Managed: A VIP Novel Part 28

It is perverse. Stinks of privilege. Blood splatters stark against white leather walls.

I don't give a s.h.i.t about them. All I need is the pain.

The man before me is a Spaniard, long and lean and fast. My mind morphs his appearance. He's a cameraman, stocky and bloated, and hitting Sophie.

I promised I wouldn't retaliate. She made me promise not to hurt him.

I won't. But this man here? He wants the fight.

All the rage, all the helpless f.u.c.king frustration builds, growing tighter, stronger. Anger goes cold and silent.

My fist connects with fleshy meat and bone. That's another kind of pain, a bright, clean release.

Again, again. Controlled hits. Punch to face, knee to kidneys, elbow to jaw.

Sweaty, hot skin, metallic blood. Solid flesh giving under my knuckles. I revel in it.

There is a point in fighting at which you are no longer a man. You become a machine. No more thinking, just reacting, giving yourself up to muscle memory and technique.

We grapple, locking up and breaking away. He stumbles back before charging.

A roundhouse kick, taking him on the jaw, ends the fight.

My opponent falls back and hits the floor with a slap.

He remains down, chest heaving, head lolling.

Cheers erupt. They break me out of my haze and irritate my ears.

I stand, breath sawing in and out. My body throbs, burns. It is pure and real, as close as I can get to the release I truly want.

No one comes near me; they know better by now.

Someone helps my opponent up.

My gaze goes to the windows, where the night is black ink and gold stars. Sophie isn't here anymore. She's headed to Rome.

Already I feel her absence in my soul, a tear that won't mend. I'm battered and bleeding. I'll have to stay away for days. The tear within me grows bigger. I ignore the feeling. I need time anyway. To regroup and calm down.

"Scottie, mi hombre hermoso, another win for me, si?" Carmen smiles up at me, blood red lips, glossy raven hair. "Ah, but I have missed seeing you fight. I'd forgotten how coldly you play your game. Come." Gold-tipped nails glide up my arm. "I have a room ready. Shall we?"

l.u.s.t and antic.i.p.ation lower her lids as she looks me over, her gaze lingering on my bare chest. Subtlety was never Carmen's style.

I move away from her touch. "A cab is all I require."

Pouting, she snaps her fingers, and a woman comes forth.

"Teresa will take you to a room where you can change back into your suit." Now that she's been denied, Carmen is all business. I appreciate that about her. "And your winnings?"

"Make the usual donations."

A thin smile pulls at her lips. "To battered women's shelters. You, mi amigo, have a perverse sense of humor."

Sophie thinks I'm a goof. I miss her. I need her. I can't go back to looking like this. "So they tell me. Buenas noches, Carmen. I won't be returning tomorrow."

I head out into the darkness and back to my hotel. But I won't be sleeping.

Chapter Eighteen.

Sophie

Throwing a party on Gabriel's coach is akin to being in high school and having your friends over when your parents are out of town. At least if feels that way.

The guys, Libby, Jules, and Brenna enter with caution, looking around as if Gabriel might pop out and scold them at any second.

"You are one b.a.l.l.sy chick," Killian tells me, bringing in a cooler full of beer. "I like it."

"I have Daddy's permission," I say with an eye roll.

"Keep telling yourself that." Jax takes a seat and grabs a handful of chips. "You don't even have coasters out. There will be h.e.l.l to pay." His smile is wide, as if this pleases him greatly.

And then I realize, they want to get caught. Because they want Gabriel here too. Oh, they love teasing him, but they're happier when he's around. Why can't he see that?

Brenna hauls in a karaoke machine, and Rye helps her set it up. "I don't know why I agreed to bring this," she tells me. "It's a completely uneven playing field."

"We'll go easy on you, Bren," Rye promises with a wink.

"Going easy on us won't help," I tell him. But I'm happy they're here. The coach is filled with laughter, chatter, and the warmth of bodies-a far cry from the cold and silent place it had become when I was alone. Doesn't stop the pervasive ache in my chest, though. I miss him.

But I'm not even going to utter his name in my head any more. Out of sight, out of mind, out of heart. It has to work.

"I have this app," Brenna says as she curls up on the couch next to me. "It gives you a category, and you have to choose a song that fits."

"Okay." Rye takes a long pull of beer. "I'm ready. Hit it."

Brenna taps a b.u.t.ton on her phone, and we all crane our necks to see. I'm too far away, but Brenna starts cackling as Jax and Killian groan. She holds up the phone and announces, "Yo! MTV Raps."

"How convenient," Killian drawls, giving Brenna a look I can't interpret. She avoids his gaze with a little sniff.

"f.u.c.kin' A," Rye says with a chest thump. "I will slay ya'll motherf.u.c.kers."

Jax blows a raspberry while making a j.e.r.k.-.o.f.f. motion with his hand. "Sure you will."

"You quake in terror, JJ."

"Aren't you the wannabe JJ?" he counters. And I bite back a laugh because Rye kind of does look like the linebacker, JJ Watt.

Rye gives him the finger before rubbing his hands together. "Okay, okay, this is gonna be good." He glances around the room. "I'm picking Whip as my musical backup, and Jax, since you've been so encouraging, you're with me on vocals."

Jax makes a pained expression. "h.e.l.l."

Rye nods. "We'll go against Killian and Libby."

Brenna settles down next to me. "He's up to something good."

"You know it, babe." Rye winks at her.

Brenna flinches as if he'd pinched her instead before she's back to her easy demeanor. "Well, get on with it."

"Run-D.M.C.'s version of 'Walk this Way'."

Everyone starts laughing.

Killian grabs his guitar. "I get it. Libby and I are singing Aerosmith's part, right? Because someone thinks he can rap."

"Knows, Killian. Not think, knows." Rye takes a mic and glances at Whip. "You good with the beat? Or are we using the karaoke machine?"

"You're seriously asking me that?" he scoffs. He's only got his small electric drum kit, but he's already messing with it. "Don't p.i.s.s me off, Ryland."

"Instruments it is," Rye answers easily.

"This is going to be so good," Libby says, her eyes bright. She doesn't seem to be the type to get excited over trying to mimic Aerosmith, but she's clearly in her element.

She and Killian put their heads together to plan, and the guys do the same in their corner.

"You know we're next," Brenna says to me.

I laugh a little. "I was terrified when I thought I'd have to sing in front of these guys. Because screeching cats is an understatement."

Brenna grins. "So annoying, isn't it? When they make it look effortless?"

"Daunting as h.e.l.l," I agree. "But rapping? Ha. I can rap."

She raises one perfectly plucked brow, and I feel a twinge of heartache. That look reminds me of Gabriel. His brows are thick and imposing, but he and Brenna both have that elegant way of expressing themselves with a simple look.

"Most people would be more afraid to rap," she says.

"Eh, it's all about owning it. Besides, I had a babysitter who loved hip-hop. This is literally the music of my childhood."

Brenna grins suddenly and leans in close. "I love hip-hop too. Which is why I totally rigged the game to choose that."

"You evil genius," I say with a gasp.

Her grin goes wider before she gets it under control. "I'm pretty sure Killian is on to me."

So that's what the look was about. I don't mention that Rye seems very pleased by Brenna's pick as well, as if she's done him a favor too.

"I thought you'd be freaking out," Brenna says, eyeing me.

"Now you know better." I give her a nudge on the shoulder with my own.

She nudges back. "If Scottie hadn't already claimed you, I just might."

I drop right out of my happy place, and clearly my expression shows it because Brenna winces. Thankfully I don't have to hear any awkward apology or deflated ego soothing. Whip starts up with a beat.

Killian begins to play the guitar, and they're on.

Brenna and I squeal with glee as Jax and Rye begin to rap RUN-D.M.C.'s lyrics. I expected Rye to own it, but not Jax. We can't stop laughing, but we lose it when Libby-not Killian-takes up Steven Tyler's part, making her voice screechy and throaty just like Aerosmith's legendary singer.

Killian is grinning so wide, I think he might strain he cheeks. But his playing is on point.

I've always wanted to live a life less ordinary, see the world in a way few others have. And I know I'm not alone in that desire. Who wouldn't want to escape the mundane? Yet, I've always known I was ordinary. Not in a bad way, but I was simply Sophie Darling: mostly happy, likes people, has a talent for taking snapshots of daily life. Nothing amazing. I tried to soak up the excitement of fame by being an entertainment journalist. But that only left me feeling tainted and foul.

I'm not certain where my future lies. But I'm here now, living this life. And it is extraordinary. I have one of the best rock bands on Earth singing karaoke for me. Even better? They're my friends, these funny, talented, generous people. They like me, past wrongs and all.

I soak in the moment, laughing and watching them dance around. And yet, there's a cold spot along my back, in the center of my chest, that won't go away. I yearn for the one man who isn't here, who left me behind.

It hurts, and I have to swallow down the pain, my smile too brittle.

The song finishes, and they're all giving happy high fives, while Brenna and I wolf whistle and cheer.

Whip plops down next to me, a sheen of sweat shining on his brow. He flicks a lock of inky hair back from his face and smiles. "That's gonna be hard to top."

"Show off," I tell him, nerves fluttering in my belly. I know the song Brenna and I chose by heart. Still, I have to perform it in front of these freaking music virtuosos.

"No stalling," Rye says, sitting on the other side of me. "It's your turn now."

Brenna stands up and smoothes her skirt, taking a mic from him. "We're doing 'Shoop'."

Everyone cheers, and I rise on unsteady legs. Libby hands me her mic.