The Purest Hook (Second Circle Tattoos #3)(14)

“One sec, gorgeous.” He walked back into the suite and opened the door. Sam stood there, his face red.

“Why the hell didn’t you show at McBrain’s? A golden f*cking photo op and you were meant to be the money shot.”

“Hey, Sam,” he croaked. “You know why, *. I feel like death on a f*cking silver platter.”

Sam marched into the suite like he owned the place. “Where is she? You got some groupie tucked away in here somewhere?”

“Sam. You got thirty seconds to calm the f*ck down.”

“Calm down? Do you know how long it took to set up that meet and greet? The old guard of metal passing the baton to the new.”

“I’m sorry, I think I should go.” Dammit. Pixie. He turned to see her standing nervously by the curtains.

“A f*cking groupie. I should have known it.” Sam paced back and forth across the white rug. “Shit. This is why you aren’t being taken seriously.”

Pixie made to walk by Dred, but he placed his hand gently on her arm. “Give me a minute, please.” He didn’t want her to go. It would be a while before he’d see her again, and he didn’t want this to be his last memory of her.

“The rest of the guys were there, you got the picture. Baton, passed.”

“You are the band, Dred. I know you guys have this f*cked-up utopian thing . . . but to the rest of the world, you’re the star.” The louder Sam’s voice got, the tighter Pixie’s hand gripped his. Sam’s reaction was disproportionate to the events, especially when there was an explanation to be had.

“Knock off the yelling, Sam. You are scaring Pix,” Dred said, pulling her closer against him.

Sam turned to look at her for the first time, disdain twisting his features. “Pix? What kind of name is that? You sound like a f*cking Pokémon.”

Dred felt her body jerk against his, but her voice was calm and smooth. “And you’re a jerk.”

“Better than a slut. You’ve had your fun. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Sam sneered, gesturing toward the hallway.

Blind rage consumed Dred, and he stepped forward, all the mechanisms his counsellors had taught him for keeping his anger checked, having failed. Like venom in a vein, he could feel its stinging pulse work its way through his body until he was on the balls of his feet, his hands fisted at his sides. He was going to f*cking kill Sam.

“You don’t say that about her.” His voice came out in a growl, the only warning Sam was going to get.

Pixie pushed in between him and Sam, her tiny hand shoving against his chest with an effect so powerful it stopped him midstride.

He put his hand over hers, holding it against his chest. His heartbeat slowed, the need to fight dissipated. Just her proximity soothed him from the quick trigger he’d spent years trying to overcome after being diagnosed with oppositional defiant disorder as a child.

“You know what. This is pointless. I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself.” Sam marched out of the room.

What the f*ck? Ten minutes ago, he’d been sitting with Pixie on the balcony, desperately wanting to kiss her, but knowing he was too sick to try. Now Sam had questioned his commitment, and likely scared Pixie away for good.

“I’m sorry, Pix.” It was hugely insufficient, but the argument had drained him of what little energy he’d recovered. Those sweet eyes of her were telling him nothing. Pixie pulled her hand out of his.

“I better go,” she said heading to the door. “You need to get some more rest.”

“Hey, Pix,” he said sadly as she reached for the handle. “I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but you’ve taken care of me, twice. We’ve kissed, twice. You’ve been alone with me in my room, twice. When are you going to go out with me?”

She turned toward him, her face unreadable. It was the last time he was going to ask, or at least it was the last time he’d get to ask her for a while. He was as committed to Preload as he had been the day Maisey put that crappy guitar in his hand, despite Sam’s accusations. But the idea of Pixie walking out of the door, and him getting on a flight in the morning burned. So he waited for the smart-aleck response, braced for the no.

“When you’re feeling better,” she said with a shy smile that made his f*cking year.





Chapter Four


She could hear hammering at the door. The police must have found her. Blood ran down the underside of her wrist, hitting the brown shag carpet. Pixie panicked. It wasn’t her fault. He’d hurt her and the fishing knife he’d used earlier to gut fish was within reach.

The loud knocking sounded again. “Pix, I know you’re in there.”

They’d come for her, and she was going to go to prison for a long time.

“Pix.” The voice grew louder. And the police were calling her Pix, not Sarah-Jane.

She sat up in bed with a jolt. Drenched in sweat, she looked at the clock. It was ten in the morning. She coughed hard. Three hours sleep was not enough to function, but her nose was so congested, she couldn’t breathe lying down.

She pushed her hair off her face and grabbed the bottle of water from the bedside table. Her hands shook as she fumbled with the cap.

Someone hammered on the door. For real this time.

“Pix. Open up.” Dred was outside the condo.