Page 32 of Tortured Tones

“You okay, Ava?” Beckett nudged his shoulder against mine. “Need a cold drink? A fan?”

“Nope.” I kept my tone neutral and stared straight ahead, but my insides were alight. Did my breath hitch? Could Beckett sense my pulse had jumped? Fuck it. I had to get something good out of putting up with Cole’s shit. Admiring his picture-perfect body would do. As he flexed his arms, puffed out his chest, and slid his hands over his wet stomach, my thighs clenched together. Damn. “I’m just admiring the view.”

“So is half of Venice Beach.” Wyatt lowered his aviator sunglasses, keeping an eye on the growing cluster of fans and curious bystanders. “At least the onlookers are being well behaved. Makes our job easier.”

“For now.” I grunted. But keeping my hands off Cole Tanner was getting harder by the minute. Maybe I should swap who I shadowed with Beckett or Wyatt. No...Don’t be stupid. I am fine.

After the guys finished having their pictures taken and they wrapped themselves up in warm robes, we lingered beside them as they talked to the group of fans, signed autographs, and had a ton of selfies.

But after ten minutes, Blake held up his hands to the fans and hollered, “Sorry, folks. The guys have to get to rehearsal. Hope y’all got to say hi, and we look forward to seeing everyone toward the end of next month when the tour kicks off.”

Angsty cries filled the air as some fans rushed forward, reaching for the guys. “Flint, we love you!” “Guys, wait! I want a photo.” “Cole. Lewis. Slip. Come back.”

My team and I formed a line between them and the band. A sea of cell phones waved around us as they tried to snap shots of the guys. One girl tried to push past Beckett, but the man was a concrete tower—she got nowhere. Some chick with long, pointed pink fingernails thrust her cell phone in front of my face, scratching the side of my cheek.

“Ow. Fuck.” That hurt...and stung. I wiped my face. A lick of blood smeared my fingertips. Son of a bitch. But I held my ground. The band members didn’t falter in their stride as we guided them away from the mass of people and back into their trailer.

Sloane called our driver while we waited for the guys to change. The moment the black Mercedes twelve-seat van with darkened windows rocked up, the guys jumped in, followed by us, and we whisked them off to rehearsal. When everyone was leaving from one place and traveling to the same destination, the van was a much easier option to move around in rather than our separate vehicles.

But at the first set of traffic lights, Cole swiveled toward me. He hooked his finger underneath my chin and turned my cheek toward him. “Holy shit. You got scratched.”

“Yeah. Some bitch with nails got me.” I pulled my chin free. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“It’s bleeding. You don’t need stitches, but still...”

“It’s fine. Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Then that’s all the matters.”

“You should put something on that. You don’t want it to get infected.” He slid forward toward the front passenger seat and tapped Sloane on the shoulder. “Hey? You got a first-aid kit in here? Ava’s been scratched.”

“Yeah.” Sloane dug into the glove box. “Here.” He handed Cole the kit. “Ava, you alright? Didn’t think a small scratch would bother you.”

“It’s not.” Irritation clipped my tone. “Cole, I’m fine.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Cole grabbed the antiseptic cream out of the box and handed it to me. “Put this on it, or shall I do it?”

I snatched the tube from him. “I don’t want your hands anywhere near me.”

“Why?” He lowered his voice. “Afraid you won’t want me to take them off you?”

“No. It’s so I don’t’ break every fucking bone in your fingers. Do you want to keep drumming?”

Slip laughed. “Damn, Cole. Ava’s got you by the balls.”

“No. She hasn’t.” Cole flopped back on the seat.

What did Slip mean by that? I wished I had him by the balls and at my mercy—then he might be more compliant and listen to me.

“Oh...yes, she has.” Slip laughed. “I’ve never seen you give a shit about security before.”

“I just don’t want her to end up with some ghastly, puss-infected sore on her face.” Cole sneered. “That okay?”

“Yep.” As Slip nodded, he winked at me.

I unscrewed the cap and dabbed ointment onto my sore. I winced. Damn. That burned like acid. I recapped the tube and handed it back to Cole. “Thank you.”

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