There’s Wild, Then There’s You (The Wild Ones #3)(23)
Author: M. Leighton

So this is the real Jet. This is who he is when he’s not at SAA meetings and visiting his rich father. And lying to me.

I feel an ache in my chest when Jet launches into the chorus of “Animal.” The words are perfect for the scene before me, for the way he’s acting. It’s like this person—fueled only by what he wants and what he needs, by his inner animal—is a total stranger to me, like I’ve never met him. The Jet I thought I knew, the one I was excited about helping and spending time with and getting to know, is dead. Or maybe he never existed at all.

In my mind’s eye, I see this realization like the flames of a raging fire, consuming my misconceptions and leaving me with only smoke and ash. It brings a sick feeling to my gut and tears to my eyes. I don’t know why I feel so wounded and betrayed, but I do. There’s no question.

I’m backing away from the stage, away from Jet, drowning in my disillusion, when he looks up to scan the crowd. I know the instant his eyes find me. Even if they didn’t stop on me, I would know. I can feel them. They light up my insides like napalm, fiery and destructive.

My chest is tight as I turn away. A fist of unusual and unwelcome emotion is lodged in my throat, and I can’t get away fast enough.

Weaving through the bodies as quickly as I can, I make my way to the door. It’s only when I’m outside in the crisp air, surrounded by nothing but night and humiliation, that I remember I didn’t come here alone. Before I can think to go back in after her, I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to see Tia behind me. Sorrow is on her face. Sorrow for me. And it only adds to my embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Vi. If I had known sooner, I would’ve warned you.”

My belly churns as I put all my focus into being nonchalant. “It’s fine, Tia. He’s obviously not the kind of person I need to waste my time helping. Better to find out now than later.”

I give Tia my easy, confident smile, but I feel it waver. Although the words spill smoothly from my lips because they are 100 percent true, they leave a taste in my mouth that’s like battery acid.

I try my smile again, turning toward the car. “Let’s go home. I think I’m ready for bed now.”

I have to make myself not run to the car.

EIGHTEEN: Jet

I’m comfortable in my fog. I’ve numbed the guilt I felt over skipping the SAA meeting, and now I’m in the one place where nothing else matters. I’m on a stage, surrounded by people who want me. My head is buzzing with alcohol, my blood is singing with music, and my pulse is thumping with the energy of the crowd. There is no better feeling than being right here, right now. Dazed. Comfortable. Free.

The faces in front of the stage are a blur, and that’s just how I like it. I don’t need faces to go with these women. All I need are their hands and their mouths and their bodies. Their adoration. Their anonymity.

Our security guys know to let one hottie up onstage every now and then. It keeps the others wild, and I sure as hell don’t mind it. These girls are ready and willing. Very ready. And very, very willing.

When the nice-looking blonde crawls up onstage and heads for me, I brace myself, ready for her to slam up against me in a crush of big tits, long legs, and lips that never stop.

I sing the words by heart, barely focusing on them as the chick at my side drags her fingers over my nipple ring and teases my c**k through my zipper. She’s straddling my leg, practically humping it. I can feel the damp heat from between her thighs all the way through my jeans.

She lets her hands wander as I let my eyes wander, not trying too hard to see through the haze.

Until I spot familiar smoky eyes set in a hauntingly beautiful face, watching me with all the disgust and disappointment that I so often see in the mirror.

Even from the stage, I see the tears fill her eyes. Every drop of moisture rocks me to my core. Of all the shamed looks I’ve seen in my mother’s eyes, none of them have ever felt like they were tearing out my heart. None of them.

I push the horny chick off my leg and glance to my left, giving Trent in Security a nod. He rushes out to remove the girl and take her backstage. Automatically, my eyes go back to where Violet was, but she’s already gone. When I find her again, she’s pushing her way through the crowd. It’s obvious that she’s trying to get away. That she wants to get away. She wants to get away from me.

NINETEEN: Violet

Not only have I refused to cry, to shed one single tear over something that wasn’t even anything, but I’ve also decided not to sleep evidently. I’ve been lying here for over two hours, trying to relax and clear my mind enough to drift off, but it’s becoming obvious that it’s just not going to happen. Sitting up, I reach over to snap on my bedside light and drag a paperback from my nightstand drawer.

Despite my feelings on love and relationships, I can’t resist a good romantic read. Whether it’s because the characters always find their happy ending or because I like getting lost in a fictional world with fictional problems, I don’t know. Either way, they’re my drug of choice whenever I need to escape.

Ten minutes later, I’m just beginning to fall into the arms of a gorgeous man when I hear my doorbell. I glance over at the pale blue LED numbers on my bedside clock. Two things register. Number one, it’s after one in the morning. Number two, the color isn’t that far off from Jet’s eyes.

The pang in my chest is short-lived by the immediate onset of worry. It’s far too late for me to be getting a visitor. Something’s wrong. What if someone is hurt? What if something has happened to my dad or Tia? What if DeeDee finally made her worst choice yet?

My pulse is racing as I leap out of bed and race to the front door, pausing only for a heartbeat to glance out the peephole. It barely registers that it’s Jet and that I probably shouldn’t open the door or even give him the time of day. I only act.

I fling open the door. “What’s wrong? Is someone hurt?”

“I guess that depends on what you say next,” Jet answers slowly, his tone quiet and reserved.

I take a deep breath, giving my flustered mind time to settle down and process before I speak. I reach for coldness, but I can’t seem to find it. Only hurt, and a little aggravation.

“You mean whether I tell you to leave or I just cut to the chase and call the cops?”

A bit of an exaggerated response, but Jet didn’t do himself any favors by getting my feathers further ruffled in the middle of the night when I have to work tomorrow. I’m hardly feeling charitable.