Vintage Volume Two (2 page)

two

George followed me out to the bus, of course. I couldn’t get one goddamn second alone on this tour where I felt so goddamn lonely.

Hank gave me a look of sympathy since I was full-on crying by the time I arrived at the bus door. He punched in the code and opened the door, and I went immediately to the back of the bus, slammed the door, pulled my phone out of my jeans pocket, and opened Parker’s text.

When I ask you an important question at the end of our closing song tonight, please say yes. It’s for your safety. It won’t be real this time, but I can’t stop thinking about how it will be real someday. I love you.

I tossed my phone away from me in disgust.

Playing with marriage, with engagements and love, was sick. It was one thing for my father to force Parker on me for my protection. It was quite another for the two of them to come up with this ludicrous idea that Parker and I should get engaged to somehow protect me from Randy.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Go the fuck away,” I yelled. I buried my face into my pillow, angry tears still falling from my eyes.

The door opened. That was exactly the opposite of what I had literally just said.

I didn’t lift my head because I wasn’t interested in who was at the door.

I heard my dad’s voice.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. For what it’s worth, this was my idea. Parker protested pretty strongly, but I just couldn’t see any other way.”

“I don’t need the details, Dad. I just want to be alone.”

I heard him sigh, and then I heard an echo of another sigh.

Great. I wanted some time to myself, and suddenly I was surrounded by my dad and Parker—the two people I most didn’t want to see.

“I have to go,” my dad said. “Show’s in less than an hour. I need my credentials.” I reached into my pocket without picking my face up from my pillow. I held out the cards to my dad. I felt his hand brush my back, a silent apology.

“Good luck,” he muttered not to me, and then I heard him walk away as I felt the bed dip down beside me.

Parker’s large, strong hand brushed some hair tenderly from my forehead as he tucked it behind my ear. It was sweet and affectionate and so out of line with the way he’d totally just played with my heart.

He’d played with my emotions.

So he’d sent a text. Big fucking deal.

I hadn’t received it, and it was presumptuous of him to think I did without checking first. It wasn’t like he’d texted me to find out what I wanted for dinner.

“I’m sorry, Jimi,” he murmured. “Did you read my text?”

I nodded into the pillow.

“I meant it. The part about how I can’t stop thinking about our future.”

I was silent. I hadn’t thought far enough ahead to have the same thoughts and dreams he had. I’d barely come to the realization that I was tired of being stubborn and wanted to just give into what I felt between us.

Instead, I was back to where I had been only a couple of days earlier. I was angry. I was hurt. And most of all, I was betrayed yet again by the two men I loved most.

“Talk to me, Jimi.”

I took a shaky breath, the tears thankfully dry. I flipped over so I was on my back, and I stared up at the ceiling.

“You want me to talk?”

I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. I refused to look at his face, but from the quick glance I got when my traitorous eyes darted over to him, I was certain that he was terrified that this newest development spelled the end for us.

And maybe it would be the end.

Maybe he’d fucked up one too many times.

Or maybe I needed him. If nothing else, he was working to keep me safe. Safe from what, though? Randy? What threat did he pose? Why was my dad even allowing him to be a threat?

I didn’t understand, and I knew asking would get me nowhere. I’d tried that once, and I was shut down pretty quickly. I felt like I needed to know, but my dad’s definition of “need to know” and mine were vastly different.

“Here’s what I have to say. Parker, I fucking hate you. I fucking hate that you forced me into saying that I would marry you only to find out it was a joke. I fucking hate my dad for putting you up to it. I fucking hate that I left my phone in my jeans and that I didn’t get your message. I hate that I’m alone. I hate that I have no one. I hate that I’m left in the dark because it’s all ‘need to know’ bullshit. I hate Randy, and I hate crying about it. I hate this tour, and I hate the comforter on this bed, and I hate the shower on this bus and I hate the—”

He cut me off when his lips crashed down over mine. I hadn’t even seen him coming. I’d been so busy ranting about everything I hated about my life that I missed his slow ascent over the top of me.

And as his mouth forcefully worked mine over and his tongue battered aggressively against my own, I subconsciously started listing all of the things that I loved.

Parker’s mouth, for one.

He was really, really fucking talented with his mouth.

And his hands.

God, his hands.

His hand slid from my thigh all the way up my torso and landed on my breast. He kneaded and massaged, and then he found my pebbled nipple and tugged on it. I moaned under him, my anger and hatred forgotten…or at least paused for the moment.

He thrust his hips into mine. Maybe my yelling about everything I hated did something to him, because he was hard as a rock. He wanted me, and knowing that made me want him, too.

I’d have to be mad later, because for now, it was time to focus on fucking.

He pushed off of me and sat back on his knees. He ripped his shirt over his head, and then he gazed down at me. The hint of stubborn fire I held inside of me burned. I didn’t move.

If he was going to just take what he wanted—even if it technically belonged to him—when I was mad at him, he was going to have to work for it.

A tiny smile curled his lips. He was amused. He could see the fire burning in my eyes, and he liked what that meant.

The first night he’d fucked me, he’d been rough. Aggressive. Dominant.

But every time since, he’d bordered on the gentler side with the exception of the night when he’d made his drunken confessions in the dark. Even that night, he was rough in a way that showed his passion as he made love to me. The way he was looking at me now, though, wasn’t gentle.

It was wicked and dark.

He reached under my arms and pulled me up. He ripped my shirt over my head, pulling my bra off with it. Then he stood. He paced around the foot of the bed, and I could only watch him. He was panting, but so was I. He was a tiger ready to pounce. He stopped and stared down at me. He was thinking.

He was debating what he wanted to do to me.

He stalked over to my side of the bed, his eyes branding me everywhere they touched.

He pulled me up so that I was standing before him. He knelt on the ground. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but I let him. It was my silent consent even though he hadn’t asked for it.

He pulled the button of my jeans and then lowered the zipper, the only sound in the room aside from the loud beating of my heart.

He peeled my jeans slowly down my legs, taking my panties with them, and then he pulled my shoes off and lifted my feet to get my jeans off of me. I stood naked in front of him. He turned me around so I faced the bed. He stepped away. I heard him rustling around somewhere behind me, and then he returned. Soft material came around my eyes. He tied it behind my head, leaving me in complete darkness. My body trembled in anticipation. Everything was still and quiet for a moment.

The calm before the storm.

From there, his actions were quick and fierce.

He pushed me roughly down onto the bed. I landed with a gasp, the upper half of my body against the rough comforter on the bed and my legs still on the ground. He must’ve made quick work of his zipper, because he spread my legs and his cock plunged painfully into me as he took me from behind.

I grunted at the intrusion. He moved slowly at first, pushing himself all the way in and holding still for a few seconds as if he was warming me up, getting me wet before he brought the thunder.

He growled loudly once, and then he pulled back, almost all the way out, before pushing forward again.

My body immediately warmed to his as my moisture coated his cock. 

It was my natural response to him. I had no control over my body. The only one who had control over it was the one who was thrusting in and out of it.

I wanted him to have control over me. I wanted to give up my power to allow him to do whatever he wanted to do to me. I wanted him to fuck me until I was senseless, until I had no coherent thoughts, until I forgot about the anger and the hatred. I wanted him to use my body to satisfy his needs.

He picked up the pace, bucking wildly into me. His growls became louder, the only sound in the room besides our bodies slapping together each time his hips met my ass.

The sounds were magnified since I was in complete darkness. Every sense seemed more intense, but most especially the sense of touch. His hands were everywhere on my body at once, leaving tingles in each new place he explored.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned loudly, and then he bent over me, reaching around my front to grab my breasts as he came violently into me.

He pulled out of me and stood. I moved to stand, too, but he wouldn’t allow it. He pushed my shoulders back down toward the bed. I turned my face so my cheek met the comforter, the room still dark from the blindfold. His fingers curled around my neck as he pushed me down further into the bed. One hand was around my neck, holding me in place, and the other plunged swiftly into my pussy. He pushed his fingers up toward my G-spot, and some incoherent whimper rolled out of my mouth.

He left his fingers in place, and the hand that was around my neck trailed slowly down my back, cupped my ass, and then moved below his other hand as he found my clit. He moved his fingers in achingly slow circles. My hips moved of their own accord in rhythm with him. He flicked one finger slowly across my clit, and then he resumed those aching circles.

I gasped as I felt myself coming, my body clenching his fingers inside of me as he continued pressing circles into my clit. I shuddered beneath him. I grabbed fistfuls of sheets as my orgasm rolled through me, sparking white light behind my eyes despite the darkness.

He didn’t remove his fingers even after my orgasm subsided. Instead, he continued those aching circles around my clit. The fingers that had been inside of me pulled out slowly only to thrust aggressively back in. I groaned out another whimper. His fingers circled again and again and again, and before I knew what hit me, a second orgasm rolled through me, this one just as intense as the first. My legs shook and my brain felt fuzzy and my body felt depleted as I tried to escape the haze of the first back-to-back orgasm of my life.

He pulled his hands away from me and I felt his warmth leave me. I inched my way onto the bed, needing to just rest for some time after our wrenching, shattering sex. I didn’t even have the energy to remove my blindfold.

I must have fallen asleep, because Parker was shaking me awake what seemed like thirty seconds later.

“Show’s over, babe. We need to get back to the hotel.”

I felt him slip something onto my hand, and then he removed my blindfold—a bandana. I blinked against the bright lights groggily.

“What time is it?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“Twelve-thirty. George is waiting for us with a car.”

I nodded, and then I stood, looking around in confusion for my clothes.

“Let me help.”

I rubbed my eyes as Parker handed me my bra, still clasped, and my panties first. I pulled them on, and then I grabbed my t-shirt and jeans. Parker tied my shoes on my feet while I buttoned my jeans.

“Come,” he said, taking my hand and pulling me behind him. I followed him, still half-asleep.

If I’d have been coherent, I might’ve complained about the fact that he’d put the ring back on my finger despite my protest about this stupid idea. If I’d have been coherent, I might’ve remembered that I was angry at both him and my dad.

But as I snuggled into his side in the back of the car and George drove us back to the Four Seasons, I was glad I wasn’t coherent.

Coherence would’ve meant anger and sadness and hatred.

Instead, all I felt was satisfied and loved.

three

The hazy Parker-induced bliss I was in shattered the moment we walked through the door of Parker’s hotel room.

The room was a mess. My clothes were scattered everywhere, mixed in with Parker’s belongings.

“Goddammit,” Parker muttered, and he immediately sent a text message. George had walked in behind us. He was also immediately on the phone.

Little black spots clouded my vision. I sat on the edge of the bed as my breaths came faster and faster. My heart rate escalated.

I was afraid I was going to start hyperventilating or pass out or throw up.

I was pretty sure that I was having a panic attack.

I thought this whole engagement sham was supposed to solve all of the problems. Instead, someone had somehow gotten past both hotel security and the security my dad had hired for our hotel floor. They went through our things.

They didn’t just go through our things, though. They’d thrown everything everywhere. It was like a tornado hit our room. Like it picked up our suitcases and dumped them all over the room before letting them fall haphazardly to the side.

It had to be some kind of message.

I just wasn’t sure what the message was, exactly.

It was cliché to say I felt violated. I didn’t
feel
violated.

I
was
violated.

Someone had rifled through my clothes, my panties, my socks and shoes and shirts and pants and bras. Someone had been through my toiletries. They went through my make-up bag. They might’ve touched my toothbrush.

Just the thought of someone touching my toothbrush sent a violent shudder through my belly. I clapped my hand over my mouth and ran to the bathroom. I got to the toilet just in time to throw up. 

Parker was right behind me. “Babe, it’s okay,” he said soothingly, sweeping my hair back into his fist.

“Get out,” I croaked, and then I heaved and expelled the rest of the contents of my stomach.

He didn’t move. I had to give him credit. He stayed with me at my absolute worst. I didn’t want him around to see me like that, but it hadn’t been the first time.

And if the rock glittering on the third finger of my left hand was any indication, it probably wouldn’t be the last time, either.

I drew in a deep breath that shuddered out of me, and then the tears came.

I couldn’t think of a single time in history when I didn’t cry after I threw up. Parker flushed the toilet that I was still hovering over. He turned the tap of the sink and dampened a towel. He sat on the floor and leaned up against the wall, and then he pulled me against him, cradling me in his arms as he ran the cool cloth across my forehead.

Despite the chaos of our room, the imploding of our world, I felt safe when Parker held me. He tossed the towel to the side.

Maybe my dad had picked the right guy to protect me, after all. Maybe he’d had some premonition that I’d feel safest wrapped in Parker’s arms.

A knock sounded at the bathroom doorway. Neither of us had shut the door. My head pounded as I keened softly in Parker’s arms. He’d been brushing the hair away from my temple in a soft, tender motion.

“Hey,” Parker said to whoever stood in the doorway. I didn’t have the energy to open my eyes to see who it was.

“She okay?” my dad asked.

“She will be. I’ve got her.”

“I know you do. Thank you.”

Parker nodded. My cheek was against his heart, and I noticed how fast it was beating. It forced an unwelcome thought into my mind for the very first time.

Was Parker scared, too? Was he as terrified as I was that someone was after me? He was there for my protection, but that didn’t mean he was immune from the potential danger that lurked around me.

So not only did he have to take care of himself, but he was responsible for my safety, too.

And my safety held high stakes. It wouldn’t just be letting down my dad—a man he looked at as a role model, a father figure.

His career was at stake. His livelihood, everything he’d worked for, was on the line. If he fucked this up, he stood to lose everything.

So in the moment he cradled me in his arms on the bathroom floor, I finally had the epiphany I’d been waiting for.

He’d really fucked things up by falling in love with me.

He’d told me he couldn’t stay away. He’d tried. Shit, he’d managed to keep his distance for an entire month under the guise of working on his album.

But ultimately, he couldn’t stay away.

If he could have, he would have.

I finally understood.

He was risking a whole hell of a lot to be with me. And I suddenly knew I needed to put in the effort to make it worth the risk he was taking.

What a fucking epiphany to have on a bathroom floor after I’d just puked my guts out while he held my hair back.

“Is anything missing?” my dad asked.

Parker shrugged. “I’m not sure. We’ve been in here pretty much since I sent you that text.”

My dad knelt beside me. I could smell the crisp, leathery scent of his aftershave. I opened my eyes. He looked as anxious as I felt. “CC, can you stand up? Can you check through your things and let me know if anything is missing?”

He spoke to me like I was a child. I nodded. My dad went out to talk to George, and I confessed to Parker that I was afraid to use my toothbrush. I stood slowly, with Parker’s help, and I rinsed my mouth with some water.

We walked into the bedroom together. Parker held onto me, steadying me. George and my dad had started cleaning up, stacking piles Parker’s clothes and another pile of mine.

I thought with embarrassment that I didn’t want my dad or
George touching my panties, but I supposed it wasn’t anything the two of them had never seen before.

For sure my father had seen women’s underwear. It was disgusting to think about, but he was married to a former porn star, after all. Although I seriously doubted the woman ever wore panties.

Maybe George hadn’t touched women’s panties before. Who knew?

He was attractive for an older man. Gray salted his dark hair. He had shrewd green eyes. He was tall and solid, but not bulky. He always looked professional. I’d never picture him as the head of my dad’s security team, but he was. He looked more like a businessman than a security guard. But he was a lot more than that to my dad. He was a trusted friend, an ally, and someone who had been around for many, many years.

I wondered if George had a family. A wife or kids or grandkids. It wasn’t really my business, but I was starting to look at the people who were in my circle of protection as much more than my dad’s employees.

I was supposed to be engaged to one of them, I reminded myself.

“Are you going to call the cops?” I asked my dad.

He shook his head. “This has to be Randy. We’re not involving police.”

It shouldn’t have surprised me. I had no idea what sorts of illicit activities they were involved in, and I really didn’t want to know. So I got back to my search.

I couldn’t identify what was missing right away, but I had a feeling that
something
was gone. Parker announced that nothing of his was missing. He left for a few minutes while I repacked my suitcase, leaving out clothes for the next day. I pulled a sweatshirt against my nose, breathing in the scent of my familiar detergent and dryer sheets that I brought with me even on the road. It still smelled like me. Whoever had been through my things hadn’t left their scent behind, at least.

But that didn’t make me feel any better. I wanted to burn all of it. Whoever had done this…

Their hands had been on my things.

My dad and George were relatively silent as I worked, occasionally muttering back and forth between each other.

As I put my make-up back into its bag, a sick thought pierced through the fog that had clouded my brain.

It couldn’t be. Could it?

The thought twisted in my gut. I wanted to get Parker’s opinion before I said anything to my dad. I wanted to be patient, to bide my time, to see if I was being crazy.

But the moment the thought entered my mind, I had to get it out. I had to expel it the same way I’d just expelled everything that had been in my stomach.

Because if I didn’t get it out, the thought would fester inside of me and twist and push and hurt. So if I put it out there, it would be off of my plate and onto someone else’s. The need to give this to someone else, to control the thought before it ate away at me, was too overwhelming to wait for Parker. I didn’t even know where he had gone.

“Where’s your wife?” I blurted out, interrupting something my dad was saying to George.

My dad paused and looked in my direction. He spoke slowly, thoughtfully. “In our room.”

“Where was she during the show?” I asked.

He gave me a strange look, and then he glanced over at George before looking back at me. “She’s been here all night,” he said. His mask was firmly in place. He didn’t react at all even as he had to have realized that she was involved. “She said she had a migraine…” His sentence trailed off. I watched him as he started piecing together the strange events.

I sat on the bed, my entire body trembling.

What if Jadyn Snow was in on the whole thing?

What if my intuition about her was right?

I hadn’t trusted her from the beginning. Plus she was one of the few people who could easily access my room.

The puzzle pieces were falling slowly into place.

The only question I couldn’t answer was why Jadyn would want to hurt me. I didn’t know what she wanted with my things or why she would tear apart my room or what the hell she had been looking for.

“CC, I know you don’t like her, but we don’t have all the facts yet. You can’t go around accusing people without evidence.”

“Without evidence? She was here all night, Dad. That’s pretty damning evidence.”

I saw my dad shoot George a look. I wasn’t sure what it had meant, so I turned my attention back to my luggage.

I rummaged through my suitcase. Even though I’d just packed it, I was still certain something was missing. I just couldn’t put my finger on what the hell it was.

And then it hit me.

My journal.

The place where I wrote snippets of thoughts. My safe haven. The place I confessed things that I was afraid to say aloud. The one thing that I had with me that was more personal than any of my other belongings.

It was gone.

And so were all of the innermost thoughts I had written in it.

My therapy. My release. My relaxation.

All gone.