Rock Redemption #3: Rock Revenge Trilogy, page 12
“That’s for me to decide.” She slammed down her glass and I realized she’d already drained it. “You don’t get to drag me into a world not of my making and then pretend you’re chivalrous by keeping me blindfolded. What if it had been me they’d taken instead of Margo, Ian?”
I shut my eyes. “My worst fear,” I whispered.
“Yeah, and I know that’s what finally made you come clean. I know you care for me, but—”
“I don’t simply care for you. I love you more than my own life. You’ve given me my life. A reason to care about still breathing.”
“And that’s wrong too. It’s all wrong, Ian. Can’t you see that?” She grabbed my forearm, her nails digging in until I had no choice but to open my eyes. “You would have sacrificed yourself and you didn’t even think of me. Didn’t even think about what it would do to me if—” She broke off and threw up a hand when I reached for her. “Don’t. I can’t stand you to touch me right now.”
I dropped my hand and stared at it as if it was on fire. I could smell it burning just like the ashes of what I’d almost had.
And lost.
Always lost.
“You think the ends justifies the means. If you save Margo, it’s worth the loss of you.”
“How could I do anything else?” I asked helplessly. “If not for me, she wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place.”
“I don’t know everything about that situation, and I may never know it. Gotta admit I really don’t want to hear all the details about how far you fell. How little you cared about yourself that you’d mortgage your future—and your brother’s and his wife’s.” Zoe’s throat moved as she swallowed. “And their child’s.”
“I didn’t have a clue about any of that. I swear to you.”
“I know you didn’t. But that isn’t a get out of jail card. You were playing with people’s lives, just as they played with yours. You were just their pawn.”
Shame burned up my spine and I opened the bottle of vodka so I couldn’t feel the singe as it sheared straight through to the bone. I took a long drink and wiped my mouth, then did it again.
Zoe simply walked away.
I didn’t follow. Like the coward I was—the pawn—I stood in her small kitchen and drank until the worst of the pain filling my head dulled enough for me to function.
To get through this conversation that would kill the only thing I loved.
If it wasn’t dead already.
After I’d cleared a third of the bottle, I left the glass behind and walked into the living room, still clutching my vodka. The exhaustion and fear from the past few days was hammering at the base of my skull and I swayed on my feet.
She didn’t see me. She faced away from me where she sat, looking so small and burdened, on the sofa.
“If you thought I’d fight you on this, you’re wrong.” My words were a little slurred, though that could have been from earlier combined with just enough alcohol to make everything fuzz out of focus.
If I hadn’t been so bone-deep tired, it wouldn’t have affected me so. Or if I’d eaten…well, anything. My stomach was hollow, my head and chest too full.
She let out a brittle laugh and covered her face with her hands. “Of course you won’t fight me. Because that’s not what you do. You lay down and let them drag you under. Isn’t that what—” She stopped and let her hands fall away, her face blanching of color.
“Isn’t that what what?” I stared at her, not understanding, until her expression told me the direction of her thoughts. “Isn’t that what my burning myself is about? Or my trying to end it all?”
“Ian, no.” She rose. “I have no right to judge. What you’ve lived through is beyond my scope.”
“But you love me. Loved,” I adjusted quickly as she averted her eyes. “Even with all our differences, we found a way to matter to each other. God, Zoe, you matter to me. So much more than I ever mattered to myself.” I tipped the bottle to my mouth, barely noticing as vodka splashed my shirt. “You’re right. I didn’t fight. Oh, I did early on. But eventually, I grew weary and decided it was easier to submit. The less of a struggle, the less it hurts. Except you know what? It fucking hurts. I fucking hurt.”
“You hurt because you can’t make yourself not feel. It’s not possible. You’re so strong and vibrant and with every bit of yourself you shut down, you were slowly killing yourself. As surely as if you’d bled out.” Tears smeared her cheeks as she gripped my shirt, shaking me as if she could make me see.
But I already did. At least I was beginning to.
Through it all, there was Zoe. She’d been the beginning of a new life for me. A reason to see myself as more. To start to believe it deep down. Maybe that spark was just a flicker, but it was real and it existed.
Because of her.
“I’m bleeding out right now. But I’m still on my feet. I’m still here.” Saying the words was a strengthener, infusing my voice with a power it shouldn’t have had. Not when it was as broken as the rest of me. “I’m not laying down anymore.”
She pressed her face to my chest, her shoulders shaking. She was still holding on to me despite everything.
At least for this last moment, she was still mine.
I cupped her cheek with fingers that weren’t steady and eased her back. “Once more. Please. I need to carry your memory with me.”
Her wet amber eyes beseeched me. As if she was asking me not to make her do this. To make it easier for her to break free.
She thought I was so eager to submit? Perhaps the old Ian had been, once time had worn me down. Now? I’d fight dirty if it meant one more hour with her.
Inside her.
Hell, one more minute would be a gift. And I might be ashamed later I’d resorted to such tactics, but I wouldn’t regret it.
If this was all there would ever be of us, I intended to make it count.
Thirteen
One last time?
I wasn’t sure I could bear it. Part of me wanted to scream at him to leave. To just get away from me before I could let any other part of him seep into me. Moral support was the fucking suck, but I’d done it. I couldn’t walk away from him while we’d been in the muck and mire of it.
While everyone had stared at him like he was a pariah.
Mama bear tendencies I didn’t even know existed inside of me had come roaring out. So I knew the love was still there. But right now, love wasn’t enough for any of us.
Loving Ian would never be easy. I’d known that from the very start.
I also couldn’t be his entire heart, soul, and support.
Watching him sway in front of me, the pain coming out of his pores like the vodka he was medicating with… That couldn’t be on me for the rest of our lives. Nothing about him would ever heal and be a better person if I enabled him.
And it fucking sucked to be the bigger person.
I didn’t want to.
I wanted the Ian back who sang on the beach. The Ian who let me paint his nails. The one who made me itch for my camera and my paints. The Ian who sang on stage with such all-encompassing joy. Those were all parts of him—buried ones.
But I knew they were in there.
They just weren’t enough.
I stepped in front of him, lifting my hand to his perfect face.
Maybe to some he was too angular through the jaw and nose. Maybe his eyes were too wild and that matched his curls that couldn’t be contained. Maybe the emotions he released were too much for this world to handle.
Or even worse, for him to handle.
For me to handle.
I stepped into him, dragging his mouth to mine. He tasted of vodka and remorse. Of guilt and shame. I needed to push that all aside for just a moment. One last good moment that I could hold close in the dark corners when I was too weak to put him in a box where he belonged.
He hoisted me up into his arms and I wrapped my legs around his lean waist. His arms crushed me close and my breasts smushed against his hard chest, my thighs quaking with the strength needed to hold myself above him.
I pushed the curls out of his face and kissed him again.
I couldn’t let the kiss be sweet.
I’d never survive this if I didn’t tap into the one thing I could handle. The fire. Walking into the burn might not be smart, but maybe afterward, I’d be clean. I could walk out of the ashes of us and start over.
I tangled my fingers into his curls and twisted until the blade of pain flickered in his eyes. I knew he wanted sweetness. My Ian was a romantic under all the bluster and swagger. Well, he wouldn’t be getting that from me tonight.
If he wanted this, it would be on my terms.
“Ah, Magic.”
I could hear the sorrow in the way he said my nickname. The need bubbling up between us had to wash that away for now. I wouldn’t end up a blubbering mess this last time.
No, that was for later.
For when it was just me and the shower washing the last of him away.
I closed my mouth over his, swallowing whatever words he would try to give me. The apologies, the platitudes, even the words of love that slipped from him so easily.
His fingers gripped my ass, dragging me closer. As if he could swallow me whole. Our tongues tangled and the sting of teeth came from both sides. His mouth moved down my neck to the loose front of my shirt. He dragged at it to get it off, to get it open and us skin to skin.
We both twisted at clothing as he walked us over to my bed.
It seemed like forever since I’d seen my bed. That we’d seen it together. Days had been a blur of studio work and painting. Of stolen moments and then...the other.
The hell that his mother had brought down on all of us.
He tried to be gentle as he laid me down in the twist of sheets that still smelled of us from the last time we’d done this. Of the woodsmoke and coconut blend we both wore now.
I dragged my shirt the rest of the way off and then helped him with his. I pushed at his pants and my jeans. There couldn’t be anything between us. Nothing—not even air.
His mouth crashed down on mine even before his boots and pants hit the floor. I heard the thud of them distantly, but his teeth were too busy tugging at my nipple until it throbbed.
I glanced down at him. He was staring up at me with the tip in his mouth. As he sucked until the edge of pain hovered before he released it and licked me gently. Only to do it again with the other, then adding a bite and bruise at my belly, my hip. He left marks everywhere.
His marks.
The tiny star blooms of his teeth and strong pulls from his deft lips. Normally, I screamed at him for marking me. Hickeys weren’t my thing. I didn’t think I wanted to wear him longer than tonight.
But I was wrong.
Each little searing pain followed by a flood of gentleness broke me down until I was writhing under him. Until his mouth was on my pussy, driving me up and over with ruthless aggression and unending love.
I’d asked for this.
The harsh side of him, the fire and the untapped passion that twisted inside of him that he was afraid to let free.
The part of him I was afraid to face because it so completely mirrored the hidden one in me.
Why was it this man who made me face it?
Why couldn’t I keep it?
Tears blindsided me as I screamed his name. He held me down, made me take everything. Watched me with those storm-soaked eyes as his tongue and lips owned me.
I thought I’d have the upper hand here.
To control this thing he’d asked of me.
I should have known that would never happen. Not when it came to this man.
He didn’t stop until I was curled around his head, as I came up off the bed and grabbed him by the hair just to get his lips off me for a second. I dragged his mouth up to mine and tasted my release on his tongue.
I scrambled up until I straddled him and took him inside me.
Mistake.
I was too primed, too swollen and sensitive. Every ridge and vein felt huge inside me, from the flared head of his cock to the wide shaft that forced me to conform to him. I took him deep and his eyes went feral.
He loved to sink into me sweetly and softly. As if he had to protect me and love me with gentleness. It always took time to unlock the lust banging around in the cage of his heart.
I’d let it out and he wasn’t prepared for it.
It came with more bruises. His fingers digging into my hips and my ass as he thrust up inside me. I left behind some of my own. My nails raced down his back and my teeth locked on his shoulder as he hit the spot deep inside me no other man had ever found.
I twisted and arched above him as I rode him hard and fast. As I wrung him dry with every trick I knew about what he loved and needed to go over fast and dirty. I didn’t want this to last forever.
I wouldn’t survive it.
Ian could last for hours if I let him.
But there was no way I’d be able to say goodbye if that were the case.
His name was a keening cry as I arched and threw my head back. He clamped his arms around me and held me down around him as he came.
I could feel the warmth flooding me.
The protection we hadn’t bothered with.
This one last time would be skin to skin in all ways.
One last boundary seared to ash.
He held onto me as his thrusts slowed and his cock slowly slid from me. He buried his face in my neck and I heard the hoarse shudder of my name as a chant.
I allowed myself another moment. Another breath full of him and us together. The scent that I could never name, but dreamed of like a palette of rainbow paints in every color I could ever imagine or combine.
But then I had to climb off of him.
Even though my whole body and heart tried to convince me otherwise, I knew it was what I needed.
What he needed.
I left him in my bed and stumbled away before he could see my tears. Before he could try to soothe me with the magical poetry of his voice.
I stopped at the threshold of my bathroom, but I didn’t turn back to him. I couldn’t. If I did, then I’d run to him.
“I love you, Ian. You’ve finally gotten a second chance to start over. Please don’t waste it.”
I closed the door and whipped back the curtain before turning the water as hot as I could stand. The tears didn’t come until the water ran cold.
Then I was so afraid they’d never stop.
But once there wasn’t a single emotion left inside of me, I dragged myself out and found my studio empty.
Resolute, I tugged on jeans and a T-shirt and started packing up my canvases. There was nothing left for me here.
Maybe we both had a second chance to start over.
Fourteen
I was in the middle of the bloody forest.
By my own hand, worst of all. I’d asked to come here. In fact, I’d almost begged.
I needed to get out of my own head. Away from the memories and the tantalizing glimpses of all I’d almost had.
On the plane here, I’d started scribbling a song I’d titled “Exile.” Only to find there was a famous Warning Sign song by the same name. Different concept, but still.
Even in my misery, I wasn’t unique.
And now? Now I was surrounded by trees and mountains and fresh air and I’d never felt more claustrophobic in my life.
I shifted my bags and guitar case from one side to the other. “I’m not sure about this, mate.”
Flynn Sheppard, country-rock star and my sort of new friend, clapped me on the back and laughed. “You seemed so enthused when you called.”
I hadn’t had a lot of options when it came to crashing with a buddy. I had very few of them, as it turned out. Even Flynn was a new one I’d met while discussing the drummer he’d stolen from me.
All right, not really. I’d practically driven Deuce away, since I didn’t know how to have a true band. At least I was working on it.
Assuming my new band would want anything to do with me after my flight from civilization was said and done.
Somehow out of that conversation with Flynn a tentative friendship had been born. And here I was on Flynn’s doorstep—one of them anyway, because he apparently had a couple—and pressing my advantage. But I’d needed a getaway. Fresh perspective.
Life advice from a dude who had a decade of years on me and a wealth of experience. Oh, and who also took absolutely no shit.
“I didn’t exactly know what a rustic cabin meant. This is…really rustic.” I frowned at the cabin situated on a plot of land that had only had trees for neighbors. And hulking mountains. In the distance, a river burbled. Or a lake. Some body of water.
I wanted to run for the not-so-metaphorical hills.
“I bet you didn’t, London boy. But you’re here now. Come on inside.”
“Is there enough room for us both?”
Flynn cocked a brow at me, something he did often. We hadn’t spent much time together, but we’d developed a fast friendship. Something of a miracle for me. We were opposites in many ways, and friends were scarce in my world.
Especially now.
Rather than reply, he led me inside. And grinned smugly when my jaw dropped.
Nothing metaphorical there.
From the outside, the place looked just this side of ramshackle. I’d seen a lot of shitty places, so it took a lot for me to say that. The inside was vastly different.
The great room seemed to run most of the length of the house—and it was far bigger than I’d realized upon first glance. It had probably been dwarfed by all the damn trees.
Heavy wooden furniture dominated the space. Wide planked wood floors and the walls themselves looked as if they’d been carved out of the forest. A large fireplace was filled with candles of every shape and size. Understandable, since it had to be over eighty outside. I’d left one steam bath and flown straight into another.
I didn’t miss much about London, but I missed the English summer. I wasn’t cut out for roasting.
