Illicit Dose Of Scars: A Dark Rockstar Romance (Love Sick #1) Page 6

  Certainly not with Connor Abrams, nor anyone else sitting at the table.

  “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  The waitress comes with our waters and takes all of our orders. We all start talking after she leaves, mainly about modeling and photography. I tell them about how I came to want to be a model, and the infamous story of the photoshoot I walked off of. All the while I’m talking, the guy with the bluish-green eyes is yet again staring me down.

  “Can I be excused for a minute?” I say when I’m done. I need to get away from his prying eyes.

  I get up from the table and walk out the door. Fresh air. That’s what I need. I sit on the bench in front of the restaurant and take a few deep breaths in, exhaling out slowly. I check my cell to see if I missed a text from Knox. Nope.

  “Hey, do you mind if I sit?” a voice that I was unfamiliar with says.

  I look up, and it sure enough is that guy. What the hell does he want?

  “Sure,” I say hesitantly.

  He takes a seat next to me and doesn’t waste any time interrogating me. “I’m no expert, but I can tell when someone is lying.”

  “Lying? About what?”

  “I can see your bruises from a mile away,” he says matter-of-factly.

  “Oh, really?” I say, annoyed.

  “I was just saying.”

  “What are you trying to prove?”

  “Nothing. I’m not trying to prove anything . . . Just that you don’t deserve this. Whoever did this to you is an asshole.”

  “Maybe he’s not an asshole,” I say, defending Knox. “Maybe he just made a mistake, had a lapse in judgment.”

  I’m totally fed up at this point. How dare he? What right does this guy have to talk to me about my boyfriend and how he treats me? I want to tell this guy to fuck off . . . But that would probably not be the best idea. Man, I really don’t want to go back inside knowing he—whatever the hell his name is—is going to be there.

  Curiosity gets the better of me, despite how livid I am. “What’s your name, by the way?”

  “I’m just an intern, so that is all you need to know me as,” he states. I roll my eyes at him, and he laughs. He really is starting to piss me off. “Connor just texted me the food is here.

  Shall we go back inside?” he asks

  I don’t answer him, choosing to go back to the table and start eating. Chesca looks at me, puzzled, as I give the intern dagger eyes. After I finished eating, I tell the group that I have to leave, and they all thank me for coming.

  Connor stops me before I get to the door. “I have another shoot coming up, and I would love to have you in it.”

  “I would love to.”

  “Great! I will email you all the details later,” he states.

  I’m so excited that Connor doesn’t hold what happened at today’s shoot against me and has decided to give me another chance. I confidently walk out of the restaurant only to glance back and see the intern still looking at me, but this time concerned. I just brush it off and keep walking to my car. The nerve of him. He doesn’t know my situation. It’s none of his business anyway. I don’t know why I even talked to him. Such a waste of my time. Knox isn’t that bad— no different from any other guy. Fuck it. Let me just go home.

  seven

  Knox

  Ezra, Reid, and I call a songwriting session to formulate some new songs for a gig we have coming up.

  “Where’s Journee?” Ezra asks after a while.

  “I don’t really know. She hasn’t texted me all day,” I say.

  “Did something happen between you two?” Reid interjects.

  I go quiet as I try to remember what happened last night. I was upset because Laney got me to fuck her. That I do remember. I wanted revenge on that manipulative bitch. But I was also mad at Journee in the back of my mind. She wasn’t there for me when I needed her. So when she finally came home, I ended up taking my frustration out on her too. The whole situation was fucked up, and now I don”t know how to fix it.

  “No, nothing happened between us,” I lie.

  We continue working on lyrics for some of our new songs. Then Journee comes through the front door and hurries into our bedroom. I want to check on her, so I ask the guys to wait.

  They both nod and resume writing while I rush into the bedroom and shut the door

  “Journee,” I begin.

  “What! What do you want, Knox?” she says, coming over and pinning me against the wall. She kneels in front of me and starts undoing my belt buckle. My pants and boxers come down. There’s this desperate look in her eyes as she takes my cock in her mouth.

  “Shit . . . Journee.” I let out a moan and claw the wall with my fingers as she begins roughly sucking on my cock, which is quickly growing hard.

  She pulls it out of her mouth for a brief second. “This is what you wanted. Right? Well, instead of forcing me, I’m giving it to you.”

  She doesn’t stop until I come in her mouth, and I don’t know what to think. I feel like shit; I don’t even really remember what I did to her. But I feel like a total asshole, knowing that she was just giving me head so, in her words, “I wouldn’t have to force her again.”

  Journee goes into our bathroom and starts crying. She doesn’t lock the door, so I go in the bathroom and embrace her. She tries pulling away, but I don’t let her.

  “Listen, I’m so sorry about what I did,” I say. Journee just starts crying even harder into my shirt. “Babe, I wasn’t myself,” I insist. “I was high and drunk. I barely even remember half of what I did or made you do.”

  “Fuck you for not remembering,” she says, pulling away from me angrily. “I just came from a photoshoot I couldn’t do because I wasn’t fully there.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say, honestly,”

  “Just forget it. I guess I’m just your little whore.”

  “What?” I say, puzzled.

  She leaves our bathroom, climbs into our bed, and buries herself under the covers. I decide to leave her alone for now, so I go back out into the living room, where Ezra and Reid are talking.

  Ezra is the first to notice me. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, you were in there for a minute,” Reid says. “Everything is okay . . . I guess,” I tell them.

  “What happened?” Ezra asks. “You don’t look like everything’s going to be okay.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. Can you guys just leave?” I say as I rake my hand through my hair. “I’m sorry. I’m fucked right now, and I can’t deal.”

  As soon as they leave, I go back into our bedroom and climb into the bed next to Journee. It’s clear she doesn’t want to have anything to do with me at this moment. But her angry fit just a second ago turned me on so bad. I climb on top of her and pin her to the bed. She doesn’t try to get away from me.

  I whisper in her ear. “I’m sorry, but I want you. You are sexy, and you are mine. I will be gentle this time.”

  Her breathing starts to calm as I kiss her. She kisses me back. I undress her and trail my fingers along her naked body. She lets out a series of moans before I enter her. Journee digs her nails into my back, scratching the hell out it. But the pain, mixed with pleasure, is something I didn’t mind.

  “You didn’t have to give me head earlier, but I enjoyed every minute of it,” I tell her. “So I want to return the favor. Is that okay?”

  “Okay,” Journee says as she braces herself.

  I roll back the covers and position myself between her legs, propping them over my shoulders. I lick her slit and pay extra attention to her clit, sucking it every once in a while. Journee arches her body, her toes curled, as I continue. She lets out a scream of pleasure before she comes, and I lap up every last drop.

  “Oh my god,” she moans.

  I smirk up at her. “I’m glad I could be of service to you.”

  I lie next to her as she stares at the ceiling with glassy eyes. What is she thinking? She was compliant this time, or was it all a
front? I so desperately want to get into her head right now. The one thing I learned about Journee since we’ve started dating is she internalizes how she really feels. It takes a while for her to warm up to a person. I don’t even know some of the deep, painful things she’s been through, other than her mother’s death. I know her mother passed away from liver cancer, but that’s all Journee would say. She didn’t go into detail. It was not that she didn’t want me to know. She just couldn’t bring herself to come to terms with it. So she felt better not saying much at all.

  “Journee . . .what’s wrong?” I finally ask her

  “Nothing. I guess we’re even now, right? I gave you want you wanted. You gave me what you thought I wanted.”

  “You didn’t want me to do that to you?”

  “You own me, remember? You said you wanted to break my spirit so much that my only option was to find relief from the pain. Well, lucky you. You succeeded.”

  Tears stream down her face, and I don’t have the right words to convey to her. So I just move to the living room and lie on the couch. Thoughts haunt my mind as I try closing my eyes to go to sleep. Everything is still fuzzy from that night, but whatever I did, it was terrible.

  s

  Disco Ball, a local dance club, is having a grand opening, and Hendrix Schulz, the club manager, wants us to make an appearance and play a few songs. Now that we’ve played a few arena shows these past few months, we’re stoked to play a more intimate crowd.

  “Are you almost ready, babe?” I ask Journee, putting on my combat boots.

  “Almost,” Journee answers as she’s fixing her hair in our dresser mirror.

  She’s wearing a black tank top under my oversized red-and-black plaid button-down, a black belt around her waist. Skinny jeans hug her legs, as do the black boots that go up past her knees.

  I stare her down. “Anything you wear always puts me in the mood to jump you.”

  “Calm down,” she says, laughing. “You have a performance to get to.”

  It took her a while to get to this point, to trust me again. I know I fucked up big time, and while I can’t promise her that I won’t fuck up again, to have my girlfriend back and present with me is something I don’t and won’t take lightly.

  On the drive to the club, Journee and I reminisce about how we met.

  “What made you build up the courage to call me?” I ask her.

  “At first I didn’t know what your intentions were, or why in the world you put your cell number, but then I thought, ‘That was a smooth move on his part.’ So I decided to take the chance,” she explains.

  “Oh . . . you thought I was a man whore who wants to fuck all the women I meet at my concerts. You can be honest, Jour, if that’s what you thought.”

  “Sort of . . . But then I got to know you, and you aren’t like that at all.”

  “Well I appreciate you giving me a chance to prove myself,” I say.

  “What made you decide to give me your number anyway?”

  “I thought you were so damn cute, and I wanted a chance to play in those curls of yours,”

  She cocks her head to the side. “So your intentions were to try to fuck me.”

  “Well . . . not at first,” I say slyly.

  Journee rolls her eyes.

  We pull up to the club, and there’s a long line to get inside. Journee and I wait in the parking lot until we see Ezra and Reid pull up. Our manager, Seth, told us we would be let in through the back door, so we all head to the back and knock.

  Hendrix opens the door. “Come on in and set up.”

  The guys and I decide to get a feel for stage before we set up. It’s a decent size, not too big or small. Standing on it, we have an excellent view of the entire room. Satisfied, we go back out to our cars and haul our instruments and other equipment inside. Some of the club staff offer to help us too.

  Journee stays inside the club and watches us set up. “This looks kick-ass.”

  “Thanks, babe,” I call back as we continue setting up.

  Before they let the crowd in, the staff brings over some food they ordered specially for us. We eat and talk, gearing up for the show. Journee gives us a little pep talk before we take the stage. I love the fucking hell out of this girl. She definitely knows how to pump us up as a band, and certainly me as her boyfriend. I could have a million fan girls wanting and lusting after me, but the only girl I see and want in my bed is Journee.

  We play five of our older songs, then the four new songs off of our new EP, before rounding it off with a new song we started working on the last few practices. Overall, the performance is a success, and we are pretty sure we have gained a bunch of new fans tonight.

  “Want to dance?” Journee asks me when the band is finished with our set.

  I kiss her. “Of course, beautiful.”

  We start dancing, and she, in typical Journee fashion, takes my breath away. She starts grinding on me, which sends jolts straight to my cock. It’s so tempting to want to take her right in the middle of this dance floor.

  Someone taps me on the shoulder. “Hey, could you come here for a second?” Ezra says, a concerned look on his face.

  I pull away from Journee, who now shares Ezra’s concerned look. “It’s okay, Journee. I’ll be right back,” I tell her, trying to ease her worry before following Ezra out to a private part of the club.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “The past coming back to haunt us,” he mutters.

  “I don’t quite understand.”

  “Just come on, and keep walking.”

  When we get there, I see two girls looking very upset while talking with Reid. As Ezra and I approach, they both go quiet and glare at me, their arms folded against their chests.

  “What up, ladies,” I say to break the clear tension.

  “I don’t know if you remember us from your little get-together a while back,” one of them says.

  “What?” I say, puzzled.

  “This is Rory and Quinn, from the night we had our little party,” Reid states.

  “Oh . . . hi,” I say nonchalantly.

  “You may want to listen to them, Knox,” Reid says sternly, “because from what they’ve disclosed to me—”

  “What actually happened that night?” one of the girls cuts in. Quinn, was it?

  “Weren’t you there? You know what happened that night,” I tell her.

  “Did you sleep with Laney?”

  “Yeah, but I wasn’t all there, and she knew it,” I tell them straight up.

  “That’s not what we heard. Laney told us that you called her back over after we all left and ass-fucked her and made your girlfriend go down on her.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you are talking about. Laney forced me to have sex with her, knowing I was crossed as fuck. After that, I don’t remember at all what happened.”

  “You’re a fucking liar, and you better watch your back,” the other girl—must be Rory— threatens, then walks out of the club with Quinn.

  “What the fuck was that all about?” I shake my head, still shocked and puzzled.

  “Listen,” Reid says.“I don’t know what happened that night. But we definitely have to watch who we bring to our get-togethers.”

  Just then, Journee comes out to where we are. “Hey, guys. I’ve been looking all over for you.” Noticing the expressions on our faces, she adds, “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing. Just a few jealous fans. That’s all,” I quickly tell her.

  The threat from Rory doesn’t leave my mind. It actually takes me back to the reason I started playing the guitar in the first place.

  I was a freshman in high school, with a police officer for a dad. My mom worked as a receptionist at a health clinic. The house I grew up in was a two-story house with four rooms. The two extra rooms were used as offices—one for my mom and one for my dad. Since I was the only child, I got spoiled a lot.

  We lived in a rough part of town, but despite this, they wanted me to have a h
appy, wholesome childhood. And for the most part it was, until I got to high school and the bullying began. I was a quiet and reserved kid. I got good grades, and most of my teachers actually liked me. I guess Rush Cantor noticed that, and it was enough for him to want to mess with me.

  I remember when the bullying got too much for me to handle, and I just snapped. My grades were falling, and I had withdrawn into myself more than usual. My parents were at their wits’ ends. I was getting my ass kicked almost every other day, and I had to take matters in my own hands.

  It was a Monday morning, and my mom and dad were still sleeping. I got up and rummaged through my father’s office to find his extra gun. He had bought it for my mom in case of emergencies, when he wasn’t there. I put the gun in my book bag. It was the last straw. I wanted to kill Rush, to rid him of his very existence.

  After grabbing breakfast to go, I walked to school like I did every morning, since it was so close to home. There were metal detectors at the entrance of the high school, so I texted one of my classmates to let me in through a side door. Once inside, I walked to my classes with ease. It wasn’t until math class that I had any trouble with Rush. Sitting in a desk across from me, he started taunting me when the teacher stepped out of the room. I told him to stop, glancing around at my classmates who decided that they were going to join in.

  “What are you going to do?” he hissed.

  That’s when I grabbed the gun from my backpack. I got up from my desk and, standing behind him, put the gun to his temple. “Blow your fucking brains out,” I threatened him.

  By then, everyone realized I wasn’t joking. A few students muttered some curses before running out. Rush started sweating and pleaded with me not to kill him.

  I held the gun securely to Rush’s head, all set to pull the trigger. “Why the hell shouldn’t I?

  You’ve been tormenting me since my first day.”

  Everything was a blur after that. Someone tackled me to the ground and knocked the gun from my hands. I was handcuffed and escorted outside, into a police car. They questioned me and gave me a mental evaluation at the station before calling my parents. My father was pissed. He was reprimanded by the chief of police and was almost let go because I was a dumbass.