Breaking A Bad Boy Read online

  “If I can fly out tonight, I gotta find Sommer and let her know about her father,” he said. This wasn’t the type of news he could say over the phone to Sommer. Not after all she’d been through and how they just parted. “Unless you think I should go talk with Frank.”

  “Once they disappear, that’s it,” Miller said. “It’s up to you.”

  Brandon leaned over. “Where’s Sommer right now?”

  “On a plane to L.A. Her friend invited her…Ivy. Engaged to a musician tied to Haden’s tour. Diehard’s opening act.”

  Stephen downed his drink. “Want us to go with you?”

  “Naw.” Rory drummed his fingers on the table. He sent a text to Sommer, but doubted she’d get the message until she touched down in L.A.

  “I’ll contact Haden and have him keep an eye on Sommer,” Stephen said. “You can stay with him. His band is holed up in the hills somewhere. Otherwise, Cory is still in Paris, but her apartment is available.”

  “Thanks. If Haden is free, I’ll hang with him until I can hook up with Sommer. I’d better see what my options are for getting a ticket. Miller, give me a couple.” He took out his cell phone and opened his browser.

  “Why not use the computer?” Stephen pointed toward the living room. “Hit print when you’re done. Gillian has the laptop hooked up to the printer for her flyers.”

  Rory got to his feet and nodded. “Thanks. All of you.”

  BEFORE boarding the airplane, Rory received a text from Miller that confirmed the Kincaids were on board with the WITSEC program, but his brother couldn’t give a date or time they’d be taken into custody by the Texas U.S. Marshall’s department.

  The last time he’d been on a plane, it had been with Sommer and they’d flown to Miami to attend Matt’s wedding. He hadn’t been airborne since and stared out the window as the plane circled back around Los Angeles, preparing to land. It was almost eleven at night back home, not quite nine here. He’d been in touch with Haden prior to departing and he was set to pick him up from the airport, but he’d yet to hear from Sommer. Jumping on a plane, he hadn’t been able to confirm anything about her arrival, or her settling in some West Hollywood apartment where she was staying with Ivy.

  Clearing arrivals in the airport, he scanned the plastic seats filled with people, and jutted his chin at seeing Haden stand and wave. “Hey, dude. Welcome to Tinseltown.”

  Rory fist bumped Haden. “Thanks for coming without much of a heads-up.”

  “You got anything beyond a carry on?” Haden slipped on a pair of sunglasses.

  The image of gold eyes flashed in his mind, brimming with tears, and he grimaced. “This is it.”

  “Cool.” Haden chuckled. “I travel light, too. A guitar, amp, and smokes. Hell, maybe I don’t travel that light.”

  “Heard you’re all set to leave for your tour,” he said, avoiding about a million people coming and going.

  “Yeah, but you’re good to stay. As long as you like. What are you plans tonight?”

  “Need to connect with Sommer. But she’s not answering her phone.” She still hadn’t texted him back, and all his calls had gone to her voicemail. Either she was minus a phone charger or he didn’t know what to think.

  “It’s been crazy today. I saw her over at Vince’s, involved in some interview. Don’t sweat it. There’s a party in the hills and I’m pretty sure she’s there with Ivy and Vince. We’ll swing by my pad, pick up my girlfriend, and then hook-up with your chick.”

  CHAPTER 17

  “WHY DON’T YOU set up your ink machine and we’ll take a few shots of you in action.” Amy power walked a circle around the living room. “Over there at that table and then at the sofa.” That was no question, not even a suggestion—more like an edict from Amy, the journalist from Rolling Stone.

  “Sure thing,” Sommer mumbled in response, meeting Ivy’s eyes. Her friend did a rapid mini-eye roll that made her grin.

  The journalist directed Sommer with a pointed finger held motionless as she took out her cell and barked an order to a nameless someone.

  “Let’s go.” Amy followed up by snapping her fingers and motioning to the three staffers lingering near the terrace door to follow her outside. “Vince, we’ll go out by the pool first. The lights are all set.”

  “Ivy, help her,” Vince said, flashing his baby blues over his sunglasses at his fiancée. He squeezed Ivy’s hand, right over the chunk of ice that glittered in the sunshine, streaming into the living room.

  The cream-colored tiled floors gleamed with more glare and she squinted, searching for an electrical outlet. Most surfaces around L.A. had a white light reflecting outward, and took the guesswork out of why most people went around wearing sunglasses.

  “I’m good,” Sommer said. “If you want to go with Vince outside for the shots by the pool.”

  Ivy shook her head stubbornly. “No. I’d better help you. The photographer will be back here and ready to start shooting. And good god, if Commander Amy comes back and you’re not set up, heads will roll.”

  “Does anything happen at a normal pace in L.A.?” Sommer asked, her mind still spinning. She and Ivy had arrived in West Hollywood from the airport in a blur. Without a second to sit down and say howdy-do, here she sat getting ready to talk shop with a famous journalist.

  “Girl!” Ivy stopped and laughed. “This adventure must seem insane. It did to me when I first arrived. Pretty crazy, but you get used to it…somewhat. I guess it’s like an adrenaline rush.”

  Ivy had driven like lunatic, with a headpiece attached to her sunglasses. She was in charge of picking up and delivering various people on the way to the condo. They’d pulled in and stopped outside, with Ivy tossing the car keys to a valet as they charged inside past a doorman and into a private elevator. Instead of a quiet apartment, the door opened into a rooftop oasis, filled with a troupe of people, waltzing through Vince’s home.

  Hollywood was akin to a speed trip, and she hadn’t yet caught her breath after touching down.

  “There so much buzz going on. All the time. From all sides, it seems, and I’ve only been here a little while.” So far, she’d been offered espresso twice, a cup of chai, an energy drink, and a hit of coke in the SUV filled by different random people who needed a ride during the hour it took to cross the city.

  “Not to worry. Trust me, you’ll adapt. Amy only signaled to the table. Which side do you want to set up on?” Ivy asked, picking up the metal case of extra ink cartridges.

  “What about over there? I don’t want the ink to leak, not on this gorgeous rug.”

  “Holy hell. You’re right. Umm, better go get a towel.” Ivy sauntered away, appearing so darn chic.

  Sommer glanced around the apartment as she unwound the cord of her gun. Down the hall, Ivy stopped and spoke to one of the staff members from the magazine. Wearing a dress with dolman sleeves, a colorful beaded necklace, and lace up high-heeled espadrilles, Ivy appeared to fit right into to the Hollywood scene. She was tan and had lost weight—not that she looked the worse for wear. She seemed at ease, chatting and smiling, giving directions or answering questions. Ivy had worked at a small real estate firm before coming out here, and apparently, the West Coast frame of mind melded with her friend pretty well.

  So much for a tank top and shorts. Sommer plugged in her machine, connected the gun with the needle bar, and sat there feeling very much out of place in her white eyelet sundress and ballet flats. Next to Ivy, she was a pale version of the Lone Star State. Everyone around here was tall, lean, and gorgeously golden. And they all seemed equipped with a wide smile, perfect veneers, and a pair of designer sunglasses.

  “What kind of machine and gun do you use?” a male voice came through the patio doorway and she swung around.

  “A coil by Relentless. I also use a shader and liner by Hillderfire,” she answered.

  “Interesting. I prefer a pneumatic,” the man said and held out his tattooed arm. “Jimmy Hart.”

  “Sommer Kincaid,” she returned
and shook his outstretched hand, then noticed the camera slung over his shoulder.

  “Don’t pay attention to him,” another guy said, coming through the doorway. “He’s a sod and doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m Royce, and you’re the ink artist?”

  “Sure am,” she replied, staring up at the two men, new variations of tall and at ease.

  Ivy returned, carrying a towel, and smiled brightly at Jimmy and Royce. “Are you guys ready?”

  “Almost. We want a promise that you’ll bring your adorable friend to our little soirée this evening.”

  “That’s way too easy. Sommer is already coming with us, so no need to get your drawers twisted, gentlemen.” Ivy laughed and cocked a brow. “Did you all meet? Sommer, this is Royce and Jimmy. They’re cool.”

  “We have and I agree.” Sommer smiled and nodded.

  “God, I love your accents.” Royce glanced over to her and winked. “Brilliant, it’s settled. I’d enjoy playing host while you’re here. Why not come stay with me for a few days?”

  She exchanged a look with Ivy who gave a short shake of her head as if to say not to worry. “There’s just one thing,” Ivy said, her smile growing mischievously. “She’s taken, so don’t get too attached.”

  “Pity,” Jimmy snorted in his British accent. “Such a tasty little morsel.”

  Vince entered the living room with Amy giggling next to him, and Sommer caught Ivy’s expression transform from easygoing to tense. Vince had his shirt off and the journalist had her fingers around his arm, giving directions to one of the magazine staff, “How about on the sofa? Relaxing. A tight shot.”

  “Just point me in the direction of the next shot,” Vince replied, coming off as serious-minded.

  Jimmy snapped his fingers as if mocking the journalist’s over the top style which had suddenly disappeared. “Amy, reel it in. Better do the shot by the table. When was the last time an inking was done on a sofa? Especially white leather.”

  Amy frowned, letting go of Vince’s arm. Without waiting, he raked his fingers through his blond locks, and nodded to Ivy with a sexy wink while he walked over to her. “Ready, Somm?” he asked. “Is this going to sting like the last time?”

  “Absolutely ready. And no, unless you need an actual touchup.” She picked up her ink gun and followed Vince, studying the condition of his tattoo.

  “Nope. I did exactly what you said. It’s awesome and I’m game for another.”

  “We can talk later,” she said as Jimmy whispered a direction to her.

  “Sit here. Vince straddle the chair and face Sommer.” Jimmy held up a light meter and gave a ton more directions while snapping his camera and arranging the lights. The photographer did more positioning of them at the table, rather than conversing. Royce and Amy sat on the sofa, discussing the piece and asked Sommer point blank questions about her job, being tattooist in a small town—followed by Amy rapidly typing on a laptop.

  Two hours later, the wave of media staffers vacated the condo and Ivy had disappeared with Vince into a room down the hall. Sommer took refuge in one of the spare unoccupied bedrooms. This one was filled with musical instruments and equipment, surrounding a pullout sofa where she plunked down, kicking her feet up across the cushions. The other bedrooms had guests, and she didn’t know how Ivy rolled with the stream of people ebbing and flowing within the apartment.

  It was getting dark, and Sommer was tired after not sleeping last night. She stretched her arms, wondering about the party later and then about tomorrow, when Ivy promised she’d begin her tattoo work for real.

  Ivy knocked on the doorframe and Sommer called out, “Come on in.”

  “Almost time to go. In about half an hour. You want to change?”

  “Ummm, I should, but…” Sommer looked down at her dress. “I don’t have anything else that would work for a party. Not here with me.”

  “Okay, I’m taking off.” Vince appeared in the doorway. “Meet you both over at the studio.”

  Ivy leaned over, and he planted a full-on mouth-devouring kiss over her lips. He smiled down at Ivy and said, “See you soon. Sommer, later.”

  “Later,” Sommer echoed, standing up and tracing the wrinkles of her dress.

  “I have a solution. Come with me.” Ivy looped her arm through Sommer’s and steered her down the hall, not stopping until they were inside a closet the size of her bedroom back home. “Take your pick. Most of them are samples. Used during photo shoots for albums and videos. Things that got left behind and the studio was hankering to toss them out without blinking. I volunteered to pack them up and I brought them here. Why not…right?”

  “Wow, you have a department store in here.” Sommer ran her hands over every shade of coral under the sun. “People like orange here. Huh?”

  Ivy giggled. “It was for a video shoot for Big Orange. A new album by Dusty Rose.”

  Sommer’s mouth formed a big ‘O’ and she gulped. “I see. Can I pick anything?”

  “Girl, go for it. We don’t wear the same shoe size, but so what? Some of the high heels will fit you. They pinch my toes something horrible. But don’t take too long, ‘cause we gotta split. Vince doesn’t like it if I’m late.”

  “Things run like clockwork even in a rush?” Sommer asked with her back to her friend.

  “Mmmm,” Ivy murmured. “Kinda. It’s just his nature. Speaking of which, I’d better go get ready.”

  “So serious! These dresses are unreal.” She walked her fingers over the hangers, flipping through Ivy’s endless selection of dresses, shirts, skirts, but not a pair of jeans in sight. Probably because she was so tall—then all thinking ceased. The dress hanging on the rack right in front of her was beyond compare. More than gorgeous. Off the shoulder in the slinkiest material and done in golden tones. God, she’d never seen anything like this dress back home at the mall. Lifting the hanger, she turned the dress around and sucked in a breath. Okay, where’s the back?

  She bit her lip, holding the dress up to her body and peering at herself in the closet mirror. This wasn’t the city to start being shy about clothing in. She’d teetered on the edge with her risqué T-shirt art, and this wasn’t that far-gone. She laid the dress on the island inside the closet and sunk down, looking for a pair of shoes.

  “Perfection.” She scooped up a pair of metallic stilettos and went to pivot, knocking her knee against the corner of one of the drawers. Shards of pain shot through her leg. “Son of gun!” she hissed.

  One of the drawers was ajar in the island—enough to view a pair of handcuffs, as she rubbed her knee. Out of idle curiosity and without thinking, she pulled the drawer open and her eyebrows shot up. Inside resembled an adult toy store and she slammed the drawer shut. But the image of dildos, paddles, ties, and a few things she didn’t even know what the heck they were, scorched her memory. Slowly, she reopened the drawer and stared, wondering how much control Vince actually asserted over Ivy, and in what ways.

  “Nope,” she whispered to herself. “Not my business.”

  She rose with the pair of shoes in hand and lifted the dress, and walked from the closet. Ivy stood in the en suite bath that was fully open within the master bedroom. She gazed at Sommer from the mirror while applying her makeup. “Find something?”

  “Oh yeah.” Sommer held up the dress. “This one okay?”

  Ivy wiped the tip of a wand of lip-gloss over her mouth and smacked lips then smiled broadly. “Never wore it, but it’ll look killer on you. Sensational choice. You know there will be a few of your future clients there tonight. If I learned anything in real estate and marketing, it’s the first step to a sale is selling yourself.”

  “Err…” She snapped her head upward, and grimaced. She understood Ivy’s point, only the idea of selling herself—been there. Done that! Didn’t work.

  “Don’t look like you’re facing a tank of sharks, Somm. Everyone will love you.”

  She brushed back her bangs and felt her face completely flush as Ivy watched her expectantly. �
��Let’s hope. Give me a couple minutes and I’ll be ready to roll.”

  “Great.” Ivy turned around and dropped the towel that had been wrapped around her body.

  Sommer gasped, letting go the breath she’d virtually been holding during their talk on self-selling as she studied the tiny red lines, crisscrossing over Ivy’s back and downward.

  “What the shit?” She stomped to the sink, darting her gaze from the flayed skin on Ivy’s back to the mirror. Several times, in rapid succession, she looked back and forth. “Girl, what is going on?”

  “This is nothing,” Ivy said, but the quaver in her voice belied her surface calm.

  “Doesn’t look like nothing. Nothing doesn’t leave red marks. Or bruises.”

  In the next moment, Ivy’s mask of confusion gave way as her beautiful face became animated as if she were reliving a memory. “Okay, but it’s something I’m totally game for. Vince is beyond a hot lover. He’s more than anyone back home ever was and gives me something I thought I’d never find.” Ivy’s voice lowered to a husky realm, a tone saturated with an aching need. “Sommer, he makes me feel so energized. Like everything outside of our bedroom is irrelevant. The world out there is just inconsequential. When we can, we spend hours in bed. So when the world blasts by at a crazy speed, all the while we’re trying to get back here and do more of this—it’s so freaking mind-blowing.”

  A nervous laugh escaped Sommer. “You’re racing to get back here…to do what? Get whipped?”

  “I want this,” Ivy said. “Don’t make it seem like you don’t know anything about scorching hot—”

  “Not judging! Please, that’s wrong of me.” Sommer interrupted and held up her hand. “Just be careful. If this is what you two do in the privacy of your bed, no need to justify it to me or anyone. Heaven knows, I have enough of my own issues to deal with. Or hadn’t you heard?”