Fine. I tilted my head up and looked him in the eyes, my shield ready. But it wasn’t ready as my heart beat harder and faster. Then there were the little fairies dancing around in my stomach.
He was everything you’d imagine a rock star: hot, tatted skin—which bordered on an addiction to pain—muscled, and charismatic. He worked out obsessively; fucked obsessively. Played music obsessively and scrolled the internet for news about himself—obsessively.
And the entertainment gurus had a love affair with him.
Despite trying to keep my distance in the beginning, over the countless texts, he had weeded his way into my life and now . . . well, now he was in one of my little compartments with the label—care. I cared about why he was back early. And why the tour was cancelled. But caring had never led anywhere good for me. Sympathy. Kindness. Compassion. None of it belonged in my world. But I wasn’t in that world now and those things were leaking back in.
“What happened?”
“What do you mean?”
I raised my brows; lips pressed together and tilted my head slightly as I scrutinized him. “Publicist sneaks you away. Last venue cancelled. What happened?”
“I wouldn’t say sneak, Haven. I don’t sneak. I own what I do.”
“And?”
“It’s not something you need to worry about. Just some pain-in-the-ass shit.”
I’d run longer than usual that morning and was late so I hadn’t checked the latest entertainment news. He sounded pissed and Crisis rarely did. His words were strained and his body tense. “I’d rather hear it from you than the media.”
“Just some chick causing issues and I blew up at her. Didn’t touch her, I’d never do that. But I lost it.” He reached over and grabbed a bottle of water for himself. Without waiting until we arrived at the cash register, he cracked it open and chugged half of it back then set it down. “You know what I was like.”
I wasn’t sure what he was referring to, so I merely looked at him questioningly.
He sighed. “Fucking around. Lots of chicks.”
Oh, yeah, I knew. I hadn’t seen anything on social media lately, but what was on the internet never went away and his past was there and I’d seen it.
“Some bitch, and babe, she is a bitch, is causing problems for us. Followed us to every venue which normally is cool, but not when she’s sending gifts and posting bullshit all over the internet about me and her . . . It was over a year ago. I’d fucked her. She thinks it meant something. It didn’t.”
“So you came home because of her?”
He shifted his weight and his hair fell across his one eye. “Kind of. No and yes, a combo thing. That’s the reason I gave the guys. We only had Seattle and we’ll re-schedule.”
“And?” I tensed waiting to hear the combo because so far that was a single reason.
“Luke mentioned something.”
Shit. Luke reported to Crisis, which meant he’d been concerned and had come back.
“What did he tell you?” But I knew what it was.
Despite telling Deck I didn’t want to hear anything about the club, I received a call from Deck’s man, Vic. The club was found and shut down, but they were still searching for a few girls as they’d scattered. He needed to know how many were there. I didn’t know. I never met the other girls.
But after that call, I was trembling and freaked, the buried memories surfacing. I went running for three hours. Luke had not been impressed.
“He said you got a call, looked freaked-out then went running for a fuck-of-a-long time.” He nudged me down the line then reached across and put his hands on the sides of the tray next to my hands. “Everything okay, Ice?”
“It’s fine. I like to run. Luke doesn’t.”
Crisis huffed, but for some reason he didn’t push the issue. “Your brother gets back tomorrow with Logan. They’re making a statement today about Seattle being cancelled.”
His baby finger brushed against mine and my stomach flip-flopped. I stiffened, my eyes darting to his, but he wasn’t looking at me; he was eyeing the hot dishes under the heat lamps.
“Fuck, is that cream of corn? It looks like . . .”
I didn’t hear the rest of what he said as the bunch of guys in line started cheering at something, pumping their arms in the air. A few whistled and hooted then one of them yelled, ‘I’m screwing that pussy tonight.’ I didn’t know why, but it was the tone of his voice that set me off.
A cold wave spread over me; the blanket ripped off.
I froze as the memories bombarded. I hated it. The glassy eyes ogling me, the dancing, the disgusting groping hands—but nothing was worse than the backrooms.
They were classy and clean just like everything in the club, even the men. But the high-quality business suits only hid the filth that was beneath.
And I lived it every Saturday night for years. After a while, I no longer knew who the men were or what they looked like. I zoned out, a mannequin used until they grunted, fell on top of me, their weight suffocating. The money I made went to Olaf who supported both Alexa and me. Although, I wouldn’t call it support, more like he kept me alive to make him money while Alexa treated me like I was her pet dog . . . one she didn’t like.
I shivered and tried to push the thoughts away.
“Slow, deep breaths, baby.” His low voice was gentle and soothing and I felt him inch closer. I should’ve wanted to get away, but I didn’t. He was safe. At some point, Crisis had become safe. I had no idea when it happened, or how, but it did. I just wasn’t sure how I felt about it yet.