“I’m sure you are, but Jared—”

“Forget Jared. I’m better in bed—and out of it, too.”

What the hell? She tried to picture Ryder or Jared saying something so douchey but couldn’t manage it. Maybe she was more naïve than she thought.

Or maybe Max Casey was just a really big sleaze. Disgust replacing some of her involuntary excitement at meeting him, Jamison took a couple of steps backward. “If you could just point me in the right direction…”

A flicker of anger crossed his face but was gone so quickly that she decided she had imagined it. Especially when he said, “I can do better than that. If you really want to see Jared, I’ll take you there. Things can get pretty confusing back here.”

That was an understatement. Still she hesitated as, behind him, two girls called his name in pouty voices. “I don’t want to take you away from who you were doing.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. Talk about a Freudian slip. “What! I meant what you were doing.”

But Max just laughed and pulled the door closed behind him. “They’ll keep.” He stepped closer, put a hand on the small of her back as he guided her farther down the hallway.

Jamison stiffened at the proprietary touch, and the bitter scent of scotch that clung to him. But when she tried to move away, he wrapped his hand around her waist and pulled her into his side.

“Seriously,” she told him as alarm bells went off in her head. “Jared’s my brother. If you’ll just point me towards his dressing room—”

“Lighten up. I told you I’d take you there and I will.” The hand around her waist grew tighter and that’s when she went from being slightly alarmed to seriously starting to freak out.

Still, she couldn’t imagine that she had anything to worry about from Max freakin’ Casey. Especially not when a bunch of people were only about thirty feet away. At the same time, though, she was a big proponent of better safe than sorry.

“Really. I’ve got it.” She moved away, this time shoving at his restraining hand until he was forced to let her go. Then she pulled out her phone. “Jared just texted me,” she lied. “I know where I’m going now.”

“You don’t need to run off so quickly. Stay and talk to me for a few minutes.”

“Jared’s expecting me.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but it wasn’t like she planned to hang around and argue with Max. Not after getting her first good glimpse of his eyes. He was high on a lot more than scotch—and it didn’t look like a particularly nice high, at that.“Thanks for the help,” she told him, starting down the hallway at a fast clip. She’d only gone a few steps when he grabbed her from behind.

Pushed her face-first up against the wall.

Covered her body with his own.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, feeling once again like she was trapped in an alternate reality.

“You’re going the wrong way.” He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the back of her neck.

She hunched up her shoulders, tried to squirm away. But he was a lot stronger than he looked and it only took a few moments for her to realize she wasn’t going anywhere if he didn’t want her to.

“Come on, Max, let go!” She tried to cajole her freedom out of him, but the pounding rhythms had once again begun to roll off stage and she was reduced to shouting at him.

He just laughed, then put his mouth next to her ear and said, “Don’t worry. You’ll get to Jared soon enough. I just want a taste, to see if you’re as nice and sweet as they all say you are.”

“Let me go!” she screamed, struggling in earnest now that it had begun to sink in that Max didn’t plan to take no for an answer. He was too high or too conceited to understand that she really didn’t want him. That she wasn’t playing hard to get.

Or maybe he just didn’t care. She didn’t know, and it didn’t matter anyway. All that mattered now was getting out of there before she got the full Max Casey treatment. She couldn’t believe she’d ever thought he was attractive.

“Don’t you know who I am?” he demanded as he pressed even closer. “I’m Max Casey. Nobody says no to me.” He sounded so baffled that she might have felt sorry for him if she wasn’t desperately terrified that he was going to rape her right there in the hallway, thirty feet away from dozens of people who couldn’t hear her cries for help.

“No!” she shouted. “No! No! No!” She brought her foot up, tried to catch his shin with her spiked heel—the stupid things should be good for something—but he only moved closer, so that his body was flush against hers and she had no wiggle room. She nearly gagged when she felt him pressed against her.

“Stop it, Max!” she said, jerking from side to side as hard as she could. But he was holding her so tightly she couldn’t get much traction. “Stop it!” she begged. “Please, please, stop!”

He wasn’t listening or maybe he was just too high to listen. Either way, her stomach turned as he trailed his wet mouth over her shoulder.

“Come on, baby,” he muttered, jerking her head back so he could press a sloppy kiss to her mouth. “Just let it happen.”

She bit him then, clamping her teeth down on his lower lip as hard as she could. It was his turn to scream, to shove at her. He pulled back a hand to hit her and she braced herself for the impact. She’d take a beating over rape any day.

But his hand never connected. Instead, he was pulled off of her and slammed into the opposite wall so hard she heard the thud even over the roar of the music. She went with him part of the way, until he finally managed to untangle his hand from her hair and raise it in a misguided effort to defend himself.

Even then it took Jamison a second to realize what was happening, to realize that she was free. When she did, she scrambled several feet down the hallway, desperate to simply get away. But as she prepared to run, she got a glimpse of her rescuer’s face as he pinned Max to the wall.

Ryder.

It was Ryder who had found her, Ryder who had saved her. And Ryder who was currently shouting obscenities as he beat the hell out of the other singer.

Chapter Two

“Are you out of your f**king mind, Max?” Ryder landed a blow straight to the other man’s nose as fury raced through him like a freight train. “Are you really so f**king high you think you can f**king rape a girl?” A one-two combo straight to Max’s stomach. “Who the f**k do you think you are?” He gave up punching him—Max wasn’t putting up much of a fight—and started slamming him repeatedly against the wall. “Who. The. Fuck. Do. You. Think. You. Are?”

Max gurgled completely unintelligible reply. A warning went off in his head, told him to stop, but the blinding rage ripping through him made it impossible for him to listen. When he’d walked out of his dressing room and seen Max forcing himself on that girl, all he’d been able to think about was Carrie. About what some as**ole in their local Battle of the Bands challenge had done to her. And how she’d never recovered. How she’d always blamed him for not being there for her. How he’d always blamed himself.

Pulling his fist back, he plunged it into Max’s face again. The guy was a total douche. This wasn’t the first time Ryder had thought he overstepped his bounds with a woman, but it was the first time it had been blatant enough that he could do something besides making a comment about it. The first time, that he’d ever seen, that Max had actually laid hands on an unwilling woman. The thought that this might have happened before and he just hadn’t seen it, had bile churning in his gut. He channeled it, continued whaling on Max. By the time he was done with him, the other singer would think three or four times before he ever put his hands on another unwilling woman.

“Ryder.” The girl Max had been hassling called his name in a tremulous voice, but it barely registered. He was too intent on making sure Max wouldn’t hurt another woman the way he’d tried to hurt this one. “Ryder, stop.” Her voice was more insistent now, and familiar. Very familiar. “Come on, Ryder. You need to stop or you’ll kill him. Please. That’s enough.”

He turned to her , dazed, , his fist still cocked in midair. For long seconds he wasn’t sure he was really seeing her, that she was really there.“Jamison?”

She nodded. “I’m okay, Ryder. You stopped him. You got here before he did anything.”

“Jamison,” he repeated again as he finally relinquished his hold on Max’s shirt. It had been the only thing keeping the other singer upright and left to his own devices, he slid slowly down the wall to land in a bloody heap on the floor.

Ryder didn’t even spare him a glance. Instead, he wrapped an arm around his best friend’s little sister and pulled her into his chest. “Are you really okay?” He couldn’t believe she was here. Couldn’t believe that she was the woman Max had just been assaulting.

The fury came back, burning hotter than ever. There was a part of him that wanted to keep beating on Max until the other man was unconscious. Until he’d ripped him apart with his bare hands. He’d touched Jamison. He’d scared Jamison. The bastard didn’t deserve to live.

More than prepared to finish what he started, he turned back around with a growl. Would have started back in on Max all over again if Jamison, pale-faced but solid, hadn’t grabbed onto him and held him in place. Not with her strength, but with the look on her face. With the words that she spoke.

He stiffened as her words hit home. He pulled away, not liking the way her voice had gone all soft and grateful. He didn’t deserve her gratitude, didn’t deserve anything when he’d almost been too late.His gut clenched as he was bombarded with images of what might have happened to Jamison if he hadn’t come out when he had. Even worse, of what might very well have happened some other night to some other woman while he’d been safely ensconced in his dressing room.

He shut his brain down, not wanting to go there tonight. But what he wanted and what he got were often two very different things—rarely did he catch more than a couple hours of sleep before the nightmares found him. Tonight wouldn’t be any different.

Especially not after what had just happened with Max. Not to mention what had made him leave his dressing room to begin with. He’d showered crazy fast, had a drink, then had slammed into the hallway with some asinine idea of trying to find the redhead in the purple dress. The one he’d seen while onstage and had felt such an incredible pull toward. The one he’d spent the whole second half of the concert singing to, while his brain filled up with one lascivious thought after another.

Looking at Jamison now, standing in front of him in her pretty violet dress, he felt lower than low. He hadn’t recognized her from the stage, hadn’t known he’d been lusting after Jared’s little sister—and one of his closest friends. And now that he did, he didn’t know what the hell to do with all the thoughts—the needs—that were still clawing at him from the inside.

Behind him, Max finally stirred and he clenched his fists against the urge to beat the as**ole all over again. After all, it’d kill two birds with one stone—release some of the escalating tension inside of him and teach the as**ole the importance of understanding the word no.

“Come on, let’s get you into the dressing room,” he told Jamison, leaning close to her and speaking loudly to be heard over Darkness’s set. “Check you over and make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” she told him again, staring up at him until he was forced to look into her violet eyes. They were shadowed, but they were also steady. That calmed him more than anything else could have. At least until he glanced down and realized the red on her lips was blood, not lipstick.