7. Kelsey
Kelsey
Atown car pulls up in front of the bus stop. When the back door opens, Bronx steps out. The man who lent me his phone gasps at the six-foot-six man whose face he recognizes from the poster above my head. He does a double take to be certain and his eyes round. “That’s Bronx Halverson.”
Bronx carries an extra jacket. His gaze roves over my outfit. “I thought you might be cold since you didn’t take it, but I see you found one of your own.”
“I got lucky.” I’d left his folded and over the end of the bed where I draped it last night. I couldn’t take it with me this morning. I’d stuck to the clothes he’d given me to sleep in, my heels, and the change that had been left haphazardly on one of the bedside tables.
“You know Bronx Halverson.” The man beside me has his mouth hanging open. He looks like the hundreds of groupies I’ve watched ogle my boys from behind concert barricades. Struck dumb by their mojo.
“Who is this guy?” Bronx asks, towering over us both. His striking green eyes, ginger three-day growth, and wicked looking tatts make him appear threatening. He posts himself like my own personal barrier.
“I…I’m a drummer too,” the man says. “Well, I practice... in my mom’s basement. I know all…” he narrows his gaze, really studies me “…L.A. Riot’s songs. You’re Kelsey Peterson, aren’t you?”
“Get in the car,” Bronx orders me.
“You were with Riot Maddox.”
No. Not again.
“You broke our boy’s heart,” he says like he has ownership over the band while Bronx escorts me quickly toward the back seat.
When I hobble, he tucks a hand under my elbow supportively.
“And now you’re... with Bronx Halverson?” the man continues. “You’re a groupie slut.”
I crawl across the back seat into the furthest corner. It’s not the first time I’ve been on the hot side of a fan’s ire. But it hits different after last night.
“You could do better, man,” the guy tells Bronx as he scrambles with his phone.
“Get back.” Bronx growls at the fan, while he slides in next to me. His wide shoulders shield me from the man’s attempt to take our photo.
“That was intense.” I release the death grip I have on the seat once the car pulls away from the bus stop. I massage the stiffness from my knuckles. “I forgot what it was like.”
“It’s worse.” He grins at me, his huge hand covering my whole knee. “They’re like this everywhere we go. Wait until you see our fans around Riot. Sometimes I think they might carry him away and we’ll never see him again.”
“A girl can wish,” I mutter under my breath. Perhaps one of his more unstable fans could lock him up in their basement never to be seen or heard from again. That would be nice.
Except now I’m committed to the idea of keeping him out of trouble while he tours, his kidnapping wouldn’t bode well for me. “It will be harder for Marco to get to me if he works out where I am then.”
That won’t stop him shooting me to keep his secret safe. But that’s only a problem if he finds me. And can get close enough.
“Our girl found her silver lining,” he says.
Our girl. They all used to call me that when they’d talk about me with the others. Our girl got us a meeting with the label. Our girl got Carmine to agree to let us headline for Stone Cold Voodoo. Keep our girl close so the crowd doesn’t bother her.
It’s old and familiar. As cozy as my favorite pair of motorcycle boots—the ones I really wish I had on my feet right now.
But that was another life. If I’m going to make it through the next few months with them, I can’t spend it reminiscing about the past. And I can’t spend it with Bronx thinking last night could lead to something.
“We need to iron out the details of our agreement.” My stomach growls loud enough to fill the space between us.
He chuckles. “In-N-Out? Or Zankou?”
“In-N-Out.”
“Hey, man,” he calls out to the driver. “We’re going to need In-N-Out.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver says.
Ten minutes later we have two Double-Double Animal Style, plus well-done fries, and Lemon Up. I tear another juicy bite from my burger and gulp it down while Bronx watches me.
“Stop staring at me like that.”
“I’m in awe actually,” he says. “I’ve never seen you, or any girl for that matter, unhinge her whole jaw like that. You might want to slow down. You don’t want to puke.”
“I’m starving.” I groan at the sugary, lemonade-Seven Up explosion as I suck the icy drink through the straw to wash down the food. “The only meals I’ve had in the last four days are ones you’ve provided.”
“Fucking really?” His brow grows stormy. “I figured shit wasn’t good last night, but—”
“But it doesn’t matter since you’ve promised me meals and somewhere to sleep while I work out what comes next, right?” I stare him down.
Eventually he nods.
“I’m going to need enough money to make a fresh start. Somewhere that isn’t here. Where Marco won’t find me. Enough to keep me going until I can get properly back on my feet.”
“I’m good for it,” he says. “You could tell me you don’t want to take the job, and you still want the money and—”
“I’m not a charity case.” I hold my hand up. When his lips quirk up, I can only imagine the smart-ass comment building behind it. “And like I said last night I am not a prostitute. No matter what happened in your bed last night.”
“I believe that would make me the prostitute.” He wraps his lips around his straw and slurps his shake. “Since I was the one committing the sexual favor. But with no reward—”
“You asked for hugs. I gave them to you.”
“Okay. That counts. Hardly, but—”
I elbow him in the ribs.
“Ouch.” He rubs his fist over the spot. “Keep your pointy elbows to yourself.”
“We’ve gotten off track.” And we’re only blocks from the hotel.
I can’t walk in that suite and face Riot again without some certainty.
I can’t be worried about Bronx having expectations.
He said he didn’t, but he also said he took his shot because he knew it wouldn’t come again.
“I need us to be on the same page. What happened last night... won’t happen again. ”
He opens his mouth and I clamp my hand over it before he can speak.
“No bed hopping. No... kissing. Here, there, or anywhere. No sleeping in the same bed.” I remove my hand.
He considers it for a few minutes. “If you’re worried about Riot, he and I are fine.”
“I’m not worried about him.” But the fact that I’m still twisted up tells me anything with Bronx would only be to get back at Riot. And that would neither be wise while living in a confined space or fair.
“Fair enough.” He nods a couple of times.
“Addendum. Friends who cuddle. I miss being comfortable around someone since we’re constantly on the move, and it’s only going to be harder to connect on the tour.
Easy to get laid. But hard to connect. Also, you can’t expect me not to be my charming, flirtatious self. I’m not superhuman.”
“Fine. You can keep your charm.” I forgot how needy my boys could be. Bronx’s need to cuddle hadn’t seemed awkward with the unwritten rule about not screwing with anyone in the band. But now…
Riot and I crossed the line and everything has changed. But Bronx and Golden didn’t change. Napping with Bronx shouldn’t be a deal breaker.
And I should not feel guilt over him going down on me. But I do.
“It’s been two years and I am not the same girl I was.
I’m sure we’ve all changed.” Some of us have been barely surviving.
Some of us have turned into obnoxious assholes.
“Let’s see if we can even live together on a tour bus without making it any more complicated than it’s already going to be.
Riot made his feelings clear last night. ”
“He wasn’t his best self,” he says as the car pulls around into the underground parking garage. “But I think you know why.”
There were paps out the front when I left this morning. Watching... waiting... Bypassing them is the smart move. Especially since I don’t want to advertise my location to Marco.
“It was Rogue and Ivy’s two-year anniversary yesterday.
” Two days after I found out I was pregnant.
The morning Riot cheated on me. The night I punched Sonatina in the face and walked away from Riot.
From our relationship. With the tatters of my heart and my dignity and my secrets.
“It was one of the worst days of my life.”
But not the worst day. That came after Carmine killed my career and my savings ran out. I press a hand to my belly, the ache all too visceral.
The driver parks near the entrance.
“One of the worst for him too,” he says.
“Bullshit.” I overheat in an instant. How dare he talk to me about Riot’s worst days.
I understand him being sympathetic to his friend, but he can’t tell me that Riot fucked those women in my presence last night because he regrets cheating on me.
“If even our friendship had meant something to him, he would never have stuck his cock in that spoiled bitch.”
Bronx exhales. He turns his attention to the bodyguard waiting for us outside the car. Jasper’s eyes round when he sees me.
He looks good. I look like shit. It’s been two years. Surprise, I’m back.
Bronx taps his thumb on the side of his leg. His lips part and press together several times. “Anything else we need to talk about?”
“Carmine will be furious. He’ll never allow it.” It doesn’t matter that he and the other execs at the label know I was great at my job. I punched the big dog’s daughter. That was unforgivable. And Carmine put a lot of effort into making sure he punished me. “What if he wants me gone?”
“He’ll be unhappy.” Bronx doesn’t sugarcoat it. “I’ll handle Carmine if it comes to that. He’ll see reason.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Bronx slings his arm across the back of the seats. He toys with a tendril of hair at my neck. The lines around his eyes deepen. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
Again, I get the impression he’s keeping a lot in check.
A quiet giant capable of holding a multitude of secrets.
I am almost certain the secrets he’s sitting on are the ones he thinks will make me change my mind about taking on the role of Riot Maddox’s babysitter.
“That’s the only part of this situation I’m sure of.
Which is why I need you to meet one more condition. ”
“What’s that?”
I hesitate. “Don’t tell anyone about my trouble with my foster brother.”
For a second he sits there and says nothing. His brows crawl closer together. His lips part and shut. He looks like he wants to argue or ask a million questions I don’t want to answer. Eventually he shakes it off. “Got it.”
He climbs out of the car and turns back to offer me his hand.
I put mine in his and slide across the seat. Once I’m on the pavement, Jasper closes the door, and Bronx and I enter the hotel.
We step into the elevator. The box steadily rises toward the top floor. My knee jiggles.
He takes out his phone and does something on it.
Which reminds me. “I’m going to need a phone.”
“Easy.” Bronx puts his away.
Something flutters in my belly. The In-N-Out threatens to come back up. I press my hand to my abdomen. Riot hates me. Really hates me. Nowhere near as much as I hate him, but still…
I can’t trust that he won’t act like a complete prick. I want to be ready for what I’m walking into. “Did you tell him about our agreement?”
The elevator opens into a stunning personal lobby with a huge chandelier overhead, casting its glow on rich mahogany floors and framed out gray walls. There are floor to ceiling double doors at the other end.
I’d been tired and scared last night, my ankle had been hurting bad, I hadn’t taken it all in. Hotel suites had been the norm, but this is next level with private elevator access.
“We were on our way up two years ago.” He fairly glows with pride. “And we have arrived.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” I balk as we get closer to those big double doors. Loud music comes from behind them. Wall shaking bass and Bronx’s signature beats. “Did you tell him?”
“Not about our agreement,” he says.
“I’m going to need more than that.” What exactly am I walking into? “What did you tell him?”
“That you were here.” He wraps a hand around my upper arm, using his body to block me from being able to turn around and run. Lending me some backbone.
Both doors are flung open on the party crammed inside. The music rolls over me like thunder. Almost as loud as any concert. The sea of people drinking and dancing parts and Riot Maddox appears in the space they leave.
He has a woman under each arm. They run their hands over his bare torso as he stalks toward me. Others reach out for the chance of touching a rock god.
He ignores them all. His focus solely directed at me.
He’s commanding and impossible to look away from. Black pants are slung low on his narrow hips. His chest heaves inside a leather jacket that my fingers remember the softness of. Messy, dark hair that makes women—not me, not anymore—want to dig their hands into it.
He discards the women, leaving them without a single word or look.
Those imposing gray eyes that would make any girl imagine this demon was sincere are cold and bitter and cruel. “Couldn’t find any other poor schmuck to latch onto? You had to make it one of my friends.”
“Watch yourself, man.” Bronx makes himself my shield, getting between us. “She’s here because I want her to be.”
Oh God. Did he give Riot the impression that he and I are together?
“Don’t worry, Bronx. I can see this bitch clearly, even if you can’t... yet.” Riot stalks around him to get in my face while a dozen people inside turn to watch our showdown. Converse to peep toe, he leans down until his hot breath washes over my face.
Beer, weed, and mint. What a hell of a combination. I draw back and punch him in his smug fucking mouth.
His head snaps up at the impact, the whites around his eyes visible. He touches his lip. “You psycho bitch.”
I don’t shake out my knuckles even though the impact hurt. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
Bronx lets out a snort followed by a chuckle.
The volume of noise from the people inside the suite lowers. Damn, I forgot how there’s always an audience everywhere these guys go.
Riot straightens. “You might have gotten your claws into Bronx. He’s always been a big softie. But I’m not as forgiving. And I’m not going to let you fuck up L.A. Riot. Stick around, and you’ll wish you never laid eyes on any of us.”
“I already wish I never laid eyes on you.” Head held high, I walk into the suite like I own the whole damn world while my insides are tumbling like butterflies.
Welcome to hell, kid.