PLAYED - A BRITISH BAD BOY ROMANCE (24 page)

Chapter 6

Angel

It was awhile before Trent
finally started to stir. The tiny, makeshift bed creaked with his sleepy,
sluggish movements, and I firmly pressed my fingertips down over his pectoral.

“No. Stay down.
Rest.”

He nodded quietly,
relaxing back down.

I lifted my fingers
from his chest. Even through his shirt, I could tell how built he was. He
probably had a stack of washboard abs below.

Privately, I grumbled
that it hadn’t occurred to me to bother checking that.

This guy was probably
a muscle powerhouse beneath these clothes, and I’d missed my one chance to
sneak a peak without him knowing.

“Do you want
something to drink?” I asked.

“Water,” he asked.

I reached for the
glass that I’d prepared and left beside him. Holding the edge to his lips, I
carefully slipped him some of the cold water.

“Where are we?” He
asked me, coughing.

“Where I live,” I
answered truthfully.

We were in a backroom
with a single window casting in moonlight from above. A bare lightbulb hung
from the ceiling but I hated its sickly glow, so I relied on the natural light
(or lack thereof).

Besides, I was used
to moving around in the dark.

It made it easier to
forget that I was trapped living in such a complete dump.

“I thought you were
an asshole when you walked in,” I remarked. “You kept looking at me like I was
a hot piece of meat... And then you go and save me from those fuckers.”

“Yeah, well…it’s been
a weird night.”

“Tell me about it,” I
agreed. “But listen. I need to check you out.”

In the dim lighting,
I saw his lips curl into that cocky smile again. “You don’t need my permission
for that.”

“Ugh. Not like that,”
I corrected. “But you took a beating there. Like a fucking champ, I’ll admit.
Still, I need to take a look at your head. You might have a concussion.”

“Explains why my head
hurts so much,” Trent laughed painfully. “Go ahead, doc.”

He slowly pulled
himself to a seated position, and I helped him out of his shirt. After telling
him to close his eyes briefly, I flicked on the overhead light.

Oh sweet Jesus.

He was temporarily
blinded, but I adjusted quickly – fast enough to see how amazing his powerful,
rugged build really was.

There could barely be
an ounce of fat on this guy’s body. He was all muscle – built to last. His
sinews rippled just below the skin, pulling taut as he shielded his eyes. His
powerful shoulders and tight pectorals were to die for.

Turns out that I had
been completely right about his abs.

You could probably
slice onions on them.

“Are you done
checking out the goods?” Trent chuckled arrogantly. That stupidly sexy smile of
his curled along his lips again.

Ugh
.

“You’ll stop talking
if you want my help,” I warned him.

“Alright, alright…”

I pulled down my
medical kit from a shelf. Popping it open and spreading a few supplies along
the bed, I sat down beside him and dabbed rubbing alcohol onto a cotton ball.

“This might sting a
little,” I explained.

“Pfft. I can take
it.”

The slight waft hit
my nostrils as I pressed it to his cheek, bringing me back to when I was a
child. It was one of the few memories that really stuck out, patching up my
stepfather after one of his famous barroom brawls.

I shook the thought
from my head. I couldn’t help but wonder why alcohol seemed to be the common
denominator in pretty much everything I did, despite how much I hated the
stuff.

Dabbing lightly, I
checked his cuts and bruises. After applying some of the rubbing alcohol to his
wounds, I ducked out of the room and came back with a hot, soapy rag.

“Nothing broken,” I
observed. “Worst thing I’m seeing is a few deep bruises and the lump on your
head. Still not sure about that concussion, but you don’t look too worse for
wear. It’ll hurt later. But you probably don’t need a doctor.”

It was clear that he
was starting to finally remember things as I cleaned him up.

“What happened after
I hit the floor?”

“You’d be surprised
how fast a bunch of fat ass bikers can run when you point some buckshot in
their direction.”

“Remind me never to
piss you off,” Trent said, letting out a low laugh. “Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine, thanks to
you,” I replied.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You were a
beast. You kept taking punches and returning them harder. Those bikers weren’t
exactly pushovers. And you took on
four
of
them at once.”

“You had two of them
distracted.”

“Still. That’s no
easy feat.”

“You sound
impressed,” Trent said, cocking a smile.

“Maybe a little, but
let’s not forget that I saved your ass too. With a shotgun and everything. I
mean, I’m not gonna lie, it was pretty epic. You should have totally been
there, instead of unconscious.”

He smiled at me for a
moment, before the grin faltered. “What about the bikers, though? Are they
coming back, or…?”

I shook my head.
“Called the Sherriff. He picked them up on the interstate headed west. They
won’t be bothering me or
anyone
else
for awhile.”

We sat in silence for
a moment while I wiped him down. There wasn’t a lot more I could do. He was
going to need some painkillers for the morning, which I didn’t really have
access to, so… yeah.

 
“So, who
are
you, anyway?” I asked him.

“I already told you.
I’m Trent Masters.”

“Yeah. Doesn’t
exactly really ring a bell.”

He flashed a cocky
smile, as if he was about to announce himself as the lord of some distant land.
“You ever heard of
Trent Masters and the
Whiplash?
”

I laughed aloud.
 

I didn’t think this
could get any dumber.

“Yeah, your name
probably would have tipped me off if that meant
anything
to me.”

Trent looked a little
disappointed.

“I figured,” he
murmured with dejected irritation. “If you didn’t recognize me when I came in,
you probably weren’t going to, anyway.”

“So, enough with the
bullshit. Who
are
you? What’s this
about whiplash?”

Trent grinned
cockily. “We’re a rock band.”

“Funny,” I chuckled.
When his grin only grew wider, my face only hardened. “Wait, you’re
serious?
But I’ve never heard of you…”

“You’re right. I
clearly
made that up. I mean, I can’t
imagine how a tiny, backwater town halfway up the ass of Alabama might have
missed a band that tops the hottest Top 40 stations.”

“I’m more of a
country girl,” I conceded. “But we
get
radio
here. Wait…”

It started to dawn on
me.

“Wait, no, there’s
this one rock song that comes on every once in a while, what is it…I can never
hear the name, they never announce the band or the song title…”

“How’s it go?” He asked.

“Nuh-uh. I can’t
sing.”

He shrugged. “Recite
some lyrics.”

“Um.”

I thought for a
second.

“Reeeeaad my bones,
whispered, taken?”

Trent laughed with
amusement.

“That’s…wrong. That’s
really
wrong. But yeah, that’d be us.
You’re talking about a song I wrote,
Wicked
Wilds.
”

“I see,” I thought
aloud. “So, that’s
you?
”

His eyes glistened
with delight. His voice began to sound more familiar now – it could definitely
be close enough to be behind that song. I mean, I hadn’t heard it
often
, but it was one of the few rock
songs that really drew my attention.

It had always been
sung so soulfully.

The singer’s voice
really rang with emotion.

But he could still be
making this shit up. Wouldn’t be the first time some asshole came into my bar
pretending to be something he wasn’t.

“Sing it,” I
demanded, crossing my arms.

He looked surprised.
“You want me to sing for you?”

“If you expect me to
actually
believe
this bullshit you’re
spewing, then yeah, I definitely do.”

“You
do
realize that people usually pay me
thousands of dollars to sing, right? And I just saved you from, from…”

“Classy as
fuck
, Trent,” I laughed. “You’re right.
You just saved me from being raped. Low blow,
much?
But I distinctly remember whipping out a shotgun when you
went down, so I think you and I are
one
for one
. Besides. I don’t think it’s that big a request. You’re making a
total fuss over a few lyrics?”

Trent flashed a grin.
“Good point.”

“So, go on, then,” I
waved at him with my wrist. “Prove that it’s you. Work your magic.”

“What if I’m an
impersonator?”

“I’ll know if you’re
full of shit.”

Trent shook his head,
smiling softly. He looked deep into my eyes, as if searching to see if I was
being serious. After a moment, he smile settled in a big, arrogant grin.

“Fine. Have it your
way, then.”

While I sat next to
Trent Masters, he turned to me, looking deep into my being, and his sturdy
voice yarled the rugged chorus to his
alleged
rock hit single:

“
Reeee-yee-yee-ead my bones… broken, laid, and / Heeee-yee-yee-eed my
moans… whispered, taken / Seee-yee-yee-eee my frown… buried, bathed in /
Feee-yee-yee-eel my crown… dust and vapor”

Trent’s deep voice
rang in the small space, digging into a dark octave and pouring out his very
soul against the walls.

My head flashed to
the alternative rock heroes of the Nineties –
Pearl Jam
,
Soundgarden, Stone
Temple Pilots
, guys like that
.
They’d
never been my jam, but as I listened, I knew the truth. I was tending to the
wounds of a real-life rock star.

He was so young, and
oh so fucking hot.

Maybe I could give up
on country… Just this once…

“You believe me now,”
he smiled cockily.

“That’s…definitely
you, on the radio.”

“Me,
and
my band,” he added.

“What the
fuck
are you guys doing here in the
middle of nowhere?” I asked breathlessly. “I mean, what brought you to
Riverton?
How did you wind up in
my
bar?”

“We’re playing the
RipFest
, just an hour or so over from
here. It’s the biggest music festival in the state. The after-party wasn’t my
scene. I decided to hit the road and find somewhere a little quieter to nurse a
beer.”