Bad Girl Read online

  Bad Girl

  Wicked #2

  Piper Lawson

  Rockstars don't chase college students.

  * * *

  But Jax Jamieson’s never followed the rules.

  I wonder why he's here.

  I wonder what took him so long.

  I wonder what he's going to do to me when I get off this stage.

  * * *

  Bad Girl is part 2 in the new adult rock star trilogy WICKED. Jax and Haley’s story begins in Good Girl and concludes in Wicked Girl.

  1

  Haley

  For four hours on the bus to Atlanta, my earbuds plugged in and some new indie act providing a subtle soundtrack to the passing scenery, my brain’s been going full-tilt. The would’ve waltz, the should’ve samba, and the could’ve cha-cha.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have run on my birthday.

  Maybe Jax had a good reason for not telling me about Cross.

  Maybe I should’ve texted him, called him, something.

  I give myself until the bus pulls into the station to indulge my doubts. Then I cut it off.

  Tonight’s about reminding myself I did the right thing, not rehashing every decision I’ve made in my life like a washing machine on spin cycle.

  I leave my bags in a locker at the bus depot and take my backpack with me to the venue. Find my seat near the back in the electric darkness.

  Around me, people talk, drink, and gossip. Some of it’s about Jax. It feels as if they’re talking about a friend behind his back.

  Somewhere in the midst of the opening act, I notice the buzzing. Not around me, but inside me. As though something’s trying to get out.

  When the changeover happens, it intensifies.

  After two months bartending in Nashville, my feet are calloused from the heels, my hand-eye coordination’s improved tenfold, and I’m tanned from spending my few days off outside with Lita.

  I’m more exposed, but I’m tougher too.

  Or so I thought.

  Now, I realize I’m wrong. I shouldn’t be here.

  I push my way out of the row until I make it to the aisle. But before I can get to the exit door, the place comes down.

  The opening line of one of Jax’s classic hits splits the screaming, uttered in a voice that haunts my dreams.

  I can’t stop myself from turning.

  The black button-down with short sleeves shows off his tattoos. Faded jeans I think I’ve touched worship his long, hard legs. He’s a hundred feet away, but I can smell him. My fingers itch for the feeling of his body through the thin T-shirt.

  If there ever was a man who looked like he was fucking a microphone on stage, it’s Jax. Not because he’s overtly sexual, but because Jax Jamieson is vital.

  It’s the first word that comes to mind when I see him because he’s like life itself. So real it hurts.

  His hair falls across his face, and I’d swear my eyes lock with his.

  Of course when you’re onstage, you can’t see anything through the lights. But there are techniques to make it feel as though you’re connecting with the audience, and Jax works them all.

  If I wanted closure, there’s no way in hell I’m getting it tonight.

  He’s on fire. This is his third-to-last show, and he’s selling it, every second, as though he already misses the stage.

  For that moment, I’m just a fan.

  And I hate that he’s leaving.

  After the show, the energy dissipates, a slow leak like the crowd pouring out the venue doors.

  I stay behind. My gaze finds the sound booth. The sight of the man there, stooped and gray, warms me.

  Until I see him reaching for an unfamiliar piece of equipment and hefting it in his arms.

  I make my way toward the booth, tripping past the last of the escaping fans in my hurry. “Jerry! Put that down.”

  He sets down the piece of digital equipment with a thud and straightens. “Miss Telfer.” He smiles. “Help me with this, will you? I need to get it out to the truck.”

  For a moment, I wonder if he’s even realized I haven’t been on tour.

  “Why don’t you call Nina to send someone?” I look down toward the stage. The band is long gone, but the crew is packing up.

  “No!” The sharpness of his tone startles me. “This is my new toy. I won’t let those animals put their hands on it. Take it to the truck for me?”

  I hold in my sigh. I should be on my way back to the bus station to take the overnight home, but the look on Jerry’s face has me caving. I loop the cords over my arm and lift the box. Thanks to bartending, I’m stronger than I was.

  “Where’s your new helper?” I ask as he walks toward the stage door with me.

  “I told Nina I didn’t need one.”

  My eyes widen. “You didn’t.”

  “I had you. And now I have your program.” He says it with pride. “I’m better than new.”

  Guilt creeps in as Jerry waves at the security guard to let him know that I’m with him.

  The exterior door opens, and I’m deafened.

  There are fans. Not dozens, but hundreds. Maybe thousands.

  Security’s trying to keep it under control, but they and the barricade seem to be fighting a losing battle.

  I pick my way toward the truck, trying not to trip though I can’t see my feet.

  I drift too close to the roped-off mob, and there’s tugging on Jerry's equipment.

  Dammit.

  I wrestle it back.

  Some girl manages to shove over one of the posts holding up the rope, and another lunges over the barricade.

  It’s a stampede as one after another flows through the lowered barrier.

  A phone hits me. Next, a cardboard cutout of Jax scratches the side of my face. I can’t block them because my hands are full, but I tilt and fall, clutching Jerry’s damned toy to keep it safe.

  Something sharp hits me on the head, and my mouth falls open in shock.

  Numbness washes over me as if I’m on a boat being gently rocked by the waves.

  Until I feel hands clamp around my arms.

  Don’t fucking touch me. I want to scream it, but I can’t.

  My stomach rolls. “Let go,” I moan instead.

  The grip gets tighter, and it feels like coils binding my skin. Ropes burning as I twist and try to escape.

  The screaming gets louder. I’m lifted into someone’s arms.

  Hands are everywhere.

  I fight them, or try to, until a familiar voice makes me give in.

  “Shut up, Hales.”

  Those muttered words, too close to my ear, are the last thing I hear before the world goes black.

  2

  “Is she bleeding?”

  “You need to splint it.”

  “How the hell do you know?”

  “I won Doctor Who: The Adventure Games in like six days.”

  “That’s a video game, asshole. And also not a real doctor.”

  I ignore Kyle and Brick bickering behind me.

  The towel I grabbed has stage tape on one end, and I rip it off as I run the thing under cold water.

  Drip marks stain the floor as I return to the dressing room, step over the coffee table, and crouch in front of the figure in the armchair.

  Her chin’s almost on her skinned knees, her arms looped around legs under a jean skirt I had to adjust when I set her down. The Converse sneakers haven’t changed.

  I brush the hair from Haley’s face and press the towel to the scratch on her forehead as she hisses.

  “Serves you right,” I murmur. “Next time, leave crowd-surfing to the professionals.”

  “Never seen your firefighter routine, Jax.” This from Brick, but I don't rise to the bait. “It's going to be all over the internet tomorrow.”
/>   Haley blinks, her lashes revealing brown eyes with green flecks. “Really?”

  “Both of you are,” Mace weighs in from where he’s leaning against the wall in the corner. “What’s with the cameo?”

  “I heard this was the last chance to see Riot Act live.” Her ankles cross in front of her as she leans back, shifting to get more comfortable as her eyes open for a moment only to drift closed again. “Had to come and get my chest signed.”

  Brick chuckles behind me, and Kyle sprints across the room. “I’ll get a Sharpie.”

  I lean in to check the towel—there’s hardly any blood on it, but I find a clean spot and press it back to her head.

  “Already signed your chest,” I murmur, low enough only she can hear.

  Her shoulders twitch. The only sign she’s heard me, but it’s enough. My gaze lingers on the bare skin of her shoulders, and I have the random urge to cover her up.

  Especially when Kyle appears at my side, bending over.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I demand.

  “The woman wants an autograph. Who am I to deny her?”

  I turn toward him, and the look on my face has him lifting his hands in surrender. “I’ll just leave this here.” Kyle caps the pen and sets it on the table behind me.

  “You staying away from the diner lobster, Mace?” Haley asks, looking past my shoulder.

  “Try to stick to diner crab,” he replies easily.

  My mouth twitches, but it’s not my guitarist I’m looking at. It’s her.

  I’m being studied by big hazel eyes framed in dark lashes, and I wish we were alone right now.

  I don’t know what I’d do with her. Strangle her, maybe. Kiss her, definitely.

  From the look on her face, like she’s overwhelmed, maybe she wants that too.

  Or maybe she just hit her head.

  “So Riot Act’s announced their retirement,” Haley says, breaking the silence. “I’m surprised no one’s chained themselves to your tour bus.”

  “Madame Tussaud wrote to see if I could sit for my wax statue,” I tell her.

  She laughs, and I want to ask a million things.

  How she is. If she’s still pissed at me.

  Whether she kept my hoodie.

  It’s the least appropriate thought right now, especially since I don’t need a reminder of the time I yanked it off her. When I’d channeled every ounce of frustration into kissing her, swallowing her gasps as my tongue wrecked havoc with hers.

  “What's that?” she asks, pointing to the braided bracelet on my wrist.

  “Grace’s kid made it,” Mace says, dropping onto the sofa behind me.

  “Annie?” Haley looks between us.

  Before I can tell him to shut up, he plows on. “The night you left, she called to say her mom was missing. He flew to Dallas to find her.”

  Haley’s expression fills with alarm. She shifts forward, wringing the towel in her hands. “What happened? Is she okay? Is Annie—”

  “Grace’d checked into the hospital.” The look on her face tells me she understands why. “But they’re going to be fine now. They’re at the hotel. They’re finishing up the tour with me.”

  “So, she left her husband.” Her voice is hollow with shock.

  I nod, picturing my sister’s battered body in the hospital bed. The anger and resentment that fill my gut are the kind that never really leave.

  “I wish you’d told me.”

  It’s intimate, what she says and how she says it.

  Kyle catches my eye from where he’s packing his bag near the door.

  I scratch at my chin because I’m still in stage makeup. I force myself not to let on how much her low voice affects me. “You were a tech on my tour for a month. We're ships passing.”

  If it sounds callous, it’s not. It’s reality.

  Haley and I don’t have a future.

  We don’t even have a past.

  All we have is a stolen kiss and the kind of fragile trust that's made to be broken. By me, by her, by the world, until there's less than nothing left.

  “I’m going to take this out to the bus,” Mace says, shifting off the couch. I don’t look to see what he’s talking about.

  “Kyle, you wanna come with?”

  “I want to hear about Haley’s summer.”

  I close my eyes because I’m really ready to shove my band out the door and slam it in their faces right now. At least Mace knows it.

  “Kyle? I’ll let you show me how to make a Patreon donation for that wildlife artist.”

  “For real? Let’s do it.”

  Then they’re gone and it’s just the two of us.

  Somehow it feels like there’s more space between us rather than less.

  Haley breaks the silence first. “If we’re passing ships, what’s with the dramatic rescue? I’m not on your tour anymore. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “I don’t like seeing you get hurt.”

  Her eyes darken. “Then why didn’t you tell me about Cross?”

  I wonder if she’s turned it over in her head as many times as I have the last two months.

  I stare back at her. “I don’t like seeing you get hurt,” I repeat.

  Since I made the deal with Cross to protect her, he’s been silent.

  Still… just because Haley and I won’t be sleeping down the hall from one another doesn’t mean I can’t keep an eye on her.

  She looks good despite the bump on the head that I’m pretty sure will resolve. Her sharp eyes still make me want to know what’s going on behind them. The curves under her clothes are still seriously distracting. Her full lips have me wanting to see her smile or laugh or...

  “School must be starting soon,” I say, breaking the stillness. “You’re going back to Philly?”

  “Tonight.” She glances up at the clock on the wall behind me. “I should probably get going.” She makes no move to rise, just huffs out a little breath as she looks at me.

  She’s changed since she left. She’s grown up. Where she would spill everything at my feet before, she’s not going to now.

  Endings suck no matter how you slice them. Our first was bad enough. It seems cruel to have another.

  But life's cruel.

  “Say something, Hales.” I murmur it under my breath.

  Her mouth twitches at the corner. “What kind of something.”

  “Anything. Let me in your head.”

  “Okay.” Her cheeks flush, and that hint of embarrassment has me leaning in. “I had a dream you came after me. You walked in the door of the honky-tonk where I was working, and you told me you’d fucked up and you were sorry.” She frowns. “And then you took the stage next to Prince and played the ukulele. That's when I should've known it was a dream.”

  A chuckle escapes. “You should’ve known it was a dream because no one just walks in the door at the Rockabilly. There’s a line a mile long.”

  “You’ve been there?” Her eyes widen.

  “Marty’s place. She stocks some good bourbon.”

  “And Andre’s. They got married.”

  “Huh.” Sharing people in common makes it feel like we haven’t spent the last two months apart.

  It’s all pretend. Because she’s going back to her life and I’m—finally—going back to mine.

  I don’t know what to do here.

  Because I don’t, I stand.

  She rises too.

  And if that’s not the perfect metaphor for how we are, I don’t know what is.

  This girl’s my shadow. We’re bound together by a thread that won’t let go even though we’re opposites in so many ways—she’s bright, I’m dark; she’s new, I’m jaded; she’s curious, I’m closed off.

  But from the second I noticed her, I can’t unsee her.

  “Haley.”

  We both turn to see Nina standing at the door, a knowing look on her face.

  “I heard you made an impression on the crowd. Or they made one on you.” Her face tightens with con
cern. “You okay?”

  “Good as new. And I promise I’m not suing anyone.”

  “Good girl. Let me walk you out.”

  I shake my head. “I can do it.”

  Nina holds up her hands. “Jax? You go out there again and there’s going to be an actual riot.”

  I wonder if that’s the real reason or if Nina wants to keep us apart.

  Regardless, Haley steps forward first. “Well, it was a hell of a show.”

  “Best ever?” I study her face.

  Her expression shifts. “Yeah. Best ever.” She swallows. “Goodbye, Jax.”

  “See you, Hales.”

  Before I can react, Haley closes the distance between us. Her arms wind around my neck.

  Her scent washes over me, and I close my eyes. I’ve done two gigs in Hawaii, and I swear she smells like the air there.

  I can feel Nina’s gaze on us.

  Fuck Nina.

  I wrap my arms around Haley’s waist, pulling her harder against me even though I shouldn’t.

  “So, you knew where I was, but you never thought about coming to check it out, huh?” she murmurs against my neck, low enough only I can hear. Her voice is a tease, stroking down my spine.

  “If I’d chased your ass down”—her hair tickles my lips, and I bury my nose in her—“I wouldn't have come back.”

  I’m the one to step back first. When I do, I see a wry smile pulling at her mouth.

  That’s good.

  Because it’s better if we both think I’m joking.

  3

  Haley

  Getting into my apartment takes longer than usual. The key turns in the lock, but as I lean against the door, it won’t open.

  I shove, and something gives.

  “Roomie!” Serena’s voice sounds far away. “It’s about time.”

  I glance at the chair that’d been blocking the way. “You barricaded yourself in here?”

  “Not me. Scrunchie. He’s been exercising a lot of independence lately. The door’s open for even a minute, and he slips out.”

  My roommate, dressed in a crop top and skinny jeans that show off her naturally flat stomach, crosses to the black-and-white mop in the middle of the living room floor. “I took him to the dog park the other day, and everyone looked at me like I was nuts. I mean, he doesn’t spray. Not that I would de-scent a skunk, but when the little guy came into the shelter and needed a home, I couldn’t say no.” She lifts Scrunchie to her face, making kissing noises.