Breaker's Point Bad Boy Billionaires Boxset (33 page)

S
itting next to the bed
, Holly stared up at the machines. The incessant beeping was giving her a headache.

“How’s your mom?”

The sudden sound of Riley’s voice filling the room made her jump. Squeezing his hand, she glanced down at him, her eyes automatically filling with tears.

“She’s shaken up but she’ll be fine. I’m not sure how she’ll ever get over the death of my dad.”

Riley nodded. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to panic every time your heart rate changes,” she said.

Riley grinned and winced as he pushed up in the hospital bed.

“Do you have any pain? I can get…”

He cut her off with a shake of his head. “No, I’m fine, it’s the bed.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s bloody uncomfortable. I feel like a part of my back has melted into its surface.”

Holly smiled and leaned over him, her mouth finding his, her kiss soft. She wanted to kiss him harder but she held back, afraid she might hurt him.

Riley chuckled, the sound reverberating up through her body where she touched him.

“I should get stabbed more often,” he mumbled against her lips.

Holly jerked away and shot him an angry look.

“Don’t even joke about it. Watching Marcus sink that knife into you…” She trailed off, her mind easily conjuring the terrifying image.

Riley reached up, his hand sliding up her cheek and into her hair, gently tugging her back down towards him.

“Holly, I’m fine, it was nothing…”

“It wasn’t nothing. They said you lost a lot of blood because you came after me. You could have died and then what would I have done?”

Riley tugged her down, effectively silencing her with a long and lingering kiss that left her breathless.

“Well, I’m glad to see you were concerned about me.”

The sound of Stuart’s voice made Holly smile and fight against Riley’s grip.

She pushed up but Riley kept a hold of her, forcing her to sit on the side of the bed next to him as he shot his brother a look of irritation.

“So you survived, then?”

“Yeah, a through and through on my shoulder. I’m going to need some physical therapy to get it back to where it should be but considering where the bullet should have gone, I’ll take it.”

“That’ll teach you to take your eye off the ball,” Riley said, his tone light but Holly could see the tightening around his eyes and she knew the guilt he carried over Stuart’s injury.

“If you hadn’t…”

Riley laughed. “If I hadn’t warned you, you’d have heard him coming up behind you.”

“Not these guys, Riley, they were specially trained.”

“Where the hell did Marcus get guys like that?”

“I don’t think he did. When they pulled him out of the water and he laid eyes on the one that survived, he started babbling to Felder about wanting to cut a deal and that he couldn’t put him in the same prison as George’s hit man,” Holly said, interlacing her fingers with Riley.

“Marcus survived?” Riley said, surprise colouring his voice.

Holly swallowed hard and nodded, remembering the moment he’d popped up near the dock edge.

“Holly, it’s fine—he’s not here, you’re safe,” Riley said, cupping her face gently. She closed her eyes and let him hold her tightly as she waited for the feeling of fear to slowly dissipate.

“Griffin is gone. I tried to contact him after everything that happened but according to the electronic message, his number is no longer in use.”

“He didn’t leave any forwarding information?”

“Nothing. It’s like he was never even here. I’m sure when he needs something, he’ll be back,” Stuart said, his voice filled with an edge of disapproval.

Holly held her tongue. Griffin was a wild card but she knew his heart was in the right place.

As though he could sense her discomfort over the conversation, Riley changed the subject.

“How did they get Marcus out?”

“They pulled him out of the water right after they knocked you out.”

“Why the hell did they knock me out?” Riley said, his voice filled with indignation that made Holly smile.

“They had no choice. You tried to fight them off and they had to get you to the hospital.”

Riley started to grumble beneath his breath and Holly couldn’t stop the bubble of laughter that escaped her.

“Oh, so you think that’s funny, do you?” Riley said, the look in his eyes making Holly’s breath catch in the back of her throat.

“I’ll leave you both to it…” Stuart said, awkwardly clearing his throat as he headed out the door.

“I told you to stay in the car…” Riley said.

“And when I watched the two hit men go into the warehouse, I couldn’t just sit in the car and wait for them to kill you. I needed to warn you.”

“You could have been killed, Holly. I don’t want you to ever risk your life like that again—not for me, not for anyone.”

“But I wasn’t killed…”

“You could have been. How the hell did you force him to crash the car into the dock?”

“I shot him with the gun I found in Stuart’s glove compartment.”

Riley stared at her, the look on his face a mix of incredulity and shock.

“Don’t look so surprised. I told you I could handle a gun.”

“Holly McCombe, you’re the most reckless, beautiful, and courageous woman I’ve ever met and I love you. I don’t want to ever be without you…”

“Then don’t…”

Riley didn’t give her the chance to finish the sentence, his lips cutting off her words as he wrapped his arms around her and drew her against him. And Holly knew in that moment he would never let her go, as he sealed his promise with a kiss.

G
riffin gritted
his teeth as the cell phone on the passenger seat vibrated for the third time, the incessant buzzing sound causing him to grip the steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

He jerked the wheel, and the tyres spun on the loose gravel that covered the parking lot of the dive bar where Spike had said to meet. The neon lights of the sign over the door of Holey Moley's blinked on and off as Griffin rolled the car to a halt outside the main door.

Peering out through the windshield, he noted the cracked glass of the front window that sat behind warped iron bars and the general run-down appearance of the building and let out a sigh. Trust Spike to find the grungiest place on earth to lay low from the reporters.

Reaching over to the passenger seat, Griffin scooped up the phone and swiped his thumb across the screen. It instantly came to life in his hand, the list of missed calls almost enough to make him feel special and important. But if there was one thing Griffin didn't want, it was to feel in demand. Especially not by his brothers.

He scrolled through the list, quickly counting up the number of missed calls from his older brothers Riley and Stuart. Twenty-eight.

Griffin let out a low whistle, a bittersweet smile twisting his lips.

Whatever was going on in Breaker's Point, contacting him meant that they were clearly desperate. Staring down at the screen, he contemplated pressing the call button. It would be so easy to just return their calls; part of him knew he should at least listen to the numerous voicemail messages they had left for him.

Griffin swiped his thumb to the left, quickly deleting the missed call listings in his cell phone history. As he did so, a knot of tension seemed to loosen in his gut.

It served them right, anyway. When he'd asked them for help, they'd both been only too happy to turn him down. And now they had the cheek to request his help in return? They'd clearly come off their meds.

The vibrating sound began once more and Griffin jumped, the phone dropping from his hand and slamming against the steering wheel as it bounced onto the floor of the car.

“Shit!”
he muttered beneath his breath as he scrambled beneath the steering column to retrieve it. Grabbing it, he glanced at the screen and quickly answered the call, pressing the speaker button.

"Griffin, are you there?" The familiar sound of his manager’s voice filled the car.

"Hey, Steve!" Griffin said, forcing a note of cheerfulness into his voice.

After all, he had agreed with Spike not to let Steve know that there was anything wrong.

"Don't ‘hey, Steve’ me. Where the hell are you? You haven't been answering your phone for days. In fact, I can't reach any of the guys. It's like you've all just dropped off the face of the earth."

"Something came up, that's all."

"Something can't just come up, Griffin, not when you've got the rest of the tour to finish. After all the tickets that have been sold, this isn't something you can just flake out on!" There was an edge to his voice that Griffin wasn't used to hearing, and he couldn't help but wonder if Steve knew more about the situation than he was letting on.

"I want you and the rest of the guys to come into the office. There's something we need to talk about, something important…"

"Listen, Steve, I'm not sure what you think you know, but whatever it is will just have to wait. You need to trust us. We've never skipped out on a gig and we're not going to start now, but…"

"Griffin, I'm not playing around. I mean it, you need to come in. This is not something we can allow to carry on, and…"

Griffin caught sight of Spike stepping out through the front doors of the bar, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth as he stared down at his cell phone.

"Steve, I gotta go. Try not to worry so much, it'll only make you prematurely grey." Griffin ended the call as the other man started to protest, but Griffin cut his voice off by bringing his thumb down hard on the red button.

He sat in the car and watched Spike for a minute, the concerned look on his bandmate's face turning his stomach.

Spike was supposed to be the calm one, the man with the plan, and it had been his idea that had sent Griffin back to Breaker's Point.

It had been a stupid plan.

Pulling the keys from the ignition, Griffin pushed the car door open and stepped out onto the loose gravel of the parking lot, his heavy black boots crunching over the stones as he crossed to the door.

"What took you so long? You were supposed to be here hours ago!" Spike said, taking a drag of the cigarette and speaking through the side of his lips, his voice low and irritated.

"I was held up. The traffic wasn't exactly a peach, you know, and it's a long ass drive down from Breaker's." Griffin felt himself bristle at the pissy tone Spike seemed to be taking with him.

He wasn't the one who'd had to go to his family, cap in hand, only to be humiliated when they turned him down.

Griffin couldn't shake the look of shock Riley had worn when he'd told his brother how much money he wanted to borrow from him. A quarter of a million was peanuts to a man like Riley Reynolds; it wouldn't have cost him a thought to hand out that kind of cash. It was part of the reason Griffin felt so utterly betrayed by his own family.

He knew without a doubt that if precious Stuart had asked for the money, Riley would have given it to him without a moment's hesitation. But because it had been him instead, Riley had turned him down.

It stung. The ensuing confrontation with his brothers had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

You could always go to Dyson. He's still family, after all, and he more than anyone else would understand what it felt like to be betrayed by those who were supposed to be there for you no matter what.

Griffin dismissed the thought the second it popped into his head. Asking Dyson for help was by far one of the worst things he could possibly do, even if he was Griffin’s twin. Dyson had made his choice all those years ago and Griffin wasn't in the mood to beg, although Dyson owed him big time.

"Fine, whatever, man. Did you get it?"

"I told you on the phone there was a problem with the money…"

"Christ, Griffin, I ask you to do one thing and you can't help but screw it up. These people aren't playing. They mean business, and if we don't pay them back…" Spike trailed off, his blue eyes a little too wide, his pupils a little too big.

"You're high again, aren't you? You said you were done with all of that, Spike. You made a promise to me and the guys!" Griffin sighed and pushed his hands back through his hair as he stalked into the bar, the door slamming back against the grotty wall with the force of his entrance.

He scanned the dimly lit room, his eyes picking out the rest of the band who were huddled around a small table at the back of the bar. His gaze travelled away from them before falling on the curvy beauty standing behind the bar.

Her red hair fell around her shoulders in waves, and Griffin felt a prickle of desire roll down through his body as he watched her lean across the bar, her breasts straining against the overly large check shirt she wore.

He couldn't help but grin as she lifted her gaze to his, a flash of annoyance passing behind her bright green eyes as she caught him staring at her.

Griffin sauntered towards her, relaxing into his role as sex god extraordinaire, a title he had more than earned the right to use. There wasn't a woman on earth who could resist him, and for good reason.

He caught sight of his reflection in the speckled mirror behind the bar and his smile wilted.

You look like shit!
The small voice in the back of his mind loved to state the obvious, and now was no exception.

Griffin tried to shrug it off; he needed a distraction from everything that was going wrong in his life, and the stunner who was still eyeing him suspiciously was the perfect balm for his battered soul.

It wasn't something he was particularly proud of. Attempting to solve all of life's problems by screwing the brains out of whatever woman he happened to sweet talk into bed wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Hook-ups were meaningless and they only ever seemed to be a temporary escape from the painful memories that plagued him whenever he closed his eyes. But it was better than the alternative and, although these encounters were empty, they were at least enjoyable.

"Hey, beautiful, I'm Griffin. You've probably seen me on the TV…"

"Hi, Griffin! My name is I couldn't give a damn who you are, so you can keep on walking with that sweet talker act because I ain't buying the shit you're selling."

Griffin grinned a little wider as he slid onto one of the tattered barstools. Anticipation curled in the pit of his stomach. It was always nice to meet a challenge and, from the looks of the woman who stood glaring at him from the other side of the bar, she would be worth the effort.

"Do you greet all your customers with such award-winning charm?"

Her expression darkened and Griffin couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to suck her cherry ripe bottom lip between his teeth as he kissed the hostility out of her.

"Only the ones I know are assholes," she quipped before beginning to turn her back on him.

"I'll have a double whiskey," he said, halting her in her tracks before she had the chance to stalk away.

Griffin smiled, watching her shoulders sag before she reached up to the shelves above her head and grabbed a shot glass. She slammed it on the counter in front of him and took a bottle of cheap-looking whiskey from beneath the bar.

"Got anything that won't rot my stomach?" Griffin asked, wrinkling his nose, his taste buds withering in anticipation of what was coming.

The red head flashed him an unfriendly grin as she half filled the glass and pushed it towards him.

"Nope, I'm afraid on this side of town this is as good as it gets."

He was well aware that she was lying, but Griffin also knew when he was beat and so he scooped up the glass and knocked the contents back in one foul mouthful.

He fought to keep his expression from twisting in disgust, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing just how brutal it had been. But he realized he'd failed the moment her smile widened and she topped off his glass before walking away, the sound of her laughter burning in his ears.

"
S
he's
nothing more than a frigid bitch. I wouldn't bother with her if I were you," Spike said as he climbed onto the barstool next to Griffin.

"Piss off, Spike. When I want to learn how to become a junkie, I'll give you a call."

"Oh, come on, don't give me that holier than thou crap, Griffin, it really doesn't suit you. We've all made mistakes; it's the stress of the situation, which, thanks to you, is a shit storm we're buried in up to our necks. I just needed a little help clearing my head."

"Don't blame this on me. I was trying to pull us out of the mire and get us back on our feet. How was I supposed to know this would happen?" Griffin’s grip tightened on the tumbler in front of him.

Spike's words bit home. It was Griffin's fault; he'd caused the mess, and it was his job to drag them back out of it. But it didn't make any sense and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wrap his head around how it had all gone down the drain so quickly. The money should have lasted longer, should have stretched further…

"Come on, you know what these guys are like. They’re nice when you're asking for the money but the friendliness disappears just as soon as they have you right where they want you."

"But the money shouldn't be gone. I made sure we had enough to see us through this tour and then some. I don't understand how it could have just been frittered away."

Spike shrugged and reached over, his hand grabbing the tumbler of whiskey from Griffin. He downed it in one go, his face twisting, and a shudder rippled through his skinny frame as he dropped the glass back onto the bar.

"I don't know what happened to it. Maybe Steve screwed up? He hasn't ever been the best manager in the world, so maybe it's time for a change?"

Griffin stared down at his hands, his fingers sliding over the calluses caused by years of playing guitar. Spike was probably right, but that didn't change the fact that they were in trouble up to their necks. Griffin had no idea how to fix it.

"Cami, get your dumpy ass over here and pour me another drink," Spike shouted down towards the bartender.

Griffin watched as his cruel barb hit home and the pretty bartender's shoulders tensed in response. But she kept her back to him, ignoring his shouts that were gradually becoming more and more aggressive.

"Shut up, Spike, you're making a fool out of yourself," Griffin said, gritting the words out from between his clenched teeth.

Spike's mistreatment of women had always made him uncomfortable. Griffin knew he was no angel but he actually liked women, loved the feel of their bodies, the taste of their lips, the sound of their laughter when they were truly happy. The one thing on this earth that he enjoyed most was a genuine smile, but since making it big with his band Black Special, Griffin had found it practically impossible to find a woman who could look past his celebrity status. Because of that, every smile he was privy to was tainted and lacked the genuine emotion he sought.

Unlike Spike, whose sole mission on earth seemed to be aimed at making women as miserable as he pretended to be. Griffin had often wondered if Spike was, in fact, a misogynist and, if he was, then what had driven him to such an extreme?

"I'm making a fool of myself? I'm not the lazy whore behind the bar pretending not to hear her thirsty customers calling her name."

Griffin started to turn in Spike's direction, a smart response on the tip of his tongue, but it was already too late. His mouth dropped open as Spike hopped over the bar and started pulling bottles out from underneath the counter.

"I knew there had to be something better back here than the piss water she's been serving us," Spike said, bending down to pull out another bottle.