Bad Boy Romance: Nick (Romantic Suspense Alpha Male Romance) (New Adult Rock Star Contemporary Short Stories) (Hard Rock Star Series Book 2) (53 page)

****

Marisol fell asleep in the comforting confines of her
bed—the same bed she’d slept in since she was twelve. She replayed her
conversation with Dean in her head again and again, feeling both completely
amped up and totally disappointed. Walking that close to him, arm-in-arm, had
been exciting, but it was only enough to sharpen her hunger. The lack of a goodnight
kiss was a complete disappointment, though understandable given how close she
was to getting caught. She was wondering what that kiss might have tasted like
when she finally drifted into dreamland.

After a few hours, she woke with a sudden jolt. Heart
pounding, her eyes quickly scanned the room, and it was then that she realized
her bed was gone—in fact, her entire bedroom had disappeared, and instead of
tasting the ghost of Dean’s lips from her dream, there was something hot and
coppery and
vile
on her tongue. She spluttered and coughed, trying to
spit the flavor from her mouth, but it coated her cheeks and teeth and lips.
Marisol rolled to her side, putting her hand down on damp, sticky grass. Her
eyes focused in on the spot where her hand met the ground; where a rusty shade
of red met dewy green.

Blood
, a voice inside her helpfully supplied.
It’s
blood. You’re covered in it. Surrounded.

Her heart leapt to her throat and panic clawed at the edges
of her vision. She took a deep breath and tried to rein in her fear like an
errant horse. Now wasn’t the time to freak out; she could freak out later when
she was certain the blood didn’t belong to her.

Slowly, somehow, she found her feet. The ground was slippery
and she nearly lost her footing, but she managed to catch herself and
straighten up, taking in the full view of what she woke in the middle of.

But once she saw it, she really wished she hadn’t.

She wanted to sink back to the ground and close her eyes and
never wake up again. She wanted to run screaming for help. She wanted to run
the opposite direction and keep running until she was sure nobody would be able
to find her.

The blood did not belong to her. She had no open wounds or
injuries that she could see. Other than being scared, confused, and covered in
blood and viscera, she was unharmed. But the man—or rather,
what remained of
the man
—she woke up next to could not say the same. He was torn apart,
brutally savaged by teeth and claws. His eyes were still open and they stared
at her sightlessly, yet somehow full of fear and recrimination.
You did this
to me,
those eyes said.
Why did you do this to me?

“I don’t know,” Marisol whispered. “I don’t know, I don’t
know. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. Oh god, this can’t be real.”

She pinched her arm. She raked her nails down her cheeks.
She fisted her hair and pulled on the roots until her scalp tingled. Nothing
worked. Nothing roused her from this nightmare. The man’s throat was shredded,
his stomach torn open, his arms mangled, his face smashed.

She didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t a local. Maybe a cowboy
who just showed up for the rodeo. One who would never ride again.

She backed away from the poor man’s remains, trying to put
as much space as possible between them. She couldn’t look away from him,
though, even as her stomach twisted and writhed and threatened to empty itself.
She swallowed down the first taste of bile, doing everything she could to hold
it all back, begging God to help her because she didn’t want to see what might
come out. It was too easy to imagine the dark ochre fluid flowing from her
mouth, and what would she do if she caught sight of a finger? Or his nose?

Marisol got herself moving without too much thought of her
destination. She wanted to shower, but what if she got in trouble for washing
away the evidence?
Evidence
. Shuddering, she tried to dismiss that
thought, but she couldn’t. She was covered in
evidence.
The body would
be covered in
evidence
. There would be evidence of the crime of murder
which she clearly committed. Perhaps she should go directly to the police and
save everybody time and effort by turning herself in and making a full
confession.

Confession to what?
The inner voice asked.
Are you
going to admit you fell asleep? You don’t know what happened. You don’t even
know if you
did
anything
.

Well, something
had
happened, and she’d clearly been
involved. Perhaps she should wait and get the police involved, she thought.

Her next thought was of running home. Her father would know
what to do. Her mom would get her all cleaned up and then they’d sit around the
table and she’d explain how she woke up and then her parents would tell her
what should happen next. They wouldn’t let the police take her away. Her dad
would help her find a sensible explanation of the apparent mauling and
everything would be fine.

Unless the sensible explanation was that Marisol was a bear
shifter.

How would she face that? How would her mother ever forgive
her? She’d probably call the sheriff herself and send Marisol away. She’d
probably think that was a better solution than letting her daughter run wild.

Suddenly, home didn’t seem like the safest, or smartest,
answer.

She had only one friend who might understand: Dean. He was a
Longstrider, and even if he hadn’t admitted to being a bear himself, he would
definitely know more about what happened than anybody else. But she couldn’t
run through town covered in blood and looking like an extra from a horror
movie. She couldn’t linger there at the scene any longer, either. It was still
early, but soon the whole town would be waking up, and she was only a few
blocks from the heart of the small community.

Just then, the ding from her phone almost made her jump out
of her skin. She fumbled it out of her pocket with numb fingers. There was a new
crack in the corner of the screen, but otherwise it was fine. The message was
from Rachel, asking her if she finally got a ride on her cowboy. Marisol
ignored the question and searched for Dean in her contact list. The phone rang
five times and she almost hung up, but the sixth ring was answered with a
sleepy, “Hello?”

“Dean. Dean, it’s me. Something’s happened. I...I don’t know
what. But something...I need your help!”

“Where are you?” The sleepy rasp was gone from his voice.

“Near the park on the east side.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No...no, I don’t think so. But Dean, I can’t stay here.
It’s bad. It’s real, real, real bad.”

“Okay, sit tight. I’ll be there in just a minute.”

“God, thank you,” she said quickly before the call cut out.
Okay,
it’ll be okay
, she reassured herself again and again. Somehow, someway,
they would figure out a way to make this okay.

Dean was true to his word. He pulled up to her within
minutes, his chest bare, like he hadn’t even taken the time to put on a shirt.
His eyes widened when he saw her, and she rushed to say, “The blood isn’t mine.
I think...there’s a man...he’s over there. It’s his. I don’t know. I don’t know
what happened.”

“Slow down. Take a deep breath. Just get in the truck. Here,
cover yourself with this blanket. We’re going to get you cleaned up and then
we’re going to get to the bottom of this. Just tell me everything you know.”

“I don’t know anything. I woke up and I was here.”

“Well, we’ll just have to work backwards from there.” He
studied her for a moment before asking in a softer tone, “How do you feel?”

“Feel?”

“Yes, feel. What does your body feel like right now?”

“It...it feels full.” She looked at Dean, her eyes brimming
with tears. “What does this mean? What have I done?”

“Maybe nothing. There’s a man who can help us. He’s in
Jackson.”

“Let’s go.”

“What about your parents?”

She shook her head; she’d deal with them later. Before she
could deal with them, though, she needed to know what was happening to her. She
had so many questions that an answer—any answer—would be a huge relief. “Take
me wherever we need to go.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

****

Rory Longstrider had once been a very big deal. He’d won two
world championships with his brother Derek as a team roper, and then once Derek
was banished from the professional rodeo association, Rory went on to conquer
the world of bull riding. He’d won more money on the circuit than anybody
before him and his record stood for ten solid years after his retirement. A man
who saw Rory ride could still get a free beer in most towns in Wyoming, as long
as he was willing to talk about the legend who could not be thrown from any
bull.

The legend himself did not discuss bulls, or the rodeo, or
his championship rides. And he especially did not discuss his brother. There
were a lot of questions about Derek; a lot of rumors and gossip, fueled by the
public display of his powers and his abrupt and mysterious disappearance. Rory
kept to himself on his ranch outside of Jackson, breeding and selling
racehorses, and he didn’t have anything to do with the rodeo.

“Doesn’t he ever watch you ride?” Marisol asked.

“Nope. Never.”

“How can that be?”

Dean looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Did you
think the old man mentored me?”

“Something like that.”

“No. He doesn’t approve.”

“He doesn’t approve? That seems a bit—”

“Hypocritical?”

“Exactly.”

“Now you see why we don’t talk much.”

“Oh.” Marisol fidgeted with the hem of her truck stop
sweatshirt. They’d stopped outside of Cody at a Top Stop so she could clean up
and change, and Dean had taken the opportunity to call Rory while he waited.

Rory answered on the second ring. Despite the tension
between them, Rory was the type of man who always answered his phone—even if
what Dean had to say made him wish he hadn’t.

“Oh what?”

“I just...will he be unhappy to see us?”

“No, don’t worry about that. He knows we’re coming and he
wants to help you.”

“Why doesn’t he approve? Is it because it’s too dangerous?”

Dean took a deep breath and considered telling her the
truth, but at this point, he didn’t know if she would welcome the news as
comforting, or if it would only add to her anxiety. Still, he didn’t want to
lie to her. He’d lie to the rest of the world, but he wanted her to know the
truth.

“You’ve heard of my father.” Dean snorted. “Heard of him…
hell, you probably saw him.”

“I have. Quite a few times.”

“And you saw him the night he—”

“Turned into a bear? Yes. A bull had jumped over the fence
and into the stands. Suddenly, there was a big grizzly in the middle of the
crowd. It was...scary.”

“Yeah, I bet it was. Well, my old man never rode any bulls
because bulls always brought out the bear in him. Rory, he rode bulls because
he wanted to prove to the world there was no bear in him at all.”

“What about you? Why do you ride?”

Dean checked his rearview mirror and frowned. “Hey, you
don’t think your mom would have called the cops, do you?”

“Why?” Marisol’s head whipped around. “God! How long has
that cruiser been following us?”

“A few miles. But I’m doing the speed limit.”

“I don’t know. Even if she did call the sheriff, what would
she tell him? That her grown daughter has left the house? I don’t think that’s
illegal.” Marisol sighed. “I know she’s just worried about me but...I’ve got
too much on my mind to worry about her. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question was that?”

“Why do you ride?”

“Because I want to. Would you do it… if you had the chance?”

“Ride a bull? Hell yeah, I would.”

“Of course you would. And there’s just nothing else like
it.”

“Not even sex?”

“It depends on the night. Depends on the ride.”

Marisol’s laugh was cut short by a wide yawn.

“Are you tired?” Dean asked. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”

“I’m okay, I’m just—” she yawned again and blinked at him.
“I think it’s the road.”

“Go ahead and close your eyes.  When you wake up, we’ll be
there.”

Dean was true to his word. When she opened her eyes again,
they were parked outside of Rory’s secluded cabin in Jackson. The sun was
sinking lower and the shadows were long over the man’s face as he walked out to
meet them.

“I still feel sleepy,” she muttered.

“I know. Rory needs to talk to you, then you can take
another nap,” Dean promised as he stepped out of the truck. She was still
blinking heavily when he opened her door and helped her to the ground. Rory
offered his hand with a warm smile.

“Howdy, ma’am. You had a long drive. Can I get you some
water? Or maybe a beer?”

“Water, please.”

Rory was a tall man and he absolutely towered over Marisol.
He offered his arm, escorting her up the gravel driveway to his cabin. Dean
followed a few paces back, listening as Rory asked about the drive up from
Cody. Marisol answered, shooting a curious look over her shoulder to Dean; he
nodded and gave her the most reassuring smile he could. Marisol returned his smile,
but he could see the trepidation in her eyes. She was probably wondering when
the exam would start, but Rory knew everything he needed to know by the time
they reached the cabin’s door.

He ushered Marisol inside and paused to take Dean by the
arm. “I need to talk to this girl. Go out to the shed and get my rawhide bag.
The one by the door.”

“Is she…?”

“We’ll know soon enough. Now go. Don’t dawdle.”

Dean was already taking long strides across the yard. His
phone sounded just as he reached the shed. A text from his brother.
There’s
been another murder. They’re looking for a bear.

Dean wrote back.
Sit tight. Keep your head down.
Everything will be fine.