Unbearable Page 3

  Stepping out of the elevator, I caught sight of her walking down the hall barefoot, shoes dangling from one hand.

  "Sasha," I called out, jogging to meet her.

  She stopped in the middle of the hall and her whole body seemed to deflate.

  "Sasha," I said again, coming to a stop behind her. She looked up at me and I wasn't sure what to say. There was a fire in her eyes that was all my doing. Anger, hurt...

  "You followed me?" she asked like I was mad.

  "I-" I hesitated. I'd chased her all the way from that stupid fucking club and now that I'd caught her, I didn't know what to say.

  "Well, you obviously wasted your time." She rolled her eyes and turned away, but I reached up and grasped her arm.

  "You're upset," I said, thinly.

  "It's nothing." She shook my hand off.

  "The fuck it isn't," I exclaimed. "You're fucking crying."

  Reaching up, I brushed a mascara-laden tear away with a thumb. For a split second she looked up at me, she really looked, and I was lost for words.

  "Sasha," I murmured. "Do you have feelings for me?"

  This awful strangled sob came from between her lips and she turned and swiped the key card to her room.

  "Sasha," I exclaimed. "Talk to me."

  She was fucking running from whatever my answer would be. I didn't know what it was, but there was no way in hell I was letting this go. She went to close me out and I stuck my boot in the door. It hit my foot with surprising force considering how small the woman was and she snarled at me. She actually fucking snarled and damn it was sexy.

  "It doesn't matter how I feel," she cried, shoving me as hard as she could. When she couldn't dislodge my foot, she stamped on it with the heel of her bare foot.

  Shit, that hurt. "It fucking matters, Montgomery. I didn't mean-"

  "Didn't mean what? Didn't mean to hurt me?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, I never fucking existed to you so why start giving a damn now?"

  "Sasha..."

  "You can't come running after me, after three and a half fucking years, and try it on now."

  Three and a half years? When she said it like that, fuck I sounded like the biggest asshole on the planet. I was so stunned, when she shoved me again, I stumbled back into the hall.

  "I'm not a slut, Savage, so just fuck off and go tug yourself, because I'm not doing it for you."

  The door slammed in my face with a finality that really started to scare me. Stumbling until my back hit the opposite wall, I took a deep breath, not understanding the tearing sensation that was pulsing through my chest. I was having a fucking heart attack. That woman was sending me bonkers.

  But there was one question that made my dick want to shrink and retreat inside my body. A fucking man would ask the question and look for the answer.

  Had I ever really seen her before?

  No. No, I hadn't.

  Sasha

  Cinderella ran from the ball and straight back into pile of cinders and dirt.

  Mick had came after me and now he knew. If there was a word worse than mortified, I'd use that. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

  You couldn't just turn around and fall for somebody in the space of half an hour. If you didn't feel it, then you didn't feel it. Mick certainly didn't. He ran after me because he felt like he had to repair the irreparable on behalf of the band. Nothing more. Admitting my feelings anymore bluntly than I already had was pointless.

  The damage was done. Now it was time to minimize the fallout.

  There was nothing on my list that was pressing and since it was Sunday, and the band was on a day off from rehearsals, I turned my phone on silent and went to the cheap end of Rodeo Drive and bought myself a new pair of combat boots. Big, nasty fuckers I could totally see myself kicking some arrogant asshole with. I stayed out all day, went to the beach, ate ice-cream, downed a fatty burger, but as I sat on a bench looking out at the ocean, I just felt empty.

  All kinds of people passed by as the sun began to dip. Couples walking hand-in-hand, skateboarders, cyclists, runners, people walking all kinds of dogs…some in pairs or groups or singles with headphones stuck in their ears. I watched them all pass by and wondered out of all the people that existed on this planet, why there wasn't one for me. Why there wasn't somebody who wanted to share…their life…with me?

  Finally, I made my way back to the hotel, back to my empty room and collapsed on the bed, not feeling any better than I had when I'd woken up.

  Pulling my phone out of the bag that contained my new boots, I brought the screen to life. I hadn't looked at it all day and for once, I hadn't missed it or the world it was attached to. But from the string of messages that were waiting for me, that world had obviously felt my absence. My heart jackhammered in my chest at the sight of Mick's name. I mean, it was just his name. Over and over and over.

  We need to talk.

  Sasha, where are you? Can we talk about this?

  Missed call.

  I'm not letting this go.

  Please.

  Missed call times three.

  Don't run away from this. We need to talk about it.

  They descended into various states of pleading and alpha-maleness and I wanted to hurl the phone across the room. Didn't he get it? I didn't want him to know. I didn't want him to run after me. I didn't want his messages. He didn't want me and that was the only thing I wanted. Him forever and ever and he could never give me that. His need to try and fix things was making everything hurt way more than it had to.

  I wanted to smash something. I wanted to feel something other than crippling heartache. Rubbing my eyes, I pulled my new boots out of their plastic bag, kicked off my black Chuck Taylor's, and pulled them on. Bad. Ass. I stomped around the room and my gaze caught on the flyer that that Dex guy had given me last night.

  Me. Angry. Punk gig. I could smash some fuckers in the mosh pit and get some of this anger out of my system. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am. Every bruise would be a stitch in my heart. I needed a fuck load of stitches.

  Shoving my phone into the pocket of my little denim shorts, I stripped off my T-shirt and pulled out a fresh one. An old beat up and torn NoFx number I'd had for years. Then I pulled on my denim vest, another old number, but one that carried a lot of memories with it. The thing with punks is that they make a lot of their own shit. All those studded leather jackets, trousers and vests? They were all hand-painted, stitched, studded…you name it.

  The vest I pulled on now was back denim, studded with an assortment of spikes and pyramids, painted with various band logos, safety-pinned patches and a lapel full of button badges. Staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, I found myself remembering the day I'd gotten it. The day it came into my life, naked and smelling like mothballs. I got it for three bucks fifty at the local Op-shop. I was seventeen at the time and took it home and painted a huge logo of my then favorite band on the back, Rancid. My parents thought I was mental, but the music and the culture spoke to the outcast kid I was and it was my place.

  This vest was more than a fashion statement. Sounded stupid, but it was the story of my life so far. It'd travelled across the world with me, morphed into a ton of different designs, been painted over, re-studded, it even had fake blood stains on one side from that crazy Halloween party I went to when I was twenty…and that button badge right there? That was from the first gig I ever went to back home. Some people had a box of memories and keepsakes. I had a denim vest.

  Picking up the flyer again, I scanned the address. Yeah, going to a gig and getting back to my roots sounded like a fucking great idea. Reapplying my makeup, I shoved what I needed into my pockets and took one last look for good measure. A bad-ass punk chick with wild black hair and dark smoky eyes stared back at me and I almost felt invincible. This was me and fuck you Mick Savage.

  Wrenching open the door, I came face to face with my worst nightmare.

  Mick

  Sasha Montgomery had a hard on for me.


  Most likely for three and a half years. Maybe from the first time she'd met me. Whenever the fuck that was. I felt like a massive turd for not even remembering. I felt like a bigger wanker for not noticing and I felt like the ultimate douche for playing all those women in front of her.

  When she hadn't replied to any of my calls or texts, I did the next best thing. I went to find her in person.

  Standing outside her room, I went to knock, but the door was wrenched open and I came face to face with a fierce as fuck Sasha Montgomery. Well, at least it looked like her. I hadn't seen her done up like this before and fuck me, it spoke right to my dick in the most carnal fucking way.

  She looked wild. Not just angry, she was radiating pure malice at the sight of me, but she looked hardcore. I knew she was into punk music, but shit. She wore a studded and patched up vest, band tee, little shorts…fuckin' little shorts...and bad-ass boots I didn't want to be on the receiving end of.

  "Sasha…" The sight of her looking so…not herself…kicked me square in the balls and I didn't know what to say.

  "What the fuck do you want?" she snarled. "I've got shit to do."

  "We need to talk about last night."

  "No. We don't." She went to push past and I wrapped an arm around her stomach, pulling her against me.

  "Where you goin' lookin' like that?"

  "None of your business." She twisted out of my grasp and her phone and a piece of paper fell out of her back pocket.

  Before she could snatch them up, I grabbed the bit of paper and raked my gaze over it. A punk gig on the border of the fuckin' LA ghetto.

  "You're not going to this on your own are you?" I asked, knowing it wasn't the safest of neighborhoods. I'd spent enough time in LA to know where to go in daylight hours only and the thought of Sasha walking around in her tiny shorts on her own…well, that shit made me mad.

  "I'm a big girl, Savage," she snapped, snatching the flyer from my hand.

  "You can't go on your own. Do you know that neighborhood?"

  "Yes." She shoved past and went for the elevator.

  "You're not going."

  She spun on her heel, nostrils flaring. How the fuck could a woman so mad her nostrils flared be so god damn fucking sexy?

  "Eat shit, Savage. You're not my fucking boyfriend. I can do whatever I want."

  Montgomery had her rage turned right up to epic and I knew there was no convincing her otherwise. The only way this was going down without calling hotel security on her ass, was to go with her.

  "If you won't listen to me, Montgomery, then I'm coming, too."

  She looked at me like I needed to be carted off to the insane asylum. "The fuck you are."

  I backed her against the wall, caging her in with my arms. "We're going to talk about last night, Sasha, whether you want to or not. There is no discussing the matter. I'm going with you to this fuckin' gig. End of story. I'm not letting you walk around a scummy neighborhood dressed in those little fuckin' shorts."

  She stared up at me with her sexy dark eyes like she was caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. She didn't want to talk about it, but her whole body said otherwise. She was hiding her true feelings with her anger and all that meant was that I needed to approach this with a firmer hand.

  "I can't promise you anything," I said, leaning closer. Fuck, she smelt like some kind of flower and I wanted to touch her, but that would be a dick move and I liked my cock just how it was. Pushing her would just result in those nasty looking boots connecting with my favorite appendage.

  "I don't want anything from you," she hissed, beating her fists against my chest.

  "I don't fuckin' agree with that, but if you want to go to this gig and pound your fists into some poor fuck in the most pit, don't you think we should get going?"

  I dropped an arm and she rolled her eyes, going for the elevator again, obviously resigned to the fact that her worst nightmare was along for the ride.

  She seemed stuck on the fact that I hadn't noticed her before, that I'd let my attentions slide elsewhere, but she'd never made herself known, so how the fuck was I meant to realize? When you're a guy, young, rich and have a lot of fucking pussy rubbing against you, it was hard to notice anything else. It wasn't until we were revolving around the same circle that I even knew that she was tough to work with, feisty as fuck and hardcore into music. Before that?

  No, I hadn't looked at her, but I was looking now. I was looking and I was liking what I saw, in and out of the package.

  Didn't that count for something?

  Sasha

  What the fuck was Mick's game? If he was trying to drive me mad, he was fucking succeeding.

  I stood next to him in the middle of the venue, surveying the crowd of punks, rockabilly's and goths. I didn't feel like an obstruction, a fucking pole to be walked around and ignored. This was my scene. This was my comfort zone and he was ruining it with his infuriating sexual tension.

  The place was packed tight already and the first band hadn't even gone on. It reminded me of the old pub I used to frequent back in Melbourne, crumbling paint work, a graffiti mural on one wall, uneven and sticky flooring. Old tour posters were wallpapered in the dunnies and covered in dirty messages written in Sharpie. The whole place smelt like stale beer and sweet, like they hadn't mopped the floor in a decade.

  Mick was kind of right when he said he didn't like this neighborhood. He stood next to me in the crowd, a scowl deep-set into his handsome face. Even though he was in full black, wore scuffed up boots and his tattoos were on show, he stuck out like a sore thumb. I didn't need protecting, especially not in a room full of dirty punks and metal heads, so when his back was turned, I melted into the crowd and went straight for the bar.

  This was where I felt comfortable. In a dingy room full of loud, shouty, obnoxious music and from the look on Mick's face, he wasn't. I ordered two beers, downed one and took the other through the throng of people waiting for the bands to start.

  "Hey, Sasha!"

  I glanced up to see the guy from the night before, Dex, weave through a pack of mohawks to come meet me. His gaze raked over my entire body, from head to toe and everywhere in between and I hid a scowl.

  "Looking good," he said. "I can see now why you weren't feeling that crowd last night."

  "Thanks."

  "You got a drink? You okay?" I nodded. "The first band is up in a few. They're fast street punk. Been playin' around LA for a few years now and a crowd favorite. I think you're gunna like 'em."

  Mick chose that moment to sidle up to me and slide a hand onto my lower back like he was staking some kind of claim he had no right to.

  Twisting away, I said, "This is Dex. He invited me." My eyebrow quirked and the vein in Mick's forehead began to throb. Fucking good.

  "Hey, man." Dex held out a hand, but Mick just stared at him with a look that said he was gunna thump him one. After an awkward second, he grimaced and lowered it.

  "The band is starting," I said, shoving my empty beer bottle at Mick. Not waiting to see if he'd taken it, I let go and pushed toward the front.

  I came here to feel something other than the crippling mortification caused by the fact Mick Savage knew about my crippling crush and I was determined to smash some skulls. As the band started playing some fast punk song, heavy, dark and fucking angry, the pit began to go wild. There were a bunch of punk chicks there, all hovering on the edges, watching the guys beat each other up, but none of them were brave enough to dive in. Without a second thought, I shoved forward and was instantly sucked into the frenzy.

  I was bashing against men twice my size, studs from their jackets scratching my skin, the entire room spinning out of control…and fuck, it felt so good. It wasn't until I was in the middle of the fray that I realized how much I'd missed the stripped back energy of an angry punk gig. Mick Savage was the furtherest thing from my mind as my body slammed against a heavy-set punk guy and hurtled back into another. Mission accomplished.

  As the song finished way too
soon, I stumbled to a stop, breathless and giddy. A hand came down on my shoulder and I glanced up at one of the big meathead punks, whose mohawk was beginning to flop over.

  "Fuckin' awesome to see a chick in here," he exclaimed, breathless. "We'll try not to hurt ya."

  "Don't hold back." I winked at him and as the next song started, I shoved the nameless punk back into the pit. I was about to follow, but a hand circled around my elbow.

  Instantly thinking it was Mick, I spun on my heel to shove him away, but came face to face with a smiling Dex.

  "You're a tough little cookie," he drawled.

  "No fucking fear," I shouted back over the music.

  The crowd surged against us, shoving me into him and I decided to sit this song out, listen to the band and go the next one. Scanning the pit, I caught sight of Mick on the other side, glaring at me. My smile instantly dropped and I rolled my eyes. Why the fuck did he even want to come if he was going to be such a Debby Downer? I think I was a little drunk by that stage - drunk from the cheep-ass beer and high on adrenaline. Blood whooshed through my ears as I focused on the band, my body moving back and forth to the music, hardly noticing when the pit got wild and pushed back against us.

  I felt Dex's hand on my waist and thought nothing of it. I'd been to a lot of gigs where guys thought they were doing me a favor shielding me from the brutality of a pit full of meatheads. But when I felt his hand sliding further and further down into the blatant grope zone, I began to turn red. My gaze hit Mick's and from the look on his face, he was audience to everything. When Dex's fingers slid underneath the crotch of my shorts and right against the sweet spot, my expression changed into blatant shock just as Mick began to shove his way violently through the crowd. Fucked if I was letting him save the day. I told him I could look after myself.

  Dex's fingers began to probe deeper, pressing harder into my pussy and I snapped. Shoving him away, I turned around and yelled, "Fucking touch me up again-"