A Twist of Love Read online

  A Twist of Love

  Book 2 in the Adrenaline Series

  Callie Bardot

  Sumner McKenzie, Inc.

  Published by Sumner McKenzie, Inc.

  Ebook Edition

  Copyright ©2018 Callie Bardot

  All Rights Reserved.

  * * *

  License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people, but it can be lent according to the retailer’s coding. If you would like to give this book to another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to an online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  About the Author

  To people everywhere, especially those who struggle to find their inner beauty. It’s in there, I know it! To my editor, Tina Winograd, for her support and editing. To the Official Sweetie Pie, as always, for loving and supporting me. And to Ron, just because.

  Chapter 1

  The second the song ended, Gia wanted to blur into some hyper-speed cartoon superhero and race offstage, away from the packed auditorium. Her sticks danced across the drumheads, as she sped toward the final note of the song and the maddening crash-landing into reality. She willed herself to stay in the magic of the moment for one last drum roll.

  Lifting her drumstick, she let it collide on the cymbal with a resounding, metallic clash. Then, she glanced at the dark, welcoming side-stage, eager to make an exit and escape the nerve-wracking din of applause. The crowd’s claps and appreciation always felt like a ton of bricks being thrown at her. But, she had to wait for the fucking encore.

  I never do encores.

  The last note of Marked Love’s lead singer Dante Vega’s latest pantie-melting song, Sweat, seemed to linger in the air, taunting her.

  Come on, come on, come on. Let’s get this over with.

  The sea of bodies, cupped inside a colossal arena, held their collective breath. Gia doubted anyone wanted the song to end—not the band, not the audience, not even the roadies or security guards. No one except for her: “Ms. Styx” Swain, Marked Love’s drummer. She wanted to race off-stage—now. When she sat at her drum kit, she could immerse herself in music. Offstage was another matter. Every day she fought to keep painful memories at bay. Actually, it’s no fight at all. It only takes a couple of shots of vodka. She chuckled.

  Getting to her feet, she cringed as the deafening roar of twenty-thousand screaming fans began to clap, shriek, holler, and scream for more, more, more. These were not the smaller, more intimate venues of a year or so back. No. They were booked from now into infinity in mega-auditoriums.

  As far as she could see, lighters and mobile phones illuminated the arena. People’ stretched their arms overhead and swayed back and forth like stupid palm trees in the wind.

  Dante ate the attention up. He stood with his hands high, bathing in the glory of the fans’ adoration. Gesturing with his palms to keep the applause coming, he rocked his hips. He waggled his tongue in a show of cunnilingus prowess, and the women went fucking nuts.

  Keys and Heat, the keyboardist and bass player, wrapped an arm around one another’s shoulders in solidarity. No doubt they were sizing up the front row, seeking the eyes and boobs of tonight’s chosen hotties for a fuck fest.

  Gia wanted to give the crowd a two-handed middle-finger salute and run for the back room. She had every intention of deep-throating Jack Daniels, swirling his liquid heat between her cheeks. Then, she’d let him burn a fiery path down her throat. And that was only for starters.

  Instead, she woodenly stood and waved her drumsticks about, prompted by Dante’s backward glance.

  He said volumes with that glance. He’d been giving it to her more and more lately. It said, “Get your shit together.” It screamed, “Do your part for the band.” It yelled, “If you don’t fucking shape up, I’m going to...”

  To what? Fire me? I’m essential. She and Heat provided the backbone for Dante and his Magic Mouth—a ridiculous nickname if ever she heard one--to soar. She was good and she knew it. I pushed Dante to start the fucking band. But the crowds... The crowds made her shrink inside. All the screaming, shrieking adoration of millions of fans who knew jack-shit about her gave her nightmares. If they only knew what I’ve done. They’d probably throw things at me, not scream and cheer. She pushed back the guilt that did constant backflips in her stomach.

  Panties, bras, and other unmentionables flew onstage.

  Dante, a mind-numbingly handsome man, picked up a lacy pink bra, hooked it over his finger, and twirled it.

  “Is that for me?” he purred into the microphone. His dark hair glimmered with red, pink, and gold highlights from the stage lights.

  Gia watched him, bored, via the colossal monitors placed strategically throughout the arena.

  The dumb-ass girl who threw it looked like she’d faint.

  “Yes,” she screamed.

  “Nice. “How about these?” He picked up some satiny panties.

  “Those are from me!” another woman shouted, hands cupped around her too-big, collagen-infused lips.

  Dante waggled his eyebrows. Then, he dragged two of his fingers along his tongue. He lowered his hand and mimicked stroking them between the thighs of a willing woman.

  The crowd screamed.

  As if inspiration had struck hard, his eyebrows lifted. He stretched the panties between his fingers and pretended to lick the crotch.

  The audience roared.

  I hope you wash your hands, dude, Gia thought with a snort. You’ve got that ho’s skank smell all over your hand and Kennedy won’t like that.

  “I’ll see you later,” he said to the girl, giving her a saucy wink.

  No, you won’t. You’ll go home to your wife. Not hang with your former best friend. Shit. Gia sniffed back a “poor me” thought and ran her hand through her short hair. Earlier today she’d had it dyed red and blue. Her stylist even managed a white star in the back.

  When Dante strode off-stage, that was everyone’s cue to exit stage left. Encore over. Time for lights out. She lowered her drumsticks from her overhead wave, fumbled, and dropped one of them. As she bent down to retrieve it, a guy in the front row caught her eye.

  He had a million hoops on one ear. His spikey blond hair with black roots probably took hours to look just right.

  The edges of her lips curved in a smile. He’s cute. He flashed her a seductive grin. Then, he slung his arm over the shoulders of the girl on his right. French-kissed her, his pink tongue evident, while giving Gia a side-eyed glance.

  Yeah, I see you. Gia cocked her head like a bird and studied the pair. She thought about the crew of friends waiting to party with them backstage on their last night in London.

  Dante, ever the generous leader of the band, had flown their friends’ Zander King, his girl Trisha, his personal assistant Mia, and Zander’s main man Kent out to attend the show.

  Zand
er, a billionaire, world class rock climber, and all-around nice guy, as well as a part-time neighbor of Dante’s in the chic-chic streets of Manhattan’s upper east side, ran a successful high-end adventure gear business. When he wasn’t in New York, Zander called Seattle home. He often took the band along on adventures, as long as they were easy enough so Keys and Heat didn’t wet their pants. Plus, having him and his crew around to party with was like having family around.

  Dante had even brought over Damien, his younger brother and one of Gia’s favorite people on the planet. She always loved hanging out with Dante’s quirky brother. Still, Gia thought, chewing on her lip as she eyed the kissing couple. Needs are needs. Besides, my former best bud Dante never has time for me now that he’s married to Kennedy. Bile churned in her insides, thinking how she’d lost her best friend to Kennedy Swift, the world renowned “tiger whisperer.” Her gut clenched with jealousy, making her feel all kinds of stupid.

  Secretly, she envied the depth of love Dante had found with Kennedy. In fact, part of the glue-bond between her and Dante prior to Kennedy had been their inability to manifest any kind of satisfaction in relationships.

  But Dante had found love, big time. Gia simply gave up; certain it wasn’t in the cards for her. Standing at her drums, staring at the couple, she sighed.

  The guy came up for air. Both he and his girlfriend looked at her expectantly, as if they’d auditioned for a major part.

  They’re both cute. And I could use the distraction. Too many emotions swirling through my insides. Gia tossed her head in the direction of the back door.

  The guy gave her a lift of his chin in acknowledgment.

  And tonight’s dessert is served. Gia’s mood brightened as she strode off-stage.

  A few hours later, Gia lay in a hotel bed with the spiked-hair guy and his woman from the concert.

  “Damn,” the guy said. “This was the best. Hand me my cigs, honey. And the scotch.”

  He lay in the middle, between Gia and the sappy brunette. His spent cock rested in the crease between his thigh and his hip.

  Gia eyed it moodily. It wasn’t that great.

  “Hand me the bottle before you give it to him,” she said to the brunette. She didn’t bother to log in either of their names because she’d never see them again. Not if I can help it.

  The dark-haired woman lit the Marlboro between her lips. She took a long drag before passing it to spike-hair. Then, she leaned across him and passed the Johnnie Walker to Gia.

  “Here you go,” she said in a lilting soprano, like a good little puppy dog girlfriend.

  Gia sat up, untangling herself from the mess of white sheets, and threw her long legs over the side, her back facing them both. When she was done, she pivoted her head and extended the bottle toward the guy. “Your turn.”

  The brunette eyed the artful tats strategically placed on Gia’s body. “Love your ink. This one’s a little disturbing, but...” She reached over and fingered the spider image crawling along Gia’s neck...let her fingers stroke the spider’s filament trail to the big web on Gia’s back, right behind her heart.

  “Thanks,” said Gia.

  “What does it mean?” the brunette asked.

  She took the bottle handed her by the guy. “Why does everything have to mean something?” Gia said. “Maybe it’s just something to catch my heart should it fall out. You know—from lack of use.”

  A wan smile flickered on her face like a light bulb about to die. Hefting the nearly empty bottle, she poured a generous swig down her throat.

  She could feel spiked-hair staring at her.

  “What?” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

  “You’re a wildcat, you know that?” He gave Gia’s ass a squeeze. “Let’s do this again.”

  “Nah,” Gia said, turning back to the bottle. “I don’t do encores.”

  Both the bleached-blond guy and the brunette grew quiet.

  Gia stared at the ceiling, reeling in her annoyance.

  “Look,” she said, twisting to face them. She rested her hand on the guy’s hairy thigh. “That came out wrong. You’re both fun. I had a blast,” she lied, “but we hit the road in the morning.”

  She put her hands in front of her face as if she held a camera, a hobby she used to love. “Click,” she said, pressing the imaginary shutter. “There. I took a picture.” She pretended to wave it and blow on it, like drying a Polaroid photo, then held out the imaginary picture. “Take it. It’s yours.”

  He scoffed. “Where you headed next?” spiked-hair said. He placed the smoldering tobacco stick in the ashtray on the bed-stand.

  Gia stopped from shaking her head, forcing a cheerful smile instead.

  “We fly back to the states. Take a few weeks off before prepping for our holiday finale. Let’s just let the amazing memory linger and call it good, okay?” She doubted she’d remember a thing. Attempting polite, she leaned across the guy to kiss the brunette. Then, she lowered her head to spiked-hair and gave him a long, deep kiss.

  “Mm,” he said. “You’re the best kisser ever.”

  The woman looked like she was going to burst into tears.

  What a tool. Gia shrugged sympathetically at the woman. But then...neither of them can kiss worth shit.

  “Do it like this, sweetheart,” she said to the woman. She leaned forward, lips parted, and slanted her face. She tapped her lips. “Two-minute lesson, okay?”

  The woman nodded eagerly, her brown eyes bright.

  She looked at spiked-hair. “Take notes, stud,” she said. “This is for both of you.”

  His eyes were pinned to every move. Gia knew she didn’t need to encourage him further.

  “First, you nibble,” Gia said. She gently suckled the woman’s lips. “You go in easy. It’s seduction at first. A dance. A tentative exploration.” She nuzzled the woman’s nose. “Then, you add a little tongue...just a tease.” She let the tip gently trace the woman’s lips. “This part is the preparation part,” she said. “Do it with finesse, got it?”

  They both nodded.

  Spiked-hair’s cock was already standing at attention.

  “You don’t want to go in all sloppy like a Golden Retriever, right?” She hooked her palm behind the woman’s neck. “It’s only when they’re moist and juicy—that’s when you deepen the kiss.”

  She let her mouth open over the brunette’s lips. Plunged her tongue inside and tangled it with her willing partner’s. When she pulled back, the woman’s eyes were hooded...feverish.

  The guy lay blinking like he’d been hit with a truck. One hand pumped his shaft.

  Gia laughed. “Okay, kids. Carry on with the lesson.”

  “Come on. One more,” the guy whined like he really was a Golden Retriever.

  “Nuh-uh,” Gia said. “I need to get back to the hotel while I still have a few brain cells left.”

  She eyed the empty beer bottles and the half-filled flask of whiskey they’d consumed earlier. Forced herself not to take another swallow. Then, feeling like she’d accomplished something huge by not taking the last drink, she dressed and sauntered unsteadily out the door.

  Sitting behind the wheel of the rented Land Rover, her head throbbed. Her vision swam.

  “Fuck me. I’m fucked up.” She blinked hard. She rooted around on the floor for the water bottle she’d left somewhere in this frigging truck, found it, and drained it dry. Then, she gunned the engine, blinked a few more times to clear her gaze, and focused on maneuvering onto the road.

  Navigating the streets, her hands clenched the wheel. I’ve got this, no problem.

  When her phone buzzed, she assumed it was Dante, checking up on her.

  “Just a minute, Mr. Keep-Tabs-on-Gia,” she said. “I can’t find my phone.”

  She spied the flashing display on the floorboards.

  Carol calling, it said.

  “What the...” She squinted at the phone display. “Not going to answer that one. Not again. You can go fuck yourself, Carol.”


  A horn blared.

  She looked up. Her heart immediately began to gallop as she stared at the oncoming car. She swerved to avoid it, barely missed scraping the bumper, and then righted her vehicle. But then she realized her over-correction. Her eyes widened with terror at the rapidly approaching tree-trunk like structure. The Land Rover collided with a telephone pole in a horrifying explosion of solid object meeting solid object--only she wasn’t nearly as solid.

  Chapter 2

  Something made repetitive, extremely annoying sounds. Bleep. Bleep. Bleep. Whoosh. Bleep. Bleep. Bleep. Whoosh.

  Gia groaned, squeezing her eyes tighter. Fucking foreign alarm clocks.

  “She’s awake,” someone said.

  “Thank fuck,” someone else said.

  Dante? And Keys?

  Gia tried to wrap her brain around why those two would be in her suite at the Four Seasons Park Lane. Did we party together last night? She kept her eyes shut, unwilling to see them before she could remember what happened. We had our last show in London. At the O2. Sold-out crowd. Murky images surfaced. Something about a guy with bleached hair and a girl...a brunette. And then a big, black hole of nothing.

  “Hey, honey,” a female voice said. “You with us?”

  A warm hand gave her arm a gentle squeeze. Mia! Zander’s personal assistant.

  Zander’s crew had started out as Dante’s friends, but Gia had formed an alliance with skinny chick Mia. They were kind of a matching set in attitude and spunk, although Mia had far more glam-style than Gia. From what she could tell from the voices, they were all in her room. Holy hell, how many people are in here and why?