Skeletons of Us (Unquiet Mind Book 2) (24 page)

I stared at him, hoping for some kind of shutter to fasten over my eyes and not let the tears escape. “Put. Me. Down.”

Something in my tone must have got to him because, after a long pause, he slowly and gently pulled out of me and set me on unsteady feet. With heartbreaking tenderness, Killian pulled my dress back down from where it had ridden up my waist.

My body still crackled with electricity and that touch. His callused hands running down my hips and snagging on the delicate material did things to my fragile body. That touch seemed to set me on fire almost more than the rough and frenzied one of before.

One of his hands rested lightly on my hip to steady me, the other grasped my neck, trapping my head to look at him.

Something trickled down my leg.

Fuck. No condom.

This happened. This actually happened. I didn’t think. I didn’t look up, didn’t give into every single urge I had to run back into those arms that were so foreign yet familiar. I ran the other way. Out of the room. Away from harm and to whatever safety I could find.

I don’t know how I did it, honestly, but I made it all the way out to the back entrance of the stadium without running into the boys, Mark, Jenna, fans, or more importantly, Killian catching up with me. I heard him bellow my name, heard the emotion in it. My step hadn’t even faltered. I was on autopilot. Fight or flight. My life wasn’t in danger, but my sanity sure as shit was. I got lost in him when he was inside me, his mouth on mine. Lost. Sucked into the black hole that was Killian. I couldn’t get lost again.

Maybe the universe was looking out for me by taking out obstacles that were normally there after every show and giving me a straight shot to the SUV Clyde was leaning against.

He jerked up and threw the paper he was reading in the open window. His eyes ran over me.

“Miss Williams? Are you okay?” he asked in concern. His hand went to the inside of his suit jacket to where I knew his gun lived. Clyde was ex-special forces. He didn’t want the bodyguard position; he’d seen enough things in his life. The demons lurking beneath his kind eyes weren’t hard to miss. Yet he still wore a weapon when driving for me, even before the whole stalker thing.

“I’m fine, Clyde,” I reassured him. “I just need to get out of here. Now.”

He paused for a split second. Then he saw something in my eyes and nodded curtly, opening the door for me.

I sagged at the lack of argument then climbed in, hurriedly. My eyes were on the exit, sure that Killian would burst through.

He didn’t.

I was both relieved and disappointed at this.

I didn’t want to inspect the latter feeling that I didn’t understand.

Clyde screeched out of the parking lot.

“Where to, Miss Williams?”

I chewed my lip. “You don’t happen to know of a bar where no one would recognize me, do you?”

His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “I know just the place.”

I sagged against the seat.

*****

“Miss Williams, it’s not my place to say, but after the events of the past few weeks, I feel compelled,” Clyde said, pulling up to a nondescript and slightly weathered-looking bar out in Silver Lake.

“I think you should call Mr. Decesare or one of Keltan’s men to inform them of your location so they can join you here.”

I sighed. “I just need a break from them. From all that. Do you understand that, Clyde?”

His eyes met mine. “Yes, Miss Williams, I understand that, but you’re also under threat—”

“I’m safe with you, aren’t I?” I interrupted him, which was something I never usually did. It was rude, but I was tired. Exhausted.

“Of course, Miss Williams. I’ll keep you safe,” he responded immediately.

I nodded. “Okay then, let’s get ourselves a drink.”

I didn’t wait for Clyde to open my door and I got a hard look at this. I smiled in response. He shook his head and led us into the bar.

It wasn’t busy even though it was a Friday night. A few people were scattered amongst the tables in the small room, most glued to some sports game. A man was sipping a drink at the end of the bar, staring into it as if it might answer the questions of the universe.

If only it was that easy, buddy.

Despite the slightly shabby exterior, the bar wasn’t in as much disrepair as I’d expected. Most of the furniture was dated but still tidy, and the walls were scattered with frames of smiling patrons. The lighting was dim, which I appreciated. I glanced down at my attire. It was totally appropriate for a rock star on stage performing to thousands of people, but not so much for a girl looking to blend in.

Clyde put his hand on the small of my back and directed us to the bar.

“Clyde!” a man boomed at us the moment the light illuminated Clyde’s tanned and weathered face. The corner of his mouth turned up slightly at the grinning man’s greeting.

“Artie.” He nodded to him, taking the large, tattooed hand that was extended to him.

The man on the other side of the bar laughed. “Still as fuckin’ jolly as always.” His eyes fluttered to me. They didn’t betray any recognition that I came to expect, only amused interest. His gaze flickered over my attire, but not in a leering way. He met my eyes and his friendly ones put me at ease.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing with an old grump like him?” He nodded to Clyde.

I smiled at him. The man had long hair, a full beard, a Harley tee that stretched over his huge belly and faded tattoos down his arms. He looked like he should own a biker bar, not a dive bar in Silver Lake. He looked the furthest from someone strait-laced Clyde would be hanging out with. But he also looked kind.

“Lexie,” I said, holding out my hand. “Clyde’s not so bad.” I winked at Clyde who shook his head.

The man took my hand. “Arthur Smith, but everybody calls me Artie. Pleased to meet you, Lexie. Beautiful girl like you classes up the joint.”

I sat down, glad that we had gotten only a couple of disinterested looks from the patrons who went back to their business.

“Let me guess, club soda?” Artie asked Clyde, who nodded. “Predictable as always,” Artie muttered. His eyes went to mine. “Something stronger for you, I’m guessin’, pretty lady?” His voice was understanding and those kind eyes seemed to see more than I wanted to betray.

“Yeah. Something much stronger,” I agreed.

*****

“So, Lexie, what do you do for a livin’?” Artie asked me, handing me my—fourth?—drink.

I exchanged a quick look with Clyde, whose face was blank. He contemplated his first soda.

“I’m a singer,” I replied, grinning slightly. Artie made a good drink, which was doing its job at chasing away the memories of tonight.

He leaned on the bar. “Yeah, you any good?”

I grinned again. “Um, I don’t go hungry, so I guess so.” Artie didn’t seem to recognize me, and I was happy to play along and pretend I wasn’t famous and I hadn’t just come from an iconic venue my band had sold out.

Artie eyed me. “I reckon you’re good. Humble ones always are.” His eyes flickered to the corner. “You think you might treat an old man to a song?”

I followed his eyes and landed on a small stage in the corner of the room. Nothing fancy, just a mic and some speakers.

I froze slightly.

“I don’t want to disturb the people and their… football game,” I said, squinting at the screen.

Artie leaned down, grabbing something from the bar. All of a sudden, the sound disappeared, bathing the bar in silence.

I expected groans from the people peppered around the table. They glanced over at Artie, shrugged, and went back to watching the muted game.

“Problem solved,” he said.

I chewed my lip. “I’ve had too much to drink. I would most likely butcher any song I attempted.”

Artie’s eyes turned serious. “I’m not gonna try and press why someone like you is in a place like this, looking for answers in the bottom of a glass.” He paused. “I will tell you, from fifteen years pouring those glasses, not one person has found any answers in them. Myself included.” He nodded to the corner. “I do know a great number of people who’ve found the answers in music.”

I regarded him. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

His face didn’t change. “’Course I do. You’re Lexie. A kind young woman who’s lookin’ for answers in all the wrong places.”

He gave me a long look. He knew who I was.

I looked to Clyde. His face didn’t betray anything.

I stared back down at the liquid in my half-full glass. Artie was right. No answers lay here. Maybe a temporary vacation from the feelings that chewed the inside of my spine. Maybe a different kind of oblivion than I was looking to escape. But nothing good.

I pushed the glass away.

Artie grinned and reached under the bar once more, this time he unearthed a guitar.

I took it, out of surprise more than anything else. It was an old Gibson, a good one at that. Not one that should be lying behind a bar.

“I dabble, when it’s quiet,” he said when I raised a brow at him. “It’s tuned,” he added.

The feeling of it in my hands wasn’t the same as my own, but it was more comfortable than that cold glass.

Clyde nodded to me, his gaze betraying a hint of approval at my choice.

“Any requests?” I asked.

Artie shook his head. “You know what you want to play.”

“Are you a bartender or a therapist?”

He grinned. “Same thing, darlin’.”

My feet found themselves navigating the slightly sticky floor and rounding the tables. A couple of people lifted their heads at me, but no one seemed perturbed.

I climbed on stage and switched on the mic. There was a slight hum as it came to life, but thankfully it didn’t shriek in the quiet room. Slinging the guitar over my shoulder, I positioned it so it was the right height and sat in the stool that was off to the side.

There were a couple of curious eyes on me, but other than Artie and Clyde, no one was actively watching me. It felt weird, being behind a mic in a room of people and not having them screaming, not having all the attention on me.

It was nice.

Again, I closed my eyes and started to strum, singing the first words of “Fickle Heart” by Ira Wolf. My voice took up the quiet room, but I didn’t notice that. I was focusing inward, singing those lyrics from that broken place in my heart.

So because I was focusing inward, I didn’t notice the door to the bar rip open. Nor did I notice the figure who had stormed into it freeze. Deep down, I might have felt the stare of ice blue eyes in my soul, but I was too busy being lost in lyrics, in the music to stop.

He wasn’t prepared for it, that’s how she got away. He was too busy fuckin’ basking in the moment. Replaying it in his head. Rapidly blinking to make sure this wasn’t some fucked-up dream. He had her. Tasted her sweetness again. Felt her velvet wrapped around him and finally managed to find sanctuary within her after four fuckin’ years.

Four fuckin’ years.

He was happy. It caught him off guard. The emotion was so foreign it shocked him immobile for a second. Long enough for her small body to wrench out of his arms and run out the room.

“Lexie!” he bellowed after her, throwing the door open. The exact one she’d just slammed shut.

Her blonde hair flew and the heels of those fuckin’ boots echoed down the concrete hallway teaming with people. People staring at Lexie then at Killian.

He jogged after her, not bothering to give a fuck that people would stare, that all eyes on Lexie meant all eyes on him.

His only focus was getting to her. She was fast and it fucked with him that she was so desperate to get away from him that she was running through the bowels of a stadium, even with the knowledge she had a crazy person after her. The sound of her heels on the concrete silenced as he reached the door to the underground parking lot. The silence scared the shit out of him.

“Fuck!” he all but roared as he saw the taillights of the SUV exit the lot. The one he was almost certain Lexie was in. He couldn’t even fuckin’ follow them because Lexie’s Jeep was parked on another level. His bike was in fuckin’ Malibu.

He had a strong urge to put his fist through the concrete wall at his side. Instead, he took a deep breath, swallowed the dragon climbing up his throat and reentered the building.