Hidden in the Stars (Falling Stars #2) (13 page)

"Yes, I'm fine. Just tired and ready to get out of here." I force a smile.

She nods, but there's a look of pity in her eyes. A look I don't want.

"Tonight was amazing. Thank you so much for all your help." Kristy breezes into the room. "I'll just get my things. Jackson's waiting."

"Jackson?" Bethany asks, spinning around in her chair.

"Yeah," Kristyna's reply is quick, obviously in a hurry.

I look up from under my lashes, catching Kristy's smile reflected in my mirror. Before she catches the scowl I now wear on my face, I drop my gaze.

Damn karma. Damn. Damn. Damn.

Closing my eyes, I breathe deep and fight a shudder.

"Well…" She pauses. "Thanks again."

The click of her heels silences behind the closing of the door.

I dip my chin to chest, my hair falling around me like the stage curtain, and release the breath, swallowing the emotions clogging my throat.

"Liza, I—” Bethany starts.

Putting one hand up, I silence her.

"I just want to go home," I say, my words a broken whisper.

"Sure," she replies, resignation in her tone.

I allow myself one more moment to marinate on things before raising my head. The reflection of the painted face in the mirror stares back with raw hurt glittering in her eyes.

Get over it. You saw trouble written all over him from the start. Grow a vagina and move on.

"Can you help me with the laces?" Bethany's question pulls me away from the mirror.

I straighten from my chair, pushing down my unreasonable feelings.

"Yep." I reach out and slip my fingers through the silky strings, loosening them enough for her to shimmy out of the corset.

"Are you sure you're okay?" She doesn't allow me to answer before continuing. "If this is about…if it's about him, Liza, you didn't know. And even if you did, just forget about it."

I turn my head and open my mouth with the intentions of telling her I’m good, but I burst out laughing instead.

"Beth, can you put the girls away? They're pointing at me," I snort, covering my eyes.

We've obviously all seen each other naked. In our line of work and quick changes, it happens. However, being eye level with her hard nipples and trying to talk is just too much. Her arm comes around her chest.

"Sorry," she apologizes on a laugh.

The dressing room door slams against the wall and Bethany screams, rushing to cover her nudity with a robe. Spinning around in the chair, all air leaves my lungs.

His predatory gaze sends my heart racing. I stand, straightening my shoulders.

The fluid prowl of his body knocks all defiant strength out of me. I retreat. One step, two, bumping into Bethany's chair.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Bethany yells, tightening the belt of her robe. "You can't just burst in here because you feel like it," she says, continuing the lecture. The screech of a chair pulls my attention back to him. He's shoved my chair over.

Damn it, Bethany. Your distraction cost me.

He's gaining. Pushing on the chair behind my legs, I put it between the predator and me.

His eyes narrow on mine. The left side of his mouth twitches devilishly. My hands tighten on the chair just before it disappears, slamming to the floor next to Bethany. She shrieks, hurrying out of the room.

Long, too familiar arms wrap around my waist. He lifts, carrying and pressing me against the wall.

"Jac—”

One arm untangles, his hand cupping my chin and thumb pressing against my lips, silencing me.

I grab his wrist.

"I don't care about him." Jackson's voice is thick and unsteady.

"Kristyna," I say the words in a muffle against his thumb.

"I sure as fuck don't care about her," he sneers.

The pad of his thumb presses and swipes my bottom lip before his mouth crushes mine.

Squeezing my eyes shut, my left hand tight on his wrist, I fist my right hand at my side.

Don't give in. Fight against it.

All my senses fill with Jackson—the sound, scent, and feel of him. His lip ring pinches my unresponsive lips.

Christ, I want him.

He pulls back and his fingers slip into the hair at the back of my head, fisting. My head tilts in response and lips open on a gasp. He captures my mouth, plunging his tongue inside. The arm around me loosens enough so his hand can slip over my ass and squeeze—hard.

The sound of my heart beats between my ears. The rapid rise and fall of my chest against his through the silk robe hardens my nipples. I moan, sliding my tongue against his. A salty, chemical taste hits my taste buds.

What the hell?

The flavor isn't Jackson. It's wrong. Slipping my hands between our bodies, I place my palms against him and push. He doesn't move, so I push again, harder, and turn my head away from him. The pull of my hair stings my scalp.

"Stop," I pant.

"Never." His mouth moves against my cheek and over my jaw.

Pushing even harder, I bring a leg up and dig my knee into his thigh, separating us.

"Stop, Jackson," I growl.

Hands fisted at his sides, chest heaving, his eyes grow hard.

"Now you care?" His brows raise in amazement.

"You don't know what you're talking about," I blurt. "But I know Kristyna is here for you, with you, or whatever. Pretty hypocritical, aren't you?" I only hope he doesn't hear the tremor in my voice.

Pressing forward again, he traps me against the wall with an arm on either side of me. He leans in, his face coming to the side of my head.

"I don't give a shit about Kristy." The husky words warm my ear. "And if you gave a shit about
him
, we never would've happened. Yet, you let my tongue and cock between your legs." A shiver runs down my spine. "So, I don't give a fuck about anything else. I've had you."

I jump when his fingers touch my bare thigh.

"And now, I have a taste for you."

His hand slips under my robe.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight. My body surrenders, but my head spins. His “taste for me” comment hurts, like an insult. His touch moves higher up my thigh, burning my skin. Flames lick their way between my legs, my need for him becoming consuming. But not like this. Something is wrong. Bringing my hands up, I press against his chest again.

"I fucking want you, Liza."

Jackson's head dips, his mouth claiming the skin of my neck.

"What the fuck, man?" The boisterous question snaps me from the lust-filled cocoon Jackson's created. "Get off of her!"

I stiffen and press on his chest.

Jackson sighs against my neck. Without moving away, he looks over his shoulder.

"Christ, Jackson, you can't just barge into the dressing rooms." Red's lecture comes from directly behind Jackson. "Look, man, you gotta go."

His muscles tense against me.

"Don't give me that look. You're the one who created this goddamn problem. Bethany is freaking out and Kristy isn't going to be distracted by those cameras for much longer."

It's my turn to tense.
Kristy. He had a taste for her once.

With Jackson focused on Red, I duck under his arm and out of his trap. Red's eyes look me over before meeting mine with unspoken concern. Jackson stands to his full height, watching our exchange before locking eyes with me.

"You should go," I say, my voice low and more composed than I thought possible in this moment. I turn away from them and move toward my dressing table, giving both of them my back.

"Come with me," Jackson states.

"Can't." Sitting, I pull my bags out from under the table.

"Come with me," he says, his voice deeper, harder, demanding.

"Jackson, you—” About to tell him he has the wrong idea about Kel, drama enters the room.

"Baby, I've been waiting for you." Kristy sounds contemptuous. "The car is here to take us back to our hotel. I want to celebrate."

Silence, densely thick, fills the room.

"Kristy?" Jackson's voice slices through like the edge of a sword.

"Yeah, babe?" Her tone perks.

"We. Are. Not. Together." He punctuates each word, his tone ruthless. "And you knew that before you came to L.A."

Onlookers gasp.

He didn't. What a dick move.

Kristy sputters for a moment. I don't care for her, but I can't help but empathize with her.

"I told you that shit before I flew down here. Don't act like it's a big fucking surprise," he says, contempt now in his voice.

"You fucking bastard. I will fucking ruin you." Her threat is calm, almost too calm. Without further prompting, Kristy turns on her heels and walks out.

"Alright, everyone," Red breaks the uncomfortable silence, "let's close up and get out of here. It's been a long fucking night." He sounds exhausted.

"He needs to go," Bethany stresses from the doorway.

"Jack, come on." Red motions for him to follow.

Jackson's eyes stay on me—watching, searching.

He has a taste for you. When the craving goes, you'll be another Kristy.

"You heard him." Bethany steps in the room, pointing to the door.

"I don't give a fuck about him, Liza." Jackson takes three strides to stand over me.

I tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

Leaning down, his hands grip the armrests. His face stops inches from mine.

"When I want something, I can be very persistent."

My eyes drop to his lips. He stands, smiling with satisfaction, a promise in his eyes.

"Jackson," Red says, his irritation evident.

"I'll be outside, snake charmer." Licking his bottom lip, he turns, leaving the room.

Exhaling, I slouch in the chair.

I have to find a way out of here without him seeing me.

"I don't know whether I should be scared for you or jealous." Bethany rights her chair before sitting.

"Scared," I respond. "Definitely scared."

Chapter Ten

Jackson

Over an hour. I've waited for over a fucking hour.

"Hey, we're closed." The flamboyant doorman tries to stop me. One look and he stays back.

Striding into the empty club, I make my way to the hidden door at the side of the stage. It swings open, causing me to jump back.

"Jackson?" Red's brow furrows, a combination of annoyance and confusion on his face.

"He's here?" Bethany squeaks, pushing by him to narrow her eyes at me.

"Where's Liza?"

Red opens his mouth, but Bethany moves in front of him.

"She's gone." She smirks. "She went home, Jackson, where she should be. The last thing she needs is another night with a lying asshole."

She snuck out the fucking back? She avoided me.

"Babe." Red's large hand clasps her shoulder.

"I'm the liar?" I snort in disbelief.

"You're also an asshole," she adds, shaking Red's hand off. "Liza's a good person. Quit fucking with her." Her arms cross over her chest.

"Mind your own fucking business," I growl, turning away.

"Leave her alone. Liza and the boys don't need your kind of shit." She throws the words at my back.

"Boys?" I spin around, anger and hurt stabbing my chest. She fucking snuck out to get away from me, to get to him, leaving me standing on a fucking curb. "Maybe the fact that he's a
boy
is why she spent the night with me. Ever think of that?"

Her mouth opens, and then closes. Brows furrowed, she looks over her shoulder to Red and back to me.

"What the hell are you talking about?" She drops her arms.

"Nothing," I snap, done with it all. "Tell her she can fucking have him. I get it and I'm nobody's bitch."

Turning, I take quick steps toward the exit.

"What are you talking about?" Bethany asks my back.

I don't stop or look back.

"Red, what's he talking about?"

The heavy metal door slams shut behind me, cutting off her grating voice. I approach the car and Sam stands from the driver's seat. Putting up a hand, I stop him.

"I’ve got it," I say, grabbing the handle and letting myself into the car. "Just get me the fuck out of here."

Reaching a hand into my pocket, I pull out the vial and open it. Empty.

"Fuck!" I toss it at the seat across from me.

Rubbing my face, I fight the urge to shout until the windows shatter. My cell vibrates against my leg, distracting me from the craving—the need.

I lift it up, reading Red's name flashing on the screen.

Yeah, just what I need. His bitch probably has him banning me from the club or some shit.

Ignoring the call, I drop the phone into the seat next to me. It vibrates again—this time, a text.

Red: We need to talk

Swiping the screen, I touch delete and rest my head back for the remainder of the ride.

I push open my hotel room door, my stash in the bathroom the only thing on my mind. Kristy's form in the dark doorway of my bedroom halts my steps.

"Are you fucking serious?" Running my shaky hands through my hair, I lick my dry lips.

"I'm willing to forgive you for tonight, but I won't forget how you embarrassed me." She steps into the light, naked. "You're going to have a lot of making up to do, though."

What did I ever find attractive about her?

She raises a fist and uncurls her fingers, a brown vial laying center palm.

"I know what you want, Jackson."

Her long fingers uncap the vial and sprinkle it over her chest.

"You just have to say you're sorry." Licking her finger, she runs it across the white powder before rubbing it on her gums. "Tell me you’re sorry and I can give you what you need, baby."

She steps forward, the powder trickling between her breasts.

I rub my hands on my jeans, but can't get them dry. I take deep breaths, but can't get enough oxygen.

Charging forward, she flinches back a little, but holds her ground.

I bury my face between her breasts and inhale before licking up to her neck.

"That's it, baby. Take what you need," she coos, her hand in my hair.

Reaching out, I grab the vial from her hand, shove her away, and leave her in the sitting room by herself.

I lock myself inside the bathroom and get three rails into my system.

"You're pathetic!" Kristy bangs on the door. "You fucking junkie!" Something smashes against the door.

One more bump and I slide down to the cool floor tile. Closing my eyes, I revel in the numbness.

Fuck Kristy and her screaming ass. To hell with Liza and her clueless man. Screw. Them. All.

Silence finally fills the air. Leaning against the sink, I reach up to the counter, grasp the vial, and bring it to me. Another hit and the shower stall slants. My face meets the cold tile with a slap. Shifting to my back, I let the numbness take possession.

"Jackson!"

Doesn't she ever go the fuck away?

"Open the door, Jackson!"

"Fuck off," I groan, pulling the blanket to my chest.

"Oh, thank God." She sounds way too relieved.
Didn't she want to kill me last night?
"Can you please open the door before hotel management gets here?" she pleads.

I bury my face in the blanket and inhale, a musty smell filling my nostrils. Shoving the blanket away, I open my eyes to the sterile, white tile bathroom. Rolling to my back, I rub my hands over my face.

"What the fuck?"

"The manager is going to be here soon," Julia pleads from the other side of the door.

Shifting my jaw, I grab the counter and pull myself up. Every muscle protests and my bones crack.

"Jackson, please—!" Opening the door silences her yell.

"Quit yelling." Yawning, I stumble by her and face plant into the bed. The smell of chemically clean linens assaults my nostrils.
Fuck, I shouldn't have let them wash away the scent of her.

"You want me to quit yelling?" she asks, incensed.

"Yeah, that'd be great." The mattress muffles my response.

"How about don't lock yourself in the bathroom with a bag full of…of whatever that is!"

"I'm out now," I mumble. "You can go tell the manager not to bother me. I'm going to take a nap."

I jolt up from a sharp pain in my shoulder blade before a decorative statue thumps to the mattress. My scowl doesn't intimidate Julia.

"You have a schedule to keep and it's my job to make sure you do. Now, get your ass out of bed, in the shower, and meet me in the sitting room for breakfast." She turns and takes three giant steps before spinning back. Pointing a finger at me, she narrows her eyes. "And stay sober." Her voice is low, threatening. "You need to get to the sound studio for meetings, listening sessions, and promo shots."

She slams the door and I wince at the sound. I roll my head to work out the stiffness and make my way to the shower.

Thirty minutes and two hits later, a still angry Julia escorts me to the studio in silence. Even when we arrive and Sam opens the door, she exits without a peep. The silence from her, a usually chatty girl, grates my nerves.

"Are you going to give me the silent treatment for—?"

"We need to go to studio room C." She keeps her eyes on her iPad.

"Julia, look—”

"We're going to be late." She steps from me and into the studio.

My eyes land on Sam, who wears a grim look. Sighing, I follow after the pissed off little pin-up.

She stops at the door and stands aside.

"Do you need anything?" she asks, her voice flat.

I stop before entering the door.

"I'm sorry about this morning."

She gives a nod and I exhale heavily before stepping into the room.

"I don't need anything," I call over my shoulder, not looking back.

Who the fuck is she to judge me? I don't need shit from her too.

"You look like hell," Gemma greets, her nose wrinkled.

"The more you deny your attraction to me, the more I know you want me." I drop into a chair beside her.

She groans. "Please, if I hear one more pathetic flirty comment, I'm going to blow chunks all over this table."

"Zarek?" I raise a brow.

"Of course," she mumbles, her eyes moving to where he sits at the other end of the table.

Not wanting to be part of that shit, I stay quiet.

"You need to take a break from the shit," Gemma whispers, her face closer than before.

"Okay, Mom." My words are a bit more bitchy than intended.

"Jackson, we're friends and you're looking worse for wear." Her hand slips over my bicep, bringing my attention to her.

She's closer than I realized, our heads only a few inches apart. Giving her a smile, I cover her small hand with mine.

"I'm fine. You have nothing to worry about."

"Maybe we should get started." Zarek's voice booms so loud, I jerk my head in his direction.

His eyes burn into Gemma and me—especially where our hands touch.

He's got it bad. Poor fucker. I know all too well how you're feeling.

Gemma and I put space between us and begin today's listening session.

The new submissions are better since they were recorded in a professional studio. We get through a fourth of the contestants—listening, discussing, critiquing, listening again, and putting together comments—before a show executive enters the room. She tells us about the upcoming processes and how we will actually be listening to live recordings next week for contestants who are able to come to this studio and another one across town. For others, we will be patched into some different studios via a live feed. We will need to break up into groups to cover them all, but will all hear the final recorded tracks eventually. This just allows us to offer immediate mentoring and feedback as they record.

Gemma and I team up to take the local studio and live feed from the Seattle Mack Productions Studio. We've both worked with Leo Mackey and his wife, Chloe, in the past. The others team up and get their assignments before we are ushered to promo shots and interviews.

Today's entertainment reporter, Perry Flores, is well known for his attempts to shock and incense his targets.

"Why the hell are they using this guy?" I grumble.

"Because they want publicity," Cheyenne states. "He has a huge following, and if you haven't noticed, this show isn't exactly taking off the way the producers had hoped."

"Really?" I'm not shocked, but surprised I hadn't already heard this news.

"Perhaps you should keep your head up instead of face down on smooth surfaces," she quips, brushing her finger under her nose.

"Excuse me?" I growl, gripping the arms of the director's chair tight.