Rock Chick Revenge Read online

  Oh shit.

  Luke’s eyes sliced to me.

  Oh shit!

  “I had to do something,” Mr. Kumar finished.

  Luke was still looking at me. Or more to the point, scowling at me in a very scary way.

  “Um…” I said to him, lifting my hand to do the finger and thumb half-an-inch-apart gesture again. “There might be a wee bit of my troubles I haven’t shared.”

  I watched, somewhat fascinated, as Luke pulled in his very nice lower lip and bit it with his equally nice, straight, white teeth. The Bad Boy Brigade all looked at each other with knowing equally (almost) pissed off in male camaraderie faces and they took a step back.

  Then Luke grabbed my upraised wrist and yanked me up my walk and into my house.

  “Luke!” I yelled.

  He ignored me, walked up the stairs and took me to the bathroom where we stopped.

  “Where’s your first aid?” he asked.

  I stared at him, surprised at his question, thinking he was going to lay into me. “What?” I said.

  “First aid. Your palms.”

  Oh. My palms.

  “Closet,” I told him, motioning with my hand to the closet door.

  He walked to the bathroom closet and pulled out the first aid kit. He opened it, sorted through it, found what he wanted and dragged me to the sink.

  “Wash your hands,” he ordered.

  I did what I was told, finding his behavior somewhat intriguing. I could tell (hell, anyone could tell) he was angry but he was controlling it and taking care of me.

  Hmm.

  He’s very nice. And you can tell he’s mad but he’s still being lovely. I like that, Good Ava informed me.

  He’s hot when he’s all pissed-off-but-controlling-it. Jump him! Bad Ava suggested.

  I blinked away my advice angels, finished with my hands and buried Luke’s most recent behavior right alongside all the rest of it.

  He’d gone back to the closet and nabbed a clean hand towel. He tossed it to me and I dried my hands carefully while he took a washcloth, wet it and went to work on the blood on my chest.

  “Luke.”

  “Quiet.”

  I shut my mouth. I knew what Luke’s “quiet” meant when said in that tone and I didn’t want a repeat of Hard Angry Kiss.

  He finished wiping off the blood, took the towel from my hands, threw them both in the sink and wiped at my scrapes with an alcohol swab. I sucked in breath at the sting but he kept going albeit gently.

  He tossed the swab in the trash and then looked at me. “Now. Share.”

  I didn’t have to ask what he meant. I took in a deep breath.

  “Well…” I said and stopped, not certain how to proceed.

  Luke got close, his patience visibly waning. “Ava.”

  “All right,” I said and leaned back. Then I told him the story of Dom flirting, Dom touching, Dom cornering me in the kitchen and that being the reason Sissy left him. I told him about Dom’s threat to “get what I want”. I finished on a description of the last forty-five minutes.

  Luke was silent after I stopped talking. His face was hard but I saw his eyes were working. I also saw his jaw was working too, clenching and unclenching and I did not take this as a good sign. I held my breath while this happened.

  Finally he said, “Pack a bag.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked on a gush of air.

  “Pack a bag.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You’re movin’ in with me.”

  My eyes bugged out. “What? Why?” I repeated.

  “Just do it.”

  Ho-ly shit.

  Lee had made Indy stay with him to keep her safe when she was being shot at and kidnapped. He moved into her duplex after it was over and now they were getting married. Eddie had also made Jet move in with him to keep her safe. He never let her move out and she had just bought a new blender. Roxie had stayed with Hank during her troubles because, at the time, she lived in Chicago. After she was safe, she had decided to move to Denver to be with Hank, thinking to move into an apartment for six months to “see how it went” but he had talked her into moving in with him. Now she was entering his dog into a Frisbee competition.

  I felt panic seize my chest. “I’m not moving in with you.”

  “You’re movin’ in with me.”

  “I’m not.”

  He reached behind his back then his arm came forward and I saw the cuffs.

  Oh no.

  I started to take off but didn’t even get by him. He whirled me back around, hand wrapped around my upper arm. I yanked at my arm but he grabbed my wrist and slapped the bracelet on me and then he slapped the other bracelet on him.

  “I can’t believe you cuffed me to you again!” I shouted.

  “Now, we’re packing.”

  “I’m not moving in with you,” I pulled back, putting all my weight into it as he started walking. He dragged me, and all my weight, into the bedroom.

  “This is too much,” I snapped as he went to the closet and threw open the door.

  He turned to me. “Pack.”

  “I have my office here. I have my yoga mat here. I can’t move out,” I babbled.

  He jerked on our cuffed hands and I flew forward, slamming into him.

  His arms went around me (thus taking one of my arms and twisting it behind my back) and he held on tight, his face dipping to mine.

  “Since I seem to have to repeat myself every time I need to get something through to you, I’ll keep doin’ it.” His eyes were shining dangerously and it was clear his patience was at an end.

  Eek.

  “First, I’m not gonna fuck around with this shit. You’ve been kidnapped twice in two days and shot at. As of now, that shit is over. My building is secure, your house is not. You’re movin’ in, end of discussion. Second, I want you in my bed. I want you to look at me the way you looked at me after our first kiss but I want you to do it when my cock is buried inside you. Third, you owe me and you’re gonna pay. The first one is happening now. The last two are gonna happen tonight. Do you understand me?”

  I understood him. I so understood him.

  I stared at him, my chest seemed to have expanded and my eyes seemed frozen in a wide-open position. Unable to speak after what he’d just said, I nodded.

  “Good,” he clipped. “Now, pack.”

  At that juncture, I thought it prudent to pack.

  So I packed.

  * * * * *

  I was drunk.

  I knew it wasn’t smart but I didn’t care. I’d been kidnapped (twice), wrestled with my best friend’s husband in a parking garage and moved in with Luke. I needed to get drunk.

  Screw the consequences.

  * * * * *

  At my house I packed. Luke uncuffed me so I could do it.

  This was after, still attached to him, I threw a few things in a bag and muttered, “Done.”

  He looked at the bag and back at me and demanded, “More.”

  I sighed, he uncuffed me and I packed more.

  We toted my two suitcases (and my yoga mat) out to his Porsche. The Bad Boy Bunch was still hanging around outside likely for moral support. They all looked at Luke with understanding and at me with impatience. All except Tex who was grinning at me like the crazy guy I was thinking he was.

  For some reason, even though I didn’t know him (at all), he put his big hand on the top of my head and said, “Been a long time since we had some excitement, darlin’.”

  Luke glared at him, obviously not sharing in Tex’s excitement. Tex chuckled as he took his hand from my head.

  While I thanked Mr. Kumar for saving me from dastardly Dom, Luke talked to Matt who peeled off and went back into my house.

  “What’s he doing?” I asked as Luke led me to the Porsche.

  “Your computer,” Luke said.

  Shit.

  He had it all covered. I was so screwed.

  We went to his place, dumped my stuff, I unpacked my toiletries i
n the bathroom, changed out of my torn blouse and cleaned up.

  Then he took me to Lincoln’s Road House, a no-frills biker bar that was located on a slip road off I-25. They had great food, great atmosphere and, usually, great music. It was Saturday night and a band was playing when we got there. Luke glared a couple of guys who were hanging out but not eating away from a table. He planted my ass on a stool and got menus.

  I could tell he was still pissed. I could also tell he was still controlling it.

  He got me a Fat Tire beer and I was reading the menu (Luke was not, he likely knew it by heart) when Jules and Vance joined us.

  I could have done a cartwheel of joy. Saved from Luke’s bad attitude by my ex-vigilante current-social worker new friend and her bounty hunter boyfriend.

  We all ordered food and we ate.

  I was trying very hard not to think about what Luke said in my bedroom. I was scared to death about that night. No, I was scared to death about everything, everything about Luke and everything about my life. I couldn’t deal, not openly, so I buried it and as I buried each and every word he said and all that had happened the last two days, I got more and more stressed out.

  Therefore, when Hank and Roxie joined us and Daisy and Shirleen hit our party and then Tex ambled in, I decided, fuck it.

  Time to party.

  So I got drunk.

  * * * * *

  “How’s it goin’, Sugar?” Daisy asked me, blue eyes soft with concern, when all the girls were shoulder-to-shoulder in the tiny bathroom, breaking the seal and reapplying lipstick.

  I knew she was likely asking if I was okay about Kidnapping Part Two but I ignored that and got to the important stuff.

  “I moved in with Luke this afternoon,” I told her and she sucked in breath, her eyes slid to Shirleen and they both smiled at each other.

  I was in my Good Drunk Zone, feeling fine, feeling loose, feeling talkative (which was, along with losing my inhibitions, another bad habit I had when I was tipsy).

  “This is not good. You would not believe what he said to me,” I announced.

  Roxie and Jules got close and, even though I barely knew any of them, I told them about the latest incident and I did so in great detail. There was more sucking in of breath then more smiles.

  “Shit. I thought some of the stuff that Vance said to you was Sexy Hot Boy Hot but Luke’s got him beat by a mile,” Daisy told Jules.

  “I’d pay a man to talk to me that way,” Shirleen put in.

  “He’s a jerk,” I said happily, sounding as if this was a good thing and applying shiny lip-gloss to my lips in the mirror. “I hate him.” Again, this was said with drunken good cheer and all the girls looked at each other, lips tipped up at the ends. “I’m moving to Wyoming the first chance I get. I’m moving in with Sissy’s mother even if Sissy isn’t there anymore. Mrs. Whitchurch likes me and she owns a shotgun on account of the bears that are always going through her trash.”

  Daisy gave a tinkly-bell laugh.

  Jules came up behind me in the mirror. “During my thing, I convinced myself I was moving to Nicaragua,” she shared.

  “Nicaragua sounds good but it’s filled with those Latin-lover types. I’m trying to get away from macho men.”

  She pressed her lips together like she was trying not to laugh and glanced at Roxie. I ignored them and turned, screwing on the cap to my lip-gloss. I heard the band strike up again after a break and I instantly got the best idea I decided at that moment that I’d ever had in my life.

  So of course I had to share and I shouted, “Let’s dance!”

  I shoved my lip-gloss in my pocket and charged out the door through the bar right by the table where all the Bad Boys were sitting and straight to the dance floor. The Girl Gang followed me.

  I loved music and I loved to dance. There were times in my life when Sissy and I went out and I didn’t drink a drop, just danced like a lunatic. Even when I was Fatty, Fatty Four-Eyes I was the kind of person who got lost in the music and didn’t care who was watching. Now, especially as I was heading towards three sheets to the wind, I let it all hang out.

  Of course I’d never been to a club where Luke could see me but I was feeling fine, feeling loose and as the girls and I moved in our Girlie Dance Circle I was having the time of my life.

  After a few songs I shouted the latest, greatest idea I ever had in my life, “Shots!” Then I peeled off and went to the bar.

  The place was packed and the bar was three deep. Two guys saw me and shifted to the side to let me through. I smiled at them huge and bellied up to the bar.

  “Hey, thanks,” I said, still throwing a smile over my shoulder.

  “Don’t mention it, darlin’,” one of them replied.

  It took a few minutes but a bartender made it to me.

  “I want…” I turned to the dance floor and counted my Girl Gang membership. “Five shots of tequila. Don’t bother with the lime, we’re Rock Chicks, we can hack it,” I informed him.

  The guy behind me chuckled. I gave him another over the shoulder grin not exactly knowing what he found funny but also not caring. If he was in a good mood then I thought it was rude not to share in his good mood.

  “Outta my way,” I heard and the crowd around me parted without comment. This was somewhat unusual seeing as we were at a biker bar and someone pushing through the crowd was normally frowned upon. I understood why there was no comment when Wild Man Tex moved in beside me. Not many people would stand in Wild Man’s way.

  “Hey Tex. How ya doin’?” I asked as if we had known each other all our lives and he was my best friend in the whole world.

  He looked at me then he commented, “Darlin’, you’re shitfaced.”

  I leaned into him. “Yeah. Isn’t it great?”

  He shook his head and grinned but said, “I don’t mean to rain on your parade, you deserve a good night after a coupla kindnappin’s, but you best be watchin’ your step. Your man ain’t likin’ what he’s seein’ and the atmosphere is gettin’ tense.”

  I blinked at him. “My man?”

  “Luke,” Tex told me.

  I swung my head around and looked at Luke. He was watching me and it appeared Tex was right, he didn’t seem happy.

  I turned back to Tex. “He isn’t my man.”

  “Girl, it don’t matter you don’t think he is, he thinks he is. Therefore, in Badass Motherfucker Land, that means he is.”

  I laughed and waved my hand between us, dismissing Tex’s warning as the bartender set the shots in front of me.

  “Everything will be okay,” I assured Tex.

  Tex held up a bill to the bartender for my drinks and I smiled at him. I gathered all the shots in two hands but Tex grabbed my elbow and leaned in before I moved away.

  “One more thing,” Tex said.

  I stopped and looked up at him. It registered in my drunken state that he looked ultra serious.

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “Long as things are under the boys’ control, excitement is good, excitement is fun. We all get a buzz off it. Last time though, it got out of the boys’ control and we almost lost Jules.”

  Part of my fine and loose feeling slid away as Tex kept staring at me intently.

  “Be smart. These boys know what they’re doin’ and they’ll do all they can to keep you safe as long as you stay smart. Don’t make it hard on ‘em. They got enough to worry about on a day-to-day basis without someone one of ‘em cares about doin’ stupid shit and puttin’ her ass on the line. Got me?” Tex asked.

  I swallowed. Then I nodded.

  He let go of my elbow and said, “Have fun.”

  Shit.

  I headed back to the Girl Gang, handed out the shots and, standing in our circle, we threw them back. Mine played double duty of helping me erase my latest scary-assed conversation, most especially the part about Tex telling me I was someone Luke “cares about”.

  I shook it off as the band started playing “Ding Dong Daddy”. Daisy threw her hands up
in the air and shouted, “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, sister!” and I was immediately back to feeling fine and loose.

  Three songs later, I was giggling at Roxie who was pretending to dance outrageously sexy and throwing kissy-faces at Hank when a waitress came up to me and handed me a shot.

  “Bass,” she said, jerking her head toward the bass player.

  “Thanks,” I muttered and took the glass, my eyes moving to the bass player who, I noted, was watching me. The minute my eyes hit his, he smiled at me. I smiled back, lifted my glass in a thank you salute, sniffed the shot (tequila) and tossed it back.

  I no sooner had my head straightened when my wrist was seized and I was dragged across the dance floor.

  “What the –” I started to say but Luke pulled me to a halt, grabbed my purse from the table and threw it at me. I caught it and noticed the Bad Boys were all glaring at me unhappily and I blinked at them in confusion. Luke tore the shot glass out of my hand, crashed it to the table and dragged me out of the bar.

  “Hey! I was having fun!” I yelled at his back.

  He stopped at the Porsche, yanked me around, my back to it, him in front of me and he closed in until I felt car behind me and had nowhere to retreat.

  Then he growled, “I noticed.”

  “Why’d you drag me out of there?”

  “We’re goin’ home.”

  It was then I got a good look at him. “Are you angry?” I asked stupidly because it was clear he was not only angry, he was angry.

  “You’ve got to be fuckin’ shittin’ me,” he snapped.

  “What?”

  He moved around me to open the door but being drunk and not thinking clearly (if I was thinking clearly I would have run screaming into the night), I moved into his face.

  “What?” I asked again.

  “Get in the car.”

  “What?”

  “Jesus. I want to think you aren’t playin’ games but I know you’re fuckin’ playin’ games. Nobody’s that stupid.”