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  And my heart shatters into a million jagged pieces.

  Brady.

  I blink, for a second believing that I can’t trust my vision. I rub my eyes and stare harder, but it’s definitely him. What the fuck is he doing here?

  Maybe he came here to meet me. I scramble to check my phone.

  No missed texts. No missed calls. I look from him to my phone and back again, remembering that Dee had mistakenly told me that we were going to a different club across town and that’s what I told Brady. He didn’t expect me to be here. With my eyes on my phone, I type another text.

  Are you still working?

  I watch as he pulls his phone from his shirt pocket, checks it, and then tucks it away. The girl he’s with says something, and he leans in close to her ear, then kisses her cheek.

  Maybe they’re just friends. Please be just friends.

  I watch as they laugh, as they talk, and then as Brady leans in and kisses her. And it isn’t a friend kiss. He doesn’t even come up for air, and I can’t remember the last time he kissed me like that. I’m practically falling off of my stool before I know it, scrambling to find an exit door before I turn into a blubbering mess right there in front of everyone. I can barely see through the cloud of tears in my eyes as my hands push past ­people who stare at me or throw curses my way. Finally, I slam into a big metal door and fly outside just as a sob bubbles out of my throat.

  I brace my hands on the cold stair railing and struggle to breathe. I suck in air, desperately trying to regain some semblance of composure. How could he? How could he?!

  Three years. Three fucking years. He asked me to move in with him! We live together, for God’s sake. I have never done anything to deserve this. I wouldn’t even dance with those perfectly nice guys inside!

  My knees feel like they’re going to fail me, so I sit down on the top cement stair and curl my arms around my legs. It’s gotten chilly, but that’s the least of my problems. What am I going to do? I can’t sleep under the same roof as him tomorrow night. I can’t. I just can’t.

  It’s pitch-­dark except for a single light hanging above the door and some overhead lights across the parking lot. Bugs swarm in the spotlight above me, and normally I’d be paranoid about being so close to them since I’m allergic to pretty much all insect bites known to man, but right now, I don’t care. They can eat me alive; hopefully they finish the job.

  I reach my hand up to wipe the tears from my cheeks, realizing for the first time that I’ve been crying. God, what am I going to do? Should I go back in there? Should I tell Dee? She’ll kill him.

  I bury my face in my knees and let myself really cry then, sobs racking my body. I loved him. I loved him with every piece of me. I would’ve given him forever. My whole future . . .

  When the door opens behind me, I sit up straight and hurriedly sniff in my tears as I wipe my shaking fingers across my slippery cheeks. I hear the flick of a lighter, and then someone sits down next to me on the stairs, puffing a cigarette. When I look over at him, I nearly choke.

  He gazes back at me, starting at my hot-­pink heels and then raking his way up, and then he chuckles. “Are they letting ­people in yet?”

  Adam. He’s ditched the shades and cap, and now his dark brown hair is framing his gorgeous face, stretching almost to his chin. I look away quickly, hoping he can’t tell I’ve been crying.

  “Sorry about that,” I say. And I hear the hoarse sadness in my voice, but I couldn’t keep it out.

  When he reaches over and brushes my tangled hair away from my eyes, I tense.

  “Is everything okay?” he asks, and I half laugh. No, everything is not okay.

  “Everything’s fine.”

  “Then why have you been crying?”

  “No reason.”

  “You get all dolled up to sit outside of rock shows crying by yourself?”

  I lift my gaze to stare into his eyes, and something in them makes me believe he really cares. Or maybe that’s just what I want to see, but I suddenly need to tell someone. “My boyfriend’s in there.”

  “And?”

  “With another girl. I just caught him cheating.”

  Adam takes a deep puff of his cigarette, nodding as he sighs it back out. “Want me to fuck him up?”

  I laugh, and he smiles at me. “Would you?”

  “If you want me to.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs. “Because I offered.”

  “Why’d you offer?”

  “Who knows why I do anything I do?” He stares at me while I wait for an answer. “I just do.”

  That’s a good enough explanation for me, so I look back to my knees again, letting out a shaky breath. I can’t believe I just laughed. At a time like this, Adam Everest made me laugh.

  “Anyway, your boyfriend is a dumbass,” he says out of nowhere.

  “How do you know?”

  His gray-­green eyes wash over me. “Look at you.”

  I blush like hell, but I know he’s just trying to make me feel better. “You thought I was an idiot when you first saw me.”

  Adam chuckles and shakes his head. “I thought you were cute as a peach.” His lips hold the cigarette in his mouth as he stands up, holding a hand down to me. My heart stops; Adam Everest is offering me his hand. In faded denim jeans, all torn up at the knees, and a fit olive-­green button-­down rolled up to his elbows, he makes my heart race to a nonexistent finish line. “Come on, Peach.”

  I take his hand, and he lifts me to my feet, leading me away from the building. “Where are we going?”

  “To get you a drink. I think you need one.”

  “I’ve had a few,” I think out loud, slowing to a stop.

  Adam gazes over his shoulder at me, his eyebrow cocked when he asks, “Are you saying you don’t want another?”

  I take a moment to consider his question.

  Just a moment, and then I keep walking.

  Chapter Two

  WHILE WALKING ALONGSIDE Adam, I text Dee a quick message so she won’t worry when she can’t find me at the bar.

  Getting some air-­-­with a hot guy. Be back soon.

  If I told her I was just getting some air, she’d be following me outside in a heartbeat. But if she thinks I’m showing interest in any guy who isn’t Brady, I know she’ll give me space.

  I think the only person who hates him more than she does right now is me.

  And anyway, it isn’t a lie. Adam is hot as sin, but there’s no way in hell I’m telling Dee that’s who I’m out with. I cringe, imagining the high-­pitched squeal that would tear from her lips. She’d be out here before I even finished typing the text, working some kind of voodoo telepathy and pushing me into his arms.

  Adam crushes his cigarette under his shoe and then swings open the door to what I assume is his tour bus. It’s a black double-­decker, and inside, it smells like leather and men’s cologne. Past the driver’s seat is a row of leather bench seats, and sleeping on one of them with his arms crossed over his chest and his face half-­buried in the gray leather is a guy almost as tall as Adam. One shredded-­jean-­clad leg is hanging over the edge.

  Adam looks back at me and holds a finger against his lips; then he creeps up and crouches next to the seat. He leans in close, looking like he’s going to kiss the guy’s cheek, but then his tongue flattens against it in a big sloppy lick and the guy wakes up yelling.

  “FUCK, Adam!”

  Adam laughs loudly as the guy wipes his sleeved shoulder over his cheek.

  “Fucking gross, man!”

  “Show’s gonna start in twenty minutes,” Adam says, walking to the wet bar and pulling a bottle of liquor from the cabinet.

  The guy sits up and rubs his hands roughly over his cropped black hair. “Shit.” He finally spots me, and then his eyes travel over my face, my slinky top, my ten-­si
zes-­too-­small skirt, my hooker heels. He sighs. “Twenty minutes, Adam.” Then he slides past me and out the door.

  “Who was that?” I ask.

  “That was Shawn. Our lead guitarist.” Adam hands me a glass of whiskey and sits down where Shawn had just been sleeping, slouching in the seat. “So the way I see it, you have two options.”

  I sit down next to him, and it feels so weird sitting next to him, because he is so out of my league. “Only two, huh?”

  He grins at me and downs his drink. “One, we can sit in here and get you so shit-­faced that you can’t remember what’s-­his-­name’s name.”

  I chuckle. “And two?”

  “You can get even.”

  Okay, now I’m curious. “How?”

  Adam sets his glass down and looks at me then—­really looks at me. His eyes are locked with mine, and I swallow hard, every inch of me suddenly acutely aware of how close I am to him. His gaze drops to my lips, and when he starts leaning in, I panic. I know he’s going to kiss me. Before I can regret my decision, I scoot away.

  He eyes me carefully. “Are you sure?”

  I play stupid, because I suddenly feel ten shades of embarrassed. Dee can never find out about this or I’ll never hear the end of it. “Sure about what?” I swallow the rest of my drink, trying to calm my fire-­cracking nerves.

  Adam stays leaning forward for a moment before he carries both of our glasses back to the bar and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Shit-­faced it is, Peach,” he says as he pours me another glass.

  “Where’s the rest of your band?” I ask in an attempt to change the subject.

  “Getting ready.”

  “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

  He turns around and swirls the amber liquid in his glass, a smile on his lips. “I am.”

  A knock at the door gets my attention, but my eyes stay glued on Adam as he goes to the front of the bus to answer it.

  “Hi, Adam.” It’s a girl’s voice, and it’s shamelessly seductive.

  “What do you want, Farrah?” Adam sounds bored, maybe a little irritated.

  “Can I come in?”

  Adam moves to the side enough so that Farrah can see me. And I can see her, all red-­headed bombshell and legs, legs, legs. He sweeps an arm toward where I’m sitting. “I’m busy.”

  She smiles at me and sweetly asks, “Room enough for one more?”

  “No,” he says, and then he swings the door shut—­right in her face.

  My jaw is on the floor as he climbs back up the bus stairs and sits on the bench seat across from me, resting his elbows on his knees. “Sorry about that,” he says.

  Frowning, I apologize for ruining his night.

  “If you were ruining my night,” he replies, “I’d kick you off this bus without a second thought.” He smiles at me, and I’m not sure how to feel about what he just said. Would he seriously kick me off? “Now tell me about this cheating boyfriend of yours.”

  “Can we not talk about him? I don’t even want to think about him.”

  “Works for me. What do you want to do?”

  I down my second drink of whiskey, my fifth drink of the night. It’s starting to hit me, fast. “Give me a tour?” I stand up and instantly feel wobbly on my feet. Adam bolts to my side and presses a hand against my ribs, steadying me.

  And I giggle. I giggle like crazy at myself for almost falling in front of Adam freaking Everest on his band’s freaking tour bus, and he smiles at me like I’m the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

  “Hold on.” I crouch down and unbuckle my shoes, sliding them off and leaving them where they lay. “Okay, let’s go.” I’m suddenly much shorter than him, barely coming up to his chest. He takes a step deeper into the bus to begin the tour, but I reach up and grab his shoulder. “Wait.” He looks back at me. “I need another drink.”

  He laughs and makes me another without any questions, handing it to me and then walking ahead of me through the tour bus. “This,” he says, gesturing to the bench seats, “is where Shawn likes to pass out before shows and get licked on his not-­so-­tasty face.”

  I try not to giggle again, but I can’t help it. He walks me deeper into the bus, pointing at a flat-­screen TV in the corner that hovers over an entertainment center filled to the brim with video game consoles.

  “This is where Mike’s brain lives and dies.”

  I grin, and he leads me into a small kitchen full of stainless-­steel appliances and a glass mini-­fridge stocked with beer and energy drinks. He reaches in and pulls out a Red Bull, handing it to me. “How drunk are you?”

  “Not drunk enough.”

  He gives me an appreciative smile. “Count backward from ten.”

  I do it with no problem, and then he steps into me and my back gets pressed against the counter. “In that case, this is where I bring girls to take a second shot at seducing them.”

  I brace my hands against his chest and stare up at him, trying not to faint from the way he’s pressing against me and looking down at me and damn, he smells so good. A smile breaks across my face. “It happens so often that you have a designated place for it?”

  His hands linger on my waist. “Actually, I think you’re the first. But I think you deserve to have a spot named after you.”

  “Oooooh,” I say, mocking his line. “That was sooo smooooooth, Adam Everest.”

  He laughs and pops open my Red Bull, taking a sip of it and handing it back to me. “Still haven’t changed your mind, huh? Could be fun . . .”

  “Oh, I’m sure it would be.” My fingers smooth across his shirt, and I’m suddenly not so sure I want to turn him down. He could make me forget. I gaze up at him, realizing that boys like him leave girls broken. He’s not the type of guy a girl has a fling with and gets over. He’s the type of guy who ruins all the rest that come after him. “But no,” I manage to say, knowing it’s the right choice even though I want to slap myself.

  “Damn,” he says, backing off. “Break my heart, Peach.” He winks at me and exits the kitchen, and I follow, feeling weak in the knees but not from the alcohol.

  We make our way back to the front of the bus, where we climb the stairs onto the second level. The first space is another sitting area with leather seats, but beyond that are closets and then twelve bunks, six on each side. All except three are neat and tidy.

  “This is where the guys sleep,” Adam says, gesturing to the bunks before leading me further into the bus and opening a door at the end of the hall. It’s almost entirely occupied by a massive bed with black satin sheets.

  “And this is where the magic happens?” I leap onto it and tuck my knees under myself, bouncing up and down from the impact.

  “Dangerous, Peach,” Adam says, leaning against the doorjamb and crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re right where I want you.”

  I laugh until he takes a step forward, his knees pressing against the edge. I’m suddenly staring up at him. I swallow what’s left of my Red Bull. “How long until the show?”

  Adam pulls a phone out of his back pocket and checks the time. “Not long enough.”

  I chuckle and roll my eyes. “I don’t want to sleep with you, Adam.”

  “Yes, you do,” he says confidently. “But you won’t, for whatever lame reason. Anyway, not wanting to is an entirely different thing.”

  Unable to argue, I repeat, “How long?”

  “Seven minutes.” I scoot further back onto the bed, and he sits down on the edge, studying me.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  With a cavalier shrug, he says, “I told you, I do what I feel like. Don’t try to figure it out. I don’t.”

  “Why didn’t you ditch me for that redhead? I’m sure she would’ve had you up here ten minutes ago.”

  He chuckles, and then he reasons, “I wanted to take a c
hance on you instead.”

  I frown and find myself telling him I’m sorry again, but he just smiles at me. It’s a smile that could turn knees to jello and hearts to mush, so when he holds his hand down to me, I don’t hesitate to take it.

  “Don’t be,” he says, and then he lifts me to my feet and starts walking from the room. I’m in the doorway when I say, “Adam?”

  He turns around.

  “I’m not going to sleep with you, I’m not even going to come close, but . . . do you think you could make me forget what’s-­his-­name for the next seven minutes?”

  Adam studies me, and then he fishes his phone out again. “Six minutes,” he corrects before tucking it back into his pocket. “Can you still count backward from ten?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then start counting.”

  I count backward until I’m at five, and he steps in close. At four, his left hand is circling around my waist and pressing against the small of my back. At three, his right hand reaches up and cups my jaw, angling it up. At two, he leans in close, his lips a centimeter from mine. My breath hitches in my throat, and I suddenly can’t speak. He’s pressed flush against me, and I can feel all of him.

  His mouth quirks into a smile. “What are you waiting for, Peach?”

  “One.”

  Chapter Three

  WHEN ADAM’S PHONE beeps, he doesn’t stop kissing me. His body is molded against every inch of me, pressing me deep into the black satin comforter. With one of his legs squeezed between mine, his jeans rub against my bare thighs, and it’s like I can feel every single thread. One hand squeezes my skirted hip, and the other holds my neck in place as his lips explore mine. His kiss is agonizingly practiced—­forget about what’s-­his-­name, I can’t even remember my own name.

  His phone beeps again, and he groans.

  I turn my head to the side, and his lips drop to my neck. Breathless as he licks his way down it, I say, “Shouldn’t you get that?”

  His lips travel lower, kissing a trail across my collarbone. I close my eyes and thread my fingers through his soft brown hair. “Adam,” I say, but it’s like he’s refusing to hear me.