Chapter 6
Derek
Derek—
Got another email from the man claiming to be your father. His story sounds legit. You sure you don’t want me to set up a call? Email is attached for your reference.
Let me know.
—Jess
I roll my eyes at my manager’s message. I’ve received a handful of similar notes, with similar attachments, for nine months now. Same sob story. Same guy—a Derek Madden. Same bullshit.
And guess what? I’m not buying.
Not interested.
I type the one sentence before hitting send and deleting the email, attachment included. Since The Burnt Clovers blew up, I’ve gotten emails, DMs, and phone calls from tons of long-lost family members, crawling out of the woodwork like termites. Cockroaches.
Where the hell were they when I got put in the system?
What were they doing when my stomach was growling so damn loudly, it woke me up in the middle of the night?
Or when the outline of a man’s palm was repeatedly branded into my skin by mottled bruising that never fully healed before the next one appeared?
I slam my laptop closed.
The only consistent family I’ve had in my life has been Dre and the guys in the band. More recently, I’d include our lawyer, Aiden Hardsin, manager Jess, and publicist Kimberly. Hard stop.
Still, on holidays, they all have a place to call home. Even Levi who has made burning bridges with his family a favorite pastime, has parents who would welcome him with open arms if he made the effort.
I haven’t heard from my strung-out mother, Judy, in so long, years, that sometimes I wonder if she’s still alive. Would I know if she died? Would anyone contact me? Would I feel differently?
I doubt it.
“Hey!” Mav knocks on my door before pushing it open and popping his head in. “Allegra got the job.”
“Yeah,” I say. Like she wasn’t going to get it. She’s so damn enthusiastic, Dre would have been thick to pass her over. And Dre Ruiz is as sharp as they come.
“We’re going out to celebrate.”
I narrow my eyes. “Who’s we?”
“Me and A.” Mav leans against the doorframe casually. His familiar use of her nickname A, the same one Levi calls her, pisses me off.
I clench the underside of my desk. “Levi?”
“Off getting his dick sucked.”
“Right.” Should’ve seen that coming. Levi’s been borderline out of control lately. The usual suspects—drinking and drugs—the way most of our kind, musicians, find themselves. But Levi’s also fucking addicted to sex.
“Wanna come?” Mav offers.
“Sure,” I agree, standing up and wiping my palms along the thighs of my jeans. No way am I letting Mav take Allegra out for drinks on his own. He’ll leave her high and dry when a hot girl with an ass catches his eye. Or, worse, he’ll get sloppy drunk and make a move on Allegra.
Anger vibrates through my veins at the thought. I need to pull myself together. Allegra Rousell is Levi’s sister. She’s young and enthusiastic and wants to help people.
The last thing she needs is to live in this house with the likes of us. We’re wild and rough and un-fucking-couth. And yet, I don’t want Allegra anywhere else in Boston.
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Tired?” Mav guesses.
“Could use a drink,” I say.
He nods. “Get dressed.”
“Where we going?”
“Budapest,” he names a popular club.
I change quickly, pulling on a pair of black jeans and a soft, charcoal T-shirt that probably costs more than most people’s monthly rent. Gotta thank Kimberly for the last shopping haul she did.
Mav tosses me a Boston Hawks baseball cap. “To blend,” Mav reminds me. “It’s just till we get there.”
Nodding, I pull on the stupid cap. The Hawks are a powerhouse team but a few of the players and I have had some run-ins over the years.
Mostly, I don’t see eye to eye with their left winger, Easton Scotch.
But the messed-up shit I had going on with his girl, Claire, was way before she got together with him.
And she designed our last two album covers so all in all, I’d say we’re cool.
Mav snickers and snaps a quick photo. “For Claire.”
I flip him the middle finger and he laughs harder. “Let’s go.”
I follow him out of my bedroom and down the stairs.
My breath gets stuck in my throat when I see her, idling by the front door. She’s changed from earlier, her professional, but casual, ensemble replaced with torn-up jeans and a cropped top that clings to her breasts and shows off her smooth, toned abdomen.
“That’s what you’re wearing?” I sound like Levi. Actually, I sound worse. Fucking accusatory.
Allegra laughs and fiddles with her long hair. Her gaze darts to Mav. “Should I wear a lace bralette instead?”
Mav cracks up before giving Allegra’s hip a squeeze.
“Wear whatever you want, babe. You look hot as fuck,” Mav tells her the truth.
I hate that he can say it so easily. I hate that he can be so damn honest with his feelings all the time, offering unfiltered versions of his thoughts.
“If you weren’t my roommate, I’d try to get with you. But I don’t shit where I sleep.”
“Fuck,” I growl, wanting to wring Mav’s skinny neck.
“It’s shit where you eat,” Allegra corrects him. But she’s chuckling. Her dark brown eyes lighten with sprinkles of sage. “Would you really try to kick it with me, Mav?”
My throat burns at the question, and I shoot daggers at my bandmate, waiting for his answer, which better be a hell fucking no.
Mav laughs and tucks Allegra into his chest. His glare finds my eyes over her head. “Know it, baby girl. Don’t listen to anything Reign says. He’s a cranky little bitch, is all.”
I heave out a sigh.
Mav blows me a kiss and turns toward the door, his arm still around Allegra.
I swear silently and lock the door before sliding into the front seat of the black Escalade. Alfred drops us at the back entrance of Budapest.
Before Mav reaches the door, it swings open, and we’re waved inside. We follow a guy until we arrive at a VIP table in a roped-off section, high-end bottles of Clase Azul Tequila and Beluga Vodka already waiting with a bevy of mixers.
“Wow.” Allegra whistles, stopping in her tracks to take in the spread. Her sudden halt causes my chest to collide with her petite frame.
To keep her from stumbling, I grip her hip. But she’s not at risk of falling over. What does she do? The little vixen grinds her ass against me before shooting me a sassy smirk over her shoulder.
What the fuck is that?
I drop my hold instantly and take a seat.
Why does she keep messing with me?
I need her to be unsure around me. I need her to put up a wall. Because even though I’ll want to smash it down with my fist and beat my chest like a goddamn caveman, it will force me to be realistic.
I want to treat her right; the way she deserves to be treated. The only way I’m capable of doing that is by staying away. Apart. Separate.
And Allegra is making that increasingly difficult. Damn near impossible.
When she turns her doe eyes on mine, I yearn to reach for her in a way I’ve never felt before. It’s as if my body is tuned into hers. My concern fixated on her well-being.
And fuck if it’s not hard to ignore that shit.
I grip the bottle of vodka, pretending to study it, as Allegra dips into the booth beside Mav.
Maverick grins and tips his head toward the alcohol on the table. “For you.”
“You didn’t have to do this,” Allegra murmurs.
She’s speaking so softly, I shouldn’t hear her over the music. But I do. I hear every syllable that drops from her mouth.
I clear my throat and toss one arm over the back of the booth. Lean back.
“Vodka or tequila?” Mav asks.
“Tequila.” Allegra rolls her lips together. She sits closer to the edge of the seat, perching, to look out over the dance floor.
Her eyes gleam as she takes in the gyrating bodies. The women are dressed in scraps of fabric. Men feel them up shamelessly. Alcohol flows freely. Drugs circulate.
I swallow the bitterness that coats my taste buds, but the sourness remains. This isn’t the type of place Allegra should be in and yet, here she is, gratefully accepting the shot glass filled to the brim with tequila.
Mav passes me one and I take it reluctantly.
“To your new job and to the best fucking summer,” Mav announces, holding up his glass.
Allegra beams. “Cheers.” She clinks her glass against Mav’s, droplets of tequila dripping down her fingers, traveling to her wrist.
Mav swipes a lime, already dipped in salt, but before he can hold it out to Allegra, he fumbles it. Laughing, he takes his shot straight, hissing loudly as the alcohol hits his throat.
Allegra tosses the tequila back in one go, her slender neck on full display as the tequila rolls down her throat. She shivers as she swallows and my cock stiffens at the visual, at the thought of her swallowing my—
No! I screw my eyes closed.
Mav’s gym bag. Levi’s obsession with ketchup on eggs. The stench of sweat on the tour bus. The shape of Simon’s hand in the center of my back, spanning between my ribs.
Images of awful, vivid memories swirl in my mind as I try to get my shit under wraps. I can’t sport a fucking boner for Allegra Rousell in the middle of a damn club.
I exhale slowly. Shakily.
Allegra looks uncertain for a heartbeat and then, without realizing what I’m doing, or the stupid implications of my actions, I’m there. Holding a lime wedge sprinkled with salt to her full lips. Feeling her exhale ripple over my knuckles.
Allegra glances up, her eyes dark chocolate now. Ninety-percent cacao. They hold mine and I feel the intensity of her presence blow through me like a tornado, shaking everything up inside me and tossing it down in all the wrong fucking places.
“Bite.” My voice is low. Gruff. Affected.
Her lips part and her perfectly straight teeth bite into the lime wedge. Citrus scents the air. Tiny droplets of lime spray over my index finger.
She sucks the lime so fucking innocently, with her eyes latched on mine, that I want to pick her up, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her out of Budapest so no other man, or woman, in here has the opportunity to see her like this.
Vulnerable. Sexy. Fucking beguiling.
“Thatta girl.” Mav thumps her on the back, and I pull the lime away, discarding it on the table as I sit back down.
I take my shot easily, without wincing. Tequila goes down like water these days. For good measure, I pour a second shot and down that too.
Then, I turn my focus to the shitshow taking place on the dance floor. Anything to redirect my thoughts. To get my senses under control. To stop fixating on the only woman in here I can’t have.
I may be a son of a bitch, but I won’t be the guy who dims Allegra’s brightness.
At least, not tonight.