White-hot rage flashed behind my eyes, and I didn’t think; I just reacted. My hand shot out, and I snagged the photographer’s shirt, dragged him to his feet, and slammed his back against the car. His camera went flying, and I caught it mid-air.
My hand went to his throat, and I collared him with it. “You a fuckin’ pervert?” I snarled, getting in his face. “You a fucking peeper?” I dragged him from the car and threw him to the ground, watching as he stumbled and went down face-first. I shoved Saint behind my back to protect her from the photographers, who were going crazy as their bulbs flashed, and the shouts became deafening.
Saint grabbed my arm, and she urged, “Jacob. Let’s go.”
Clasping my girl’s shoulder, I crowded her between my body and the car, pulling the door open before growling, “Get in, but do it carefully.”
Her eyes were wide with fear, and she nodded, her bottom lip trembling as she perched her ass on the back seat and swung her legs inside while making sure to keep them closed.
I slid in after her, leaning across to swing the door shut behind me, giving us instant relief from the flashes of the cameras and the loud shouts from the paps.
Saint pressed herself back against the leather seat, her chest rising and falling with panicked breaths and her eyes wide with disbelief. “What the fuck?” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I haven’t got any underwear on.”
My hand went to her neck, where I could see her pulse fluttering, and I stroked my thumb across it, trying to soothe her. “They’re fuckin’ vultures,” I ground out. “That sick fuck was almost laid out trying to fucking upskirt you.”
Her hand rested on mine, which still stroked across her throat. “I know,” she replied quietly. “Thank you. If he’d have gotten a shot of me bare...” Her voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes. “They sell them to porn sites, Jacob.”
Something primal in me rose up, and I pulled Saint closer, trying to comfort her. “I’ll call Kennedy,” I assured her. “She’ll sue his ass into next year.”
“Who’s Kennedy?” she asked.
I stroked Saint’s hair back from her face. “She’s an ol’ lady at my old chapter in Wyoming. Ned’s also a lawyer and a shark.”
“The guy may try to sue you, too,” Saint relayed, her voice taking on a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ll call Talia now and get her on it.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I told her. “You’re the one that asshole tried to fucking violate. What the fuck was all that about? Does it happen a lot?”
“The premieres and organized events are more controlled because the photographers are cordoned off,but it’s still crazy. It’s the paps outside the nightclubs who are the worst, though. They’re not regulated, so anyone can pick up a camera and follow me around, and there’s nothing I can do about it, legally or otherwise.”
I could feel Saint’s frustration and hear the resignation in her voice.
My chest tightened as my thoughts flashed back to that asshole on the ground, trying to violate my woman’s privacy and her body.
I’d been to LA before and had experienced how fucking sinister this town could be, but I never understood what a vulnerable position women like Saint were in with something as simple as going to an event.
What just happened was sick. That so-called photographer should’ve been on a fucking sex offenders register. Did he have a wife and kids? How would he have felt if somebody tried to do that shit to his daughter?
No woman should have to endure that bullshit. It was a stark reminder of the nasty shit that lurked behind the glitz and glamor of fame, and it made me realize exactly how much danger Saint and other women in the industry were in.
If something as simple as being photographed could result in that kind of abusive shit, I could only imagine how deeply being stalked must have affected her on the daily. Could you fucking imagine walking out of a nightclub or restaurant and having some guy get on his knees trying to get pictures of your fucking private parts?
Jesus.
The peal of my ringtone filled the car. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, saw who it was, and clicked to answer the call.
Saint’s gaze darted toward me when I greeted, “Talia.”
“Can’t I leave you alone for five fucking minutes?” she screeched.
Pulling the cell away from my ear, I clicked the cell onto speakerphone and replied, “You could try leaving me alone for a few hours. Me and Saint need some sleep.”
“Well, that’s gonna be impossible, seeing as there are videos of you all over social fucking media having an altercation with the paparazzi. The fucks I give are negligible, Jacob. You could drag every one of those asswipes into a street full of speeding Mack trucks for all I care, but what Idocare about is that you don’t do it on goddamned camera. The pictures and videos are everywhere.”
“You’re shitting me,” I muttered, glancing at Saint, whose face was starting to twist. “That fucking pap was trying to upskirt her, Tally. He was on the fucking ground trying to snap up her dress, for God’s sake. He’s a goddamned perv.”
Talia sighed loudly. “I get it. The paparazzi are assholes when they do that, but you can’t beat every photographer up who goes over-the-top trying to get a shot. I’m sure Saint doesn’t want her panties plastered all over the World Wide Web, but better that than you in jail. Who’d protect her if you were behind bars? I’m not saying you have to let them get away with it; I’m saying, in the future, we go through legal channels. The record company has a law firm on retainer; it’s about time we gave them something to do.”
Saint let out a humorless laugh. “I wasn’t wearing underwear, Talia.”
