RECKLESS - Part 1 (4 page)

Then again, for all I knew, my being engaged wouldn’t matter to him.

Just as that thought formed in my head, Jace cleared his throat, his spine going rigid in the chair. “I see,” he said, the playfulness of his smile and the warmth of his gaze no longer present. “Do you have any other questions for me?”

What in Sam hill just happened?

I certainly hadn’t expected that, at least not to that extent; it threw me off, left me confused and stuttering. “Oh—um—yes. H—have you had any—um—interest in signing a record deal?”

“We haven’t really discussed it,” he said, tone so cold and business-like, it sent a shiver down my spine. “We’re just now landing consistent gigs, but if there’s an offer on the table, we’ll make the decision as a group.”

“Do you always make decisions that way?” It hadn’t been on my list of questions, but I suddenly had this strange desire to know more, maybe because his previous answer hinted there might be more to this man than I’d originally considered. Add in his sudden… coldness, and it was clear there was something I’d missed about him.

“Always. We’re a team, just like any other team,” he said, eyes narrowing at me. “What one does affects us all. No major decisions about the band unless everyone agrees.”

My mouth flopped open in disbelief. Never, in a million years, would I have seen this guy as a team player, not when he had a god complex far superior to any man I’d ever encountered. “Why?” I asked. My curiosity sent the question flying from my mouth without reason or permission.

His brow furrowed tightly, and those previously warm eyes were now thin, angry slits. “Disagreements are one of the biggest reasons bands fall apart. I love those guys like family. I’d never disrespect my family, go behind their back and make a decision that affected them unless I had their consent. Family is everything.”

I gulped, hard.
Oh shit, God’s gift has morals. And, judging by the way he’s looking at me, he thinks I don’t.

“Anything else?” he asked, glancing around the stage as if he suddenly had better places to be.

I glanced down nervously at my notes. “No. I—um—I think I have enough to run the story.”

“Great.” He stood, looking a little stiff and maybe even angry.

Questions that had nothing to do with is band or his performance flooded my brain as he hurried me back to the stage steps. What the hell happened to the warm, flirtatious rock star? Had I been completely off about him? Or had I misinterpreted his interest in me?

“Thanks for the interview,” I said before heading back through the curtain.

“Oh, sure.” He gave me a stiff smile and then turned to walk away. But after a few steps, he turned to look at me once more. “Take it for what it’s worth, but I’m not so sure your fiancé would condone your outfit, especially not in a place like this.” And with that, he took off to rejoin his band mates, his playfulness returning now that I was no longer in his presence.

What did he care about my fiancé’s opinion of my choice of attire? Who the hell did he think he was?

“How’d it go?” Becca asked, as soon as I stepped out from behind the curtain.

“Not as planned,” I answered, still a little stunned.

Her forehead scrunched in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” I glanced back at the stage again. “He went cold when I mentioned being engaged. And then said something about my top.”

Becca blinked a few times, apparently as shocked as I was. “Really?”

“Yeah. Strange, right?”

“A little, yeah,” she said, glancing up at the curtain, eyes narrowed a little in thought.

“Funny, I never would have pegged him as a guy with morals… but he clearly has them.”

“Well, fuck ‘em,” Becca said, shaking her head before grabbing a hold of my elbow. “There’s another band coming on soon, and I need a beer.”

I wasn’t really a beer drinker, but since the concession stand didn’t exactly carry wine, I decided to order a local brew. After we had our drinks, Becca and I headed back to our spot in front of the stage. I tried to enjoy the music as the next band played. I wanted that euphoria to return, the one I’d had while listening to Reckless. Unfortunately, it never did, and that only left me feeling even more conflicted and confused over my encounter with Jace.

Just before the third band hit the stage, Becca asked if I was ready to go. She had to leave for her shift at the pub. I considered going with her so I could get started on my column, but I also held onto this strange hope I could at least run into Jace one more time and, at the very least, apologize for my brazen behavior.

Why I cared in the first place was about as much of a mystery as Jace Richardson himself at the moment.

“Nah,” I finally said. “I’ll be fine. It’s the last band. I’ll be along shortly.”

She gave me a quick hug and then weaved her way through the crowd, disappearing almost instantly. Once she was gone, I took advantage of the performance lag and made my way to the concession stand to order another beer. After that, I made a pit stop at the restroom.

Right then, I made the second biggest mistake of my life.

I didn’t bother with heading back up toward the front of the crowd. Instead, I found an empty pocket of grass and sat by myself, trying to drink my second beer as the final band for the night played—mostly 80’s covers, and not anywhere near as good as Reckless. Unfortunately, my second drink tasted a little different than my first one had. More of a bite. Bitter. I only managed to get through a little less than half of it before I gave up, dumping it in the nearest trash can before taking my seat on the grass again.

The band began playing Every Rose Has its Thorn by Poison and I felt myself being lifted away, like I was floating on a cloud. I remember thinking how nice it would be to just rest my head for a few minutes and then lay down on the grass, my head cradled in the crook of my arm.

That was the last thing I really remember from that night.

Disoriented and feeling like someone had plowed over me with a cement truck, I awoke in a bed I didn’t recognize. My feet were tangled up in a set of white sheets and a matching cotton blanket. Sun filtered through the vinyl blinds, telling me it was day time. I was still in my clothes from the night before, but my purse, cell phone, and shoes were nowhere to be found.

I had no recollection of ever leaving the concert, let alone who’d I’d gone home with so I looked around the bedroom, trying to gather information on where I might be. Judging by the fact there was only one bed, I figured I hadn’t ended up in a dorm room. That could only mean I’d been taken off campus. Unfortunately, my only other clues were a few art paintings, hanging from white walls. Nothing in the room looked even remotely familiar.

Between my loss of memory, my disorientation, and relocation to an unknown destination, it was becoming quite clear my drink had been drugged—most likely when I’d set it down to use the restroom. But unless the roofie-dropper had a thing for fully clothed women, I hadn’t been touched, not sexually anyway.

But then I had a sickening thought… What if the worst was to come? What if I’d been kidnapped by some sadistic rapist or killer who preferred his victims coherent? What if he was just waiting for me to wake up so he could do the unthinkable?

Sweat beaded my skin and bile rose in my throat at all the possibilities running through my head. How could I have let something like this happen? I, of all people, should have known better. I wasn’t some naïve freshman; I’d heard countless stories of girls being victimized at frat parties, concerts, and bonfires. Hell, I’d written a piece on how to prevent situations like this in my sophomore year.

Now I was one of them… or I would be if I didn’t find a way out.

I slid my legs over the side of the bed, tentatively, hoping that shifting sheets wouldn’t alert someone I was awake and stirring, and then padded across the carpet to what I assumed was the door to the living area. Slow, so as not to send my shaking hands into overdrive, I turned the doorknob. But all that quiet seemed awfully silly since the pounding of my heart and shallow breathing were loud enough to wake the dead.

When the knob finally turned enough to cause a click that echoed in my brain, I cracked the door open. Instantly, I was hit with a barrage of delectable smells—coffee, eggs, bacon, and something sugary. My stomach growled in protest at my attempt to escape; it wanted food and didn’t care what the cost was. Thank goodness my brain, which was running through all the possible scenarios behind the door at lightening-speed, had its priorities in order: locate the front door and run like hell.

Before I could second guess myself, I flung the door open, taking off for a sprint through what was most definitely an apartment living area. Too bad I hadn’t counted on someone walking in through the door at the same time I was trying to go out it.

“Hey, whoa there.” Strong arms wrapped around my waist. I kicked, screamed, and writhed, trying to make contact with any part of my attacker. “Shit, Andrea! It’s me, Jace.”

That only fueled my fit even further. “You—you kidnapped me? Drugged me? You—you--fucking creep!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I saved your ass,” he said, gathering my wrists and pulling them behind my back, not painfully, but enough I couldn’t do much but squirm.

I yanked at my wrists, trying to free them, as my chest heaved heavily from the adrenaline rush. “Oh yeah?” I screeched at the top of my lungs, hoping someone outside could hear me. “How do I know that? For all I know, you could be some sadistic fuck hiding behind your celebrity status.”

“Maybe. But it doesn’t seem like you’re getting anywhere fighting me, and I haven’t hurt you,” he whispered, his breath hot against the nape of my neck. “Don’t you think you ought to at least give me the benefit of the doubt?”

He did kind of have a point.

I quit squirming and he released my wrists, but my body was still on high alert, ready to flee at any moment, should it come to that. “Fine, start talking,” I said, turning to face him, arms crossed over my chest, lips bunched in a tight scowl as I waited for his explanation.

“I noticed you, sprawled out on the grass, damn near unconscious, just as I was about to leave,” he said, taking a step back to give me some space. “It was the second to last song of the last band. I looked around for your friend, and when I didn’t see her, I figured you might be in some trouble.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes as he continued to tell me just how close I’d come to being more than just drugged. Dear God, he really had saved me.

“I didn’t see anyone else around, but I knew whoever had drugged you couldn’t be far. I couldn’t just leave you there like that. I tried to wake you, but you couldn’t even lift your head, let alone form a coherent sentence to tell me where you lived. So I brought you here to give you a safe place to recover.”

“I—I need to sit down,” I said, afraid that if I didn’t, my rubber legs would give way. “Why—why didn’t you call the police?”

“What, so you could wake up in a police station the next morning, even more afraid and confused than you already are?” he asked, taking my arm to direct me over to the sofa. “You’re more than welcome to call them now, if you want, file a report on your own behalf. Unfortunately, I didn’t see anyone, so there’s really no one to press charges against. It could have been anyone.”

He was right. Again. I dropped my head between my knees, trying to curb the nausea and dizziness that threatened to take me under. Whether it was from the drug or my situation, I couldn’t tell for sure. All I knew was, I needed it to stop.

Jace stood back, giving me a few minutes to regain my composure… as much composure as a girl could have in a moment like that. When I finally lifted my head again, resting it in my hands, elbows propped on my knees, he pointed at the kitchen. “You hungry?” he asked. “I have coffee, eggs, bacon, and French toast, if you want any.”

I was, in fact, hungry, but I was also afraid my stomach would reject anything I tried to put in it. “Not really,” I muttered weakly.

“Water then?” he offered. “It’ll help with the headache. And I’m pretty sure I have some aspirin or something around here.”

“That’d be great,” I said, lifting my head slightly.

“You can lay down, too, if you want.”

“Thanks.”

After handing me a glass of water, some aspirin, and a pillow, Jace Richardson made himself sparse. He would pop in every few minutes to ask if I needed anything, but other than that, he hid out in his bedroom as I recovered from what could only be explained as the hangover from hell. I felt like such a nuisance, I had to say something.

I owed him that much, at least.

The next time he came through the living area, I sat up to greet him. "I'm really sorry," I said, fidgeting with the frays on the knees of my worn out jeans.

The side of his mouth quirked up into an amused grin. "What for?"

"Being so much trouble. Taking over your apartment. My… behavior last night. Everything, really."

“It’s no big deal,” he said with a shrug.

"Of course it is. If you hadn't come along and picked me up… "My throat clogged, cutting off the rest of the words.

Before the first tear even made it down my cheek, he was kneeling on the floor in front of me. He dropped his head to make sure I was looking at him, but he didn’t touch any part of me. "Hey, this was not your fault,” he said, brow creased. “You didn't ask for this."

"But I was stupid. I should have known better than to leave my drink there."

"Maybe,” he said, lifting a tentative hand and gently placing it over mine. "But you had no way of knowing. I could be wrong, but I'm guessing you don't frequent events like that."

I shook my head, confirming his guess.

"There you go,” he said, softly. “You hear about these kinds of things, but like a lot of other things in life, you don’t think it will happen to you. It doesn’t make you stupid. It makes you human."

I averted my gaze, studying the wall but not really seeing it. "You're probably right. But I still should have been more careful."

He lifted his hand, as if he were going to touch me, but then it fell away to his side. "Look, don't be too hard on yourself, okay?” he said, the pained conflict evident on his face. “You're safe, and that's all that really matters."

I nodded, but the angry thoughts swirled around in my brain. They refused to give me any reprieve from their ridicule and judgment. But somehow, Jace managed to pull me from those thoughts when he reached around me.

Well, in all actuality, he spooked me; I just about jumped out of my skin.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Just grabbing you something that might make you feel more comfortable.” He placed a cotton shirt in my hands.

Had I not been in the state I was, I might have argued, but right then and there, I felt even more vulnerable than I had the night before. I was pretty grateful for the offer, so I simply said, “Thanks.”

"Not a problem," he said, rocking back on his heels before standing upright. “You ready to eat now?”

My lips pursed tightly. I wanted to say yes, but I also didn't want to intrude any further than I already had. "No, that's okay. You're cleaning up, and I should get home," I said. And then I remembered. "Oh my God. I need to call Becca. She's probably worried sick."

He walked over to the counter and grabbed my purse sitting just on the other side of the counter. I hadn't noticed it before, but it'd been there the entire time. "I think your cell phone is dead," he said, handing me my belongings after I pulled his shirt over my head. "I tried it before we left, hoping maybe I could get a hold of your friend, but it wouldn't turn on."

I exhaled a heavy sigh. "Thanks," I said, standing, carefully at first, to make sure my legs would support me.

"You really should eat something,” he said. “It would help you feel a little better."

"I've already intruded enough," I said with a quick shake of my head.

His teeth dug into his bottom lip in what appeared to be irritation, but I couldn’t be certain. "Well, how about I at least give you a ride home and a granola bar?"

"Oh, it's okay. I can walk.”

"You sure about that?" he asked, the corners of his mouth tilting up slightly. "I live ten minutes from campus."

My mouth dropped open. "Wow, that's a long way to drive to go to school every day."

"I graduated last year," he said with a shrug. "I mostly just go there now to set up gigs."

"So, if you already graduated, why do you still play at the college?"

"It's the group we appeal to the most. Plus, most of the guys are still in school."

“Oh,” I said softly, standing there like an oaf, not really sure what to say or do next. This man was beginning to look more and more like a ball of contradictions and I wasn’t sure what to make of him anymore.

"So, you still want to walk?" he asked, interrupting my train of thought… or lack thereof.

I bit at the inside of my cheek for a bit, trying to think of any other way to get home. Unfortunately, I was pretty helpless without my phone. "No," I finally said with a sigh. "I suppose not. You wouldn't mind, would you? Giving me a ride, I mean?"

"Not at all," he said with a light chuckle. The hearty, masculine sound filled my ears and bounced around in my aching brain. But it also sent a tingling sensation through the rest of my body. Or maybe it was the scent of his cologne on the shirt I was wearing, wafting into my nose and clouding my brain.

Yeah, I needed to get home. Preferably before I turned into a mindless sheep.