Skeletons of Us (Unquiet Mind Book 2)

  “Thank you, L.A.,” I screamed into the mic.

  Then I was gone. I couldn’t physically face it anymore. The energy of my own soul reflected in me by thousands of people. In a trance, I all but ran off stage, the opposite side to him. I had to escape him. That energy. I thought I could handle it. I was wrong. I thrust my guitar at the first person at the side of the stage, my ears ringing. People smiled at me, said things, but I couldn’t say what. My destination was fixed. By the time I got to my dressing room, I was breathing heavily, my heart in my throat. I stood in the middle of the room, my hands trembling.

  That song had stripped me right to the bone. I hadn’t realized until now how much I’d been hiding from myself. Not from the pain, it was impossible to hide from that, but from just how much I loved Killian. How much I still loved him. I’d numbed myself from most of it; my body had done it out of survival instinct from the moment I saw him in the hospital room. My subconscious had shielded me from just how deep that love still went after all these years. How it was coiled around my bones. And now I’d exposed it. I knew why I had numbed myself from the majority of it. Because it threatened to kill me.

  To destroy me.

  The door burst open and I jumped. My eyes crept to the figure at the door, knowing who it was before they even reached his hulking form. The person who melted me with his gaze. The person who lurked behind every single note, every single word in the song I had just sang. Who created the broken, crumpled girl who exposed her equally broken, crumpled soul to him and thousands of people.

  We stood there like that, staring at each other, the energy in the room building to a crescendo that dwarfed the one created by thousands of people. Everything else melted away. It was just us. The energy from the stadium couldn’t complete with this. Every nerve ending in my body crackled with awareness. The hairs on my arms stood up and my breathing came in pants.

  Everything was still, silent.

  Then there was movement. The door slammed shut behind him and he stormed forward, advancing on me. This time I didn’t retreat, didn’t try to escape. I ran into his arms, colliding with him as he effortlessly caught me and lifted me against him. My legs automatically fastened around his hips and his lips descended on mine.

  I thought of nothing but the brutal way his tongue thrust into my mouth and the need to be closer as the blood sang through my veins. I couldn’t even focus on the departure of that exquisite pain I’d been living with.

  His hand squeezed my ass while he held me up, kneading it and pressing my entire body to him. Another hand thrust through my hair, not gently. The pain that came from him gripping a handful of my curls only made me burn hotter, only made my need greater.

  He slammed me against the wall, never detaching his lips from mine, never stopping the brutal assault. I made a sound in the back of my throat as I opened my eyes for a split second. Ice blue eyes fastened on mine. In that millisecond, there was a moment of clarity, of sense of reality rushing back in. It didn’t settle, didn’t stop me. Maybe that’s because, in that same moment, my panties were thrust aside and he plunged into me without warning, without any priming. Not that I needed any, I’d been ready for him since the second we’d locked eyes.

  I screamed into his mouth at the feeling of him inside me. He growled and his forehead pressed against mine as he slammed into me with that same brutal intensity that he kissed me. My hands crept up the back of his tee, and I ran my nails along the sinewy cords of his muscles, feeling them tighten under the strain. He bit my neck as I sank my nails into his back.

  I was quite sure I would go insane with need, with the brutal coupling that Killian was subjecting me to. I loved every second of it. If this was insanity, I hoped clarity never returned.

  “Look at me,” he rasped, his voice so rough it was almost physical.

  I instantly obeyed his command. My breathing rapid, I focused on him. Through the frenzied, crazy thrusts, there was sanity. Through the sounds of our heavy breathing, of our coupling, of my body banging against the wall, there was serenity.

  He didn’t stop, and he didn’t kiss me again. His mouth just hovered inches from mine, eyes possessing every inch of my soul as his body possessed every inch of me.

  It was then that the explosion happened, so brutal, so life-shattering I had to close my eyes and scream out, though it was muffled when he captured my mouth once more. It settled over me and I seemed to ride the wave for an eternity, only vaguely hearing and feeling myself milk him of his release.

  Years later, decades, I floated down to earth, registering Killian’s forehead was still pressed against mine. I blinked to see his clear blue eyes hadn’t left mine the entire time. They stayed there, and from this close, I could see they weren’t blank like I assumed they would be. Like they had been for days. No, they were full to the brim and so fucking deep I thought I might drown in them if I didn’t find a way to swim.

  He was breathing heavily, his hands at my neck and my legs around his waist.

  A knock on the door made me jerk and the movement had Killian sucking in a harsh breath.

  “Lexie!” Sam boomed. “Are you alive? Or naked? If you’re naked, take a picture, send it to me, and then come out here and fuckin’ party! Our fans are waiting to worship us!”

  Sam’s words worked as a tool to wrench me out of this slip in time and sanity and yank me into the cold embrace of reality.

  I’d just fucked Killian. Against a wall in my dressing room.

  And yes, fucked. Not made love, not had a beautiful, life-shattering moment that I had four years ago during my first time.

  Although this was life-shattering all right.

  Killian’s arms tightened around me, as if registering the fact I’d gotten my mind back and was battling against the animal he’d unleashed inside me.

  “Freckles,” he murmured, his voice so soft it cut through me worse than any hard, cold tone could have.

  “Put me down,” I ordered, my voice hoarse.

  His eyes blazed and his hands flexed. “Lexie.”

  I stared at him, hoping for some kind of shutter to fasten over my eyes and not let the tears escape. “Put. Me. Down.”

  Something in my tone must have got to him because, after a long pause, he slowly and gently pulled out of me and set me on unsteady feet. With heartbreaking tenderness, Killian pulled my dress back down from where it had ridden up my waist.

  My body still crackled with electricity and that touch. His callused hands running down my hips and snagging on the delicate material did things to my fragile body. That touch seemed to set me on fire almost more than the rough and frenzied one of before.

  One of his hands rested lightly on my hip to steady me, the other grasped my neck, trapping my head to look at him.

  Something trickled down my leg.

  Fuck. No condom.

  This happened. This actually happened. I didn’t think. I didn’t look up, didn’t give into every single urge I had to run back into those arms that were so foreign yet familiar. I ran the other way. Out of the room. Away from harm and to whatever safety I could find.

  I don’t know how I did it, honestly, but I made it all the way out to the back entrance of the stadium without running into the boys, Mark, Jenna, fans, or more importantly, Killian catching up with me. I heard him bellow my name, heard the emotion in it. My step hadn’t even faltered. I was on autopilot. Fight or flight. My life wasn’t in danger, but my sanity sure as shit was. I got lost in him when he was inside me, his mouth on mine. Lost. Sucked into the black hole that was Killian. I couldn’t get lost again.

  Maybe the universe was looking out for me by taking out obstacles that were normally there after every show and giving me a straight shot to the SUV Clyde was leaning against.

  He jerked up and threw the paper he was reading in the open window. His eyes ran over me.

  “Miss Williams? Are you okay?” he asked in concern. His hand went to the inside of his suit jac
ket to where I knew his gun lived. Clyde was ex-special forces. He didn’t want the bodyguard position; he’d seen enough things in his life. The demons lurking beneath his kind eyes weren’t hard to miss. Yet he still wore a weapon when driving for me, even before the whole stalker thing.

  “I’m fine, Clyde,” I reassured him. “I just need to get out of here. Now.”

  He paused for a split second. Then he saw something in my eyes and nodded curtly, opening the door for me.

  I sagged at the lack of argument then climbed in, hurriedly. My eyes were on the exit, sure that Killian would burst through.

  He didn’t.

  I was both relieved and disappointed at this.

  I didn’t want to inspect the latter feeling that I didn’t understand.

  Clyde screeched out of the parking lot.

  “Where to, Miss Williams?”

  I chewed my lip. “You don’t happen to know of a bar where no one would recognize me, do you?”

  His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “I know just the place.”

  I sagged against the seat.

  *****

  “Miss Williams, it’s not my place to say, but after the events of the past few weeks, I feel compelled,” Clyde said, pulling up to a nondescript and slightly weathered-looking bar out in Silver Lake.

  “I think you should call Mr. Decesare or one of Keltan’s men to inform them of your location so they can join you here.”

  I sighed. “I just need a break from them. From all that. Do you understand that, Clyde?”

  His eyes met mine. “Yes, Miss Williams, I understand that, but you’re also under threat—”

  “I’m safe with you, aren’t I?” I interrupted him, which was something I never usually did. It was rude, but I was tired. Exhausted.

  “Of course, Miss Williams. I’ll keep you safe,” he responded immediately.

  I nodded. “Okay then, let’s get ourselves a drink.”

  I didn’t wait for Clyde to open my door and I got a hard look at this. I smiled in response. He shook his head and led us into the bar.

  It wasn’t busy even though it was a Friday night. A few people were scattered amongst the tables in the small room, most glued to some sports game. A man was sipping a drink at the end of the bar, staring into it as if it might answer the questions of the universe.

  If only it was that easy, buddy.

  Despite the slightly shabby exterior, the bar wasn’t in as much disrepair as I’d expected. Most of the furniture was dated but still tidy, and the walls were scattered with frames of smiling patrons. The lighting was dim, which I appreciated. I glanced down at my attire. It was totally appropriate for a rock star on stage performing to thousands of people, but not so much for a girl looking to blend in.

  Clyde put his hand on the small of my back and directed us to the bar.

  “Clyde!” a man boomed at us the moment the light illuminated Clyde’s tanned and weathered face. The corner of his mouth turned up slightly at the grinning man’s greeting.

  “Artie.” He nodded to him, taking the large, tattooed hand that was extended to him.

  The man on the other side of the bar laughed. “Still as fuckin’ jolly as always.” His eyes fluttered to me. They didn’t betray any recognition that I came to expect, only amused interest. His gaze flickered over my attire, but not in a leering way. He met my eyes and his friendly ones put me at ease.

  “What’s a pretty girl like you doing with an old grump like him?” He nodded to Clyde.

  I smiled at him. The man had long hair, a full beard, a Harley tee that stretched over his huge belly and faded tattoos down his arms. He looked like he should own a biker bar, not a dive bar in Silver Lake. He looked the furthest from someone strait-laced Clyde would be hanging out with. But he also looked kind.

  “Lexie,” I said, holding out my hand. “Clyde’s not so bad.” I winked at Clyde who shook his head.

  The man took my hand. “Arthur Smith, but everybody calls me Artie. Pleased to meet you, Lexie. Beautiful girl like you classes up the joint.”

  I sat down, glad that we had gotten only a couple of disinterested looks from the patrons who went back to their business.

  “Let me guess, club soda?” Artie asked Clyde, who nodded. “Predictable as always,” Artie muttered. His eyes went to mine. “Something stronger for you, I’m guessin’, pretty lady?” His voice was understanding and those kind eyes seemed to see more than I wanted to betray.

  “Yeah. Something much stronger,” I agreed.

  *****

  “So, Lexie, what do you do for a livin’?” Artie asked me, handing me my—fourth?—drink.

  I exchanged a quick look with Clyde, whose face was blank. He contemplated his first soda.

  “I’m a singer,” I replied, grinning slightly. Artie made a good drink, which was doing its job at chasing away the memories of tonight.

  He leaned on the bar. “Yeah, you any good?”

  I grinned again. “Um, I don’t go hungry, so I guess so.” Artie didn’t seem to recognize me, and I was happy to play along and pretend I wasn’t famous and I hadn’t just come from an iconic venue my band had sold out.

  Artie eyed me. “I reckon you’re good. Humble ones always are.” His eyes flickered to the corner. “You think you might treat an old man to a song?”

  I followed his eyes and landed on a small stage in the corner of the room. Nothing fancy, just a mic and some speakers.

  I froze slightly.

  “I don’t want to disturb the people and their… football game,” I said, squinting at the screen.

  Artie leaned down, grabbing something from the bar. All of a sudden, the sound disappeared, bathing the bar in silence.

  I expected groans from the people peppered around the table. They glanced over at Artie, shrugged, and went back to watching the muted game.

  “Problem solved,” he said.

  I chewed my lip. “I’ve had too much to drink. I would most likely butcher any song I attempted.”

  Artie’s eyes turned serious. “I’m not gonna try and press why someone like you is in a place like this, looking for answers in the bottom of a glass.” He paused. “I will tell you, from fifteen years pouring those glasses, not one person has found any answers in them. Myself included.” He nodded to the corner. “I do know a great number of people who’ve found the answers in music.”

  I regarded him. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

  His face didn’t change. “’Course I do. You’re Lexie. A kind young woman who’s lookin’ for answers in all the wrong places.”

  He gave me a long look. He knew who I was.

  I looked to Clyde. His face didn’t betray anything.

  I stared back down at the liquid in my half-full glass. Artie was right. No answers lay here. Maybe a temporary vacation from the feelings that chewed the inside of my spine. Maybe a different kind of oblivion than I was looking to escape. But nothing good.

  I pushed the glass away.

  Artie grinned and reached under the bar once more, this time he unearthed a guitar.

  I took it, out of surprise more than anything else. It was an old Gibson, a good one at that. Not one that should be lying behind a bar.

  “I dabble, when it’s quiet,” he said when I raised a brow at him. “It’s tuned,” he added.

  The feeling of it in my hands wasn’t the same as my own, but it was more comfortable than that cold glass.

  Clyde nodded to me, his gaze betraying a hint of approval at my choice.

  “Any requests?” I asked.

  Artie shook his head. “You know what you want to play.”

  “Are you a bartender or a therapist?”

  He grinned. “Same thing, darlin’.”

  My feet found themselves navigating the slightly sticky floor and rounding the tables. A couple of people lifted their heads at me, but no one seemed perturbed.

  I climbed on stage and sw
itched on the mic. There was a slight hum as it came to life, but thankfully it didn’t shriek in the quiet room. Slinging the guitar over my shoulder, I positioned it so it was the right height and sat in the stool that was off to the side.

  There were a couple of curious eyes on me, but other than Artie and Clyde, no one was actively watching me. It felt weird, being behind a mic in a room of people and not having them screaming, not having all the attention on me.

  It was nice.

  Again, I closed my eyes and started to strum, singing the first words of “Fickle Heart” by Ira Wolf. My voice took up the quiet room, but I didn’t notice that. I was focusing inward, singing those lyrics from that broken place in my heart.

  So because I was focusing inward, I didn’t notice the door to the bar rip open. Nor did I notice the figure who had stormed into it freeze. Deep down, I might have felt the stare of ice blue eyes in my soul, but I was too busy being lost in lyrics, in the music to stop.

  He wasn’t prepared for it, that’s how she got away. He was too busy fuckin’ basking in the moment. Replaying it in his head. Rapidly blinking to make sure this wasn’t some fucked-up dream. He had her. Tasted her sweetness again. Felt her velvet wrapped around him and finally managed to find sanctuary within her after four fuckin’ years.

  Four fuckin’ years.

  He was happy. It caught him off guard. The emotion was so foreign it shocked him immobile for a second. Long enough for her small body to wrench out of his arms and run out the room.

  “Lexie!” he bellowed after her, throwing the door open. The exact one she’d just slammed shut.