Raging Hard: A Stepbrother SEAL Romance (With bonus novel Based!) (44 page)

I sighed. The woman was a natural politician. Except I’d be afraid to live in a country where she was in charge.

As I moved over toward the bar and ordered my wine, I couldn’t help but wonder what the heck Lincoln’s ulterior motives were. There was no way he was going through with some charity date thing out of the goodness of his heart. I could practically hear him laughing at the idea and saying how stupid and empty the gesture was. And yet Jules said it was his idea.

He was baffling. I sipped my wine, grabbing a chicken finger from the little tray, as I moved back onto the floor and looked around. I hadn’t seen him come in, but maybe he was lurking around anyway, trying to stay out of the spotlight. That would be a first for him, but apparently he was changing.

As I finished my first loop, chicken finger comfortably in my stomach and my first glass of wine half finished, there was a commotion toward the entrance. I knew even before I started in that direction what I would find.

Surrounded by people and camera flashes, dressed in a perfectly-fitted tux and holding his fancy skull-head cane, was Lincoln and his documentary crew. Jess hung back behind them as the crew filmed his entrance, fans shaking his hand and taking pictures with him, and all through it Lincoln grinned and laughed and played to the crowd like a pro.

He is a pro at this,
I had to remind myself. He pandered to the crowds for a living. He was Based Carter, after all. He had to represent his clothing line.

“Found him. He just came in the front,” I said into my headset.

“Oh, that’s what’s going on. Thanks, dear,” Jules said.

I sighed and turned my back on him and the crew. I couldn’t handle watching it when all I wanted was to drag him out back into the darkness of the night and kiss his mouth and neck and chest.

Back in my spot, I gulped down my glass of wine.

Based Carter. What an asshole. I had no interest in him.

Maybe I could make it true if I kept saying it to myself.

––––––––

“T
hat’s right, ladies and gentlemen, you can bid on a night with Lincoln ‘Based’ Carter himself! Check out table twenty-nine!”

Jules stood up on the stage and beamed out over the crowd. I had to admit, she looked incredible up onstage, her long legs shimmering under her dress.

She gestured at Lincoln like he was a prized piece of meat, waving her arms toward him. For his part, Lincoln stood there grinning out at everyone, and he looked just as radiant as Jules did, if not more. Despite leaning on the cane, he looked better than he ever had before.

I was shocked, though, that he didn’t make some rude gesture at everyone. I totally expected him to grab the microphone and start making crude jokes. Instead, he just stood there like he was supposed to. I had no clue how Jules managed to do it.

“He’ll take you to the hottest restaurant in Boulder, and afterward you’ll take a nice little stroll through downtown,” Jules said.

Lincoln kept smiling.

“Bid now! Perfect for a man or a woman, for any true fan of one of the best BASE jumpers in the world.”

I rolled my eyes. She was laying it on pretty thick.

“Remember everyone, it’s for a good cause, so go ahead. Trust me, Lincoln Carter is worth it.”

I nearly gagged. She was practically pimping him out. Even Lincoln gave her a little look at that last line. But before he could do anything to ruin her nice speech, she put the microphone back on its stand and ushered him off the stage and back into his adoring public’s waiting embrace. 

Forget him
, I thought to myself.
Let him get mobbed. I don’t care.

The night had dragged on without incident, mostly just people complaining that pencils had broken or asking inane questions about the different things they could bid on. Since I more or less didn’t know any answers, I started amusing myself by making up elaborate stories for whatever item people were asking about.

Basically, I was bored. And I was trying to do anything I could to keep my mind off Lincoln.

I watched as Jules and Lincoln disappeared back into the crowd, the camera crew following his every step, as I waded back onto the floor.

“Excuse me, miss?”

I turned toward an older gentleman and his wife. Based on the number of diamonds she was wearing, these people were seriously loaded.

“Yes, sir?”

“This package here. This . . . restaurant package. What exactly is that?”

“Well, sir, that’s an exclusive package of the hottest restaurants all over Boulder. It gets you a private room and private tastings with each chef, plus as much wine as you can drink.”

He nodded and murmured appreciatively, glancing at his wife.

“Very good. Very good. I think I’ll bid on this one.”

“Thank you, sir. Your money is going to a great cause.”

Before he could ask me anything else, I walked away quickly. I felt a little bad that I had just lied to him, but I was pretty sure at least one part of what I had said was true. Plus, it really was a good cause, whatever that was.

“Okay, guys, five minute notice!” Jules said over the headset.

That meant things were wrapping up. I glanced at my watch and was surprised three hours had already flown by. I moved through the people and began passing along the word.

When it was done, we shut the books that held the bids and carried them up to the stage. Once there, Jules began to read out the winning bid amounts and the generous donor’s name if they weren’t anonymous.

At that point, though, I was already sipping my second glass of wine and ignoring the whole thing. I was ready for the boring, crappy night to be done with.

Until something Jules said pulled me back.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Who won the date with Based Carter?”

Some scattered cheers and applause could be heard, and I glanced around the room for Lincoln but couldn’t find him.

“Let’s see here . . .” Jules said, looking over the bid. “Okay, this is fantastic. With a winning bid of five thousand dollars, Miss Misty Springer is the winner! Misty, come on up here.”

Misty Springer? Sounds like a stripper
, I thought ruefully.

And then Misty walked onstage, and I nearly gagged. Stripper was probably pretty accurate. She was blond, had huge fake breasts, and was wearing the shortest dress I had ever seen. Her heels were maybe nine inches high, and she giggled and waved at the crowd like she was accepting an Oscar for Best Prostitute.  

I couldn’t take it. Of course Lincoln was going out on a date with someone like her. Of course she had to be young and pretty and easy looking. I threw back my glass of wine, tore the earpiece from my ear, and dropped it right there on the floor.

I turned and walked out.

I didn’t bother thinking about it. I just left. I was done with the night, done with Lincoln, done with everything.

The cool night air hit me hard as I shoved open the front door and stormed outside. I hadn’t realized how warm it had been inside. I suddenly felt like I could breathe again. I walked a few paces toward the parking lot, anger and frustration welling up through me.

“Hey, Aubrie?”

I turned toward the voice and recognized Brent, one of Lincoln’s camera crew guys.

“Hey, Brent,” I said, stepping toward him.

He smiled at me, dropping a cigarette on the ground and stubbing it out with his foot.

“Cutting out early?”

“Yeah. Thought I’d beat the traffic.”

He came a bit closer to me, but he looked unsteady on his feet.
Is he drunk?
I thought to myself, suddenly nervous.

“Very clever. You’re a pretty clever girl.”

“Uh, thanks, Brent. Shouldn’t you be working?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Takin’ a break. Sick of filming that asshole anyway.”

I blinked. “Okay. Well, have a good night.”

I turned to leave but he took a step closer.

“Hold on, hold on. Where you off to?”

He was definitely drunk. His words were coming out thick and slurry and his smile was dumb and empty.

“Home.” I started walking.

He jogged to catch up, matching my pace. “Want to do something fun instead?”

I glanced around the parking lot. Nobody was around.

“No, thanks. I’m tired. I should just head home.”

“Okay, yeah, I hear you.”

I kept walking. For a second, I thought I had gotten away, but suddenly he grabbed my arm. I staggered and stopped, glaring at him.

“What the hell?” I said.

“Wait a second. I’m just trying to talk to you.”

He was standing close, and I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He reeked of whisky and cigarettes. There was something empty in his gaze, something off-putting. I had never seen someone look at me like that before, but I suddenly felt like he was sizing me up.

“Get off me,” I said, trying to yank my arm away.

“Relax. It’s fine. We’re just talking,” he said, tightening his grip.

My heart was hammering in my chest. Nobody was around. Nobody was coming to help me. Why was he doing this? What was going on?

“Get off me, asshole,” I said loudly.

“Come on, let’s get out of here. Hang out together.”

“Let me go!” I yelled in his face.

Suddenly, his expression went from appraising and calm to completely angry. It almost took my breath away how furious he looked. He was sweating slightly and his face was inches away from mine. He spit in my face every time he spoke.

I wanted to vomit and scream.

“No need to fucking yell,” he said.

My heart was hammering in my chest, and I made the snap decision to fight back. As I prepared myself, not sure what I was going to do, but pretty sure it involved hitting him in the balls, suddenly he grunted in pain and dropped down onto one knee, letting me go. Before I could scream in his face or kick him, I saw Lincoln standing there, his cane pulled back.

Lincoln bashed his cane down again, hitting Brent in the side of the head. Brent went down with a grunt.

“Lincoln!” I yelled, but he didn’t hear me. His face was a mask of twisted rage as he stood over Brent and hit him again. I had never seen someone so furious.

“How dare you fucking touch her, you piece of shit,” he yelled as he hit Brent a third time.

“Stop it!” I called out, grabbing his arm.

That brought him back to himself. He dropped the cane and grabbed on to me.

“Are you okay?” he said.

“I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. Where did you come from?”

“I followed you out here. I wanted to talk. Then I saw him grab you, and the look on his face, and you yelled . . .”

He trailed off as bright lights blinded us.

“Did you get that?” Jess said gleefully.

“Yeah. Lighting sucked, but I got it,” the cameraman said.

“Fuck,” Lincoln grunted.

“Turn the cameras off, you asshole,” I yelled at Jess.

“Sorry, kid,” she said, shrugging.

Lincoln grabbed my arm and stooped down to pick up his cane. “Come on,” he said.

“What’s happening?” someone else said.

I didn’t have time to look back at the crowd slowly gathering around Brent. Lincoln began to walk as fast as he could away from the scene, not bothering to look back. More people were gathering, and fortunately Jess and the cameraman didn’t try to follow us. They were probably too busy making sure Brent wasn’t dead or seriously injured.

My heart was racing. I felt like I could barely breathe as Lincoln towed me along behind him. What had just happened felt completely surreal and fake.

It had happened so fast. One second, I was walking to my car, and the next Brent was accosting me. Then Lincoln comes out of nowhere and practically breaks his kneecap.

We rounded a corner and headed toward a busier part of the city, Lincoln still limping fast, leaning heavy on his cane but not slowing down. I could see the strain on his face, the pain from pushing himself so hard, but he wasn’t complaining. There was a determination there that I had never seen before.

“Lincoln, wait. Where are we going?” I said.

“Getting away from the cameras.”

We turned another corner, pale streetlight illuminating the street. Cute little shops lined the stone sidewalk.

“They didn’t follow,” I said.

“Can’t be sure.”

We kept walking, farther on, down streets I didn’t recognize.

“Hold on, Lincoln.”

I pulled my hand away and he looked back at me. Suddenly, it was like a spell broke and he came back to himself. He stopped walking and turned toward me, grabbing me by the shoulders and pulling me against him. I fell against his chest as his arms wrapped tightly around me, pulling me close.

I couldn’t do anything but wrap my arms around him and try not to cry. I was probably in shock, but it was hard to think clearly when I was pressed against his hard body, his smell filling my nose.

“Are you okay?” he asked again.

“I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.”

“That mother fucker. I hope I broke his fucking skull.”

“Lincoln.” I pulled away slightly, looking at his face. “You’re on parole. You could go back to jail.”

He shook his head. “Fuck jail. I’d break a thousand skulls to keep you safe if I had to.”

I smiled. “That’s like poetry.”

My joke seemed to soften something inside him, and his grin peeked through the mask of rage.

“What can I say? I’m a big softie.”

I sighed. “Come on, let’s sit down. Your legs must be killing you.”

“I’m fine. We should keep going, make sure the cameras don’t find us.”

I pulled away and tugged his hand, pulling him over to a bench. I sat down and he followed, stretching his legs out and wincing.

“I think Jess is probably busy making sure you didn’t kill one of her crew.”

“That’s fair. Did they get it on film?”

“Yeah. I think. I’m not sure.”

He cursed. “She’s going to use that against me, you can be damn sure.”

“But he was attacking me.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He laughed. “I know that too. But a judge might not see it that way.”