’m angry?”
Kade clears his throat from the couch.
However, Zeb just smiles as he presses the open THC soda can to his lips and takes a sip. “You’re welcome to one of these,” he offers.
“Thanks,” I manage, though I don’t intend on taking one.
“So… what is it about Rad that makes you want to burn the world to the ground?” Zeb asks.
“What is it about him that makes you want to do the same?” I counter.
Zeb huffs amusedly. “Ah… his face,” he says, and I snort before I can stop myself.
“There’s the laugh I was going for,” he says, beaming at me. “You know, you can laugh. You’re allowed to laugh while you’re on duty.”
“Oh, thanks for the permission. I was waiting for someone to tell me that,” I taunt him.
He gives me his best grin, deviance sitting behind his eyes. “You’re so welcome.”
“Hey, Havoc, you’re up,” Bonnie calls from the threshold of the theater room. Her gaze drifts over me, and I sigh at the sight of her.
She’s the only one capable of making me forget all the stress.
“Are we all—”
“You’re live, Bon,” Kade reminds her from the couch.
“Oh shit,” she says, remembering people can still hear her on the stream. She comes out of the room and closes the door slightly, and it’s fucking adorable the way she tries to sneak over to the kitchen with us.
“I forgot,” she admits, grabbing an orange soda from the fridge. She peers over at Kade, who’s smiling fondly at her beneath his mustache. “My bad,” she tells him. “I’m not used to thinking about security on these things.”
“You were just showing off the rest of the apartment,” Kade says. “We don’t want the entire world seeing the inside of this place.”
“Looking for weak points,” I supply, because it’s what I would do if I wanted access to someone. “Not to mention trying to figure out your location by what’s outside the windows.”
Bonnie and Zeb exchange a look. “This is why they get paid to handle us,” Bonnie says. “I would never think of this shit.”
“Some people can figure out someone’s hotel room by a picture of the bedside lamp,” I say.
“Seriously?” she asks.
“Yeah, it’s wild,” Kade says.
“Which reminds me, we all need to have a chat about some of your social pictures,” I say, peering between them.
“Damn,” Zeb mutters. “I think we just got put in time out,” he says to her.
“Weekend detention, dude,” Bonnie says.
The jokes make me smile, and the way she’s watching me right now has my insides fluttering.
Fuck this restless feeling.
I cross my arms over my chest just hoping that it’ll help my itching muscles. Zeb begins telling her about the crime podcast he was listening to earlier, and the message boards he’s on that people post their own findings, and how what some of them find is mind-blowing to him.
However, I’m toying with my lip piercing and thinking about her on that couch, the little noises she made, the way her pussy tightened on my fingers when she came for me the second time—
“Hey, who’s on the chat?” Reed shouts from the other room.
“Oh, shit,” Bonnie says, the two of them looking over their shoulders.
“I got it,” Zeb says, pinching Bonnie’s elbow before turning to go back in.
“I call next,” she calls after him. “I want to chat with all the crazy fuckers up in the A.M. hours.”
“You got it,” Zeb says, disappearing into the room.
Bonnie’s eyes meet mine across the bar, and I force a deep breath into my lungs. She’s smiling softly, a glint in her gaze like she’s up to something, and it makes me curious.
“What?” I ask.
“Can I show you something?” she asks.
Anything.
I’ll go anywhere with you, be anything you want me to be.
“Sure.”
Bonnie grabs two sodas, pushes on a pair of Ghostface bedroom slippers, and grabs a key and her phone from the bowl by the door. “Hey, fuckers, we’re going up. Text when it’s my turn,” she says loudly to the band.
“Heard, Bed,” Mads replies.
Bonnie smiles my way and motions for me to follow. I peer behind me at Kade, who nods.
“Text me if he shows,” I tell him.
“Got it, boss,” he says with a wink.
I discreetly flip him off, though I’m screaming inside.
Bonnie opens the door to the lift foyer, then leads me into the stairwell to the left of the elevator.
“We’re going to the roof?” I ask when she begins ascending the steps.
“Yeah,” she replies. “Have you been up here yet?”
“Once. Just when Kade and I came by to scope things out.”
She pauses at the top door and uses the key to unlock it, and when she opens it to the outside, I feel my stress lift slightly.
A thick fog lingers in the air. Fairy lights strewn across the pergola cast amber circles in the grey darkness, illuminating the outdoor couches and plants decorating the area beneath. Rugs, fake grass, and raised beds designate small, dedicated spaces around the rooftop, each with its own set of lights whimsically woven in nearby. Board games and puzzles sit on a few of the tables, along with a Lego building area in the far corner.
It’s my first time seeing the space at night, and it’s so beautiful that I pause a few steps from the door.
“Wow.”
“Right?” Bonnie grins over her shoulder at me as she steps toward the bricked edge. “It’s always been one of my favorite places. When Wren moved in, she added all these plants. It looks so cozy now.”
My gaze snags on some of the skull and raven pillows, the snake on the largest rug, and the gothic cathedral Lego set someone is in the middle of building.
“Who is the builder?” I ask, nodding to the set.
“Ah, Reed usually,” she says. “But I think that might be Andi’s.”
I stuff my hands in the pockets of my zip-up hoodie and watch her lean over the balcony ledge.
“If I lived here, I don’t think I’d ever leave this roof,” I say.
Bonnie smiles at the sky. “I was staying at Reed’s a few weeks back, and that’s pretty much what happened,” she says. “I love his apartment, but something about this space up here just calms my racing mind.”
“It helps the fuzzies?” I ask, referring to our conversation in the shower.
She scoffs. “It’s a different kind of noise. It’s like my thoughts have a chance to breathe. Maybe it’s the city noise and the fog. It just like, soothes all the worries.”
“Why were you staying at Reed’s?” I ask, though I think I already know the answer.
“Ah… it was when my stalker came back,” she answers. “It just… It freaked me out to begin with. I hadn’t heard from her in years.”
“Are you not freaked out anymore?” I ask, and I don’t know why it bothers me.
Bonnie looks back at me. “How much did James tell you?”
I hesitate before answering. Not because I don’t remember, but because I don’t want to blurt anything that she didn’t tell him.
“He told me his thoughts, though I’d rather hear what you think about her,” I say carefully.
Bonnie’s jaw tightens as if she’s swallowing, and she avoids my gaze as she makes her way to the table with the puzzle on it. “Do you ever do these?” she asks me.
I follow her with my eyes at first. “I haven’t put together a puzzle in years.”
She sits at the table and grabs a couple of pieces, quickly matching them.
For a moment, I simply watch her.
Pain stretches behind her eyes. I wonder if she’s working through what to say to me, how much to say to me, what she’s willing to admit. Our history is so entwined, admitting everything might make any normal person tell her this is too much.
However, she’ll never be too much for me.
“I started seeing her after I joined Young Decay,” she says, staring at the puzzle as she speaks. “Just… glimpses of a shadow. The hair on the back of my neck would stand. Sometimes, I’d feel like I was being watched at home or across the room at the bar, even followed on the street. It never really felt threatening, but I just… I knew someone was there. Then, one day, she left a message on my mirror in red lipstick, and I knew then that I had been right all along. I wasn’t completely crazy.”
“What did the message say?” I ask, even if I remember the night I wrote it.
“It just said, You were stunning tonight, rockstar. ”
Her lashes lift to me, and I nod like I understand why she questioned me earlier today. “Now the weirding you out with that nickname makes sense,” I say, pretending to be surprised.
“You were right, though,” she says. “A lot of people do call me rockstar. Even my mom called me that a few times.”
Her expression falters as soon as she mentions her. I want to reach across the table and hold her hand, tell her there was nothing she could have done to save her.
“I’ve never seen my stalker’s face,” Bonnie goes on as if she never mentioned her mother. “If she’s at a concert, she leaves a sign in the audience with her symbol on it. Someone normally holds it up, but it’s never her.”
“How do you know it isn’t her?” I ask, placing another puzzle piece.
Bonnie hesitates, and I wonder if she isn’t spilling everything because she doesn’t entirely trust me yet.
“I just know,” she says with a shrug.
“Does she scare you?” I ask.
Bonnie sits back in the seat, still avoiding my eyes. “I once thought she did.” She exhales heavily, a visible chill running over her skin. “Still, I don’t think she wants to hurt me.”
She shivers again, and I curse myself for not realizing earlier that she has to be chilly out here in this little outfit.
I unzip my hoodie and take it off, then stand so I can put it around her arms.
She frowns when she looks at me. “What are you—”
“Stand up and keep talking,” I tell her.
Bonnie doesn’t argue. She rises to her feet, and when I place the hoodie around her shoulders, she sighs like the warmth settles her nerves.
“I know it’s a weird situation,” she admits, staring at my shoulder. “It’s like when she came back, I stopped wondering if she was just a figment of my imagination. I was beginning to think I’d simply made up everything I remembered about her from back then. I was so fucked up during those first few years, it wouldn’t have been a surprise.”
“It’s different now,” I say.
She nods. “I feel everything now. I notice more than I did the first time. It’s hard being sober and realizing that everything you blocked out is always one word or thought from threatening everything you’ve worked on. There are so many things that I wish I could even regret from back then, yet I can’t recall so much of it. When I eventually got around to apologizing to the guys for what I put them through, I had to keep reminding myself that even though I didn’t remember, they did. I’ll never forgive myself for the way I treated them.”
I’m numb as she sinks her arms into the jacket, and as I straighten it, I hear her curse under her breath.
“Shit,” she mutters.
“What?” I ask.
“I went sad girl again, didn’t I?” she asks, voice full of frustration. “God, how did you do this to me again?”
My lips curve upward. “I make you sad?” I ask.
“What—No, no. I mean—” She groans into her hand, and I chuckle softly. “I just mean, how do you get me to feel like I can talk about this shit?”
“Maybe you were just looking for someone to tell you it’s okay,” I say, zipping the jacket.
“What is?”
She finally meets my eyes, and I gulp at the lights reflecting back at me in them.
“To be sad,” I tell her.
Her chest falls as if she’s taking in the words, and my chest tightens upon seeing that vulnerable look in her eyes. And when I pull her hair out from beneath the fleece, I force myself to slow down.
My heart is running so quickly that it feels like it might jump out of my ribcage, and I’m not sure I would chase it if it leapt into her arms.
It belongs to her anyway.
I catch myself wrapping my hand around her cheek, eyes locked on her moving lips. Her words are jumbled and hoarse, and she’s staring at my mouth as longingly as I’m staring at hers.
However, I force myself to blink and clear my throat, tongue pushing out over my dry lips as I drag my thumb over the rough zipper texture.
“Warmer?” I ask, though my voice feels like it’s garbled in my throat.
“Yeah,” she breathes. “Thanks.”
I don’t know why I’m still standing there, why my feet seem to be rooted to the spot.
“You’re welcome.”
I’ve never said you’re welcome in my entire life.
Shit. The one shot I have at my dream girl, and this close without my mask, I’m a goner.
It’s different with even just a table between us, a car console, kitchen island, with some kind of buffer that keeps me from exposing my whole self and reminds me of the boundary between us. Like this… with nothing more than a curtain of fog separating our bodies, I’m slipping. Her abyss can cradle me into nothingness if that nothingness is her embrace. I’ll gladly drown myself for one second of bliss.
Move.
Don’t expose yourself yet.
It’s too early for this.
The voice in the back of my mind is such a fucking killjoy, even if I know it’s right.
I want her struggling for air as much as I am.
I clear my throat, force my gaze away from hers, and then return to my seat before I lose control.
“Do you have any idea who she is?” I ask, placing another puzzle piece as she sits. “Your stalker, I mean.”
I can feel her gaze moving over me in such a way that she hesitates, and I feel my muscles tense.
“No,” she finally says. “I don’t have a clue. Though, when you called me rockstar today, I had a jump scare.”
Shit .
I laugh despite the turmoil inside. “Bonnie, if I was your stalker, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to use the same nickname,” I say, playing it cool. “That’s an amateur slip-up.”
It’s her turn to smile. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be pretty stupid,” she agrees.
So fucking stupid.
“So… what about you?” she asks. “Have you ever had a stalker? Crazy ex?”
A smile almost lifts my lips. “Ah… ex-girlfriend,” I tell her. “She wasn’t crazy, though. We met in college.”
“Why did you break up?” she asks.
Because I watched you jump on the stage with Young Decay, and I forgot anyone else ever existed.
Because seeing you again after two years of absence made me want you even more.
Because you looked like you had so much pain in your eyes, I just wanted to make sure nothing else hurt you.
And I failed at that, too.
“We grew apart,” I answer. “She was leaving for the East Coast and wanted me to go with her, but California is my home. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
I can’t imagine being somewhere that you’re not.
“Same,” she says. “My dad… He’s such a beach bum,” she says, and I chuckle.
“That makes sense considering I always heard people talk about the sand in your hair,” I say.
“I mean, look at my hair.” She holds out a few strands. “It’s like a sand burial ground.”
I laugh with her, still trying to connect the same puzzle pieces I’ve been staring at for minutes now.
“Oh, wait, I think I need those,” she says
We play in silence for a few minutes, only the noise of us going back and forth to trade pieces and grunts of frustration when we can’t find something. I’m restless just from this, from every smile she glances my way with, every second our fingertips brush…
I don’t know how long it is before Bonnie sits back and begins to fumble with a corner piece, and I can feel her eyes on me as the noise of an ambulance sounds below.
“This is nice,” she says.
“What?”
“Being able to just sit with someone. Do a random puzzle. Talk about… life,” she admits.
“You don’t do this with the guys?” I ask.
“I do, it’s just… It’s different. This is different. I haven’t hurt you yet,” she says.
You could never hurt me.
“How do you know I won’t hurt you?” I ask.
Her throat bobs when our eyes meet, and I straighten, mirroring her.
“Do you want to?” she asks hoarsely. “Hurt me, I mean.”
I know exactly what she means.
My eyes drift to her throat, to the shoulder that I know has my teeth print on it. She’s never been more alluring than right now—sitting vulnerably in my hoodie, her legs crossed over one another, eyes boring into mine like she can read my thoughts.
It makes me weak because the answer to that question is a resounding yes. I want to hurt her. I want to ride the line between pleasure and pain with her. I want her to feel me crawling my way into her bones. I need to feel her heartbeat slow beneath my fingertips, just to be the reason it thrives once again.
I clear my throat. “As my client, it’s my job to make sure you don’t get hurt,” I say.
“And if I wasn’t your client?” she asks.
Our eyes lock for a beat. I can’t seem to breathe as the blue in her eyes all but disappears.
“Yes,” I breathe. “If you’re into that kind of thing.”
She blinks, and I swear the breath she takes in is just as jagged as my own.
“I guess that means you’re fired,” she tells me.
I huff, the corners of my lips curving upward. “You wouldn’t find better than me.”
“That’s what I’m counting on,” she says.
Goddamnit .
Bonnie fucking Miller.
My insides are fluttering as if someone let a thousand moths loose in my veins. Her eyes wander over me in such a way that it feels like she’s already imagining me naked beneath her. I resist shifting in my seat, resist moving even though I’m desperate for some kind of friction on my aching pussy.
“Is this the part when the predator becomes the prey?” I ask her.
It’s her turn to smile, and it’s the most sultry, devious smile I’ve ever seen on anyone.
“Is that how you’re feeling right now?” she asks.
“A little, yeah,” I admit.
She laughs, and god, I want to fucking bathe in that laugh.
“If you were just another prey, I’d already be straddling your lap,” she tells me. “I’d already be kissing you… touching you… you’d have your hands on me beneath this very warm hoodie, and we wouldn’t last five minutes before moving to that couch.”
I’m heated at the fantasy. “What does that make this, then?” I manage.
She draws her bottom lip behind her teeth and looks me over again. “Well, you keep playing the ‘client’ card, so I guess that makes this the long game.”
I smile softly. “Dinner,” I say, remembering her request.
Bonnie chuckles. “Dinner.”
A ding sounds on my watch, and I realize I completely forgot about what’s going on just a floor below us.
“Oh, shit,” Bonnie says as if she’s just remembering it, too. “Fuck, I bet they’re like where the hell did you go? ”
Except my stomach drops for another reason when I see the message.
KADE
He’s on.
“Shit,” I mutter.
I slump and press my hand to my forehead.
I was beginning to hope he’d been run over by a bus somewhere.
“What’s wrong?” Bonnie asks.
I shake my head and stand, then hold out a hand to her. “Time to go back to work.”