Mayhem Read online

  Mayhem

  JAMIE SHAW

  Dedication

  For every reader who falls in love with Adam.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue: Adam

  An Excerpt from Riot

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  By Jamie Shaw

  An Excerpt from Holding Holly by Julie Brannagh

  An Excerpt from It's a Wonderful Fireman by Jennifer Bernard

  An Excerpt from Once Upon a Highland Christmas by Lecia Cornwall

  An Excerpt from Running Hot by HelenKay Dimon

  An Excerpt from Sinful Rewards 1 by Cynthia Sax

  An Excerpt from Return to Clan Sinclair by Karen Ranney

  An Excerpt from Return of the Bad Girl by Codi Gary

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE I let you talk me into this.” I tug at the black hem of the stretchy nylon skirt my best friend squeezed me into, but unless I want to show the tops of my panties instead of the skin of my thighs, there’s nothing I can do. After casting yet another uneasy glance at the long line of ­people stretched behind me on the sidewalk, I shift my eyes back to the sun-­warmed fabric pinched between my fingers and grumble, “The least you could’ve done was let me wear some leggings.”

  Dee just laughs and bats my hands away from the material. “Stop your bitching, Ro. You’ll thank me when we’re old and gray and you look back on this night and realize that once, just once,” she shoves her pointer finger in my face to emphasize the lonely number, “you actually flaunted that hot little body of yours before it got all old and saggy.”

  “I look ridiculous,” I complain, pushing her finger away and rolling my eyes for good measure. I look like Dee’s closet drank too much and threw up on me. She somehow talked me into wearing this mini-­skirt—­which skintight doesn’t even begin to describe—­and a hot-­pink top that shows more cleavage than should be legal. The front of it drapes all the way down to just above my navel, and the bottom exposes a pale sliver of skin between the hem of the shirt and the top of my skirt. The hot-­pink fabric matches my killer hot-­pink heels.

  Literally, killer. Because I know I’m going to fall on my face and die.

  I’m fiddling with the skirt again when one of the guys near us in line leans in close, a jackass smile on his lips. “I think you look hot.”

  Of course he thinks I look hot—­I look like a freaking prostitute!

  “I have a boyfriend,” I counter, but Dee just scoffs at me.

  “She means thank you,” she shoots back, chastising me with her tone until the guy flashes us another arrogant smile—­he’s stuffed into an appallingly snug graphic-­print tee that might as well say “douchebag” in its shiny metallic lettering, and even Dee can’t help but make a face before we both turn away.

  She and I are the first ones in line for the show tonight, standing by the doors to Mayhem under the red-­orange glow of a setting summer sun. She’s been looking forward to this night for weeks, but I was more excited about it before my boyfriend of three years had to back out.

  “Brady is a jerk,” she says, and all I can do is sigh because I wish those two could just get along. Deandra and I have been best friends since preschool, but Brady and I have been dating since my sophomore year of high school and living together for the past two months. “He should be here to appreciate how gorgeous you look tonight, but nooo, it’s always work first with him.”

  “He moved all the way here to be with me, Dee. Cut him some slack, alright?”

  She grumbles her frustration until she catches me touching my eyelids for the zillionth time tonight. Yanking my fingers away, she orders, “Stop messing with it. You’ll smear.”

  I stare down at my shadowy fingertips and rub them together. “Tell me the truth,” I say, flicking the clumped powder away. “Do I look like a clown?”

  “You look smoking hot!” she assures me with a smile. “If I was a lesbian, you’d be in trouble!”

  I laugh until Douchebag leans in again, popping our personal bubble with his enormously hooked nose. “Don’t let that stop you.”

  We both glare at him so sharply that he immediately stumbles a step back, his obnoxiously red sneakers suddenly becoming the most fascinating things he’s ever seen. Dee and I turn back around, glancing at each other and trying not to laugh. She playfully elbows me in the arm, and I chuckle and nudge her right back. My smile settles back into place and I finally feel like I’m beginning to loosen up when a guy walks right past us like he’s going to cut in line. In dark shades and a baggy black knit cap that droops in the back, he flicks a cigarette to the ground, and my eyes narrow on him.

  Dee and I have been waiting for way too long to let some self-­entitled jerk cut in front of us, so when he knocks on the door to the club, I force myself to speak up.

  “They’re not letting ­people in yet,” I say, hoping he takes the hint. Even with my skyscraper heels, I feel dwarfed standing next to him. He has to be at least six-­foot-­two, maybe taller.

  He turns his head toward me and lowers his shades, smirking like something’s funny. His wrist is covered with string bracelets and rubber bracelets and a thick leather cuff, and three of his fingernails on each hand are painted black. But his eyes are what steal the words from my lips—­a greenish shade of light gray. They’re stunning.

  When the door opens, he turns back to it and locks hands with the bouncer.

  “You’re late,” the bouncer says, and the guy in the shades laughs and slips inside. Once he disappears, Dee pushes my shoulders.

  “Oh my GOD! Do you know who you were just talking to?!”

  I shake my head.

  “That was Adam EVEREST! He’s the lead freaking singer of the band we’re here to see!”

  Oh . . . God . . . No. “You’re kidding . . .”

  She shakes her head, stifling a laugh. “Did you see the way he looked at you?!”

  “Like I’m an idiot!”

  She pulls me in for a hug and finally lets loose the laughter she’s been holding in.

  “You couldn’t have told me?!”

  Dee squeezes me tight. “He was standing right there! What was I supposed to do?!” She laughs even harder. “Oh, babe, I’m sorry! That was—­” Her body is still shaking with laughter when I feel her lift a hand behind my back to wipe a tear from her eye.

  I groan and finish her sentence, “The most mortifying moment of my life.”

  “Come on, you’ve had worse. Much worse.” She pulls away and grins at me. “Do you remember that time at David Miller’s house when you—­”

  “Okay, Dee? Not making me feel better here!”

  She chuckles to herself as she applies ano
ther coat of shiny pink lip gloss and then shoots her hand forward to do the same to me. “We’ll call that the first of the many epic memories we’re going to make tonight.”

  “Why in God’s name would I want to remember that?” I ask after puckering my lips.

  “Because you talked to Adam Everest!”

  A tiny voice chimes from behind me. “Your friend is right,” the girl says, nodding to herself. “And he looked right at you. He smiled at you.”

  “Isn’t he gorgeous?!” Dee asks, never one to miss an opportunity to gush over boys. She and the girl behind us start gossiping about Adam while I lose myself in my thoughts. I just talked to a rock star, a freaking rock star. Granted, I had no idea who he was, but damn, did he look the part. If I could go back, what would I have said? Probably nothing, and then I never would have seen that smile, or those eyes.

  “You’re blushing,” Dee says, breaking me from the memory.

  “It’s hot out here!” I lie.

  “You’re practically naked, and it is not that hot.” Her lips pull into a knowing grin, which only makes my skin burn even pinker.

  I’m saved when the door to Mayhem opens and I practically trip over myself to get inside. I have a boyfriend, and even though I’m sure I’ll never speak to Adam again, I really shouldn’t be replaying the moment in my mind wishing I would have done things differently.

  In the dim haze of the club, a bouncer glances at our fake IDs and stamps our hands, and Dee pulls me straight to the bar. She holds up two fingers to signal the bartender and orders us two dirty girl scouts, but she hasn’t even lowered her hand yet when a random guy sidles up next to her, threatening to choke us with his cologne.

  “You look a little too . . .” his eyes scan over us, making me feel like I’m wearing even less than I already am, “mature to be Girl Scouts, but I’ll believe anything a girl as pretty as you tells me.” Corniest. Pick-­up line. Ever. He grins like a cheeseball. “What can I get you ladies to drink?”

  Dee turns to me and mouths “Just go with it,” so I do. And, voilà, free shots. Cheeseball, who is apparently named Vinnie, pays for the first round, and some guy named . . . well, I have no idea what the hell his name is, buys the second round, and then Dee is dragging me onto the crowded dance floor. In advance of the show, the club is booming with house music, and it’s fueling her hyper mood.

  I laugh as she bounces in front of me with her wrists on my shoulders. She looks incredible, as always, in a ruffled blue mini-­skirt and a super low-­cut white top. It’s backless, flaunting the golden tan she’s worked for all summer. Her long chocolate-­brown curls are bouncing from side to side with the beat, and I finally give in and drop it low, rising back up ass-­first like a freaking stripper. Dee laughs at me and twirls around with her hands in the air, and then we’re lost to the alcohol pumping through our blood and the music vibrating beneath our feet.

  By the third song, my thick blonde waves are glued to the back of my neck. I flip them away as Dee bends low and rolls her ass against my thighs. We’re both laughing so hard that I’m surprised we haven’t fallen over yet. My sides cramp like I’m out of practice.

  When I feel stiff jeans press up behind me, my smile vanishes. I try to inch away, pressing tighter against Dee, but the jeans follow, and then grabby hands grip my sides. The floor is so crowded that I won’t even be able to turn around without being pressed flush against whatever creeper is behind me, so I press my mouth into Dee’s hair and tell her I’m heading to the bar. When I begin pushing through the crowd, her fingers curl around mine and she follows. Together, we find our way off the floor.

  “What gives?” she shouts once we break free from the overheated crowd.

  “Some asshole was getting way too touchy-­feely.”

  “Damn. Was he hot?”

  “I didn’t get a look at him.”

  “Well next time, if he’s cute, send him my way.” She winks, and I laugh and brace my hands on the bar, still trying to catch my breath. Dee leans back against it, propping her elbows on top with her chest out in the most casually provocative pose she can muster. It works like a charm, because within seconds, two guys are in front of her.

  “You girls looked amazing out there.”

  I’m still facing away from them, not interested. When they ask us to dance, Dee reaches over and grabs my hand.

  I turn around and give the guys an apologetic smile. “I have a boyfriend.”

  “So?” Dee says. “Pleeease, Ro? Just one dance!”

  “You go,” I insist, nudging her toward the dance floor.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, go. I’m going to hang here for a while. I need a break.”

  Her perfectly shaped eyebrows pull together. “I’ll stay if you want me to . . .”

  I know she would, but I shoo her from the bar anyway. “GO!”

  She laughs, her brown eyes sparkling with contagious excitement. “Okay, I’ll be back soon!”

  Both boys follow her like puppy dogs, and I smile to myself, knowing they’re both in trouble.

  After losing sight of her, I pull my phone out of my clutch purse and sigh when I realize there are no missed calls from Brady. It’s almost ten o’clock, and I really wish he would’ve called to say goodnight. But he probably knew it would be loud in here, and he was probably exhausted from working all day. He’s out of town for the weekend again, on yet another long-­distance job for the advertising firm his uncle owns, and I’ve grown accustomed to sitting by the phone—­he joined the company right after graduating, when I was still a sophomore, and traveling to meet with clients has always been a big part of the job. Still, the trips have been more and more frequent lately, and they always feel way longer than they really are.

  My fingers type a quick text.

  Miss you. Having a blast but wish you were here! Hope your day wasn’t too rough. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow! I love you.

  I tuck my phone back into my purse and turn around, laughing when I spot Dee in the crowd, sandwiched between her two club gorillas and outshining them both. She looks amazing, and she knows it. In high school, she wasn’t on the cheerleading squad but she dated most of the football team. Most of the other girls hated her, but she didn’t care and neither did I. She had a well-­earned bad reputation, but she never tried to be anyone she wasn’t. She’s real, and I love that about her.

  When a stool opens up at the bar, I immediately dive onto it. My last drink is long gone, so I pull out my paper-­thin wallet and flag the bartender.

  I order another vodka cranberry and try to pull out cash to pay, but before I can manage, a thick hand covers mine. “A fox like you should never have to pay for her own drink.” The guy uses his other hand to slip the bartender a credit card, and I sigh, looking up into plain brown eyes deeply set into a meathead face.

  “I have a boyfriend,” I say, trying not to sound rude but feeling pretty exasperated. With the number of times I’m having to repeat that tonight, it would’ve been easier to get the words tattooed on my forehead.

  “Is he here?”

  “No . . .”

  “Then he’s an idiot. Dance with me.” The guy grabs my drink with one hand and tries to coax me off my stool with the other.

  “No thanks.”

  “Aw, come on,” he persists, refusing to stop tugging at my hand. “Don’t make me beg.”

  “Sorry.” I pull out of his grip and settle back on my seat.

  “Why the hell would you come here dressed like that if you’re just going to be a tease?” he snaps, but I ignore him completely, flagging the bartender again.

  When the meathead calls me a slut and walks away—­with my drink—­I roll my eyes and order another, which I pay for myself before any other assholes have the chance to intercede. If I’m a slut, then Mother Teresa was too, because I might as well be her. Brady’s father is a p
astor, so Brady made the decision for both of us that we’d be waiting until marriage—­whenever that’s going to be. He agreed to live together, under the condition that we have separate bedrooms, but second base is getting harder and harder to stick to. I know I’m only eighteen, but we’ve been in a committed relationship for three years already, and now we’re living together and, well, what the hell is he waiting for?

  I gradually lose myself to ­people-­watching while I sip on my drink and wait for Dee to tire herself out. The group beside me at the bar all look like college kids. They seem nice, and it makes me hopeful that I’ll make at least a few new friends on Monday. Next to them is a girl dressed even sluttier than I am, surrounded by three guys who are all shamelessly hitting on her. I wonder if the guys are friends with each other, and I’m curious to see which will win the little competition they’ve got going on. The one with the blond faux-­hawk is pretty damn cute; my money would be on him.

  His eyes lift to catch me staring, and he smiles at me. I look away before he gets the wrong impression and decides to come over.

  Next to him is a guy with his back to me, talking to a girl with bright purple eye shadow. She’s gorgeous, with rich brown hair styled in a long bob. She laughs at something he says, and he places his hand on her forearm, caressing it tenderly with his thumb, giving her all the right signals. She’s leaning slightly toward him, batting her lashes and brushing her fingers through her hair. I’m still staring when the guy turns toward the bar to order another drink.