Heavy Metal Heart (3 page)

The guy at the door said the show had just started, so she hadn’t missed much. She wished she’d seen Trevor and the others take the stage in the small venue. The few other times she’d seen them live were in places filled with thousands of people. On those stages, Trevor had been no bigger than a doll, distant and not quite real.

But here at the Rascal Room, he was less than a hundred yards away from her. Trevor Sand was a man. His lyrics had been the first thing to capture her, but the way his band played, like a single beast, instinctual, always impressed her. She’d watched their videos, seen the concert footage of their perfect ease playing together. Tonight, though, her focus was completely on Trevor.

Dark jeans, heavy boots. A black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal the lean muscles of his forearms, covered in tattoos. The collar was open enough to show a glisten of sweat on the cords of his neck and chest.

He worked his guitar and sang with abandon. A conductor of fire, controlling the blazes to his whim. And she was so close to him. It made the hellish day and fucked-up traffic worth it. Trevor’s passion in the music burned away all those memories. The beaten-down weariness she felt from the long hours was gone. Life started right then.

There’d be no getting through the jumping mass of people between her and the stage, so she took in the scene from the back of the club. The smell of spilled beer and men’s cheap cologne and women’s hair conditioner told her all she needed to know about the young and totally carefree audience. They all moved as one, a single rocking beast. And beyond them, Trevor cracked the whip of fire.

Sex fucking god. She was tempted to pull out her phone and take some video of him on the stage, moving his hips along with his guitar. Wild eyes and a snarling mouth biting down on the words. But this moment wasn’t about making memories or telling stories to Kim later. This was about now.

Burn the gallows down

He sang the last line and she added her voice to the crowd’s cheers. The last chord of the song rumbled through her, electricity along her veins. She moved without thought, snaking her way into the audience and toward the stage. It was the closest she’d ever been to him. It still wasn’t enough. She might not be able to fight her way to the front. The stage would separate her from the band. But just to hear Trevor’s unamplified voice, his footsteps, would make the rock star real. A man and a performer. And if he was as real as she was, it meant her life didn’t have to be limited to the same bone-crunching grind.

She was tall enough not to be bothered by standing-room-only clubs, but wearing the high heels Kim insisted she strap on gave her a distinct advantage. Some people moved out of her way. Others succumbed to gentle pressure on their backs or shoulders. All the while, her eyes were focused on Trevor.

Was he looking at her? He couldn’t be. She glanced at the audience around her. They gave their attention to the stage, but they weren’t frozen in the same intensity she felt. Some of the people even sent quizzical looks her way. Good God, Trevor really was staring directly at her.

He was motionless. A complete contrast to the man who had been stomping fire with the last song. Now just his eyes blazed. He peered into the audience. She felt his gaze, white-hot on her skin.

It had to be the heat of the club. Or the excitement of escaping her routine for a night. But the sensation of his attention felt so real. Maybe he looked at all the girls at his shows like this. But for now, his eyes were only on her. If this was what it was like to be in the same small venue with him, what would happen if she got closer? She’d fought her way through too much digital puppy bullshit and LA traffic not to find out.

Moving through the people, she didn’t take her eyes from Trevor. And he stared down at her. There was a look of longing in his eyes, and the edge of confusion. The same darkness she saw in the still she’d taken from his TV interview.

Then his eyes blinked. He turned to Lee Rome and exchanged some words. The blaze on her skin had barely diminished when he brought his gaze back to her. Intimate and unnerving, it was undressing her. Her chest and face flushed. A short gasp caught in her throat. The heat even spread lower on her chest, coaxing a sensuous tingle around her nipples.

His chest rose with a breath. He stepped to the mic. Her heart pounded faster with anticipation. She was close enough to hear him sing before the speakers amplified his voice.

Cut me open
,
Green Eyes

The audience cheered, but they were a thousand miles away. There was only her and Trevor. He sang “The Disappear.” The slow, mournful song stretched out between them, giant ribbons of silk. Tied around her wrists, her ankles. Binding her with him.

Let you know

I don’t care

Feed my hunger

Murder my fear

Until there’s nothing left

She whispered the words with him, as if they were sharing breath. As if he was in her mouth. His gaze didn’t move from hers. Their lips shaped the same syllables, moving in a kiss she could almost feel.

Nothing left

Until I’m

Feeling the disappear

Inside you

The blushing heat shot further down her chest. Along her belly as if his fingers trailed there. Then centered between her legs. As if he was touching her there too. The strong fingers that mastered the guitar slicked into the wet that gathered quickly in her sex.

Just from one fucking song.

She was no virgin. There was one boy in high school, then a few others through college and beyond. Sex wasn’t a mystery. But this kind of intimacy was entirely new.
Ridiculous
, she thought. He was a rock star and she was just a fan. But she couldn’t shake the depth of the moment. The spell couldn’t be broken. He sang, somehow knowing how the words and music resonated deep in her. And she sang back, a whisper only he could hear.

He continued searching through her with his eyes. She saw more of him than she’d ever known. No longer a rock star on a screen or on a distant stage, Trevor was flesh and sweat. Veins showed where his blood pumped.

The final chord of the song rumbled through the ground. She was out of breath. Her limbs shook. The roar of the audience was barely audible. Trevor stood, looking at her, lips parted. He was poised. Could he step off the stage? Everything seemed balanced on a knife edge.

He gathered himself and spoke, his deep voice filling the small club. “That’s for you, Green Eyes.”

Her. It was for her. It didn’t matter if she felt like a swooning teen—she held on to his words like a torch in the darkest caves.

Trevor pulled himself away from the mic and picked up a bottle of whiskey. The crowd cheered. He downed a long gulp and set the bottle back by the drums. When he turned to the audience, she saw the mask of the showman. He motioned for the crowd to get louder.

Taking the mic from the stand, he leaned close to the people. “Los Angeles sits on a spiderweb of fault lines. It’s just a matter of time before this whole town sinks to hell.” He nodded and strutted along the front edge of the stage. He was the rock star again, but there was still a glimmer of the spell between them. Quick glances, like faraway lightning. He’d look at her, then tear his eyes away before the moment thickened. “And if Mother Nature doesn’t do it, you fuckers will take yourselves down there on your own.”

He returned the mic to the stand and chopped into the beginning chords of “Fight Night.” The people went wild, jumping and pumping their fists. The energy of the music hit her, but couldn’t move her like the others. The hot glow from the last song persisted, like the slow movement of the sun after daytime sex. She kept trying to convince herself it was just her needy dirty fantasy created with a rock idol. But the harder she tried, the deeper it sank. Was it real? And if was, what the hell was the crazy sexy connection she just felt with him? Whatever had happened between her and Trevor in that song, it wouldn’t go away.

The new song was a raucous brawl. He shouted more than sang the opening:

Bloody knuckles

And a broken grin

Pounding and pulsing, the music shook the building. Trevor’s growling voice alone might set off all those fault lines under the city. She already questioned the stability of the once reliable world.
Let it go
, she thought.
Let the ground crumble.
Fall through.
Find new footing
.

Song after song, Trevor and his band whipped the crowd into a frenzy. He didn’t slow down, playing all fast, grinding metal. The progress of the show was marked by the level of whiskey in his bottle. It was empty before the end of the night. She moved to the edge of the club, avoiding the wild press of bodies. Trevor skipped the more mournful songs she’d always felt attached to. But they weren’t missed this night. The glow of “The Disappear” remained in her. Like a tattoo, the moment between them would never be forgotten.

After two encores and a warning they’d already surpassed all weeknight noise regulations, the house lights came on. Trevor gave one last bow. He straightened and scanned the crowd. Even in the harsh glare of the house lights, the spell hadn’t been broken. His gaze caught hers, electric with potential. Then he was gone, slipping away at the back of the stage.

It was late. After 1:00 a.m. She’d been awake for nearly twenty hours. Work started at eight. The same job she’d had for years, churning out the same crap, hating every second of it. But they didn’t own her. This town couldn’t chain her down. She had to be strong enough to walk. And she knew how to prove it.

Fuck it
.

There was no clear route backstage from the audience. But there was a side exit most of the people were ignoring. It seemed like the closest way toward Trevor. As she made her way to the door, her path was blocked by a tall dude in a tight T-shirt and embellished jeans.

“Hey, big red. Hell of a show, right?” He slurred a little and smelled like too many eight dollar beers.

“Yeah, kick-ass, bro.” She tried to step around him, but he wasn’t giving up that easy. He casually blocked her path. Even if she wasn’t taking the chance of her life to try to catch Trevor Sand, the dude’s tactic would’ve sent her anger flaring.

He didn’t seem to notice. “I even caught one of his guitar picks. Lemme show you.” Clumsily, he started to paw into his jeans pocket.

Her shoes weren’t ideal for the move, but she had no choice. She faked one way, let him lean to block her, then she shifted to the other side and slid past him. Like a sweet crossover dribble. It worked. The dude tried too hard to correct himself on wobbly legs and crashed to the ground behind her. The flowing crowd laughed at the fool. She was already gone.

The side exit opened to a long sloping alley. Cool night air hit her, a relief after the oven of the club. The smells of stale booze and motor oil slammed into her. Only a couple of yellow security lights chased shadows in ghostly circles. It wasn’t the safest place to be. Most of the people left the club from other exits, pouring onto the major streets. She could get out of the alley fast, if she needed to. But the isolation was exactly what she was looking for.

The club was too small for a tour bus to park nearby. Trevor and his band would have to leave on foot. He’d seek out this quiet.

She moved up the alley, in and out of the pools of light. Her ears rang from the night of pounding music, but she could still tune herself to anything close enough to threaten her. Only the sound of her high heels tapped through the night.

Somewhere out there in the shadows was the answer. The moment she shared with Trevor—was it part of the act? Was his performance so good that she could be convinced the song was just for her? Or was it somehow real?

A mist descended. Darkness smudged close to her. It was time to turn back. She pressed on. Just to prove she could. But what would she say if she found him?

There were people ahead. Six or seven, moving away from her. The haze obscured them, joining their bodies together, removing limbs, stretching them out and shrouding them completely from sight.

She continued toward them. One shape separated from the others and stopped. Her heart pounded. Risk. One chance. It was hers to take. It was right. But she wouldn’t let herself feel the thrill completely until she was positive it was him.

Twenty yards, then ten. The mist was thick. His silhouette was unmistakable. Trevor Sand waited in the alley. Broad shoulders, a sure stance. His features emerged from the darkness. Black mussed hair. Full mouth. And those eyes, as if they could chase the darkness on their own.

She stopped walking. There was no stage to separate them. He stood on the same ground as her. His companions paused behind him. The currents of electricity that had started between them with “The Disappear” continued in the alley. The potential was so much hotter. He was close. He was possible.

But this time, instead of his presence glowing on the stage and being blasted from the loud speakers, it was her voice that could be heard. “Trevor Sand.”

He gazed back at her. The hunger was still there, as well as the dark questions in his look. “You shouldn’t be able to see me, Green Eyes.”

Her heart couldn’t pound any faster, harder. Heat flushed over her skin.
Need to be touched.
He seemed transfixed. She’d spent years knowing an aspect of him, learning this man through his music. It was time for him to know her. The moment was hers to take. She took a bold step toward Trevor.

“I’m Misty. You’ve been writing songs about me.”

Chapter Three

For hundreds of years, he
had
been writing songs about her. Those green eyes. Sharp like emeralds. Bright like the brief flash above the setting sun. But for the first time, he could gaze into that light before it disappeared.

No longer just poetry. The eyes were part of a woman, complete and human. The details he took in had never been clear when he’d been swept up by inspiration before. Tall and lean. Athletic and shapely. Jeans hugging her long legs, showing off the curves of her hips. Her shirt wasn’t too tight, yet still revealed rounded breasts, just a handful. It was easy to imagine her body twisted around him. There was enough strength in her to shake him. Like the distant thunder he’d felt earlier that day. It was so much closer now. She was the lightning.

This woman wasn’t used to chasing after rock stars, though. If she was, the neckline would be lower, more flesh exposed. And her auburn hair wouldn’t be tied up in that ponytail. Most girls who ventured backstage or beyond had loosened all the pins and ribbons. Like the women currently attached to Lee and Wolfgang. Misty, though, looked like she was ready to battle. What was she fighting for?

Misty. A name to the eyes.

Somehow she saw him and the others, despite the shrouding fog he conjured. Even the groupies didn’t recognize the magic. Misty was dangerous. A hollow ache bit into him. The hunger. But the show they’d just played should’ve been enough to feed him for weeks, maybe months.

She took another step toward him. The hunger seemed as if it could never be sated. But he had to feed. Misty was the only answer.

“Do you believe in legends?” he asked.

“Haven’t seen one yet.” How many lives had she lived? For a mortal in her twenties, this woman resonated with depth.

“Me either. But that doesn’t mean we stop looking, right?”

She smiled. Her mouth inspired lascivious thoughts of skin and tongues and quick breaths wrapped around pleasured moans. He’d watched those full lips shape the words he wrote as she sang “The Disappear” with him. They’d already kissed.

He needed more.

Misty’s smile took a wicked curl. “That’s why I’m here.”

“You don’t even know.”

“Neither do you. Not tonight.” She stood her ground. This woman could bleed him.

“What if the legends are true?” he demanded. She’d challenged herself to pursue him. How far would she go? How much did he need of her to feed?

Her small smile revealed bad intentions. “We could make some.”

“Or it’s already written.”

Her eyes narrowed, shrewd. “There’s always a choice.”

“Yes.” It was impossible to tell what she knew. What was her power? Purely human? More? For the first time in hundreds or thousands of years, he faced the unknown. “You chose to break away from whatever life chains you in order to be here tonight. You chose the door that led to me.”

“I had to find you.”

He moved toward her. Testing fate, death, and the legend of the Muse. “You had to.”

Religious leaders had tried to burn him in the town square. Husbands and fathers had ambushed him with sharpened shovels on quiet country lanes. Philosophers had summoned countless killers to erase him from the earth. Yet nothing felt more dangerous than reaching forward toward her hand.

Steps into a dark alley were one thing, but this touch would test her. He watched as she took a long breath. She searched his face, then her gaze moved along his chest and down his arm. His muscles shook. He needed more than just her look. She reached forward, fingers gentle as dawn.

He wrapped his hand around hers. Her gaze flew back to his face. Skin pressed to skin. He felt every ridge of her flesh. The smooth web between her thumb and first finger. The calluses from writing. The small scar on her knuckle. If this was one hand, discovering the landscape of her body would take him thousands of years. Gladly.

If he didn’t die of hunger first.

More. The touch wasn’t enough. He urged her toward him. She pulled him to her. Festival fires burned through him, demanding sacrifices. His ashes would be scattered this night.

She leaned closer. Being alive for thousands of years would mean nothing if he couldn’t kiss this woman. Without a word, her lips could tell him if the Muse was real. It might be her. Even if the legend was just smoke, the woman he held was not one to let go easily.

Slowly, he turned his head to call back to Lee and the others. “She’s coming with us.”

He moved to join them, but Misty held her ground, and his hand. “What if I don’t want to?”

“Your choice.”

Her eyes were unreadable. “What if all I came for was a kiss?”

“Then we kiss and the night ends.”

Lee and Wolfgang waited with their women. One for Lee and two for Wolfgang. His band would have fun for a night. After seeing Misty at the show, Trevor didn’t have a taste for anyone else. But the idea of seeking her out in the crowd had left him cold. He couldn’t take another trick of his imagination. The connection during the song had felt real. Learning it wasn’t would’ve crushed him. But she was proving his fear unfounded. Thank the gods she had pursued him into the night and fog. Trevor could only hope that Misty would come further with him. The hunger that hollowed him couldn’t be satisfied in hours. Or days. He could die, searching for satisfaction. And she was just a mortal. How much could she give him?

She shook her head. “It’s not over.”

This time, she led, walking him up the alley toward the others and toward a fate she couldn’t begin to understand.

* * *

It’s not really happening.
It’s not really happening.
It can’t be real.

Trevor Sand. With his arm around her waist. The promise of a kiss—and more—so close.
It can’t be real.

It was real.

She and Trevor and the others strutted out of the foggy night into the dim yellow light of an old Hollywood hotel. The empty couches and chairs held the impressions of ghosts. Potted plants twisted and curled like frozen dancers. Paint peeled from water damage.

The older woman behind the main desk straightened when she saw Trevor. She flashed a knowing grin.

Not breaking stride through the lobby, he put his hand out. “Innkeeper.”

She tossed a key, fluttering on its chain like a brass moth. Trevor caught it. His body moved with purpose. Misty had seen photos of him in tight shirts, muscles defined beneath the fabric. But feeling him against her side revealed more strength than she expected.

He led her to the elevator bank and hit the button. “Best room in the house.”

“They keep it empty year-round, just in case you show up?” So here she was, in a relic of a hotel, sassing rock star Trevor Sand. But the attention he paid to her through “The Disappear” continued through to now. He wasn’t just a rock star, but a man who didn’t expect to be treated like an idol.

“Yeah,” Trevor replied, matter-of-fact.

The elevator dinged and the doors struggled open. She and Trevor were in first, followed by Lee Rome, Wolfgang and their girls. The scents of warm skin, hair products, cologne and leather nearly overwhelmed her in the cramped space.

Trevor nudged Lee. “Top floor.”

“Think I’d forget?” He hit the button and the door closed.

Shuddering, the elevator climbed upward. Trevor brought Misty closer to him, tracing the tip of his finger along the edge of her neck. The shivers were hot electricity. His calluses against her skin created sparks. Before her eyes rolled shut, she saw the others in the elevator were already clutched together. Even with the doors closed she didn’t feel trapped. The smallest move could’ve separated her from Trevor. He would let her go. He wasn’t taking what she wouldn’t give freely. And she was in a very giving mood.

She whispered in his ear. “I didn’t know elevators went up for you. I expect these cables to snap and send us all to hell.”

He laughed, hot, on her skin. “Hell isn’t what you think.” His hand slid along her waist. Nimble fingers slipped past the hem of her top and moved on to the skin of her hip.

She held back a moan. These were the fingers that commanded music from his guitar. She’d memorized every note. He was fire on her flesh. The heat was welcome; it chased a long winter away. If it had been the dude who tried to hit on her at the end of the show, she would’ve driven her spike heel through the top of his foot. But this was Trevor Sand. Rock star. And even if he was just an ordinary man, she’d still go along on this wild ride with him. He captured her with his intensity. It seemed he would kick down any door that blocked their path. His focus on her was intoxicating. Her body wouldn’t blaze so bright if there was no connection between them. It was her night to take what she wanted from him.

Leaning hard into him, she felt the outline of his cock against her ass. He tightened his grip on her. His lips found the back of her neck. He hadn’t even touched them and her breasts were already super sensitive. All the heat he’d inspired coiled between her legs. A sweet need centered in her pussy.

She let the moan out. It didn’t matter anymore. No one judged her here. Wolfgang had his hand up one girl’s skirt while she made out with the other girl. Lee pressed his woman against the wall of the elevator as they searched each other’s mouths with their tongues.

The elevator lurched to a stop. The haze of sex lifted briefly from everyone as they stumbled into the hallway. Trevor led, key out like a lance to slay a dragon. After quick snaps of brass, the door to the suite opened.

Trevor stepped aside so she could enter first. He kept his hand on the small of her back, not pushing, but maintaining the touch that started in the alley. If he pushed, she would resist. The spell would be broken. Instead they found a steady balance. Walking a tightrope over the abyss together. He flipped on the lights to the suite. “Should’ve seen it in the fifties. Fit for Hollywood royalty.”

Since then, the suite had dimmed at the edges. Once gilded furniture was dull in the sunken living room. Velvet and gloss worn away in patches. Darkness streaked the corners of the walls. Though faded, the room was lush with gold, burgundy and black-lacquered wood. Asian prints on tattered silk echoed an old desire for the exotic.

Outside the large windows, Los Angeles glittered. Streetlights and buildings and mute freeways. Calm constellations that didn’t betray the chaos that was the city.

The door closed behind her. “So you’ve seen pictures of its former glory?” she asked.

Lee passed her on his way to the built in bar. “Pictures, right.” He set up glasses and bottles like soldiers charging artillery. “Ice?”

Wolfgang led his two women down into the living room. “Fuck ice. Bring us liquor.” All three crashed onto the biggest couch in a twist of limbs. Misty couldn’t tell where one person began and another ended.

Lee tossed a bottle into the mass. Wolfgang’s hand released someone’s flesh and caught it.

“Spirit?” Trevor still stood close, sharing the heat of his body with her.

“Bourbon.” Watching him drink it on the stage gave her a powerful thirst for the burning liquor.

“American blood.” He stepped away for a moment, then returned with a bottle. “Take her. Open her.”

The glass was cool where he hadn’t touched it, hot where his hand had been. She twisted the top, cracking the seal and releasing the first specter of sugared burnt oak.

Trevor gazed at her. That same look from the video this morning. Was it only this morning? It was a lifetime ago. The old Misty. She not only saw the hungry searching from him now, she felt it.

“The first drink’s yours.” He put his hand over hers on the bottle. “Virgin sacrifice.”

Together, they tipped the bottle to her lips. The liquid was fire. The first gulp tightened her senses. The world contracted to this one room, high over Hollywood.

With their hands still laced on the bottle, they moved it to Trevor’s mouth. He smiled, potent and dangerous. He could take a bite out of the glass, then consume her too. Instead he took a long draw off the whiskey.

It almost made her come watching him lick the bourbon off his lips.

He moved closer to her. “Even better, knowing your mouth was on it.”

They dropped the bottle. It thudded onto the carpet, liquid sloshing out. Another self would’ve worried about the damage, the mess. This Misty wouldn’t even let herself look at it. Tonight she lived by rock-and-roll rules.

Wrapping her hand around the back of his neck, she drew Trevor into a kiss. The fire of the alcohol wasn’t as strong as her need to crash into him. Smash their bones to bits and mix all the pieces together. She opened her lips, taking him in. His tongue probed. She licked at it.

He pressed hard against her lips. Opening wider, they tested and teased with their tongues. Slick and warm. She drew him farther into her mouth. He tasted of salt and whiskey. They breathed together, like they were singing the song again.

Music burst through the room. It seemed like magic, as if Trevor was a demon made of rock and roll itself. Then she glanced to see Lee had set up an iPod in a dock. The hard driving metal of Kent Gaol blasted. The air quivered and her heart raced. The night sped faster and the brakes burned away.

Lee’s woman waited for him in the living room. She lay across the arms of a high-back chair, slowly unbuttoning her top. He carried a bottle of vodka down to her. The two of them wound themselves together on the chair.

“You’ve never been here before,” Trevor rumbled next to her. “But this temple’s never seen anything like you, either.”

His hand ran along her back. She wore way too many clothes. So did he. The muscles of his arms and chest bunched under his shirt. But she needed his skin. Every tattoo had to be traced. With her tongue.

He tilted his head toward the living room. “Descend with me.”

Three steps down. The music still swirled, mixed with the moans of the others in the room. Trevor led her to a plush loveseat. On the left, Lee detached himself from his woman and knelt before her. She hiked up her skirt. He pulled her panties down. She slid low on the chair, draping a leg over his shoulder.