Heavy Metal Heart: A Bad Boy Rock Star Romance (22 page)

"Lars?" he choked. 

"Nice of you to finally show up, Torsten. It's rude to keep your hosts waiting." 

Torsten's eyes caught a shiny glare of metal. Lars casually tossed a large kitchen knife between his hands as if he were chef preparing to carve into a decadent meal. The next thing he saw was a red stain on the bedsheet next to Helena. Blood. 

"Helena, are you hurt?" 

Her eyes met his, but she only chewed her lower lip in reply. Her pupils were as large as saucers. She was either in shock or too afraid to speak. 

"I've been filling her in on your whole backstory. She seems to know very little about you, despite spending so much time together on tour. She ought to know what she's getting into. After all, no one knows you better than me,
brother
." Lars smiled a wicked, rotten smile upon uttering that last word. 

"What the fuck do you want? Aside from filling her head with your bullshit. She's suffered enough because of you." Torsten could barely hear himself over his white hot rage.

"Helena and I are going to live together again!" Lars declared jovially. "I'll be moving in here and she won't be moving anywhere. In fact, she's staying far away from you." 

Torsten looked at Helena again, but her face remained stony. Lars was a lifelong expert liar and manipulator. He did and said anything for his next fix. His behavior ran the gamut from bullying and intimidation to crying and playing the pitiful man with a mental illness. Torsten knew this was all bullshit, but he couldn't tell if Helena was playing along or caught up in his lies. 

"Why is she bleeding?" he demanded. He had to distract Lars or do something to get that knife out of his hand. 

"'Cause she's a clumsy, dumb bitch," Lars snapped. "I think you should leave, Torsten." Lars' hands visibly shook. He was becoming agitated. 

"I'm not leaving,” Torsten growled. “You are." 

A twisted grimace spread across Lars' face. "You're not welcome in my house. Get out of my house!"

"It's not your house, Lars. And Helena is not your wife." 

"No, she's my whore!"

"What?" Torsten couldn't hide the disgust on his face. 

"I'm gonna pimp her out for all the fucking dope money in Oslo! No one needs you and your shitting fucking band. She's my cash cow!" Lars grabbed her face cruelly and pulled her toward him. "Such a pretty face. You'll need a straw to breath through all the jizz that's gonna cake on there--,"

In the next moment Torsten stood over him and crashed his fist against Lars' jaw so hard, he wondered if his fingers broke. Lars dropped like a sack of potatoes and laid motionlessly on the ground. 

“Oh no, fucker. You’re not getting off that easy.” Torsten yanked his head up with a fistful of hair as Lars wheezed pathetically with a broken jaw. He leaned down and whispered menacingly, “Didn’t I tell you I’d beat your face into a bloody fucking pulp if I ever saw you again?”

Lars made an unintelligible noise as he weakly swung the knife at Torsten, who easily ripped it from his hand. 

The smear of blood on the glinting blade yanked him out of his blind rage. He had to put aside his own bloodlust and remember why he was here, who he had to protect. Turning away from Lars, he made across the bed to Helena.

"My love! Are you okay? Did you get cut?" He reached for her and pulled her into his arms, where she rested limply. She didn't fight him nor did she speak or respond to his touch. She definitely wasn't completely okay. 

Torsten ran his fingers along her limbs, checking for cuts and tears in her clothing, trying to speak to her soothingly. She flinched when his hands reached the palm of her hands. 

There. A thin red gash opened across her right palm. It wasn't too deep but she would need stitches. 

"We're getting you to a hospital," he said gently into her hair. "And the police will throw his ass in prison for breaking in and assaulting you. We'll get through this, my love." 

Without another word, he lifted her in his arms. They exited the bedroom swiftly and made their way to the living room. 

Torsten laid her on the couch gently and planted a kiss on her forehead. "I'll be right back, love." With long steps, he strode back into the bedroom. Lars laid unmoving on the floor when Torsten left him. He paused to look at the crumpled form of the man he once loved like a brother. It was because of this man and his family taking him in that he ascended to greatness. If not for them, he likely would have died in an alley many years ago. 

Now Lars would likely die in an alley. A sad, waste of talent.

Torsten grabbed the knife from where he dropped it on the bed and exited the bedroom once again. He closed the door behind him and braced a chair under the doorknob. 

He grabbed a small towel from the bathroom and returned to Helena on the couch. As gently as he could, he wrapped the towel around her injured hand and held it there. 

Her left, uninjured hand moved to hold onto his arm that wrapped around her. Her eyes blinked slowly, beginning to focus on the world around her. 

"You'll be alright, love," Torsten murmured in between kisses to her hair. "We'll all be fine." He spoke as if trying to reassure himself too.

The hospital blurred around Helena like a fuzzy, disorienting dream. She felt nothing except for Torsten's warmth at her side constantly. He was her only anchor as she floated in her sea of numbness. 

She barely felt the pain of the stitches going in and out of her hand. The forceps and the needle flashing their metallic, silver glare echoed what replayed in her mind over and over again. Lars grabbing the knife from her, twisting it away as she tried to hold on to her only weapon.

"You think I won't cut you? Watch me, bitch!"
 

He laughed as the blade sliced through palm like melted butter. Lifetimes ago, this man wouldn't hurt a fly.

She knew in that moment he wouldn't hesitate to kill her.

"
Come now. Let's leave a nice little trail for dear Torsten to follow."

She had no choice but to obey. She looked as scared, pathetic and broken as she could. That seemed to keep him in a good mood. 

"You're a lot prettier with your mouth shut. I don't know how I put up with your bitching and moaning for so long."

"Helena."

Slowly, the hospital room came into focus. A thick, white bandage wrapped around her hand which also held a small cup of juice. Her other hand wrapped around Torsten's forearm sitting next to her. Gently he took the cup from her numb fingers.

"You've lost some blood, love. Drink up and you'll feel better." 

He brought the cup to her lips and she accepted the cool, sugary liquid. 

"The police have Lars in custody. A detective wants to speak to you but I told him to fuck off until you're feeling up to it."

Her mouth cracked into a hint of a smile for the first time. Torsten kissed the corner of her lips that lifted ever so slightly. 

"There's my girl. I knew you'd come back to me." 

She looked at him, focusing on his face for the first time in what felt like centuries. His full lips, framed by the short fibers of his beard, pressed together in a worried frown. His pale blue eyes searched through hers, looking for the woman who retreated into shock. She remembered how they flashed with cold rage and disgust at Lars' drugged out proclamations. 

Glancing down at his hands, she ran her fingers over his puffy, bruised knuckles. 

"You hit him hard." Her voice rasped with stress as she spoke for the first time in hours. 

"Fuck yeah, I did." He wrapped both arms around her waist, enveloping her tightly. His mouth brushed against her neck and ear, sending tingles along her skin. Her insides flooded with warmth as his touch brought life and feeling back to her numbed state. 

"I love you. I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner. Fuck, I never should have left you." 

Her skin sang from his touch as she melted into him, absorbing his smell, his heat, and everything about him that comforted her. "Clearly, we're meant to be attached at the hip at all times."

"I'll settle for my cock in your pussy at all times. Forever won't be long enough." 

Helena's face dropped as a cruel memory forced its way to the forefront of her mind. She pulled away from Torsten and searched his face. 

"He told me you were married." 

Torsten's expression never changed. Not even a flicker. His fingers drifted to her face, brushing against her chin and jawline. 

"You didn't believe him, did you?" 

"No, but...," She bit her lip as her chin trembled. That thought was heartbreaking enough just floating around in her mind. She didn't want to give it any more life by saying it out loud. 

"But what, Helena?" 

"I just... let him get to me, again. He got into my head and that's what shut me down. He knew exactly what would hurt me the most and I couldn't get it out of my head." 

Torsten pulled her into his chest again. Nestled against the wall of muscle over a strong, steady heartbeat, she felt safe enough to let her tears fall. He stroked her hair as she released the painful thoughts and memories planted there by the person who only wanted to use her. 

"You know he's a master manipulator, love. He had us all fooled for years. But he can't hurt you anymore." 

She sighed deeply into his chest, inhaling his sharp, spicy scent.  A sense of lightness filled her bones like she could fly away. Nothing chained her down anymore. She was completely free. Even if she looked over her shoulder, no looming shadow would follow her. 

"You're right. He can't." 

Torsten's hand rubbed down her back to cup around her ass cheek and gave it a firm squeeze. 

"Let's go home, love. Tomorrow's a new day."

"Angie, please! You don't need to do that!" 

"Nonsense,
mija
! Your hand is still hurt." 

"I can carry boxes, Ang. I'm not an amputee," Helena sighed. She looked around for Torsten to back her up but he was conveniently absent from the driveway. 

Angie rolled the stack of boxes with a hand truck into the house while Helena watched her closely. The tower stood taller than the woman who rolled them and teetered dangerously but Angie showed no sign of struggle or fatigue. 

Well, color me impressed,
 Helena thought as she carefully removed her last box from the van, favoring her good hand and followed Angie into the house. 

She stayed at Torsten's in the aftermath of Lars' break-in at her old apartment. They spent two full days in his king sized bed, doing nothing but relishing in pure, blissful love for each other. 

They only left the bedroom to eat glorious meals cooked by Angie, who Helena instantly decided was one of her favorite people.

Torsten’s house certainly embodied his style and personality: masculine, hard edges and no bullshit. Everything was sleek, modern and dark, from the marble tile floors to the high vaulted ceilings. Long, rectangular windows connected the floors and ceilings and made the house feel even bigger. A couple of dark brick accent walls and exposed pipes broke up some of the straight lines and offered some texture to the sleekness. 

Helena brought over a few favorite furniture and art pieces that would add a feminine touch to Torsten's place. She pictured him rolling his eyes and grumbling but knew he wouldn't object.

By the time she set her box down on the tile floor Angie already disassembled her tower of boxes on the hand truck and sorted them. 

"These are your clothes, mija. Do you want me to wash them for you? These are your electronics, I'll put them in your office--," 

"Please, Angie! You're doing too much," Helena protested. 

"Oh, mija! There are two things I love to do: staying busy and taking care of a household. It keeps me young! Torsten is like a son to me and you, like a daughter. And I can't wait to get busier as your family grows." Angie gently patted Helena's lower belly with a smile and a wink. 

Helena laughed nervously. "We haven't talked about that yet, but I'm open to the idea." 

"You'll be
such
 a good mama!" Angie declared clasping Helena's hands in hers. "I've only just met you but I'm old and I know a good mother when I see one! And Torsten will be an excellent father. But if he has a girl,
ay Dios mio
! Any boys who want to stay alive better stay away."

Helena grinned at the thought of Torsten being an intimidating father, towering over skinny teenage boys. He fit the part damn well. 

"Speaking of, Ang, do you know where he is?" 

"Probably in the studio. That's where he usually is when no one can find him. And people call
me
 a workaholic, hmph!" Angie turned and returned her attention to the boxes. "You go on and see him, mija. I'll put your things away." 

Helena sighed defeatedly, accepting she couldn't stop the woman from doing what she did best and walked down the hallway to the basement studio door. 

Torsten started the house build by digging out the basement first. He had it completed before knowing how he wanted for the rest of the house. 

"As long as I have a place where I can record and make music, I'm at home," he told her. 

She tread carefully down the basement stairs and opened the studio door as quietly as she could, not wanting to disturb him. 

He sat on the studio couch with his back to her, strumming away at an acoustic guitar. On the coffee table in front of him sat a pen and notebook filled with scribbled lyrics. A thin plume of smoke curled in the air from the cigarette in the ashtray next to the notebook. 

Helena watched through the soundproof glass as he suddenly stopped strumming, put the guitar aside and put the cigarette in his mouth. He wrote furiously in the notebook while puffing on the cigarette hands-free, before the words escaped him. 

A musical genius and the love of my life.

He wrote for nearly a whole minute before picking the guitar again and strummed his heart out. 

Helena carefully listened to the song but didn't recognize it as one of Mjolnir's. That wasn't unusual as Torsten constantly worked on producing new material. This, though, didn't feel like the skeleton for a heavy metal song. It wasn’t fast enough and the notes were higher than what she heard him play before. It sounded far more lighthearted.