Jett (8 page)

And now? Here he was. And he was fucking hot as hell, there was no other way to say it.  Every single time I looked at him, it took all my concentration and willpower not to undress and beg him to take me.

But this morning?  Seeing him sleeping, practically naked, the outline of his huge package straining against his underwear?  It fucking slayed me.  

Too bad he had adopted his all business attitude.  I abandoned all my fantasies, and left him sleeping to go shower.  But they time I was out, he was up making coffee.  Still in his fucking boxers.

“Hey, Mr. Professional,” I said jokingly, as I walked into the kitchen. “Maybe you should put some clothes on.”

He turned to me, smirked and ignored my comment.

“Good morning! Coffee?”

“Yeah, sure…” I replied.  “Tons of cream and sugar. Tons.”

His laughter echoed through the room.  I watched him as he moved skillfully around the kitchen.  His torso was covered in muscles that were in turn covered in tattoos - snakes, skulls, creepy monsters, even a horse on his arm, and on his back, a full piece that replicated the patch on the back of his cut - every inch of him was inked and rippling.  

“Tons? How do you keep that girlish figure?” he asked, teasingly.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I sweat buckets for about an hour and a half every night. It tends to work.”

“Yeah, good point,” he said, handing me a steaming mug with a devilish smile.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?  I need to meet with Seth this morning; I want an update on the investigation.  And I need to know several days in advance what the schedule is going to be, so I can plan ahead.  This taking things moment by moment thing isn’t going to work out for me, if I’m going to protect you properly.”

“I have an itinerary on the bus.  I appreciate you taking this all so seriously, Colt.  You seem to be the only one doing it.”

“Yeah, it appears so, doesn’t it?” he grumbled, his smile fading.  “It’s fucked up, Jett.  You should have a team of bodyguards, not just some big bear that looks like he wouldn't hurt a fly.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I replied.  He was right.  I knew it.  I had felt the same way for years, but nobody would take me seriously.  They just dismissed me, and handed me a drink, in hopes of keeping me complacent.  It usually worked.  I let it work.  Having Colt here was like wrapping a warm, fuzzy blanket around me.  

“I slept better last night than I have in days,” I said.

“I can imagine. But I’m glad to hear it, Jett,” he said, walking over to stand in front of me.  He reached up and pushed a strand of hair behind my ear as he stared down at me.  I could smell him, and since I had decided it wasn’t so gross anymore, my nipples hardened in response.

“Listen, you don’t have to worry anymore.  Nobody is getting close to you again, I promise.  Not as long as I’m around.”

“Thank you,” I whispered gratefully.  

“You’re welcome,” he replied, turning away from me.  My eyes slid down to his muscular ass, the white cotton of his boxer shorts draped across it.  I wondered if I’d ever get a chance to unveil it, touch it, feel the muscles move under my fingertips.

I sipped my coffee, watching him, and I sighed heavily.

“I need to do some shopping this morning,” I said, trying to bring myself out of my fantasy.  “You’re coming with me.”

“Shopping. My favorite thing,” he replied, sarcastically.

I walked towards my bedroom, calling to him over my shoulder.

“I’ll pack. You should put some clothes on, before I rip those boxers off of you.”

He chuckled without replying, and I shook my head as I closed the bedroom door, flopping onto my bed in exasperation.  

By the time I came back out, he was fully dressed.  Jeans, black t-shirt, his leather cut again, his tattoos on full-display.  Fuck.  He almost looked better in clothes than he did out of them.  Almost.

“Do you have to wear that everywhere?” I asked.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” he answered without hesitation.

“Okay, if you say so,” I replied.  I didn’t really care, it was sexy, actually.  And I knew it unnerved Rex, so it secretly delighted me.  “Sam just called.  The limo is waiting outside.  We’ve got three hours to do some shopping and get back to the bus.”

“Right on, whatever,” he said.  I watched as he picked up his gun from the table, and put it into the back of his waistband. When he saw me watching him, he shrugged.  “You can never be too prepared, Jett.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said.  Why couldn’t I just be normal? I yearned for a normal life that didn’t include crazy people and the need for guns to protect me from them.

Now, walking down the boulevard, having Colt by my side, I was simultaneously still yearning for that, and yet thankful that I had a reason to call him.  

“I’m never going to find anything remotely like what I’m looking for.  Let’s go have lunch,” I said, ready to give up.  “I still can’t believe Sam lost my fucking jacket.”

“Lunch sounds a whole lot better than this shit,” he replied.  “Shopping sucks.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…I know.” I replied, pulling him down the sidewalk to a burger joint I saw earlier.  “Let’s get you a burger, big guy.”

“Men gotta eat, Jett.  I’m a man.”

I laughed, my nipples hardening once again as I remembered the package I saw between his legs while he was sleeping earlier.

“Yeah, I saw that,” I agreed teasingly.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

“I need you to tell me everything you know,” I said to the annoying little man sitting in front of me on Jett’s tour bus as we drove to the next town.  I had insisted Seth ride with us, instead of following in his own bus behind us.  I couldn’t believe he needed his own fucking bus, but maybe it was Jett that needed her own bus.  I couldn’t imagine wanting to be in this asshole’s company more than necessary.

“I don’t know much, to tell you the truth.  The police haven’t told me anything.  When Jett found the note, we called the cops.  They came and fingerprinted the room, but they didn’t find anything.”

“What about security cameras in the hotel?”

“They only have them in the lobby.  No cameras on the penthouse floor. Celebrities hate them. Any hotel worker could sell them and make a fortune.  Nobody wants the public to know who they’ve invited to their room.  Especially Jett,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“So how the fuck did this guy even now where she was?” I asked, ignoring the jab he made at her. “Why isn’t the fact of where she is staying on any given night kept confidential?”

“Colt, I don’t think you understand how the entertainment business works.  If Jett doesn’t get publicity, she will wither away into oblivion.  People only remember the last thing they saw.  She has to stay out there, she has to be in the public eye.  It’s the nature of the game.  Fans love her.  They want to be her.  They want to be near her.  That’s just how it goes.  You take that away, and Jett doesn’t exist.”

“She doesn’t exist? What the fuck kind of attitude is that? She’s a fucking human being!”

“I know that, Colt!  But she’s also a star.  And stars have to give up their anonymity…and their privacy…or it doesn’t work.  If people aren’t lining up outside her hotel, then they won’t line up to buy tickets to her shows.  It’s a game we’re forced to play.”

“Whatever, fine.  That still doesn’t explain how this fucker got into her room.  How did he know what room she was in?  Did he just walk up to the front desk and ask?”

“We always use a fake name for Jett when she checks in at every hotel.  Anna Silver.”

“So, you use the same name for every city?”

“Yes. But it’s not made public, obviously.  Only her immediate team is aware of it.”

“Well, maybe you should change it every time.  Obviously, there’s a leak.”

“There’s not a leak.  And we can’t change it, that would involve entirely too much work.  We have reservations made in advance for the next several months.  It would be impossible to change it now.

“Not impossible.  Just too much work for you, right, Seth?”  I was disgusted by this guy.  Obviously, he cared not one bit about Jett or her safety. “Did you ever think to put her in a different, less obvious room? Like, just maybe, this fucking Crazy Jack, might be intelligent enough to know that she’s staying in the goddamned penthouse every time?”

“If Jett stayed anywhere else, once again, the media would hear of it, and then they would wonder if her career was failing.  We have to keep up appearances, Colt.”

“This is fucking ridiculous.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” 

I wanted to punch him so badly.  I wanted to break those stupid glasses and shove them up his ass.  Was he really such a great manager that Jett couldn’t find someone else better? Someone who could do the job and still find a way to keep her safe?

No fucking wonder she called me.  

“Look, Jett gave me a copy of her schedule for the next several weeks. Now, I need you to give me a complete report on everything this Crazy Jack has done so far, and where he’s shown up.  I want to know where she’s playing, and where’s she staying and any other engagements she has.  I’m taking over as head of security.  If you have a fucking problem with that, then it’s too bad. Whatever you’ve been doing up till now hasn’t worked.  From now on, you can consider Jett’s safety my responsibility.”

“You can’t —,”

“Watch me,” I said, interrupting him before he could even begin protesting.  This little weasel of a man wasn’t going to put Jett at risk ever again. 

Not if I could help it.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

I put on the long, black wig, adjusting it in the mirror until it was perfect.  Jett’s MAC lipstick was the perfect shade of whore red, and I spread it across my lips, smacking them together the same way I had seen my mother do when she was getting to ready to go out every single night of my childhood.  Her eerie red smile was always the last thing I’d see before she locked me in that dark shed.

I have to make some money
, she would say.  But I knew what she was doing.  She would come home after dawn, after I had shivered all night in the darkness waiting for her, giggling to herself and smelling like a vile mixture of sweat and aftershave once she finally brought me in to bed and kissed me goodnight.  Her red whore lipstick would be smeared across her face, her mascara in clumps on her eyelids.  

It was disgusting.  I would have left, but I had nowhere to go.  No father to complain to.  Just me and my whore mother, for better or worse. And it always got worse.

After a while, she began bringing her tricks home, and instead of silently waiting for her to return, I was left there all night, or brought inside and forced to lie there trying to find away to muffle the sounds of their hideous moaning and whimpering.   The headboard pounding against the wall my room shared with hers.  No amount of pillows over my head would do the job.