Plowed Page 3

  “Your boyfriend’s a lucky guy,” he murmured, his half-hooded gaze yanking off every stitch of still-sticky clothing covering her overly sensitized body. Uttering a response was useless, since she’d pretty much been rendered mute, left to silently mull the wicked thoughts looping through her mind as she admired that perfect ass vacate the room.

  Boyfriend? What boyfriend?

  “OKAY GUYS, WE’RE SWITCHING up the public relations team for the rest of the tour.” Merrick walked into the dimly lit green room at the arena and folded his arms. “Since Finn can’t keep his dick in his pants, we need a new junior publicist on the road with us.”

  “Hey, how is this my fault? I happen to think she was real good at her job.”

  “Yeah, but it didn’t include blowing you when she was supposed to be handling logistics for press conferences. Remember what happened with the sound system the first time you plugged her?” Cooper snickered into his beer, the mere sound making Daxton’s shoulders tense. His fists clenched, primed to land a satisfying blow to the jaw, but pummeling Cooper now would only cause more headaches later.

  “Ah, yeah.” Finn stretched his legs out on the plush rust colored sofa. “Damn straight, I do.”

  “Yeah, somebody didn’t flip off her mike.” Daxton rolled his eyes. “Can we at least get two this time? One as a backup, you know, just in case?”

  Finn winked at him. “Daxy knows the deal. At least one will fall prey to my boyish good looks and charm.”

  “Let’s just say I think we should hedge our bets.”

  Merrick nodded. “I’m meeting with Jake Prescott from the record label tomorrow to finalize the details. The plan is to keep the senior publicity team, led by Asya, on the ground in Houston and take a junior rep on the road, who can handle the day to day bullshit. It’ll be good. We’ll still have Kat with us to handle all the social media.”

  “Oohh, I like the idea of a newbie. That’ll be fun. They’re always so star struck. It’s like you’re God, you know?” Finn smirked.

  Liam let out a loud yawn. “I don’t know. Lacie calls me God all the time. I don’t need to be banging publicists to feed my ego.”

  “Whatever, dude. You’re one half of a practically married couple on tour with some of the hottest chicks on the planet itching for a chance to get in your pants. Lacie’s cool as shit, but you’re wasting your youth. I mean, let’s face it, you’re not really that talented. Once the ladies find that out…” Finn snickered and punched Liam in the shoulder. “…you’ll have missed your shot.”

  “Leave the guy alone. It’s cute he wants to stay faithful to his high school sweetheart. Makes him more irresistible.” Merrick popped the cap off his beer bottle.

  Cooper’s blue-eyed gaze was unwavering, singularly focused on Daxton. Unspoken words hung between them in the form of accusations and harsh expletives, ones that would create a world of chaos if they ever tumbled forth. “Don’t listen to those idiots. You’re a lucky guy, Liam.”

  “Thanks, Coop. I know it.” Liam took a large gulp of water. “Maybe someday you guys’ll find the right ones, too. Until then, plug away. Just keep the presents wrapped, you know what I’m saying?”

  Daxton clenched the bottle of scotch, envisioning Cooper’s neck in his firm grasp. Rage bubbled beneath the surface, threatening to erupt through his pores until Cooper finally averted his eyes, studying his beer before taking a long swig. This bullshit façade…how much longer could Daxton bury his anger and disgust? Shielding it from the rest of the guys…the physical anguish of maintaining civility when what he really wanted to do was smash Cooper’s fucking head into a cinderblock wall. Christ, an explosion was imminent, and he pitied anyone whose ass was close enough to get singed by the flames.

  A knock sounded and Casie appeared in the doorway, iPad in hand, Bluetooth headset firmly in place. “You’re on in five, guys. Let’s move.”

  Fucking Cooper. So many unresolved and pent-up emotions coursed through Daxton’s veins. As if he didn’t have enough of his own crap anchoring him, now he had to deal with that whole mess.

  He watched the guys shuffle out of the room, happy, settled, free from demons, able to enjoy the success they’d created together. But Daxton’s memory was polluted with angst, resentment, and remorse, the effects of which could never be eradicated, no matter how much sex, booze, or any other mind-altering substance he could consume. This success, this life, was more like a nightmare on continuous loop, one where he was the one perpetually hunted with no refuge.

  One person had seen what lurked beneath the layers - everything people expected from him, but nothing they really knew. Sara had witnessed what stewed in his soul and shredded his heart because he’d let her in for the briefest of moments during that press conference. He’d never exposed that part of himself to anyone. It was strangely arousing, as fucked up as that was to admit. But he’d done it because he sensed she’d understand, unlike everyone else in his life. Call it intuition, instinct, whatever the hell. It rarely failed him.

  JESUS, IF ELI’S TONGUE PLUNGED any further down her throat, it’d probably hit her intestines. Except Sara really wasn’t in the mood to be swallowed whole. Not hot. Not seductive. Definitely not tonight, when she could think of little other than Daxton’s penetrating eyes, so deep and dark, his low, husky voice, and those powerful fingers strumming a haunting melody for a stadium full of screaming fans entranced by his broodiness. Oh yeah, and the offer she’d received from the big boss, Jake Prescott.

  Eager hands lifted the hem of her Green Lantern t-shirt, one of the first cool things she’d actually bought herself to replace the bland ones that had populated the otherwise stuffy wardrobe she’d carted from her home in Grand Falls, Minnesota. They were clothes for a different girl…from a very different time.

  Cold fingertips traveled over her skin, persistent and demanding. Goose bumps popped up along her arms and they were not the ones of a delicious variety. This particular type warned of impending nausea, a sensation that did not evoke anything remotely resembling arousal.

  Daxton, on the other hand, had fingers that could surely sizzle anything they grazed. But he was all wrong for her. If what she’d seen behind his gaze at the press conference was real, she’d fall right into his downward spiral because two lost souls couldn’t possibly—

  Boom. And there was reason number one why she couldn’t take Jake up on his offer. A newbie getting the coveted chance to go on tour with Jimmy Sixx? An opportunity to learn the ropes and the business from the inside? Nothing less than a dream. But to be around rocker bad boy, Daxton Cole, pretty much twenty-four seven, a guy who had become a permanent fixture on her mind since her body had been plastered over his only hours earlier? It was a freaking disaster in the making. And if that weren’t enough, toss in the part about her slightly territorial boyfriend Eli being picked to manage the opening band, Smeared Lipstick, on the same tour. Devastation of epic proportions.

  She pulled away, breathless. “Stop.”

  “What’s going on with you? You’ve been acting weird ever since we left the arena.”

  Her eyes scoured every inch of the carpet. Needs a good vacuuming. “I’m fine. Just tired. It was a long day.”

  “I thought we were celebrating tonight.” He inched closer, nuzzling her neck, making the little hairs stand on end. “You’re not in the mood now?”

  God, what an understatement. How could her feelings have shifted so abruptly? Not that she’d been ready to race down the aisle, but…Oh hell, she must be really sleep deprived. That had to be it. There was no other excuse for this ridiculous infatuation. She hadn’t even known who Daxton was before this afternoon. “I just…I don’t really feel…well.” Not exactly a lie, since her gag reflex kicked in once Eli’s abnormally long, serpent-like tongue collided with the back of her throat.

  His fingertips drummed on the coffee table, the sound reverberating between her ears. When had it become so irritating? And that knee, could he keep it from bouncing for a mere five
seconds?

  “You just need to relax.” His eyes glittered. “I can help with that. You look so hot right now. Is it so wrong to want…”

  Blah, blah, blah. The words kept flowing, but she only saw his lips flapping. Good Lord, what was happening to her? All of a sudden, her feelings for Eli, albeit lukewarm, curdled like expired milk because her otherwise-lucid mind couldn’t manage to rid itself from the captivating hold of one Daxton Cole, a rock star with a questionable past. She’d finally tapped those six little letters onto her iPhone keyboard and done some recon. Google rewarded her with a goldmine of information, as well as confirmation that said rocker was rowing a boatload of issues through hostile waters. Truth, fiction, nobody knew for sure, but everyone had judged. Hence, the problem with hearsay, something she knew all too well.

  “You’re tense. So tight. I can feel it.” Eli’s hands kneaded her shoulders, no doubt looking for any opportunity to slide under her shirt. “Wanna smoke? I got some killer weed from this guy.“

  “What! When did you start smoking?” A chill shimmied down Sara’s spine, heart thrumming against her ribcage. Was she really that oblivious? How could she have missed his tell? Or maybe that was just the problem with burying your head in the sand for too long. After a while, you just blissfully suffocate in your own ignorance.

  “That’s very cute.” He pulled out a dime bag and some rolling papers. “Just wait. A few pulls of this and all that tension will disappear. It’s like magic. And the sex will be awesome.”

  She wrung her hands together. “Eli, please, I’m just not—”

  “Not what? I don’t recall you complaining when I had you coming six ways to Sunday the other night.”

  Yeah, about that… Whatever, it’d be her little secret.

  He sprinkled out the contents remaining in the bag, rolled, and sealed it. Sara’s stomach flipped as she watched him. Panic rose in her throat, her body already feeling the effects of what her mind buried long ago. Stop him! Don’t let him do it! Eli grabbed a lighter and with a flick of his thumb, he inhaled deeply as the end ignited.

  The pungent odor assaulted her nostrils, inciting her senses, until the memories plaguing her subconscious sprung to life. How quickly the fear had returned, along with the knowledge that she could run until her legs could no longer carry her. But in the end, evil never would perish. The text she’d received was proof positive of that.

  DAXTON HAD BEEN STRUMMING THE strings of his guitar for hours on end, but words refused to come. Nothing fit, nothing was right. Not in his heart or head, not since the night Sara Russell had barreled into his already-complicated-enough life with her jackass boyfriend in tow. It had been a couple of days since the last show in Houston. The tour was on a brief hiatus, and her absence only threw his mind into overdrive. A much needed break from the craziness of the tour had turned out to be the exact opposite of relaxing, despite the blowjobs, three-ways, and excess of booze filling his days. If anything, it all amplified the void, knowing what he craved was just beyond reach. And he needed to eradicate that craving, since it was a guaranteed dead-end. He had so little to offer; after years of being stripped of all self-worth by his father, he never felt like he truly belonged, like he’d ever really mattered, especially in comparison to Jase. Hell, if his own mother could just pick up and—

  A loud knock sent him jumping into the air. That always seemed to happen when he was deep in the abyss of his troubled thoughts. He looked up to see Merrick lounging in the doorway of the studio.

  “You scared the shit out of me. What the hell is up, Cue Ball?”

  “That’s a new one. Always quick with the nicknames. Too bad you can’t come up with lyrics at that speed.” Merrick smirked and flopped into a chair. “I figured I’d find you here. Trying to stay sober long enough to make that solo album you keep hinting about? Kudos, man.”

  “Staying sober isn’t the problem. You know I do my best writing after I’ve knocked back a few.”

  “Yeah, a few dozen.”

  “What can I say? I have a lot of angst.”

  “I know you give people a lot of angst. Like yours truly. You’re lucky I haven’t drop-kicked your ass after all these years.”

  Daxton slid his guitar into its case and stood, stretching his arms overhead. “I give as good as I get.”

  “I’ll take your word on that one. So, let’s talk about the next album. The label is on my ass non-stop for release dates.”

  “I thought we could at least finish the tour before committing to anything.”

  “Dax, you’re the front man for this band. The guys look to you for leadership. I know things have been tough, but you need to make a call. You’re dragging your feet, and it’s impacting a hell of a lot of people.”

  Why couldn’t a long gulp of water just wash away all the anger that plagued him? It satiated his thirst, but that was all. It was too innocuous, too pure to battle so much darkness, unlike his pals Jack, Jim, and Johnny. They made everything brighter, albeit temporarily. But he couldn’t expect Merrick to understand. Nobody did. And damn, it was hard to find his way through the murk when he’d never been able to see the light.

  Merrick cocked an eyebrow. “And let’s face it, you’re too much of a moody bitch to find another manager who’d be able to stand you for longer than a day. If you keep dicking around, you’ll be washed up at the age of twenty-four. Even best friends have limits.”

  “I know you’d never let that happen, Q-Bert. We’ve been through too much together.”

  “Yeah…” Gone was the sarcastic tone, the playful expression now eclipsed by something much more serious, deep…puzzling? Unsettling was a definite candidate. Somehow, the spirited mood had taken a nosedive into hair-raising. It was an odd intensity; one he’d never witnessed before from Merrick, and never cared to again.

  Merrick opened his mouth after a drawn-out moment of borderline uncomfortable silence, but still no words emerged.

  Daxton furrowed his brow. “Dude, did you just black out or something? Looks like you’re in a trance. What gives?”

  Merrick’s signature ringtone blared from his pocket. He raked a hand through his hair, averting his eyes. “Quinn.”

  After guzzling the rest of the water, Daxton picked up his guitar. The stress and pressure of this life – Jesus, it slammed everyone into the ground.

  “No fucking way. How?”

  The strings vibrated against his fingers, his mind conjuring up a certain sultry green-eyed gaze. Forget everything he’d never be; he knew what he’d be capable of being if Sara gave him a chance. He plucked the chords, half-fantasizing about Sara’s lush breasts in his face. A replay of that might bust him out of his writing funk. They’d been so close to his mouth, beckoning him, begging for a quick nip.

  “Jesus Christ, do you remember that chick you banged before the show the other night? The backup singer for Smeared Lipstick? Brandi?” Merrick clicked off his phone, back in action. Whatever had commanded him only moments earlier had dissipated. Good thing, since Daxton had no idea how to relate to grim and sinister Merrick. He much preferred the lewd and obnoxious persona.

  Brandi. That was her name. “I didn’t bang her, but yeah, vaguely. I remember some of the choice words she used after I kicked her out of my dressing room.”

  “What do you mean, you didn’t bang her?” A look of shock flitted across Merrick’s face.

  “I mean we didn’t fuck, moron. But the more pressing question is, why do you care?”

  Merrick let out a snort. “As if I need to live vicariously through you, dickhead. That was Casie. There was some kind of accident. The girl wrapped her car around a tree.”

  “Holy shit, are you serious? Is she going to be okay?”

  “Casie said her hip’s busted up and her leg’s broken in about a billion places. Messed up, right?”

  “Damn.” He slid the guitar pick between his fingers. “Maybe I should have banged her after all. Kinda like a last hurrah since it seems like she’ll be out of commi
ssion for a while.”

  IT WAS HARD NOT TO be star struck as she literally brushed elbows with some of the top names in music. Studio 713 in Houston was a hotbed for A-list recording artists. Sara stole a quick look at her watch. Ten minutes to spare. Casie’s instructions had been very clear: Noon meeting with Merrick Quinn, Studio A. There was no way she’d risk blowing another assignment, especially when the need to get the hell out of dodge was suddenly immediate and necessary.

  Daxton Cole’s best friend and manager had the reputation for being a certifiable prick, but his hands were tied. The record label mandated that the bad boy rocker either clean up his act or hire someone to magically erase the seemingly endless indiscretions. A shiver slithered down her spine at the irony. Play with fire, it was almost a guarantee you’d get burned. That text was all the proof she’d needed. It had been so out of the blue, appearing on her phone just after she’d accepted Jake’s offer to join the tour. Someone knew…but who?

  You’ll never outrun the truth, Sara. And you’ll pay for your sins.

  Thinking she’d be able to escape the past…how ridiculous. The truth would always surface. But she needed this job, so she’d do anything to convince them otherwise.

  Sara wandered the halls, searching for Studio A, nibbling her already bitten down fingernails. Thankfully, this place was way smaller than the City Center Arena, so she might even arrive earlier than planned. Wouldn’t that be miraculous? Punctuality had never been her forte. She frowned at her reflection in a wall of mirrored plaques. All the makeup and trendy clothes in Texas could never disguise the ugliness that lurked in her soul. On the outside, her look was a perfect fit for this lifestyle, but underneath it all, fear, remorse, and regret blurred the designer labels. A quick yank of her skirt took it from obscene to borderline inappropriate, but the shirt was too tight to adjust. The rumbling in her belly became more persistent, though food was the last thing on Sara’s mind. How much longer could she hide behind this new image? How many more lies would she have to tell before someone saw through her? A little bit of reconnaissance would easily reveal information her parents had been so intent to bury.