The Complete Rockstar Series (75 page)

“Fuck,” Van Zandt mutters. “Let’s go.”

Anders and Halifax go around back, while Tyrese, Lex, and I take the front.

Lex reaches out and tests the front door.
“Unlocked,”
he mouths. I nod. Using his fingers he counts down—three, two, one—silently, he pushes open the heavy door. Leading with our guns, we each enter the foyer.

We spread out, Lex going left, Tyrese going straight, and me going right. I check a small office and head back to the foyer when the shouts break the excruciating silence.

Goose bumps rise up on my skin and my stomach churns with acid.
Gavin’s voice. Gavin shouting.
Terror like nothing I’ve ever felt ripples up my spine. My mind slides into the ingrained training from the FBI academy. Whisper quiet, I lead the other two down a long hall.

Another shout echoes through the empty rooms.

“Fuck you, asshole!”

It’s Gavin again. His yelling helps me narrow down his location in the sprawling mansion.

“Troy, don’t do this!”

A chill flutters through me. That’s Dennis Walker’s voice. I glance back at Van Zandt. His hardened gaze meets mine and I know he’s thinking the same thing as me—Troy Wolski, our suspect, is in the house.

The loud reverberation of a gunshot stops me in my tracks. Without another thought, I flat-out fucking run towards the noise.

Van Zandt nearly collides with me when I come to an abrupt halt at the end of a long hall. It takes about a half a second for my eyes to zero in on the knife being held to Gavin’s neck, a thin rivulet of blood dripping down the beautiful skin of his throat. My entire fucking world collapses into that single point of contact.

“Don’t fucking move!”

Everyone freezes—Tyrese and Van Zandt behind me—Halifax, Anders, and Dennis Walker are in the room and already have their hands up in the air.

Troy Wolski. Ex-Special Forces, trainer for military films, stalker, serial killer, and all-around-psycho is pressing a knife to my loved one’s throat while pointing a very large caliber handgun at the men in the room.

“Put your weapons down or I’ll open his carotid,” Wolski hisses, spittle flying from his mouth. Gavin flinches when Wolski shifts, opening up a new cut, sending another small trickle of dark red to collect at Gavin’s collar.

“Don’t hurt him,” I manage with an amount of confidence I don’t feel inside. Slowly, I lay my Glock on the thick carpet at my feet. “See? We’re putting down our guns. Let him go.”

I hear Tyrese and Van Zandt’s weapons hit the floor as well. Briefly, I wonder whether Anders or Halifax fired the shot because it sure as fuck didn’t come from Wolski’s fifty caliber monster.

Halifax sneers and out of the corner of my eye I see his chest puff up. “What the fuck do you want, Wolski?”

Motherfucking Halifax!

“Grant, shut up,” I snarl. If he gets Gavin hurt or killed I will make sure he never eats again without the help of a straw.

“You,” Troy growls, leveling his hand cannon on me. “You’re the boyfriend, aren’t you? Was it real for you or was it all just a scam like it was reported?”

I don’t move or let even a flicker of emotion cross my face. “Who are you?” I shoot back.

The bastard laughs and the knife shakes, causing Gavin to close his eyes and cringe.

“You fucker!” I shout, my body tense and ready to pounce. The deep-seated need to lash out and kill roars inside, waiting to be released. My hands clench at my waist.

“That answers my question.” Troy sneers, holding his gun steady, aimed directly between my eyes. “Do you love him? Would you die for him?” The monster drags the flat of the blade down Gavin’s throat. The rasp of the metal over his short stubble fills the room, the only sound besides the thundering of my heartbeat in my ears.

Gavin’s eyes snap open, locking on mine. Fear mirroring my own shines wetly in the bright blue. Looking deeper, I see more than panic and terror. I see strength and devotion and love. Without breaking our eye contact, I answer. “Yes. I would die for him.”

His lids flutter shut again, a saddened grimace marring his beauty. Did he think I would lie? Deny my feelings? Never again. I won’t resist the pull or ignore what I know to be true.

“What’s your endgame, Wolski?” Halifax asks. “You can’t think you’re getting out of here a free man.”

I glare at Grant. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not going to warn you again,” I hiss.

He glares back. “What are you going to do about it, Hale? You’re not part of this investigation and shouldn’t even be here,” Grant snarls.

What the hell did I ever find attractive about this guy? He’s a complete asshole.

“Halifax,” Van Zandt warns from my other side. “Keep your mouth shut.”

“All of you shut up!” Wolski roars, swinging the gun around the room.

When Wolski’s body angles away, the gun not pointed at anyone specific, Gavin grabs the hand holding the knife and squeezes, causing Wolski to drop the knife. I fall to one knee, yank my secondary weapon out of the ankle holster and fire.

“
I
’m so sorry
, baby.” Mitch apologizes for the millionth time, clutching my hand while the doctor stitches the deepest of the cuts on my neck.

“Mitch, I told you to stop saying that. It was from my pressure point attack, not your bullet.” He hasn’t stopped apologizing since he killed Troy Wolski with a single shot to the head. At some point, the knife grazed my throat.

“Sir, if you don’t stop talking I’ll have to ask your friend to leave the room,” the doctor warns, pausing to shoot daggers at me.

“I’m his boyfriend, and I’m not moving,” Mitch snaps, his hand clamping down on mine until I feel my bones aching.

The doctor presses his mouth into a tight line and continues stitching. Thankfully, Mitch stays silent for the rest of the procedure.

By the time we get back to the beach house, I’m nearly asleep on my feet and Mitch looks like death warmed over. From the hospital we had to go to the local FBI office and give our statements. When I started to nod off during questioning, they said we could go and they would speak to us later. We stagger up the stairs and pass out on the bed fully clothed.

“Mitch,” I whisper, gently shaking him awake.

A low mumble is his only response.

“Mitch!” I shake harder.

“What? Huh?” He rolls to his back, rubbing the heels of his hands in his eyes. “Gavin? What’s going on?”

“The doorbell.” My face floods with heat and I’m grateful for the blackout shades in my bedroom. “I know he’s dead, but…”

Mitch reaches out, swiping his thumb over the bandage on my neck. “It’s okay, baby. I know.” He presses a small kiss to my lips. The heat of his mouth sends a shiver down my spine.

Kicking off the covers, Mitch swings his legs over the side of the bed. He looks down at his rumpled clothing. The doorbell breaks the silence again and Mitch shrugs. “I guess whoever it is will have to deal with us being unpresentable.”

I slide my arms around his waist, tugging him against me. The hard planes of his body feel so good under my hands. I lean in for another kiss, this time deep and wet, slipping my tongue into the heat of his mouth. When I pull back, breathless, I whisper against his lips. “You’re always presentable. I love you, and thanks for rescuing me.”

His hands tighten on my back, fingers digging in to keep me close. “I’ll always rescue you, Gavin. Just like you rescued me.”

The doorbell chimes again and I laugh. “Persistent, aren’t they?”

Reluctantly, I let go of Mitch and we head down the stairs. I reach for the knob but Mitch steps in front of me, pulling it open and shielding me from whoever is out there at the same time.

“Hello? I’m certain I have the correct address. Is this Gavin Walker’s home?”

“Mom?” I peek over Mitch’s shoulder to find my mother on my front step. “Oh my god!” Mitch steps back, which is a good thing because I might have barreled him over to get to my mother.

“Gavin?” Her eyes flood with tears as I pull her into a tight embrace. “Love, are you alright?” My mom’s voice cracks and she sobs. The sound of her so upset breaks the shell I’ve kept around my emotions over the last few months. Tears spill down my cheeks.

“I’ll take care of the cab,” Mitch says to no one in particular. By the time he comes back inside with my mom’s luggage, we’re in the kitchen and I’ve got the kettle on to make her a cup of tea.

“How did you get here?” I ask. “I mean, obviously you took a plane, but why now?”

My mom’s eyes cast down, her cheeks red with shame. “Your father phoned.”

I tense up at the mention of my dad. Mitch puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “How did he call you? He’s in jail,” I fume.

“Babe, it’s okay,” Mitch murmurs in my ear. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

The stress spills out of my body. I’m too tired to stay angry with my father all the time. Letting go of the negativity feels so fucking good I should have done it a long time ago. “You’re right. He can’t.”

I sit next to my mom at the table. “So, he called?”

Mitch places my mom’s tea in front of her and sits at my other side.

“Thank you, love. You must be Mitch.” My mom holds out her hand.

“Sorry,” I apologize. “I should have introduced you properly. Mitch, this is my mother, Charlotte Chambers-Walker. Mom, this is Mitchell Hale, my boyfriend.”

They shake and my own face and neck heats up at the grin my mom is giving me as her eyes dart back and forth between Mitch and myself.

“What?” I ask, squirming uncomfortably.

“You’re in love,” she announces. My skin blazes at her comment.

“Mom!”

Mitch chuckles, patting my hand.

“It’s okay, love. I’m so glad you’re happy. And safe.” Her eyes go watery again.

“Don’t cry, mom. I am happy. Now tell me about dad and stop embarrassing me.”

She fiddles with her cup. “He rang me from jail. Your father wanted to be sure you had someone here for you after what happened.” I swallow thickly. “I’m so sorry, Gavin. I should have seen him for what he was a long time ago.”

“How could you have known?” I reply. “Hell, I don’t think he even admitted to himself until yesterday that he was gay. He probably still hasn’t.”

“I don’t mean that part, Gavin. I mean how cruel and mean he was,” my mom explains. “I was afraid he’d get his Hollywood lawyers to take you away from me so I ignored it for longer than was proper.”

“Mom, it’s in the past. I’m better, I’ve moved on, and I’m happy.” I glance at Mitch and smile. “In the end, Dad did defend me against that sick bastard so that’s really more than I’d ever gotten from him before.”

“You’re right, love. It’s the past. My trip was frightfully long. Do you mind if I have a kip?”

Mitch laughs at her British phrasing, probably thinking of his own mother. “Not at all, mom. I’ll show you the guest room.”

“I’ll get your bags, Charlotte. Don’t want Gavin ripping any stitches,” Mitch says, jumping up from his seat.

My mom grabs my arm, holding me back. “He’s a keeper, Gavin,” she whispers. “And quite cute.” She pokes me in the side and I laugh. “Don’t let that one get away.”

We climb the stairs, my arm around my mom and my gaze fixed on Mitch’s perfect ass in front of me. “Don’t worry mom. I have no intention of letting him go.”

Once my mom is settled, we go back into the bedroom to clean up. “I feel disgusting,” Mitch says, his nose wrinkles while he peels off his clothes.

“You look delicious.” I pull off my own bloodstained shirt and step over to Mitch, leaving only an inch between us. Grabbing his waistband, I yank him forward to close the gap. Mitch gasps when our groins collide. “I have something for you,” I whisper, circling his ear with my tongue.

Goose bumps rise on Mitch’s skin. I glide my hands up and down his back, loving the way he shudders from my touch. Mitch grinds our hardening cocks together. “I have something for you too,” he groans.

Laughing, I reach into my pocket. “Not that!” His face falls. “Well, yeah, you can have that, but it’s not what I meant.”

“Oh. Then what is it?” Mitch bites his lower lip adorably. I want to suck that lip into my mouth and run my tongue all over it. My cock gets harder, making it difficult to focus.

“Stop distracting me.” I take his hand and put it palm up between us, placing the object in the center. “Here, I saw you put it back on my nightstand. I don’t need this anymore.”

Mitch looks in his hand and his eyes snap back up. “Are you sure?”

I nod. “I have you. That’s all I need to feel safe.”

Mitch’s grey eyes soften. He blinks and a spark of mischief appears. “Who knew you were such a romantic? What’s next? Are you going to write me a love song?”

“You jerk,” I say affectionately. “Let’s shower, you stink.”

“Fine,” Mitch calls over his shoulder as he heads for the bathroom. “But I’m not giving up hope on that love song.”

I follow that hot ass and muscled back and wonder what Mitch would say if he knew that I already wrote him one.

I snicker to myself, earning a playful glare from Mitch. Guess I’ll find out. We start recording next month.

O
ne year
later

AP— Sphere of Irony won three Grammy Awards last night including one for Song of the Year with their hit, Utah, You’re My Home. When asked which band member has a fondness for the state in the title of the song, front man Adam Reynolds only said, “Who needs a reason? What’s not to like about Utah?”

T
he end
.