Breaking A Bad Boy Page 20

  “Som-mer.” Ivy laughed again. “Best part, girl. The musicians here at the studio want you. I mean your ink designs. I have ten names of definitely committed. People ready to get their tattoos done like tomorrow, and the interview hasn’t even taken place yet. Those are just the guys and chicks around here who have seen your handiwork on Vince.”

  “Don’t joke around,” Sommer whispered, not daring to believe it could be possible.

  “I’m not kidding. Serious. So effing serious.”

  “Shut up!” Ten tattoos, even small ones would place her ahead and maybe, if Mike saw she had part of the money, he’d be willing to work out a deal. Didn’t those guys offer payment plans?

  “It’s legit and Somm…these people aren’t living in dives. They’re studio bands, signed with labels. Not playing in some hole-in-the-wall. A few are from Diehard, but the others are even bigger names. You could do really, really, really well out here as an ink artist. Girl, isn’t that what you always wanted?”

  “It used to be,” she answered. “I haven’t been out to L.A. before and always wanted to visit.”

  “Well then! It’s settled. Can you leave tomorrow?” Ivy asked.

  “Do you mean in the next few hours?”

  “Chill. You can sleep on the plane,” Ivy supplied. “Okay, I’m booking your flight and will text you when the ticket is en route.”

  “Ivy,” she said, suddenly conscience and wanting to know who was bankrolling this trip. “Who can I repay for the ticket?”

  “There’s no one, cause it’s on Vince. Really the magazine, but he’s fronting the ticket since it’s happening on the fly.”

  “Nope. I have to.” Sommer tacked on, “Or I won’t come.”

  Silence on the other side of the phone. Then Ivy laughed, way down low. “Somm, he doesn’t need your money. I swear I had no idea at the time, you know when Vince first showed up at the Diamond. Not even the next day. But when we got here, it became pretty obvious; he’s not like any of the guys from Annona or even Clarkesville.”

  “What do you mean?” She already knew he’d gone to a music school.

  “Vince’s family is super famous. His father is a well-known conductor and his mother is a huge musician. Plays concerts in big cities, all over the world. I mean, I’m not into that sort of music, but plenty of folks are, from what I can tell. They have a house here, and it’s massive. Vince has his own apartment in the city and it’s going to blow you away. When you see my engagement ring, you aren’t going to believe it. I still don’t believe it, and this rock is on my finger.”

  “Holy crap! Ivy, you’re officially engaged? What…am I on a need to know basis now? You’ll send me a photo of your ring now, as in right this second. Forget about a ticket.” Sommer shook her head convinced that time moved in warp speed out west.

  “I just got it today, so don’t lose it. Err…I don’t suppose you and Jen are ever going to make up?”

  She inhaled a deep breath and slowly let it go. “Don’t suspect any time soon, if she doesn’t get over what’s-his-face. He’s not one of the ten, is he?”

  “Not after what I heard. Probably right about Jen. She’s crazy if she thinks Drew was going to bring her out here. He’s not just into one chick or two, he has a whole harem. All I can say is, she’s lucky she got away and cut that cord. I tried to explain it to her, but you know how long it took her to get over Haden,” Ivy remarked.

  “Honestly, I don’t think she ever did,” she muttered, biting her lip until her phone chirped.

  “I sent it,” Ivy said. “Tell me. Is this huge-obscene or huge-okay?”

  Sommer opened the photo and the image of a sparkling princess cut solitaire filled her screen. At first, she stared and then she whistled. “So freaking gorgeous. Do you have someone to lug around your hand for you?”

  “I might need to,” Ivy agreed.

  “That chunk of ice isn’t obscene, more like wicked huge, but wonderful. I love the setting. Girl, I hope you two are going to be madly in love, forever and ever.”

  “Me too. Vince is amazing. I haven’t met anyone like him. Ever! You just have to get to know him, and now you will. Give me a few and I’ll score a ticket, then text you. ‘K?”

  Holy, holy hell. I needed a solution, and look what came through. It was hard for her to get her head wrapped around the fact that she might actually have a way out of this torrential mess. Flying out to L.A. Me. Tomorrow.

  She had to get some sleep. Turning off her lamp, she hugged her pillow and closed her eyes, only to have them open again as though her lids possessed a mind of their own.

  Oh. Shit! What the heck would she tell Rory? She sat straight up, already hearing what he’d say, and none of it sounded as happy or exciting as how Ivy had framed the trip. He’d toss out living-by-the-seat-of-her-pants, unsafe, reckless, possibly a few dozen other admonishments as well.

  What if I just don’t tell him? “Yeah right,” she scoffed to herself, and then sat stone-still for a second.

  Could she somehow slip out of Annona and find her way to L.A. without him knowing? It wasn’t like she was trying to pull off some corrupt deal. She sure as shit wasn’t going to sell her soul. Do a couple of tattoos. Make a little dough. Really, it was no different than working in Clarkesville...just a little farther west.

  It might work. Oh hell, it had to work.

  “Think positive,” she huffed softly.

  She had the perfect solution to an awful dilemma. God, she was so excited, now she really couldn’t sleep. All she had to do was face Rory and not cave. Never talk about the trip, and everything would be just fine. “Just dandy,” she murmured, under the weight of this big-ass lie.

  IVY came through next morning. In Sommer’s email inbox was the airline ticket confirmation. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Thank you!” Her aunt had agreed to stay with Momma, and all she needed to do was get her keister out to California and back again, fast.

  Sitting in the booth of the diner, she fidgeted while waiting for Rory to arrive.

  “You sure you don’t want something?” the waitress asked her.

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  Her pulse shot way up when Rory walked by the front of the diner. She tracked him through the windows, surprised he didn’t stop and glance toward her since she was staring so hard. Worry wormed its way through her stomach as she sat in the booth, ripping tiny pieces from the napkin like a frantic gerbil. She felt his fingers skim over her shoulder and she just about bolted up and out of the booth.

  “Hey,” he said, sliding in next to her, his hard thigh coming into contact with hers. “How’s your mom?”

  “Uh…” She swallowed, trying to pretend her heart was clawing its way up her throat. She needed to get her act together and fast, if she didn’t want Rory to suspect she was hiding something monumental. Slowly, she ground out, “She’s doing better. The meds are kicking in. In no time, Momma will be back on track.” Sommer picked up her glass, only to find her hand noticeably trembling, and set it back down.

  Rory channeled his fingers between hers, lifted her hand, and kissed her fingertips. “Bet you feel better.” Their gazes fused together, and a high-energy jolt pierced through her body.

  Uh, no I don’t! Not with this huge-ass lie between them, and growing bigger by the second.

  “Umm,” she tried to think of something to say, but the departure time flashed like a neon sign inside her head.

  The waitress returned. “What can I get you two?”

  “Are you hungry?” Rory asked her.

  “Just a coke. Please,” she said, pressing the skin at her temple.

  Rory ordered a soda for both of them, and her gaze lingered on the corded muscles along his neck and the flexing muscle of his arms. She traced the knuckles along his fingers and he squeezed her hands, sending shimmering vibrations along her skin.

  Abort this mission! She couldn’t lie to him. Why did she think for a second, gazing into his blue voodoo eyes, she’d ever be able
to? She glanced down at their hands, fingers entwined, and her heart pumped fast and furious. The words crouched on her tongue, begging to be set free. The longer she tried to remain silent, the fiercer her need to come clean. No longer could she refrain from telling him and out popped, “I’m going to California.”

  Holy shit! She exhaled, the weight of trying to fool him dissipating, but as she met his eyes, a whole new shade of discontent swathed her body when her and Rory’s gaze locked.

  “You’re what?” he asked, scratching the side of his chin with his thumb.

  “Before you go completely off the deep end, just hear me out.” Letting go of his hand, she brushed her fingers across her cheeks, raking her hair behind her ears, and trying desperately to frame her next words.

  Damn, she just had to spill the beans without a plan. Now she sat here, mentally fumbling, with Rory a click away from losing it.

  “Well?” he asked. “Are you going to say something?”

  “See, what I mean…,” she replied, sweltering under his blistering stare. “Look, last night Ivy called me and said that Rolling Stone magazine is doing a piece on Vince and the interview includes some discussion of his tattoo. Probably because it references his sister. She died…did you know?”

  He shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

  “There are at least ten people who want tattoos out there. By me,” she said in tiny voice.

  “And you’re going out there to do them,” he supplied.

  “Yeah.” She side-glanced him, wanting to resume tearing up her napkin, but instead she twisted her fingers in her lap. “I wouldn’t be gone long, but I need the money.”

  “Let me get this straight.” Rory pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, and paused.

  She watched his chest rise and fall. She recognized that he was trying to keep it together, and wondered what she could say to make him understand this wasn’t some harebrained idea. She wasn’t cutting out of town, running from a problem. She didn’t have a choice, yet she also couldn’t tell him the real reason why, and that absolutely sucked. If Rory got wind that Mike was behind this, he’d do something incredibly…dangerous. She could only imagine what a thug like Carlo would do if someone hammered his partner. She hated not being able to tell Rory the whole truth, but if she did and he took it upon himself to deal with Mike, like he’d done with Lonny, it would all get so messed up.

  When he opened his eyes, he faced her. “You’re going to pay for a plane ticket, out to California to make some money?”

  “I can’t drive, since the interview is in hours.”

  “Aren’t those expensive?” he asked.

  She pursed her lips and nodded. Well hell, she just had to tell him the God’s honest truth, and she couldn’t stop now. “Vince is paying for the ticket.”

  “The hell he is,” Rory growled. “No way, Sommer.”

  “It isn’t like that,” she began and suddenly saw the situation from his point of view. “Ivy and Vince are engaged and she wants me to come out there, too.”

  “What does that have to do with the color of milk?”

  “I just mean, it’s no big deal.”

  “You’re wrong there, sugar. It is to me,” he said. “Sommer, I can’t ask you to stay. But I can ask that you trust me enough to tell me what’s going on.”

  “I thought that’s just what I did. Instead of me sneaking out to L.A., I come clean, and this is the hassle I have to deal with.”

  A muscle ticked along Rory’s jaw. “Well, baby, we can’t have you dealing with a hassle. Sommer, the reason why we aren’t married boils down to one thing: you don’t trust me. Not really.”

  The waitress returned, eyeing them uncertainly while she set the drinks and straws down in front of them. “Anything else?”

  “Just the check,” Rory replied.

  Sommer took his hand between both of hers and squeezed as the words she wanted to admit crept into her mouth. She had to bite her tongue to keep from spewing everything, and lucky for her, the waitress stood in front of the table, writing the check, and giving her time to reconsider. As soon as the waitress left, she pulled on his hand, giving him a firm yank.

  “That’s not true. I do trust you. The shoe…boot is on the other foot, McLemore. You trusting me is really the issue.”

  Rory’s brows lifted, his eyes scanning over her face. “I trust you completely. But I’m no fool. I don’t trust two rockers who blew through here and fucked two women from our town. One is gone, and the other is on the warpath, trying to cause destruction and screw everyone in her wake.”

  She stared slack-jawed at him. “What are you talking about? Ivy has an engagement ring the size of an ice cube on her finger. And how would you know what Jen is up to?” Darts of heat shot up her neck, setting her face on fire.

  “Jen offered to screw me. With that jackass—Drew. Mike was in on it,” he snapped. “Those three aren’t right in their heads.”

  “What? Why didn’t you ever tell me?” She felt her energy drain out, like a plug had been pulled. She glanced out the window, wondering how many people Mike had tried to pilfer money from around this town. “But you didn’t do it,” she said softly.

  “Of course not,” he replied. “Sommer, for the last time, just tell me what’s going on. I’ll give you whatever you need. If it’s money, what’s mine is yours. If we were married, this wouldn’t even be a question.”

  “I can’t take your money. Please,” she said, reaching out her hand and touching her fingers to his face. “Let me deal with this.”

  CHAPTER 16

  RORY PARKED in the rear lot of the Barely Back, a hole-in-the-wall bar that got going late at night. No sign of Mike’s truck. He doubted there’d be much action during the day, but in the back room there was always a card game going on. Chances were good that someone would know the whereabouts of Mike. He crossed the lot, heading into the bar as he eyed the redhead walking toward him. He blinked, still adjusting to the dim lighting inside the bar.

  “Well howdy,” Jen purred.

  “Don’t pull that BS with me again,” he said, keeping his voice tight and in control.

  “My goodness. Why so on edge?” She swished her hair to one side of her neck and he looked away, scanning the interior of the bar for any sign of Mike or some of the guys that prick ran with. “I know how you could learn to relax. C’mon, Rory, give me a chance.”

  “You want a chance, then make right the stupidity you’re neck deep in. Where’s that moron you were with the other night?”

  “Are you referring to Mike?”

  “Unless you associate with more than one jackass.“ Rory ground out the words, “Where is he?”

  Jen smirked with some version of a shit-eating grin. “If I had to guess, I’d say he’s sleeping.”

  It was a little after one in the afternoon, and considering that Mike wasn’t working at the ranch, that jackass probably did slept all day. “What, he stays up all night swindling people? Is that what you’re into as well?”

  “Hey, I only wanted some fun with you and Drew,” she said, staring back at him with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Same as him. Hon, we all want a piece of you. Come on back with me to my place, and I’ll blow you so hard you’ll see stars. Then you can fuck me any which way you like. One time offer. What do you say, hot stuff?”

  Disgust comes to mind. His gut wrenched, and he felt himself grow jittery, in need of punching the fucking wall. I’d more than settle for slamming a fist into Mike’s face. That thought dissolved when Jen grabbed ahold of his arm and tried to press up against him. He stepped backward with enough speed to avoid her as she faltered, clawing at the wall for balance.

  “So you’re nothing but a backstabbing little—” Only because she was once Sommer’s friend, he stopped short of cursing her out. He had to get clear of here and find the douchebag responsible for the shit running a circuit around this town. Mike was the root of this problem. Rory scowled in Jen’s direction, choosing his words like t
hey were boulders—heavy and cumbersome to think, let alone speak. “That’s not all that Mike’s into, and you’d do well to stay clear of him before you get involved and can’t get free.”

  “I can handle myself,” she snapped. “I’m not like your little Goody Two-shoes girlfriend.”

  “Stop right there. Do you know where the hell Mike staying or not?” he growled, unwilling to let this idiot insult Sommer.

  “On the strip.” She jutted her chin toward the direction of the highway and a string of cheap motels. “Try Motel Three.”

  He drew his brows together and frowned. “Mike, the guy you were hanging around, is staying over there?”

  “So what if it’s not the Hilton? Not everyone has money to burn,” she snorted.

  “Are you blind? That asshole is taking money from people in this community like it’s nothing.”

  “But not you. Right? Heard you never lost to him,” Jen scoffed. “Think your luck is gonna hold out?”

  “What does that mean?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she answered, cocking her brow. “Not a goddamn thing.”

  He left without taking Jen’s bait, but her expression and assurance irked him. She had some line on what was going down, and he couldn’t believe after being friends with Sommer for years, that twit would just throw it away over some motherfucker who blew into town.

  Going down to the strip that ran parallel to the highway, he swung into the parking lot of the cheapest motel, infamous for charging for rooms by the hour. Most of the single-story motels were dives, and some housed the temporary ranch hands who came into town for the cattle drives twice a year, then moved on. A few also had people way down on their luck and about a whisker away from being homeless. He recognized Mike’s truck, decked out with the heaps of sports paraphernalia on the windows and bumpers. He walked up to the truck, parked outside and not directly in front of any specific door.

  Only one way to find out where that sleazebag was holed up. He went to the window beneath the ‘Check-in’ sign and tapped on the glass. “You got a Mike Harris staying here?”