Bang (Hard Rock Harlots Book 5) Page 7

What the fuck?

  The purple-masked man in the corner, who I hadn’t seen until this moment, ambles over to the bed and tosses a business card at me. Then he leaves too.

  Aftercare

  Stunned speechless, I pick up the card. It’s plain, off-white. Heavy stock. Dark red ink. The only thing written on it is a phone number with a New York area code.

  I sit up and lower my feet to the carpet. Miles stirs behind me. “You all right, Jillian?”

  The bed jiggles up and down like a boat at the mercy of an angry ocean. Definitely feels like seasickness in my gut, but it’s not because the men are jostling me.

  I’m freezing. I hunch over, wrapping arms around my knees to stave off the chill. A hand touches my back, and I jump.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I say over my shoulder. “I gotta go.”

  “You should stay with Miles for a few minutes,” Red says. “You need some aftercare, and so does he. I’ll tend to him shortly. In the meantime, I’ll leave you two alone.”

  Thank you, Master. I bite off my scathing reply. I fucking hate the way Red acts like he knows what’s best for me. And did he seriously just blow off his partner after everything he put Miles through? What a prickly little cunt.

  I stab him with eye daggers.

  Red dismounts the bed, stuffs his undone cock into his leather pants, and shakes out his long hair.

  “Thank you for your service,” he says pointedly to me. He slides his fingers up Miles’s hairy leg. “See you in a bit.”

  Miles nods, and Red leaves. A swell of loud, bubbly humanity breaks the silence and then fades when the door shuts behind him.

  I thought coming here would be safe. That within these gold walls, we’d be sheltered from everything and everyone else. That whatever happened would remain sacred among the four of us, if only for an hour or so.

  Nothing went according to plan.

  I’m furious. About Red. About Siren. About the stranger.

  “What the hell was that about?” I point my chin toward the door. “Was Red trying to ‘Dom’ me?” I make air quotes. “Because he can save that shit for someone who wants it.”

  Miles’s brow furrows. “Why are you mad?”

  “I don’t …” like him, “know.”

  “Maybe you had different expectations,” he suggests.

  “Well, you got me there.”

  His face falls. I instantly regret the words and scoot closer to explain.

  “I didn’t mean anything against you. You were wonderful, just as you’ve always been. Red’s a lucky guy.”

  I trace an angry welt down Miles’s chest. My skin puckers at the sight of it. Though, sitting beside him without a stitch of clothing on either of us after he fucked me stupid has little impact on my modesty.

  “But watching him hurt you was tough. Are you okay? I mean really okay?”

  “Are you kidding?” A goofy grin splits his mouth. He looks down at himself. The smile widens as he follows the red marks with his eyes. “Yeah. I’m better than okay. Thanks to you. And him. And her.” He turns his head away.

  Her. Right.

  “Who was she?” I ask. “You know her. She called you by your real name.”

  He shrugs. “I may have seen her around the club.”

  “Yeah, like every single time you come here?”

  He doesn’t reply.

  “Her name?”

  “I can’t say.”

  I cock a brow. “How about the voyeur?” Racing blood thunders against my eardrums.

  “You’d have to speak to Siren about him.”

  “Nobody asked for my permission to bring in a fifth.” I spring off the bed and stomp over to my clothes.

  “You could’ve asked him to go. You could’ve left the scene at any time,” Miles defends, his face clouded with a sprinkle of guilt.

  “That kind of consent is dubious, at best.” I wriggle into my dress. “You don’t just invite a stranger to an intimate sex romp without making sure all parties involved are on board with it.”

  “Okay, you’re right,” he concedes. “She should’ve told you up front that someone might join the scene. But you have to admit. You were on board with it. Just a little.”

  I blow a wisp of hair from my eyes and pause my feverish belt buckling. “No, I let it pass because in the heat of the moment, getting you, Red, and Siren off seemed more pressing. In hindsight, I should’ve bailed. How long before a Jillian Frost sex tape surfaces online? I can see Letty Dillinger’s face now. ‘Wow, Mom, didn’t know you had it in you. Two gay guys, a bossy lesbian, and a mystery man jerking off in the corner? You got room for one more?’”

  Ugh!

  “Number one,” he counters, “cell phones aren’t permitted within the club. They’re confiscated at the door, so he didn’t tape anything. Number two, if you’re gonna be mad, direct your anger at Siren. It was her … bodyguard.”

  Her what? What the hell have I gotten into?

  “She’s so important, she has a bodyguard? Who the fuck is this woman?”

  “Come on, Jillian, the rules are in place for a reason.”

  Rounding on him, I shove a finger in his face. “Rules are made to be broken.”

  “That’s bold, considering you’ve never broken a rule in your life.” He pauses as he watches me bend over for my heels. “I think you’re pissed because she left the way she did.”

  For being so smart, Miles is really fucking dumb. Of course, I’m pissed she left like that.

  I hitch a hand to my hip. “Or maybe it’s because she and your boyfriend shoved you and me into a situation where neither of us could really say no.”

  He snaps backward as if I struck him. “You can always say no.”

  Thoroughly irritated, I sit on the edge of the mattress and jab my feet into their respective shoes. I can’t believe Siren left the purple-masked guy to finish her business for her. No goodbye or even a “fuck you” from her. This evening earns high marks in both the “Worst Life Choices” and “Best Night of My Life” categories.

  I’m so fucking confused.

  I need a cigarette.

  I sigh. “You’re right. I could’ve said no. I could’ve asked the guy to split. I could’ve done a lot of things differently, but it’s over now. I’m out for real this time.”

  Miles grasps my upper arm. “Before you go, tell me you’re all right. I need to know we’re all right.”

  I nail him with a scowl. “We’re fine. I have to be at the airport early tomorrow, and it’s way past my bedtime.” And I desperately need to process shit without my ex worrying over my shoulder about whether he did the right thing by fucking me.

  Truth is, I don’t even care about that part. It’s not like we haven’t fucked before. And it wasn’t that we did it while he was impaled on another guy’s cock either.

  My frustration is all about her.

  How she watched like a raptor spying on a helpless, weak rodent from her perch high in the trees. The hunger flaring in her eyes as she shifted in her seat, flashing me glimpses of her wet pussy while she fingered it to climax.

  She stared at me. Not Miles. Not Red. Me.

  And then she left.

  Another swell of conflicting emotions confuses my endorphin-thick blood. My body can’t decide if it’s high as a kite or about to shut down for thirty hours of sleep. Or both.

  “I’m sorry the session wasn’t what you expected,” Miles says softly.

  I run a hand through my hair. “I assumed tonight’s adventures would be a toe-dip in the pool, not a full-blown belly flop.”

  Miles wraps me in a hug. “You were blindsided. That’s my fault. Again, I’m sorry.”

  Even though his dick hangs out of cut up pants, and he’s dressed like a soldier who survived a bayonet slash to the chest, he’s still my Miles. Still my friend. Maybe my only friend.

  “It’s okay.” I pull away a few inches, then strike quickly with a soft kiss. He watches me through it, more like an observer than a participant. When
our lips part, I pat his cheek. “Thank you.”

  He nods slowly. I head to the door.

  “You’re a good ex-husband,” I say, resting a hand on the knob. “Make sure you get that aftercare Red promised you. I’d hate to have to kick his ass.”

  He laughs. “I will. Check in with me tomorrow?”

  I nod.

  The business card lying on the sheets catches my attention. I go over and pick it up, flip the thick stock over a couple times, and return to the door.

  I fling one last look at Miles. Grinning from the bed, he props himself on his elbows. He organized the entire scene as some kind of “gift” for me. If it hadn’t been so exhilarating, I might’ve have taken the riding crop to him myself, and not in the good way.

  But he meant well. He always means well.

  Miles had the key to the lock on the cage I didn’t know I was trapped in.

  And Siren opened my door to freedom.

  I tuck the card in my handbag.

  Turning the knob, I chuckle bitterly amid the dizzying fuckery accosting my mind. “I owe you one.”

  “Love you, Jillian.”

  I throw up a bird finger. “Fuck you too, Miles.”

  His laughter follows me out into the bustling hall.

  Pick-up Lines

  The following morning, I stagger into Louis Armstrong International Airport, hair unwashed—hell, I’m not even sure I brushed it—and smelling like an ashtray. The place is packed with hungover travelers, most of whom look as ridden-hard-and-put-up-wet as I feel. Some have yet to come down from the high of Mardi Gras last night.

  A guy wearing a T-shirt whose sleeves appear to have been forcibly removed at knifepoint staggers up to me. The twelve pounds of beads swinging around his neck narrowly miss me as he leans close and says, “Show me your tits, and I’ll give you one.”

  The alcohol on his breath singes my nose hairs. He whips off a strand of cheap green beads and dangles it in front of my face.

  Fueled by a raging case of you-picked-the-wrong-bitch-to-fuck-with, I stare him down like I’m a bottle of Raid, and he’s the ant about to take the money shot. “Show me your dick. If I don’t laugh, you can keep your fucking beads.”

  Maybe it’s my winning personality or the punchy aura I’ve been told I project. Maybe the moron’s too drunk to remember where he is, let alone who he is. Whatever the reason, he loses his balance and falls on the tile so hard, he may have pounded a new cleft into his butt crack.

  “Ah, FUCK! My ass-ah-hole!” He rolls to his side, rubbing his rump. “She got the voodoo eyes,” he complains to passersby, who change course to avoid his histrionics.

  What can I say? I do have the voodoo eyes.

  I continue past the idiot and lower my sunglasses into place. The sun is too fucking bright, even inside. I puff my e-cig, making yet another (probably empty) vow to quit the real shit. Head throbbing, I try to convince myself what happened last night didn’t really happen as I hurry toward baggage claim.

  A security officer stops me just before I reach my destination.

  “Excuse me, lady. You can’t smoke in here. It’s against the law.”

  I grip the fake cigarette with my incisors and point it at him like an accusing finger. “I’m not smoking,” I grind out around the stick.

  “But you have an electronic cigarette in your mouth. Can’t have those inside.”

  “Come back when you see smoke following me. Until then, kindly fuck the fuck off. I know the law. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

  His feathers ruffle, so I fire off a Jillian Frost Mega Bitch Special—the look reserved for special occasions, such as dealing with lawyers, record company execs, and Letty Dillinger when she hasn’t had her Corn Pops. It puts the fear of God into every man, woman, and child within a fifty-foot radius.

  The guy shrinks a couple inches. I keep walking, cigarette and all.

  Jinx and Toombs wait by the carousel, bags on either side. They aren’t touching, but they stand close enough to make it clear they’re together. Her long, blond hair springs with a little extra curl around her shoulders. He scours the crowd like he’s Secret Service and she’s a dignitary’s virgin princess daughter with an ass to kill for.

  I don’t know what happened between them and Rax last week, but tensions have been high. I’m ninety percent sure they’re all fucking each other. Or were fucking each other. And now Rax is the one getting fucked. Perpendicular to the normal flow of current.

  “Hey, Jillian.” Jinx smiles and meets me halfway, Toombs tagging gingerly behind with a slight limp. She starts to reach out, seems to think the better of it, and lowers her arms.

  “Nice trip?” I say crisply, nodding toward the exit. I walk. They follow.

  “Great trip.” The quiver in her voice pegs her as a bald-faced liar.

  “Good. Then you’re refreshed and ready to record. Our first session is this afternoon.”

  “Any chance we could stop at a convenience store on the way home?” Jinx asks. “I need to pick up a few things.”

  Rounding on her, I huff. “Next time give me a list. I can grab shit while you’re in the studio. We’re on a tight timeline.”

  The two drummers exchange looks, and Jinx ducks her head. “Sure. Sorry.”

  We exit the airport and head toward my rental car in silence. Toombs lags behind.

  All this adulting after last night is killing me. Life rarely slows down long enough for me to catch my breath, let alone try to comb through the tangles to straighten shit like this out.

  Toombs loads their bags in the trunk, and Jinx lays a hand on the back handle as I unlock the door. “Is everything okay?” she asks quietly.

  I sigh. “It’s fine. I have a lot on my mind. Hop in.” I guess I can officially add “chauffeur” to my job description. Fuck, I need a raise. And a vacation.

  When I woke up this morning, I was certain Siren, Miles, and Red had all been a dream. No harm, no foul. But then I found the business card, and the dream transformed into something between a fantasy and a nightmare as the details filtered in.

  Miles and Red and me.

  Fucking like the dirty rock star children I babysit every day.

  While I made googly eyes at a woman I was crushing on.

  With an unknown observer/bodyguard who witnessed everything.

  I scrub my face and start the car.

  If that guy filmed us … Jesus. Thank God for the masks. I clutch my jacket tighter around me and drive toward the exit.

  I flick on the radio for a distraction from the two lovebirds talking quietly behind me. An occasional laugh out of Jinx and rustling of fabric triggers a rush of envy. I try to mind my own business and keep my eyes on the road.

  Visions of Red’s dick ravaging my husband’s—ex-husband’s—ass haunt me. Miles’s head yanked back, his lips parted with moans of pleasure. The two of them forging the same sacred connection Miles and I used to share.

  Miles belongs to Red now.

  It’s human nature to desire what we can’t have. Miles has moved on to bigger and gayer things.

  But the Siren had been within my reach. So close, I could almost taste her. What I wouldn’t give for another shot with her. She opened my mind to a world of opportunities I’d never considered before.

  I stuff a hand into my jacket pocket and trace the raised numbers on the card with my thumb.

  Is it her personal line? The voyeur’s? I stalked the phone number on Google when I got to the house last night. It’s an unlisted cell phone. No other details. For all I know, this might be the number for a taxi service. Maybe the guy just wanted to ensure I got home safely.

  Yeah. Right.

  I pull into a convenience store lot, slam the car into park, and turn around. “Make it snappy,” I tell Jinx.

  She nods. “I’ll be right back.” And out the door she goes, Toombs staring longingly after her.

  He slowly cranks his head forward and fixes his unnerving, silvery eyes on me in the rearview. The guy
grins, an odd and somewhat disturbing sight. I’ve only seen him smile a handful of times since I met him a couple years ago.

  “What’s with you?” I puff my e-cigarette, unroll the window, and blow out the vapor.

  The grin widens. “I was about to ask the same question.”

  I scowl.

  “Have fun last night?” Now he’s just antagonizing. Making assumptions that, because this is New Orleans and yesterday was Mardi Gras, I got wasted and woke up with a whopper of a hangover. Well, he got the hangover part right, but it wasn’t from booze.

  “Not really,” I lie. Sort of.

  I turn away from the creepy eyes dissecting me in the mirror and focus on a cute girl filling up her tank. Naturally, the tank and the filling conjure memories I should reject. If I let them seep in too deep, they’ll just rot my brain and give me the female equivalent of blue balls. But what’s new? It’s not like I’ve ever been able to leap the hurdle of orgasm anyway.

  “You got beat.” Toombs’s deep voice rips me out of my daydream.

  Dropping my cigarette in my lap, I whip around to face him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  He lifts a brow. “I know the look. You got your ass whooped by a Top.” He barely winces as he adjusts in the seat.

  Ohhh …

  Wait.

  What?

  He’s …

  Wow. I did not see that coming.

  He glances casually out the window. “I bet you liked it too.”

  I balance verboten thoughts of Jinx tearing Toombs up in the bedroom with the notion that I’m somehow projecting a desire for the same treatment. I laugh off his accusation. “You’re nuts.”

  “So, you didn’t get off to the tune of a whip crack? Could’ve fooled me.”

  Shit, my body language has a big fucking mouth.

  “What makes you think I’d buy into that sadistic bullshit?”

  He keeps his focus away from me and shakes his head.

  Jinx bops up to the car and slides in next to him. He talks softly to her, as if our conversation never happened.

  I grip the steering wheel tightly the rest of the way to the French Quarter and think about guitars and drums and vocals and all the money that’ll line our pockets once Killer Buzz Float’s album is recorded. I do not think about floggers or riding crops or butt-fucking men fucking me. Or beautiful sirens who get their kicks watching strangers fornicate and then disappear before the lady stranger can beg a good-night kiss off her.