Rock Redemption

“Any hint of trouble and you hit the panic button,” Butch ordered. “Understood?”

“Understood.” Kit was officially their boss, but the two men had become friends to her, they’d been watching over her for so long. Icy and dangerous as they were in public, they treated her like a younger sister in private. It was part of the reason she liked the two ex-Marines so much. The men who worked under them were younger but just as dedicated and professional.

Ending the call, she followed her GPS’s prompts as to the shortest route to the motel. Butch’s call had kept her mind busy for a couple of minutes, but now the fear came rushing back. Using the Bluetooth system, she called Noah again.

No response.

Should she alert the paramedics or the cops? What if she was wrong? What if Noah was just passed out, drunk? It would end up all over the media. Noah would never forgive her.

That risk Kit would’ve taken, but the idea of exposing Noah to strangers while he was vulnerable… No, she couldn’t do that. “You’d better not have done anything stupid, Noah.”

Trying not to panic, she drove past run-down businesses and anemic palm trees, the street corners host to small groups of working girls and boys, their pimps hovering in the background. Noah wasn’t just off Hollywood Boulevard—he’d managed to find a hidden pit of darkness in amongst the sleek and shine. It was a damn good thing her car didn’t draw attention.

She’d jumped into the trusty brown sedan that was the first car she’d ever bought on her own. It was old enough and dusty enough—she’d been meaning to take it to the carwash—that she was probably being visually tagged as another middle-aged husband searching for a cheap thrill.

A possible customer for the pros, but not worth carjacking.

Thanking the car that had gotten her to more casting calls than she could count, she ignored the sideshow and carried on. The Blue Flamingo I

A bulb flickered on an upstairs landing of the U-shaped building, and there was a yellow-tinged bulb inside what looked like the manager’s office, but that was it. The entire place was dark and grimy and a great location to get mugged—except the thieves had probably given up on this place, it was so sad and dilapidated. Parking the car in the nearest spot, she went to get out and realized she had no idea of Noah’s room.

Remembering what he’d said about the flamingo flashing through his uncurtained windows, she looked around and zeroed in on three upstairs rooms from where the sign had to be brightly visible. She’d try those three first before waking up the manager and blowing Noah’s cover.

Grabbing the pepper spray she kept in the cup holder, she got out after making sure there was no one else around and locked her car. Then she ran quickly to the stairs that led up to those three rooms. All three were dark, but two of them had some limp-looking curtains. Cupping her hands over the sides of her eyes as she pressed her face to the window of the third, she felt her breath leave her in a painful rush.

Noah sat on the edge of the bed, bare-chested and with his eyes on his hands. His shoulders were slumped, but he was very much alive.

Pulling away from the window, she bent over, braced her hands on her knees, and tried to breathe. The air hurt going in, coming out. At least two minutes later, she gripped the ski

“Wrong room,” Noah said without looking up. “Unless you’re looking for a quick fuck. Then I can oblige you.”

It was a kick to the gut. As was the sight of the condom wrappers on the floor and that of the obviously used bed. She almost stepped back, almost left. He’d never know, never realize how desperately worried she’d been tonight… and then her eyes fell on the nightstand and the syringe that lay on it.

Ice formed in her gut again.

Striding across the carpet, she picked it up. “What the hell is this, Noah?”

“Kit?” He looked up, his pupils hugely dilated. “I can smell you. You always smell so good.” Reaching out, he touched her thigh. “I guess I must be really drunk if I’m imagining you here.” With that, he grabbed the bottle she hadn’t seen at his feet and took a swig.

Holding the syringe with one hand, Kit pulled away the bottle with the other and slammed it on the nightstand. “What,” she said again, gripping his jaw to force him to meet her gaze, “is this?”

An unconcerned shrug. “Something to make me high as a kite according to the dealer.”

“Jesus, Noah, you don’t even know what it is and you were going to shoot up with it?”

“Couldn’t do it,” he said on a harsh laugh. “Kept hearing your voice in my head telling me you have no fucking respect for people who fucking space out on drugs. And now I’m hallucinating you.” He swiped out at the bottle, missed when she grabbed it first. “Gimme back my whiskey, Hallucination Kit.”

“I’ll give you your whiskey.” Taking the bottle, she went into the tiny bathroom and poured the liquid into the cracked and stained sink.

Noah got up and followed her. His face fell. “Don’t do that, Hallucination Kit. Now what will we drink?”

Ignoring him, she finished with the bottle and depressed the plunger of the syringe while holding it over the sink. Once it was empty, she put it on the narrow back ledge of the sink so the maid would see it straightaway. Hopefully the cleaning staff had a process for disposing of needles. “Where’s the vial?” she asked Noah after dumping the bottle in the garbage.

Noah just looked at her, his jaw bristly and dark. It had always fascinated her that he could be so blond and yet have such dark stubble, eyebrows, and eyelashes. She’d always had to fight the temptation to bite at his jaw, taste him. Today, however, all she wanted to do was hit him. “Where. Is. The. Vial?” she repeated deliberately. “Noah!”

When he still didn’t answer, she pushed past him, his muscled chest warm under her touch, and began to open the drawers in the nightstand. They proved empty, and there was no other furniture in the room aside from the bed. Going to her knees, she looked under the bed, caught the glint of glass. The vial had rolled underneath, likely after Noah knocked it off the nightstand.

It was empty and unlabeled.

Throwing it in the trash in the bathroom, conscious of Noah watching her with an intensity that felt like a touch, she began to search the bed for his T-shirt, careful to touch things only with the tips of her fingers. She couldn’t think about the fact that he’d been fucking some other woman in this bed not long ago or she’d throw up.

“You want to fuck, Hallucination Kit?”

She’d jerked up her head, intending to flay him for the question, when he said, “I don’t want to. Not with you.”

And the bastard kept kicking her, kept hurting her. “I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on the planet.” Having found the tee, she threw it at him. “Put that on.”

He did so, oddly compliant.

“Noah,” she said, worried again. “Did you take anything else? Pills?”

 “No, because Kit hates drug addicts. I drank. And then I ran out of booze so I went and bought some more and drank again.”

Since she could smell the booze, she had to believe him on that point. “When was the last time you ate something?”

Another shrug.

Kit could’ve left then, but she couldn’t abandon him here. Regardless of how much he’d hurt her, he’d once been her friend. Her best friend. “Come on, let’s go get a burger.” When he didn’t move, she held out a hand despite how deeply she wanted to maintain distance between them for her own sake. “I’m hungry.”