Chapter 1 #2
DJ folded over the guitar to scribble in a notebook.
He was slender, but had wide shoulders for his frame.
He wore only jeans, so bent forward like that, Roy saw his rib cage, and the bumps of his spine.
Someone standing close could follow the curve of his back to the tantalizing dip between his buttocks. He probably wasn’t wearing underwear.
His curly mop of thick brown hair framed a sharp face with sloped cheekbones, the stubborn chin, and wide, thin lips.
It wasn’t a classically pretty mouth, yet Roy still thought of tracing a finger along it.
Stretching his lips with his cock. Staring down into the maple brown eyes, which would show the tantalizing uncertainty a submissive felt when Roy was pushing him, making him serve.
A lot of celebrities had submissive streaks, wanting to surrender control in their private moments, needing to find a haven they could trust.
While the strength of the pull on his Master side surprised him, Roy wasn’t worried about it. He channeled his protective Dom inclinations into the job, but kept his actual play separate.
If he wanted to get off with a submissive, there were plenty of places he could do it. His income allowed him to enjoy top end BDSM clubs when he wanted to unwind.
Other than that, money didn’t much matter to him, except as a barometer of how well he did his job. And its ability to help him take care of his mother’s needs.
DJ’s gaze lifted. It was hard to tell if he was seeing what was in front of him or what was going through his mind, but then his head turned and stopped. He’d found Roy.
At this distance, without the benefit of a mic, Roy didn’t catch every word of the exchange with Moss, but enough to give him the gist. DJ’s attitude, his reluctance, was normal for most clients.
No one liked having their routine disrupted, and when worrisome incidents were in the rearview mirror, the tendency was to downgrade them to “much ado about nothing” that could be handled in-house.
It couldn’t be handled in-house.
The threat assessment Roy and his team had done confirmed DJ had a stalker who was crazy, committed and smart.
That meant an evolving situation requiring a detail’s full attention.
The band’s regular security, led by Henry Watkins, had enough on their plate.
Even when the band wasn’t on a physical stage in front of thousands, their every move was in the public eye.
The kid noticing him was good. It meant he paid attention. Moss had packed up and was headed down the aisle on the lower level, probably to make his way to Roy. After another look his way, a thoughtful cock of his head, DJ turned his attention back to his band.
He rose with a stretch and left the acoustic guitar behind. He was a giraffe, topping six feet in bare soles. The jeans hung low, but didn’t hide the nice, tight ass.
When he moved to the mic, Pete relinquished the spot and picked up his bass, while DJ and Steve retrieved their guitars and plugged the cables into their transmitters.
Tal took up position at the drums, though he left the sunglasses in place.
Then came the requisite fiddling with amp knobs and running through stompbox settings.
When DJ got a thumbs up from Steve, he started singing.
Found you in the shadows
Waiting to give me light
But you’re the void
That will swallow me whole.
Should I run
Or dive into the darkness
And see what hell awaits me?
You’re a devil, baby.
You think you’re a savior.
You’re the end I never saw coming.
The beginning I never wanted.
Should I run
Or dive into the darkness
And see what hell awaits me?
I never wanted your attention.
I never wanted you.
Deal with it.
Deal with it.
Fucker.
Swelling high notes, low growls, and one of the most melodic screams in the business.
Throughout the music world, the versatility, strength and passion of his voice was described as a meshing of Freddie Mercury, Kurt Cobain and Bon Scott.
This song injected all those elements with one overriding emotion. Anger.
When he paused after I never wanted you, DJ stepped back, glared out at the audience that wasn’t there, then came back to the mic and snarled the last lines.
Roy was leaning forward, hands clasped. Fuck.
Then DJ swung his guitar forward and kicked his rig off mute. They went from the top, Steve throwing out the powerful riff that started the song. Pete and Tal jumped in, blasting the music throughout the arena.
DJ wasn’t ignoring the threat. That made Roy’s job easier. DJ telling the faceless enemy to fuck off? Not so helpful. Roy respected it, but DJ needed to lock it down.
When they finished the run through, Tal twirled his drumsticks around his fingers as Pete and Steve exchanged a look. “That works. Fucking A.”
“Yeah.” DJ took a swig from a bottle of water and readjusted his guitar. “One more time. Then I’ll leave it alone.”
“So what do you think?” Moss sat down, a seat between him and Roy. Roy gave him a nod without taking his eyes off the stage. Off of the singer.
“I’m looking forward to the meeting.”
When Roy Bloodwell rose from the conference room table, DJ thought he’d been thrust into a dungeon bedroom draped with velvet and chains, and his cell mate was a walking fantasy of songs waiting to be written.
Jam on toast, the man was a Dominant. And he knew he was looking at a submissive, DJ would bet on it.
Those windy day, gray sky eyes showed that flicker, a secret code of awareness.
His dark blond hair was cut smooth and short, a little feathering across his high forehead to make DJ’s fingertips itch to stroke.
“So do I need to promise to obey your every word and kiss your ass before you’ll take the job?” Because he felt like tasting what was in front of him, DJ had to offer some attitude.
Don’t draw me closer.
Yank me to you
Hand to my throat.
Deny me with your eyes
Command me with them
Hold me with them.
Some words were too dangerous to put down. Like writing the devil’s name on a party invitation.
“DJ,” Moss said, low, but Roy held up a hand.
“When clients know they’re in trouble, some of them act out to hold onto control of their lives. You can shut that shit down. I’m not here to take control of anything you don’t willingly relinquish to me, Mr. James.”
Crap, that was nicely played. And his voice…a masculine vibrato mixed with the kick that chased smooth whiskey. Damn, he was hot. His rugged features suggested he was near or at forty. Old enough to tease him about it, if DJ wanted to yank his chain. Maybe later.
“No need for the Mr. James bullshit. Total strangers call me DJ.”
“Yes. They assume a familiarity with you that can lead to misunderstandings and bad behavior. Do you invite the whole world into your bedroom, Mr. James? Since I’ll be in your most intimate spaces, I’ve found being more formal makes things less confusing.
It solidifies the mutual respect needed to protect you properly. ”
Every word hit the strings that ran through DJ’s core. Since a poker face was a necessary skill for living in the spotlight, DJ kept his expression bland, but Roy’s intent look suggested he’d already cracked the cover of this particular book and was deep into the first chapter.
“I’m pretty self-aware, Mr. Bloodwell. I’ve learned to use humor to deal with uncontrollable situations, and I’m not a frightened child. Tell me what you need from me.”
If Roy could do his “willingly relinquish” tease, DJ could respond with provocative nuance. A subtle change in Roy’s face suggested he’d caught it, but he stayed on point. “That song you were working on. You’re sending him a message.”
“You have a problem with that?”
“No. Don’t taunt him, though. He doesn’t need encouragement.”
“You think it’s a man.”
“Yes.” Roy gestured to the chair across from him, and DJ obligingly took it. Moss sat to DJ’s right, watching the byplay with concern and curiosity.
Roy took up DJ’s field of vision, his back straight, shoulders wide, hands clasped together on the table. Clean short nails, strong-looking grip.
“The handwriting analysis on the letters the police believe he sent to you suggest he’s male.
He claims he can care for you better than anyone else, but the subtext is he wants to own you.
You’re his territory, and anyone else in your life is competition.
Even as she’d be jealous of those around you, more nurturing language would slip into a woman’s communications. ”
DJ considered that. “You have a suggestion?”
“Drop the ‘deal with it, fucker.’ Also avoid any language that suggests you’re in some kind of boat, taking a journey together.”
“So scrap the song.” DJ didn’t mask his annoyance. He wanted to vent, throw it out there with his frustration.
“Table it,” Roy corrected. “It’s a powerful song. Releasing it right after he’s caught will guarantee you a hit, capitalizing on the issue for your benefit.”
Coldness entered the gaze DJ leveled on Roy.
“This asshole sent me poisoned candy that could have killed people who take care of us day in and day out, Mr. Bloodwell. Or a member of their families, including kids. We don’t give a shit about spiking sales.
I’ve made enough money to quit tomorrow and ride in a limo every day until it’s carrying me to my grave. ”
“Technically, even if you were of average means, a limo would probably carry you to your grave.”
Though Roy didn’t smile, DJ felt a spurt of humor, “Noted. I’ll change my will so it’s a donkey pulling an apple cart. I don’t want to be a cliché, any more than I already am.”
He settled back in the chair. “Okay. If I hire you, what are the next few weeks going to look like?”