Chapter 18 #2
“We’re kind of still sorting that mess out,” she offered.
Noodles held up his hands and backed away. “She’s the one the song’s about, isn’t she? ‘Insanity’? And what about ‘Hunting Waterfalls’? That one about her, too? She’s become your fucking muse?”
“I’m standing right here,” she reminded him.
Ash gave a sharp jerk of his chin.
The one who seemed to want to bash her head in finally descended the air stairs and joined Ash’s friends.
Bash’s fingers curled, tightening into an aggressive display. “At least your songwriting hasn’t suffered, fucktard.”
She stepped to the side, worried about how things seemed to be escalating out of control.
“Shame you were thinking with your dick instead of your head.” Bash shoved Ash. “What the fuck were you thinking, letting her trick you like that?” Another shove, and Ash was forced back a step.
Inserting herself between Ash and his friend didn’t seem like the best idea, but doing nothing felt wrong, too. His other bandmates—Noodles, Bent, and Spike—stepped back.
“What the fuck?” The color of Bash’s face matched the same purple hue of Ash’s skin. “She got you smoking? Drinking? You shooting up again?”
Ash stumbled back. Storm clouds brewed in his expression, but he didn’t defend himself against Bash although his fingers curled into fists. Then, they relaxed as he rubbed them against his jeans.
“Stop,” he said. The single word reverberated in the hostile air, ringing like a bell and forcing Bash to silence. “You will not talk about my wife that way.”
Again, the inflection he placed on that singular word had the fine hairs on her nape lifting.
Bash pointed. “No fucking way is that starstruck groupie legit. Tell me you were stoned, high, or drunk as a skunk when you signed on that dotted line. Because no way would you do that. She’s nothing more than a cheap fuck. A mistake—”
Her head whipped at that comment, stunned he would say such a thing.
A throaty growl ripped from Ash’s throat. “Fuck you.”
“It’s all over the papers.”
Bash launched himself at Ash. The punch to Ash’s face knocked him to the ground. Skye tried to run to Ash’s side, but Noodles grabbed her and lifted her off her feet. She twisted, clawing at the tattooed arms of the man holding her.
“Goddamn it, woman,” Noodles said. He dragged her back toward the plane and called out to Bent, “Help me out.”
Bent cursed, “This is a fucking shitstorm. No groupies on the plane. That’s the rule.”
Noodles breathed down her neck as he dragged her back.
“Let me go!” she cried out.
Bash and Ash pummeled one another while Ash’s bodyguard, Sam, made no move to intervene.
This was definitely not what Ash had been expecting, and it was time someone brought order to this mess.
She gritted her teeth, changing tactics. “Put me down, or I’ll press charges. And, trust me, you don’t want to mess with me.” And she didn’t care what Forest would say about keeping a low profile. She’d take these guys to the cleaners.
Noodles was smarter than he looked, or maybe there was just enough crazy in her voice to make him worry. He released her and took a step back, lifting his hands up and out. Even the imposing Bent didn’t move as she rushed to the fighting men.
Her life wasn’t in danger, but Bash was beating the crap out of Ash.
There was only one choice.
She jumped Bash, applying pressure to a nerve bundle in Bash’s neck. Two seconds later, he was out cold.
Ash looked at her, his mouth gaping. “What did you do?”
She rolled Bash into a recovery position and aligned his airway. “Don’t worry; he’ll come around in a minute.”
Sam, who hadn’t moved while the men were fighting, rushed forward. She felt more than saw the large man barreling toward her and braced for impact.
Ash stepped between her and Sam, stopping his advance. “Skye’s a doctor.”
“She knocked him out!” Sam exclaimed.
Sure enough, Bash coughed with the urge to breathe. She lightly placed her fingers over his neck, feeling for his pulse. When his eyes popped open, she gave him one of her biggest smiles.
He blinked, dazed, as circulation returned to his brain.
She spoke slowly, making certain he understood every word, “I’m going to let you get up now, but if you even think of touching Ash, you and I are going to have another talk.”
Bash started to move, but she pressed on his sternum, rubbing her knuckles against his chest. He gasped at the pain of sternal pressure, something she used in her job to determine the responsiveness of comatose patients.
She had his full attention now. “Do we understand each other?”
Bash coughed. “What the fuck did you do?”
“You’re going to be a bit unsteady for the next couple of minutes. I suggest you take it easy. Don’t be surprised if you need help walking.”
She made a quick assessment of Ash’s injuries, but other than a bloody nose, she didn’t see any major damage. “You could pinch your nose,” she said to Ash. “You know, to stop the bleeding?”
His gorgeous eyes regarded her with a mix of emotions—desire, affection, relief, plus something stronger that she wasn’t willing to admit. He dutifully pinched the bridge of his nose to stem the flow of blood.
She needed to leave and let Ash deal with his band. The only problem was, she couldn’t trust him not to chase her down.
She pointed an accusing finger at Ash’s bodyguard, Sam. “Isn’t it your job to protect them?”
“From fans, the press, and you, but not from each other. If they want to go at it like dogs, I’m paid not to intervene.” He waved a hand. “And, here I thought, I was the only one who knew that trick. You’ve got my respect, Doc.”
She ignored Sam and turned to Ash. “What does he mean, paid not to intervene?”
Ash extended a hand to Bash, who grudgingly accepted the help to stand.
Bash wobbled and fell against Ash but answered her question, “We get to beat each other up as much as we want. That’s what it means.” He gathered his balance. “Shit, what the fuck was that? Some juju move?”
“Its jujitsu,” she said. “I thought you were going to kill him.”
Bash put his hand to the back of his neck. “Just wanted to kick his ass. He went back on a promise.”
Ash clapped Bash on the shoulder. “I’ve been sober the whole time.”
“Then, how the fuck did you accidentally get married?”
Clutching at her chest, she took a step back. How indeed?
Ash’s bandmates faced her down as a unit.
How was she going to defuse this tension?
Thomas Tuttle, with his stiff suit, finally found his way to the men of Angel Fire. “You certainly know how to create a shitstorm, Blaze,” Tuttle said to Ash.
Ash’s jaw clenched, and his lips thinned. He tugged her to his side, a place he seemed to like her best.
“There are implications we need to consider.” Tuttle’s cold, hard eyes swept down her body, his lips twisting as he took in her baggy attire.
His dismissive appraisal had her feeling like yesterday’s trash. She hadn’t endured this much scorn in a very long time. She hadn’t liked it then, and she sure as hell didn’t like it now. Tuttle could shove his implications and that fancy suit up his ass.
“I’m not something that needs to be taken care of,” she said.
With a step to the side, she considered taking Tuttle out, but Ash pulled her back under his protective embrace.
“What are you suggesting?” Ash demanded.
Tuttle raised his hands in a gesture meant to soothe. “We must carefully evaluate what needs to happen next.” No threat came from those hands, but his deep-set eyes latched on to her, ready to take her down—or at least pry her away from his star.
Only she didn’t back down from the threat of men like him.
Not anymore.
“Like what?” Ash shifted his stance, tucking her behind him. He’d done the same thing with Spencer, shielding her from what he perceived to be a threat.
Tuttle continued his rasping words, “We’ll discuss this on the plane. You’ve missed rehearsals, and we need to prep for this weekend’s concert. I have an idea about what to do with…her.”
His dismissive wave had her curling her fingers into the muscles of Ash’s arm, digging in with her desire to rake Tuttle’s eyes out of his sockets.
“We’re not doing anything with Skye.” Ash lowered his voice, making his wishes clear. “She’s not a problem that needs handling.”
Although Ash echoed her thoughts, the entire situation threatened to spiral out of hand if she didn’t take charge.
Skye pressed her palm to Ash’s shoulder and whispered, “Ash, maybe we should talk.”
Ash pulled her some distance away, clutching her hand with a desperate hunger. “Don’t listen to him. We might have rushed into this, but that’s no reason to rush out of it.”
“Listen, let’s just cool it for a few days. Go talk to your bandmates and smooth things over. I don’t think I should go with you.” Her gaze darted back to the private terminal. She could catch a flight to Roanoke, retrieve her things from Bob’s cabin, and still make it back to work on time.
He gave her a gentle shake. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel this.”
The certainty in his gaze had her heart lurching.
Something existed all right—a nuclear explosive detonation.
She wanted more. Every moment with Ash had brought a profound sense of belonging. She didn’t want to lose that feeling, except there was no way for it to last.
Her gaze cut to the plane and all the promises it held. If she set foot on that thing, entered his world, she’d lose a part of herself.
“We made a horrible mistake.” She rested her hand on his arm. “This whole situation is making me uncomfortable. And I still need to get my stuff from the cabin. I think the best thing is a time-out. We can figure everything out later.”
With Forest’s help, she would fix this mess. Or Tuttle would. That man looked like he was used to fixing Angel Fire’s messes. In the long run, it would be better to gain some perspective. Obviously, she couldn’t trust herself to make rational decisions when Ash was around.
A swipe of the pen had landed them in this mess, and their scrawled signatures would deliver them from it.