Rock Chick Revenge

  He turned to me, eyes assessing. “You know where Sissy is?” he asked.

  Oops. I’d just outed myself on the “just visiting Sissy at her house” lie.

  Argh!

  “Um… ” I muttered, wondering how to backtrack on what I had given away.

  “Jesus Christ. You two are in on this together,” he said, yanking me into the elevator and pressing a button. We were still cuffed together but he was holding my hand.

  “There’s nothing to be in on together.” Oh man, there it was, lying again. I was going straight to hell.

  “You two were always in on something together,” Luke said.

  “We were not,” I lied (again!).

  Luke looked at me and I found it hard to return his angry stare.

  “What about the time you two lit off bottle rockets in the middle of the night in Old Man Humphries backyard? He nearly had a stroke.”

  I made a sound like “humph”. “He deserved it. He shot Sissy’s dog… for trespassing! How can a dog trespass?”

  He didn’t answer me. He went on. “And the time you sold a bag of oregano to Mitch and Josh Burk, telling them it was pot?”

  “We needed money, there was a Kiss tribute show coming up. They never figured it out, said it was the best weed they’d ever had.”

  “And the time you filled Megan Carmichael’s car with popcorn?”

  “She was a bitch. She stole Sissy’s boyfriend.”

  He shook his head as if I was the crazy person in this scenario, not him; Mr. Handcuff Man. The doors opened and we walked into a semi-dark space. It wasn’t that dark since the lights of LoDo were shining in from quite a number of huge floor to almost-ceiling arched windows.

  I knew it was a loft, a kickass loft, but this was confirmed when Luke flipped a switch, soft lamps lit the space and he dragged me into it.

  I didn’t fight. I stared.

  His loft was super-fly.

  One huge room with four huge windows down one side, two windows down both the narrow sides. All the walls were exposed brick, the ceiling had duct work, painted black, and the floor was shining wood planks cut only with rugs under the bed and living room areas. Smack center, between the four windows opposite the elevator, there was a kitchen area with a counter against the wall, a semi-circular bar facing the room, stools around the bar with stainless-steel bases and black leather seats. There were shiny, black appliances including an enormous fridge. To the side, stationed between the two windows, there was a black couch, a huge black recliner to one side, a black-lacquered coffee table and a gigantic flat screen TV was fixed to the wall. Well across from the kitchen was a big bed with a black, slatted head and footboard, but deep-gray sheets and comforter. The other side of the room had a set of weights, a weight bench, a fancy weight machine and an elliptical machine. In the corner next to the weights, there was a small room made of glass block that I assumed was the bathroom.

  It was obviously occupied by a man, there were clothes all over the place, magazines and opened mail in disarray on every surface and dishes in the sink. The bed had been slept in and hadn’t been made.

  Still, even with the mess, the tough guy, mercenary, bounty hunting, private eye business must pay well for Luke to have a Porsche and a LoDo loft like this.

  I was now definitely impressed.

  This lasted for two seconds, mainly because he had dragged me to the side of the bed and he was now unlocking the bracelet on his wrist.

  “What’re you doing?” I asked, watching him.

  “Cuffing you to the bed.”

  My body went solid.

  Then I screeched, “What?”

  Too late, I should have run, struggled, something. Instead I went still, like the big dork I was, and he pushed me back with a hand to my chest. I fell to the bed, he leaned into me and before I knew it, or even began to struggle, he had cuffed me to one of the slats.

  I stared at my handcuffed to the slat then I stared at him, completely at a loss for words.

  He was looking down at me and he seemed deep in thought.

  “I don’t like this,” he informed me.

  He didn’t like it?

  I found some words. Loud ones.

  “I don’t like it either!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. “Uncuff me!”

  He put a knee to the bed, grabbed my other wrist then came forward and pinned me with his heavy body. This time I struggled, twisting under him but it was like I didn’t even move. He worked at the cuffs, pulled up my other arm and slapped the bracelet on that one so I had no free hand. He did this all with minimal effort but I was breathing like I had just run a marathon.

  Then he got off me, stood and stared down at me.

  “That’s better,” he murmured.

  “Please tell me you’re joking,” I said softly and I was hoping he was. I was hoping this was all a big joke. He would give me one of his half-grins and say, “Psych.”

  “Be good while I’m away,” he answered instead as he turned.

  “Get back here! Uncuff me!” I shouted. “Luke, I’ll scream my head off!”

  “Do it,” he invited, hitting the button to the elevator and turning to me, looking totally calm and I wished I could throw something at him. “The loft upstairs is vacant, for sale. The people downstairs are still in Florida for the winter. Each loft is the whole floor. No one’s around to hear you.”

  The elevators opened, he flipped the lights off and disappeared.

  I screamed, “I’m going to kill you!”

  The elevator doors closed and he was gone.

  Well, this is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into, Good Ava said into my ear.

  Oo, we’re in Luke’s bed, Bad Ava cooed into my other one.

  Shit.

  * * * * *

  When you were fuelled with adrenalin, shot at and were lying handcuffed to a bed owned by a man you had a screaming crush on for most of your life, it was impossible to sleep. Not to mention, both arms over your head was not a comfortable position.

  So I laid awake thinking of all the ways I wanted to kill Luke.

  Then I realized, when I couldn’t find a way I liked, I didn’t want to kill Luke because I wasn’t a killing type of person.

  Instead, I focused on all the reasons why I hated men. They cheated on you. They lied to you. They stole your stuff. They made you feel like shit. And they cuffed you to beds.

  I was mentally arranging and rearranging all the men I hated in order of the ones I hated the most (Luke being on the top of that list in each arrangement, for obvious reasons) when the elevator doors slid open.

  He had been gone a long time; it felt like hours though it probably wasn’t.

  He walked silently into the room. I saw him moving because the room was dimly lit with the city lights but he barely made a sound. He put something on the kitchen counter and I watched, quiet and secretly fascinated, as his upper body twisted when he pulled off his tee. I held my breath as I saw skin in the moonlight, and even the definition of muscle, and what I saw was nice.

  He turned to the bed, walked to it and sat on the side then bent forward and tugged off a boot.

  “Please take me home,” I said quietly. I had decided quiet was the way to go, all my other attempts to get my way (yelling, screaming, shouting and struggling), didn’t work so I was trying out other options.

  “No,” he said just as quietly, foiling my new tactic and dropping his boot to the floor.

  “I need to take out my contacts,” I told him and this was true.

  He stopped taking off his second boot then bent down, picked up the first one and tugged it back on.

  “What are you doing?” I asked as he got up.

  He walked to the tee he threw on the floor, pulled it on and went to the elevator. “I’ll be back,” he said, standing at the elevators.

  “Wait!” I called but too late, the doors opened, he disappeared and the light from the elevator was extinguished as the doors closed.

  * * * * *


  This time he wasn’t gone long and came back less silent because he was carrying a rustling bag.

  “Where did you go?” I asked as he went back to the counter, threw the bag on it and then again pulled off his tee and dropped it to the floor.

  “Contact solution and a case,” he said, coming to the bed, sitting on the edge again and tugging off his boot.

  “You can just take me home, I have, like, a million cases there and contact solution.” This was obvious but I pointed it out anyway.

  “I’m not taking you home, Ava.” He dropped boot one.

  “I don’t understand. Why? Whoever they were, they weren’t shooting at me. No one even knew I was there.”

  He dropped boot two. “I know. They were shooting at Vincetti.” He pulled off a sock.

  I sucked in breath. This was news.

  “They were shooting at Dom?” I whispered, unable to wrap my mind around this fact.

  “He isn’t a well-liked guy,” he pulled off the other sock.

  This didn’t surprise me, as I explained, Dom was a jerk. But shooting out his living room with an Uzi? That seemed a bit much and this was coming from a woman who was searching his house to try to find evidence to nail him in an upcoming divorce battle.

  “Why would they shoot out his living room with an Uzi when he wasn’t there?”

  “It wasn’t an Uzi. It was an AK-47. And they were sending a message.”

  He had turned toward me and was leaned into me, working at the cuffs.

  I sucked in breath again, mainly because Luke’s naked chest was close to my face and it was freaking me out and playing havoc with my vow to stay faithful to my vibrators.

  I felt my hands freed and I pulled my arms down, sat up and shook them out. Pins and needles shot up them and I took a deep breath to tamp down my temper. It wouldn’t serve any purpose, I was learning quickly Luke didn’t like my temper and he was a lot stronger than me. He seemed in a mellow mood and I wasn’t going to piss him off; pissing him off wouldn’t get me home and I needed to get home and soon. I figured him going out and buying me contact lens solution meant he thought, for some reason, I was spending the night. My purse was in my Range Rover and I was pretty certain Sissy had called my cell, probably dozens of times, checking in. She was likely panicked. I needed to phone her and quick.

  Still, I couldn’t stop myself from saying softly as I rubbed at both of my arms, “That hurt.”

  He threw the cuffs on the nightstand, twisted at the waist, grabbed my left wrist and started to massage my arm.

  Oh my goodness, Luke’s massaging your arm! Isn’t that sweet? Good Ava trilled in my ear.

  Jump him! Rip his pants off! Bad Ava shouted in my other ear.

  I ignored my advisors and sat, completely still, and registered how nice, warm and strong Luke’s hands were. They felt good. No, they felt great.

  Shit.

  “I needed to make sure you were safe,” he told me, thankfully pulling me away from thoughts of his hands feeling great.

  “They didn’t shoot out my windows,” I pointed out.

  “Then I needed to make sure you didn’t do something stupid.”

  Hmm.

  One, two, three, four, five… okay, temper under control.

  “Now that you know I’m safe and I can promise you I won’t do anything stupid,” Tonight, I thought, but did not say, “Can I please go home?”

  “No.”

  “Luke!”

  His hands went to my armpits, he got up, taking me with him and set my feet on the floor.

  I had kicked off my flip-flops and they were lying somewhere in the bed. There was something very weird about me, barefoot, standing in Luke’s dark loft with Luke also standing barefoot and shirtless with me. There was something intimate about it, something sweet and nice and wonderful.

  Hell and damnation.

  He took my hand, led me across the room to a dresser, opened a drawer and took something out. Then he led me to the bar and grabbed the bag. Then he led me to the bathroom, flipped a switch and gave me a gentle push inside. He tossed the stuff in the sink and looked at me.

  “Take out your contacts, get changed, we’re going to bed.”

  I stood, blinking in the lit room, mouth dropped open and watching the door close through my blinking.

  We’re going to bed, WE are going to bed, he said. Yippee! Bad Ava yelled happily in my ear, punching the air and doing a touchdown dance.

  He’s so thoughtful, going out to get your contact stuff. I think he’s adorable, Good Ava shared.

  Oh for goodness sake. Good Ava needed a reality check. Luke? Adorable? Please.

  I sighed. No reason to fight it, because I obviously wasn’t going to win. Tomorrow, he would take me home and I would forget all of this ever happened. This was not likely but I was going with it for the moment.

  I pulled the stuff out of the bag, noting he also bought me a toothbrush, took out my contacts and used the bathroom because I needed it, badly. I found this mortifying for some bizarre reason; everyone had to use the bathroom. Still, it wasn’t like I was removed in any way from Luke, there was only one other room in the place, he could probably hear. I was pretty certain I had gone through my whole life, even when he came over with his parents, or we were over it his house, without Luke ever knowing I had any need of the facilities.

  Oh well, what the hell.

  I washed my hands, took off my clothes, shoved my silver in my jeans pockets and pulled on the tee he had given me. It was seriously cool, old, faded, soft and black with a Triumph motorcycle in silver on the front of it. It was huge on me, coming down over my hips to my upper thighs. It felt good on, nice and snug and I tried (hard) not to think of wearing Luke’s t-shirt at the same time, trying to figure out how to steal it.

  I folded my clothes neatly, as if my life depended on it. Without anything else to do to delay, I opened the bathroom door, switched off the light and walked into the loft.

  The loft was still lit only by the lights outside.

  Luke I saw, my heart beginning to beat a little faster in my chest, was lying in bed, sheets to his waist, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling seeming peaceful and Zen, as if he spent a lot of time in that position. This was all I really saw, mainly because without my contacts my vision was blurry. Which I had to admit, still struggling with fidelity to my vibrators, was kind of a bummer.

  I walked slowly to the bar, semi-feeling my way with my feet, and put my clothes on a stool. Then I turned to him.

  “Can I use your phone?” I asked.

  Instead of answering, he took his hands from behind his head, twisted to the nightstand and pulled the phone out of its cradle.

  I walked to him and took it from his outstretched hand. “It’s long distance,” I told him.

  “Where’s Sissy?” he asked.

  I rolled my eyes, mainly because I was also noticing that you didn’t get much by Luke and that was kind of annoying.

  “Wyoming.”

  “As long as it isn’t England.”

  I nearly smiled at him but stopped myself just in time.

  I looked at the phone. Then I realized I had a slight problem. Although I had memorized Sissy’s Mom’s number, I couldn’t see the keypad without my contacts. It was a new phone to me, who knew where the buttons were?

  Shit.

  I was wrong, the going to the bathroom thing was embarrassing, this was mortifying.

  I stood there, uncertain. Then I realized I had no choice. Sissy was probably packing the car as I hesitated, ready to come down to find out what happened to me and face my house, empty, or her house, probably cordoned off with police tape. Then she would lose it, thinking Dom had killed me or, more likely, I had killed Dom.

  Crap.

  “Luke?”

  “Yeah?”

  I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought he was looking at me. “I need you to dial the number. I can’t see the phone.”

  I didn’t know what I expected
him to do. Still, I was surprised that, without hesitation, he sat up and took the phone out of my hand.

  “What’s the number?”

  I told him, he punched it in with his thumb and handed it to me.

  “Thanks,” I whispered, listening to it ring.

  “Good to have you back, babe,” he said, his voice soft, gentle, affectionate and I felt my body jerk in reaction to his tone and his words just before Sissy answered the phone.

  “Please let this be Ava,” she said.

  “Yo,” I replied, turning away from Luke, wishing I could run away from Luke, and again wondering what in the hell I was doing.

  “I’ve called a gazillion times!” Sissy shouted in my ear.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I… something happened and I got separated from my purse,” I made it to the window by the kitchen, leaned against the brick sill and stared out at LoDo.

  It was blurry but I could still tell that Luke had a kickass view.

  “Are you okay?” Sissy asked.

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “My phone says this number is blocked. Are you home?”

  Shit.

  I had to make a split-second decision. Lie to her or tell her the truth when the truth would both freak her out (her living room getting shot out and Dom, still her husband, being delivered a very scary message) and make her jump for joy (that I was standing in Luke’s t-shirt in his loft in LoDo).

  I decided to hedge. “Listen, I’m really tired, I’ll call you tomorrow. Tell you all about it.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  I had to give her something and that something had to be something Luke, who I was certain was listening, couldn’t get anything out of. “Just an industrial-sized box of condoms in his nightstand.”

  Silence.

  “Sissy?”

  “Guess he isn’t pining for me, hunh?”

  “Sissy,” I said softly, feeling her pain as only best friends do and wishing she were closer so I could give her a hug.

  “Get to sleep, it’s late. Tell me about it tomorrow,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “I want to hear about the Luke thing tomorrow too. Ally called my cell, said something happened between you guys. She said he carried you through the reception area!”

  Oh crap.

  “Ally,” Sissy laughed. “She’s so full of shit.”