Chapter 3
ANTI
What a pompous little shit.
I storm after Lex into the parking lot. I’ve had enough of his crap.
After all the stress we as a band have gone through lately, he decides now is the time to demand more, acting like he needs to prove something.
I’m sick of it. He thinks just because he’s our manager that he is absolved of his fucked up attitude and every fucked up thing he's done.
Well, I have a thing or two to say about that.
God, I just want to throttle him.
Choke him until his stupidly long orange lashes flutter.
His black Creepers stomp over the asphalt, short legs carrying him swiftly away. Every other time, I let him go. I never follow him when he runs. Not today.
It’s almost comical—he always wears those preppy goth shoes even though they barely add any height. He’s still short.
Kind of stocky, too.
He could take a beating.
Heat licks up my spine, a familiar flutter in my belly as I get closer. From day one, I’ve despised him. From the first moment I officially met him, we were fated to be at odds with each other. No longer just a mistake I couldn’t forget, but a tangible person…our keyboardist’s cousin of all people.
After everything he did? The lies?
Not to mention his condescending, better-than-you attitude that's always grated against my skin like asphalt. But what I haven’t been able to grapple with is why he’s picked me as a target now.
Lex, with his attitude. Lex, with his pretty mouth and amber eyes—like every inch of him was forged in fire.
Fuck him.
Fuck how he treats us after everything I've kept under wraps for him. No one would want him around if they knew. Not even Michael—and he’s a pacifist for fuck’s sake.
“Oh, don’t run away now. I’m just getting started,” I growl, pushing at his back.
For a small guy, he’s unexpectedly sturdy, not moving an inch. That aggravates me, so I shove him again, harder. He crashes into his ridiculous purple Prius. “I would stop doing that if I were you,” he warns.
I hate his voice. It’s so arrogant, heady, and soft. Like velvet. “Or what? You going to insult me again? Tell me I’m a moron again?”
Turning to face me, his usually pale skin is pink with a flush.
The endless freckles over his nose and cheeks stand out even more.
Unease swirls low in my abdomen as he steps into my space, cranes his neck to look up at me, and cracks his knuckles.
“Or I can drop your entire band and tell everyone what unprofessional assholes you are to work with.”
He’s bluffing.
Lex loves controlling us, bossing us around, keeping us at his mercy.
There’s no way in hell he’d give up his sadistic daily fix just because I’m finally calling him out.
I don’t know why he agreed to be our manager in the first place.
He doesn’t even like metal. With our history, he should've run in the opposite direction, but maybe he likes proving he can handle us.
The guy is determined, I'll give him that.
Shaking my head, I take a step back. The lavender scent wafting off of him is making me nauseous. Usually, I don’t mind it. Right now, it only adds to my rage. Fuck him for smelling good.
It’s like the stuff grows directly out of his pores.
“Nah. It gets you fucking hard making us suffer.” I grin, flashing teeth. “You love torturing us too much to quit.”
His eyes darken, nostrils flaring as he flicks those flaming orbs over me. The flush on his cheeks turns crimson. “Like I said. Unprofessional.”
“Cut the crap, man,” I say, and throw up my hands. “What is your fucking deal? What did I ever do to you?”
“Let’s see, shall we?” Pretending to think, he holds up his hand and ticks his fingers down. “You are abrasive. Aloof. A slacker. Oh, and your hair is atrocious.”
I blink, shocked and really fucking mad. “Fuck you.” I shove him for a third time. He glances down where I touched him and brushes his chest.
Like I’m filthy.
Like I’m covered in disease.
Like being touched by me is the most disgusting thing he’s ever had happen.
“Did I mention you never know when to take a hint? I finished talking back there,” he points, “and you followed me. Stalker much?”
Well, there goes my self-control.
I surge forward, grab him by his perfect neck, and slam him into his car.
His back hits the purple frame with a loud thud.
All of my life, I’ve fought back this hair-trigger.
Watching my dad blow his fuse on my ma made it that much harder.
I used to retaliate just like he did—fought fire with fire.
But, with the help of my band and Michael, I’ve reeled it in.
I’ve been successful at it, too. I let shit go now.
I don’t put myself in positions that I know will result in violence.
Hurting someone usually eats at me. Any other time, I’d be halfway into a panic attack. But right now, it’s like all that progress has drained away. I need my hands on this dude because I need him to know I won’t just lie down and take it.
As much as I don’t want to be labeled as the hair-trigger, wrecking ball anymore, sometimes I can’t fight the learned behavior. I can’t tell myself to stop. If it were anyone else, I probably could. I would take that breath and walk away.
But this…little fucker…just pushes all my buttons. Every single one of them. He always has.
I lean down, nose to nose, and his eyes widen slightly.
And calling me a stalker? After the shit he's pulled? Absolutely not.
“Say that shit again. I dare you.”
He squirms in my grip, but doesn’t fight me. Those plump lips part as he inhales sharply.
“Not so tough now, are ya, princess?” I let him go before I really snap and hurt the dude. He rubs his neck, pupils blown with a strange look on his face.
I don’t like it one bit.
His callus-free fingers keep gently massaging the area, almost like he’s trying to memorize the feel of my hand there.
Replaced with something like confusion, the heat fades from his features.
The urge to smirk is strong. Finally, he’s gotten some sense knocked into him.
I mean, what the hell did he think was going to happen pulling a stunt like that?
That I’d just take it? Let him speak to my family like that?
I can handle Lex. I have for six years. I’ve put up with all his mood swings, his verbal attacks, and everything in between.
But I’m done letting him abuse the people I love just because he's miserable. It’s not like I strangled him.
I taught him a lesson.
“That’s what I fucking thought,” I sneer before giving in and smirking.
Just when I think I’ve won, that I’ve shown him I’m not to be fucked with, Lex goes and shocks the ever-loving shit out of me. In the blink of an eye, he fists the collar of my jacket, tugs me down, and crushes his lips into mine.
For two whole seconds, I’m as still as a statue.
What the hell is he doing?
I should push him away. I should flip out that he's doing this. But no. My body takes the fucking bait. Reciprocates.
My heart pounds, ready to burst as a swarm of long-forgotten emotion rushes to the surface. His kiss is hostile, wild, familiar, enticing—just as good as back then.
His teeth snag my bottom lip, piercing the thin flesh.
His scent floods my nose, acting as some twisted aphrodisiac.
When his tongue teases my piercing, I short-circuit entirely.
Blood rushes to my cock, lavender perfume invades my senses, and I grab his hips.
Thrown off, flustered, and hot, when he pulls back, my damn lips chase him. I fucking chase the little asshole.
My eyes are closed, lips puckered. I'm dazed and confused for a few seconds before I can shake off the sensation. Reality washes over me like ice water, and the adrenaline pumping through me vanishes. I snap open my eyes just as he hikes his fist and punches me right in the throat.
“Call me that again and I’ll fucking kill you.”
I wheeze, holding my trachea and dropping to my knees. The bastard gets in his car, shakes out his hand, and drives away. I can’t catch my breath no matter how hard I try. Forcing a swallow, I suck in air through my nose and massage my throat.
It’s been a long time since anyone caught me off guard like that. It has been even longer since he has done so. Like some sexy little demon, he tricked me with his puffy lips and silken tongue, seduced me into…
Oh, forget it. Lex is a dick. Through and through.
It doesn’t matter how absolutely edible his kisses are or how good he feels against me.
Glancing up, I catch the bumper of his car before he hits the edge of the curb, peeling out into the street. He’s running, and I can’t say I blame him. We don’t kiss. That’s not us anymore.
Slumped on my knees, I keep rubbing my sore throat, flipping through the past six years to see where the hell I missed something.
I was ready to kick his ass, and he…kissed me. Swiping my tongue over my bottom lip, I taste the copper that coats the muscle and feel the slight cut from his teeth.
I don’t think he meant to do that. Any of that. But if he did, then I have questions. If he did, I need to re-evaluate every interaction we’ve ever had. What prompted him to relive the past? Go back there.
I'd like to think it was behind us, long forgotten on his end. Obviously not with how he treats my friends and me by extension. Maybe he’s never gotten over it, and that’s why he’s such a dickhead all the time.
I haven't forgotten either.
I don’t forget, and once something has my attention, I fixate. It takes me a long time to move on. Up until about three minutes ago, I thought I did. I thought I had absolutely moved on from the crazy infatuation I felt immediately upon meeting him.
It’s entirely possible I haven’t.
Things are complicated enough already. I can’t entertain this funny feeling in my stomach or my still very confused dick. Too much is going on. Like my best friend and his fucked up brother. Phoenix and Eli. We just got signed, too.
Now this? Lex? I can’t go there.
I push myself off the ground, tonguing my split lip and staring off into the distance.
Whatever his intentions are, I’m not going to forgive and forget.
I swore to myself all those years ago that it was divine fucking intervention.
Some ethereal spirit spared me from prison and handed me someone else instead.
I wish whoever was pulling the strings on my marionette would at least slap warning labels on these men before I get invested.
I’m fed up with finding out the hard way.
Unavailable.
Straight.
Liar.
Not for you.
I blow out a breath, drop my eyes to my boots, and head back inside.
As usual, I’m one of the last to leave the studio.
Peeking up from my digital audio workstation, I see Michael fidgeting with his hat.
He rotates the same three, and since I’m a fixator, I know this one is his date hat.
Black bill and mesh with crisp white panels.
He’s always been a bit of a manwhore, but lately, that hat has been a permanent fixture in his wardrobe.
It’s like he’s trying to beat a secret record.
I have to stop noticing this stuff. It does me no good to acknowledge it.
“Got a hot date?” I say anyway, keeping my eyes on my DAW. Why do I always have to say something? Inside thoughts, Devon.
“It’s creepy how you always know.”
“You end up telling me regardless.”
He chuckles, but it’s fake. Strained. It’s been that way for fucking months. “Yeah. Well. This one might be the one.”
I barely refrain from rolling my eyes. “In order to find the one, you have to spend more time with these women. Stuffing your cock in someone doesn’t give you all the answers.” Seriously. If it did, the guy would already be married.
The sensation of being watched prompts me to glance over my shoulder. He’s glaring at me. “You’re in a mood,” he murmurs.
“Wonder why,” I blurt, and immediately regret it when his face twists even further. It’s like I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.
“Are you ever going to let it go?” he says hotly, tossing his hat onto the old couch. “I was fucking drunk, Devon.” I know I’ve hit a nerve. Michael rarely raises his voice. Most of the time, he will cut you with a stare instead of voicing how he really feels.
Regardless of how desperate I am for his reactions, there’s no point in having this argument. I read too much into it, and he insists he has no memory of the night. Even hinting at what happened sends him into an unnatural rage.
Well, I remember everything.
It’s my curse.
And now I have two very distinct, separate events preying on my mind, and I can’t talk to anyone about it. Dropping my head into my hands, I scratch at my scalp and try to let it go. To forget. I’m being pulled in two directions. What I want to say and what I shouldn’t.
“It was months ago. Months!” He steps closer, visibly shaking in my peripheral vision. “I get that it confused you, but I apologized. I got sick from it, man. Just let it go.”
I swivel my chair to face him, searching his deep blue eyes.
Michael has always been beautiful to me, ever since I first met him back in college.
The thick blond fringe that hangs into his eyes and buzzed sides, the tight muscles across his chest, and everything else get him attention everywhere he goes.
But he’s the man with the firm hetero label slapped on his forehead.
Unavailable and straight.
One drunken kiss in Germany means nothing. And finding the first girl in sight and going to her hotel afterward also means nothing.
“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it too. “I won’t bring it up anymore.”
“You’ve said that before. Whatever this fucked up crush is has to end.
I’ll never want you that way. You’re my best friend in the entire world, but I can’t want you that way.
” He growls a curse under his breath, snatches up his hat, and puts it on backward.
“Don’t bring it up again, Dev, or we’re done. ”
My heart seizes. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sor—.”
“I’ll see you at the meeting.”