Consumed (16 page)

I’m reluctant to face him, but he pulls me around anyway. His look of concern changes the moment he’s able to study my face. Lifting his head to the handful of people coming into this room, he barks, “Get the fuck out and close the door.”

Like always, they comply, racing away to do his bidding. 

And like always, I’m a little envious at how much control Lucas has.

He cradles my face between his long fingers and gives me a long stare that causes my throat to feel dry. “Tell me what the fuck is going on, Sienna.”

I rake my bottom teeth over the corner of my lip. “I see why Sinjin thinks Cilla’s the devil.” 

“Is she fucking with you?”

“Apparently I’m her new stalker.”

Dropping his hands from my face, he draws back several inches. His breath bursts in and out until he demands, “She told you that?”

“Oh, and she wrote a song about screwing you.” I duck away from him because I can’t think clearly with him looking at me like this. With my back turned to him, I add, “Not sure if you’ve heard it yet, but yeah, you’re kind of a big deal.” 

I brush past him, determined to go anywhere but in here, but he stops me before I can leave the room, pinning me against the door. “Do you hold all your girlfriends hostage?”

“Only you. And trust me, Red, this isn’t hostage.”

“I swear I’m fine, Lucas,” I say a little too loudly because in the other room, Sinjin yells something about not being fine and dying of thirst.

“Don’t stand there and try to feed me bullshit,” Lucas says. 

He attempts to draw me to him again, but I press my palms flat against his chest. He pulls them away effortlessly, holding my wrists to my sides. “You are the only thing that matters to me,” he growls against my lips, and I squeeze my eyes together tightly. “You are mine, and anything that hurts you, fucks with me.”

Everything burns—my chest, the inside of my eyes from tears that I’m trying desperately to hold back—but I nod anyway. “You have no idea how hearing that makes me feel. But, Lucas, I can also hold my own.” 

Pressing his fingertips to the outer corners of my eyes, he exhales. “I know you can. And I won’t say anything to Cilla.” 

“That’s probably what she wants anyway.”

“You’re a perceptive little thing.”

Once again he lets go of me, and I widen my eyes just in time to see him kissing the tip of his thumb. Before I can react, he leans into me, his mouth coming down on mine. I taste the salt from the tears he caught, and I push myself deeper into him, savoring everything about him. The way he feels. The way he sounds letting out a rough groan as his lips devour mine. The way he smells—a seductive mix of cologne and the sweat still clinging to his skin from performing. 

“Oh, Sienna,” he breathes. “What the fuck am I going to do with you?”

“I draw the line at sex in the refreshment room.”

“I don’t want to do this after show bullshit.” He strokes the backs of his fingers over the curve of my cheek. “I want to take you back to the bus and spend every moment from here until we get to Chicago tomorrow night in that back room with you.”

I shake my head. “And Sin would hear—and comment—on everything he hears.” 

He takes a step backward and then another, offering me a miserable, forced smile. “Exactly. And nobody else will give us a moment of peace either.” As if to reiterate his point, someone bangs on the door. Groaning, Lucas places his forehead against mine. “When this is all over, I’m taking you home with me, and there won’t be a goddamn thing that’ll make me let you go.”

Ugh. Only Lucas could confront me while I’m angry, diffuse the situation (for the time being) and end the conversation by leaving me anxious and anticipating our future.

“You done in there?” Sinjin yells, and for the first time, I witness Lucas gritting his teeth together.

“Frustrated, Mr. Wolfe?” I flick my nail over his nipple, but he catches my wrist, sucking the tip of my finger into his mouth.

“You’ll find out when we get to St. Louis Wednesday.”

Shooting my eyebrow up, I step aside so he can open the door. A dozen flashes and voices seem to greet him all at once, but he’s still able to hear me when I ask, “What about Sinjin’s party?”

Giving the crowd a cocky grin, he responds to me in a low voice. “We’ll go. After we’ve done what we need to do. Just know that while I’m in here doing this tonight, I’ll be thinking about how many ways I’m going to fuck you. How I’ll show you why it’s impossible for me to even think of another woman.”

With those words, he steps into the hospitality room, his stride confident and sexy. I stay where I am for a couple more minutes to catch my breath. Once I’m no longer flustered, and my face is cool to the touch, I walk out after Lucas. He’s in the center of the room, signing autographs and talking to the press, so I find a place in the corner away from the camera flashes. 

When I scan my eyes around the room, I’m not shocked to see that Cilla has left. Nor am I surprised that when Sinjin and I look at each other, he’s wearing the most satisfied expression that I’ve seen him manage during this tour.

For the next 48 hours, Cilla stays clear of me. The only close encounter that we have is backstage in Chicago, when Maggie asks for my help again. After I pick out and deliver wardrobe to Your Toxic Sequel, she tasks me with taking a box of vintage-looking necklaces to Cilla’s dressing room. 

I dread doing it. 

I loathe conflict—I witnessed enough arguments growing up to want to have any of that in my adult life. And people like Samantha and Cilla—they’re the type I’ve always avoided under all circumstances.

But surprisingly, when Cilla opens her door, she’s somewhat civil. She’s wearing nothing but a strapless lace bra and lace boy shorts and has no problem showing off her body as she poses in the doorway giving me a pointed stare. “Yes?” she drawls.

I hold the box out to her, and she looks at it skeptically. “Maggie wanted you to have these. She said you wanted to wear them tonight.” As soon as I say that, she snatches the box out of my hands, opens it up and squeals like a little girl. 

“Etsy is my crack.” She dismisses me with a flick of her hand, but before she slams the door in my face, she pokes her head out and says, “Tell Maggie I said thanks, Pepper.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, “You’re welcome.”

“You know,” a voice says from beside of me, and I look over at Cal who’s guzzling an energy drink. “She’s not the norm for female musicians.”

“So, you’re telling me that passive-aggressiveness and crazy mood swings aren’t the norm?” 

“Only if you’re Cilla Craig.”

“Ouch! You sound almost as negative as Sinjin when it comes to her.” 

“No, not negative. But there are—and I shit you not—diseases that I’m more drawn to than Cilla.”

Not negative my ass.

“Gross,” I mutter.

Opening the door to the band’s dressing room, he motions for me to go inside. “I speak nothing but the truth,” he says, following behind me. He stops short as soon as he seeks Lucas on the couch.

“I swear if you’re still on her about that fucking body shot—” Lucas growls, but Cal quickly disappears inside of the restroom before he can finish. Lifting his hazel eyes to me, Lucas jerks his head slightly, motioning for me to come over. As soon as I reach him, he pulls me onto his lap so that we’re facing each other, and I can feel his heartbeat drumming against my chest. 

“Sin and Wyatt could come in at any moment,” I point out. “And there’s Cal, too.” 

He gives the sensitive spot on my sides a sharp squeeze, and I move my hips against him.  He groans. “God, you better be ready for St. Louis tomorrow.”

“No show, hotel bed, and a giant tub? Yes, I am.”

“Remember what I told you in Dallas?” He presses thumb presses against the side of my breast. I suck in a little breath between my teeth. “About the thoughts running through my head?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.”

Lifting me off of him, he gets up, and I slide back against the couch cushions. He walks out of the room, singing “Handcuffs”— one of the YTS songs I was introduced to earlier this year. Lucas had written the song about our first encounter with each other. I’m glad Cal’s in the bathroom, and Sinjin and Wyatt are nowhere to be found, so they can’t see how hot my face is. 

When Lucas comes back, he’s carrying a large vase of flowers—pink lilies, and red and white roses. “Funny.” I bring my knees up to my chest. “I didn’t take you for a flowers and candy type of guy.”

He sets the vase down on the coffee table in front of me and then bends over me. Heat pools in the pit of my stomach, and I grip the seat cushions I’m sitting on as he traces the tip of his tongue over my lips. When he pulls away, he’s wearing a knowing smile, and he dips his gaze between my legs. 

He knows just how wet he’s managed to get me in such a short amount of time. 

Before he heads back out of the room, he flicks his thumb roughly across my nipple. “While I would love the credit, and reward, the flowers are from Kylie.” 

Pretending that every nerve in my body isn’t on fire, I slide forward on the couch and pick the large white envelope that’s addressed from Kylie McCrae from the cardholder. “Kylie, you are absolutely amazing—”

I stop speaking, though, the moment my eyes land on the words written in messy red ink on the crisp white card I find inside of the envelope.

Sienna-

Congratulations, you’re STILL with him. Maybe you’re more of an idiot than I thought you were. At the end of the day, he will always be tied to me. It’s just a matter of time before he crashes and you go down with him. Have you asked him what he’s keeping from you? Has he offered to tell you? 

S.W.

PS: Good luck with this. 

Directly beside of the last word, there’s a crookedly drawn arrow, and I feel my stomach clench for a new reason as I shakily flip the card over. Written on the back of the note is a long website address, and I scan my gaze over it carefully, committing it to my memory. 

It’s for a YTS fan forum, and scribbled directly below it is the word
THIS SITE IS MY FAVORITE
written in all capital letters and underlined several times.

“That face, Red,” Lucas’s voice makes me start, and I fold the card back up, sliding it hastily into the envelope. “Didn’t think Kylie would write something deep enough to make you look like that.”

“It’s not—” I begin, but then I stop myself. What good would giving this to Lucas do? If it were a letter from any crazy other than Sam, I would say something about it. But the envelope sitting on my lap? This would only take us several steps backwards. Aside from his usual spurts of moodiness, Lucas has been for the most part happy this tour. And that means that Sam hasn’t been sending him shit like this. Grasping the envelope, I clear my throat. 

“It’s not necessarily deep,” I lie. “She just made a really awkward sex joke.”

He seems to take me at my word, but as soon as Cal comes out the restroom wet in nothing but a towel, I lock myself inside. I rip the note into the tiniest shreds my fingers will allow. When I’m done, I flush the pieces down the toilet, determined to put it out of my mind.

But much later, when thoughts of Sam’s cryptic message and her creepy gift of flowers keep me awake hours after the bus rolls out of Chicago, I take my laptop to the galley of the bus and Google the forum that Sam had mentioned. 

I last for a total of five minutes reading posts in a sub forum entitled “The Toxic Cunt” before I’m sick to my stomach. When Lucas finds me kneeling over the toilet in the tiny restroom stall dry heaving, he comes onto the floor next to me, his gorgeous face frowning in concern.

“Sienna?” he says, but I splay my palm out on his chest and shake my head.

For the second time this evening, I have a chance to tell him exactly what’s going on, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I let him help me up and wrap my arms tightly around his neck when he lifts me up in his bare, tattooed arms. 

He takes me back to our small bed, whispering into the crook of my neck, and I say nothing.

By the time we reach St. Louis in the morning, I’ve pushed Sam’s crazy ass note and the discovery of how fiercely some of Lucas’s fans hate me to a dark corner in the back of my mind. As ironic as it sounds, thinking about either is toxic for me, and if I concentrate on it, I’ll just make myself sick again. I think about this day, and night, off instead.