“So, this is the chick?” Spike did a once-over, scanning her from head to toe and dismissing her just as quickly.
The man with the curly black hair stepped beside Spike. Bent’s eyes narrowed with disdain. “What’s the chick’s name?” Bent’s gruff tone made her feel inconsequential and unwanted.
Tension coiled in Ash’s body as the glowing reactions she knew he had hoped for failed to materialize.
She sucked in a breath and thrust out her hand, hoping to salvage something of this meeting. Courtesy demanded they shake, and she hoped they would relax amid the common greeting. “Hi, I’m Skye.”
Bent’s eyes cut to her hand, but he didn’t move to take it. His attention focused instead on Ash, something like a threat smoldering in his expression.
She refused to allow them to intimidate her. She’d seen far scarier in the back bay of her emergency department, strong men posturing who would crumble when she stitched up their wounds. She took a step forward, and purposefully reached down to clasp Bent’s hand, forcing the issue.
With her best smile, she shook, using an exaggerated up and down motion. “You must be Bent?”
Spike’s lower lip curved into a smile, lifting the three silver rings.
Bent’s eyes rounded with surprise, but she released his limp hand before he could respond. She then extended her hand to Spike. “And you must be Spike.”
Spike took her hand with a snicker to Bent. “I remember you now. You’re the hellcat from that coffee shop.”
“I wouldn’t call myself a hellcat.” She laughed. “Crazy maybe, depending on the day.”
He smiled. “Well, that is to be determined. We didn’t think much of it when Ash took off to return your bag. At least, not until he came back, all bloodied up. I’m thinking there’s a story to be told.”
She returned Spike’s smile. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“No maybe about it, considering you got him to marry you.” Bent crossed his arms with accusation and stared down his nose, as if he’d solved some great mystery.
Noodles edged Bent out of the way. “No fucking way.” His mouth gaped. “She’s the one?” He slugged Ash in the arm. “What the hell, man?”
Ash’s face darkened several shades of red, turning purple with anger. “Be careful what you say about mywife.”
Wife? Seriously?It was nice for him to stick up for her, but it wasn’t necessary. Not against these men.
“We’re kind of still sorting that mess out,” she offered.
Noodles held up his hands and backed away. “She’s the one the song’s about, isn’t she? ‘Insanity’? And what about ‘Hunting Waterfalls’? That one about her, too? She’s become your fucking muse?”
“I’m standing right here,” she reminded him.
Ash gave a sharp jerk of his chin.
The one who seemed to want to bash her head in finally descended the air stairs and joined Ash’s friends.
Bash’s fingers curled, tightening into an aggressive display. “At least your songwriting hasn’t suffered, fucktard.”
She stepped to the side, worried about how things seemed to be escalating out of control.
“Shame you were thinking with your dick instead of your head.” Bash shoved Ash. “What the fuck were you thinking, letting her trick you like that?” Another shove, and Ash was forced back a step.
Inserting herself between Ash and his friend didn’t seem like the best idea, but doing nothing felt wrong, too. His other bandmates—Noodles, Bent, and Spike—stepped back.
“What the fuck?” The color of Bash’s face matched the same purple hue of Ash’s skin. “She got you smoking? Drinking? You shooting up again?”
Ash stumbled back. Storm clouds brewed in his expression, but he didn’t defend himself against Bash although his fingers curled into fists. Then, they relaxed as he rubbed them against his jeans.
“Stop,” he said. The single word reverberated in the hostile air, ringing like a bell and forcing Bash to silence. “You will not talk about mywifethat way.”
Again, the inflection he placed on that singular word had the fine hairs on her nape lifting.
