Excerpt Reveal
RIPPED
by
Katy Evans
~ Excerpt ~
Rage bubbles up inside me full force.
“Now?” Melanie keeps asking me.
I. Loathe. Him.
“Now?” she asks again.
I loathe him. He’s the only
boy I’ve ever kissed. He took kisses that meant everything to me and turned
them into a joke of a fucking song. A song that turns me into some sort of Eve,
torturing and teasing him to sin. He is the sin. He is the
penitence, the hell, and the devil, all in one.
I reach into my bag, nicely tucked under my
poncho, and grab the first thing I find.
“Now,” I whisper.
Before Mackenna knows what hit him, Melanie and
I have sent three tomatoes and a couple of eggs flying through the air.
The orchestra music isn’t enough to drown out
his muttered “fuck,” audible through the microphone.
His jaw clamps and he yanks the mic down over
his chin as he jerks his eyes around to find the source of the attack. I feel
delirious when I see the genuine anger on his face. I squeal, “The rest!” and
grab the remaining things we brought and just keep throwing. Not only at him,
but at anyone who tries to get in the way—like the stupid dancers who rush to
protect him. One of them makes a whimpering noise as an egg hits her face, and
Mackenna jerks her back by the arm so he can take the hits himself, his furious
eyes trying to find us in the crowd.
Then I hear Melanie shout, “Hey! LET GO,
asshole!”
My arms are yanked behind me, and I’m suddenly
shoved and pulled out of my place and down the aisle.
“Let go of us!” Melanie cries, struggling as
two burly guards drag us away. “If you don’t let go of me right now, my
boyfriend’s going to find your home and kill you in your sleep!”
The guard yanks me back harder, and I catch my
breath as pain rushes up my arm.
“Asshole,” I hiss, but I don’t even bother to
struggle. Melanie’s getting nowhere and I know it.
“She knows them! She knows the band! Who do you
think he was singing about just now, asshole?” Melanie kicks into the air. “She’sPandora!
Let us fucking go.”
“You know Mr. Jones?” one guard asks me.
“Mr. Jones!” I scoff. “Seriously! If Mackenna’s
a mister, I’m a unicorn!”
They seem to chuckle among themselves as they
lead us past more security, around the stage, and to a small room in the back.
One guy starts speaking into a radio as he unlocks the door.
Melanie struggles and tries to kick out, but
the enormity of what could happen starts settling on me, and I grow quiet.
Holy. Shit. What have I done?
“You don’t have to look so happy, dickface. My
boyfriend will find your home too and kill you next!” she tells the other
guard.
They yank a door open and shove us inside. I
stumble as I take a step, fighting for some dignity as I wiggle free of his
grip. “Let go,” I grit, and he finally releases me.
The radio transmitter on his hip emits a sound.
A voice says something I can’t make out, but it sounds a lot like cursing.
“Remove these,” one of the guards commands,
pointing at our ponchos.
I pry the plastic off my body and Melanie does
the same, then we watch helplessly as they strip us of the bags we’d hidden
underneath the ponchos.
Melanie groans when they set our things on a
table to the side. Cell phones. Two more tomatoes. Car keys.
“Wow. You guys can’t take a little joke now,
can you?” Melanie asks them with a haughty little scowl.
I close my eyes and try to quell the panic
rising in me.
Fuuuuck. What was I thinking?
I haven’t done anything this reckless in years.
And it felt good.
Also wrong. Very, very wrong.
But good. Great, in fact.
Hell, I can still picture the pissed,
disbelieving look on Mackenna’s face. It gave me intense pleasure. Orgasmic
pleasure. But now the intense feeling I’m experiencing is more along the lines
of paralyzing fear.
What if the guards call him into the room to
ask if he does, indeed, know me?
What if I have to stand here in this small
stuffy room and look at him from thisclose!
I feel sick to my stomach. Later, Melanie’s
going to want explanations. Big-time explanations; more than what I’ve told her
so far. She’s going to have to tell Greyson what happened, and he’s going to
want to know everything, because these stupid security guards messed with his
girl. I don’t even know if I can explain to her the kind of past Mackenna and I
share. January 22: the day I unfailingly get drunk and don’t bother to even see
the light of day—I’d sworn to myself I’d never discuss that day. But Melanie
and Greyson? They will want me to open my box of secrets. Of me and Mackenna
Jones.
Hot, wet mouths melding . . .
Him, pushing into me, stretching me, taking me,
loving me . . .
Promises.
Lies.
Loss.
Hatred.
The kind of hatred that’s only born of an
intense, out-of-this-world love that went woefully wrong.
What am I going to say to him if I see him?
What am I going to do?
Please god, don’t punish me by making me look
at him thisclose.
I pace and pray, pace and pray while Melanie
studies her nails, the wall, and me, sighing with the bored confidence of
someone who knows she’s getting out of here intact. If I see Mackenna, I really
doubt it'll be so easy. My stomach’s already in knots, and I’m having the most
awful urge to vomit right now.
The concert seems to last forever. One of the
guards comes and goes while the other opts to stand a few feet behind Melanie,
standing all military-like, as if waiting for something.
Oh god, please let that something not be
Mackenna.
I’m wearing off a layer of my boots’ soles when,
a century later, the
door swings open and a chubby man in a suit and tie steps in. My blood pools in
my feet from my nervousness. Lionel Palmer, the band manager, also known as
“Leo.” I saw his face and interview in thismorning’s paper, but I have to say
he looked much happier in that picture.
He glares at us—Melanie glaring back, me
standing motionless—and his hands make meaty fists at his sides.
“Have you any idea what you just did?” he grits
out, chubby cheeks blazing red. “How long we could keep you two cozy in a
fucking lady prison? What kind of fucking fans are you?”
“We’re not fans,” Melanie says.
The door swings open and the twins, in all
their male glory, join the melee. They look intimidating all the time, but
now—with their blond hair, odd-color eyes, and perfectly pissed-off
scowls—they’re a force to be reckoned with.
I can’t breathe.
“Who the fuck are these bitches?” the one with
the snake tattoo demands.
“I’m getting to that, Jax,” Lionel says.
So the other one must be Lexington. He charges
forward and looks at me, eyebrow piercing and all, then he looks at Melanie. He
points his index finger, swinging it from her to me. “I hope you two have a lot
of money, because one of our dancers is injured. If she’s screwed up for
Madison Square Garden—”
“Don’t worry, Pandora, Greyson will take care
of this,” Melanie says easily.
“Pandora,” Lionel repeats suddenly. He grows
still, his eyes sliding back to me. “Your friend called you Pandora. Why?”
“Because it’s my name? Duh.”
I’m in the middle of rolling my eyes when the door swings open and a figure fills the space. I don’t
think my heart is beating anymore. I feel like someone is strangling me and
punching me on the inside.
Mackenna.
A few feet away.
In the same room as me.
Bigger and manlier than ever.
He kicks the door shut behind him. He’s wearing
aviators, so I can’t see his eyes, and ohmigod, I hate him with a passion. I
came here to hurt him, but I’m so overcome by my anger, I can’t seem to do
anything but stand here with my breath getting trapped in my lungs, my heart
squeezing in my chest, my body trembling as all my suppressed anger bubbles up
inside me.
He is tall and dark, and the remains of a red
gooey liquid trickle down his chest.
But what a perfect chest, with its thin trail
of hair that leads the way from his navel to his dick. Tight leather pants mold
to his bulging thighs. A bulging cock too. I swear girls might think he sticks
a loaf of bread down his pants, but I can assure you that fucker is real. As
huge as his fucking ego, and I remember it used to get as hard as his fucking
head.
Not everyone can pull off a buzz cut, or a diamond
stud earring, but he has a perfectly shaped head that makes you want to curl
your hands around it and trace the curves with your lips. The diamond glints
almost menacingly in his right ear, and when he takes off the sunglasses with
an angry jerk, I see his brilliant, furious silver eyes, and I swear that it
feels like coming home.
To a home that was wrecked, and burned, and
there’s nothing left, but it’s still your home.
How fucked up is that?
God, please let him not be real. Let this be a
nightmare. Let him be on the other corner of the world while I hate him safely
from my corner in Seattle.
“She’s fucking Pandora?” Lionel
asks Mackenna.
When Mackenna’s hard jaw only tightens, Lionel
turns slowly around to study me. My brain is a tangle of confusion because
Mackenna is staring straight at me like he can’t believe I’m standing here.
I can barely take his steely gaze. I thought
this night would give me closure. That I could make him feel in front of his
fans like I felt when he left: humiliated. Instead he stands there, every inch
the rock god, even with tomato puree on his chest. He owns the room, carrying
that unnamable X factor that nobody can pinpoint but that he has in spades,
that tells you he owns this room and everyone in it.
And that fact only serves to piss me off
further.
“Lionel,” he says in a low, warning tone.
Just one word makes Lionel ease back. Now
nothing stops Mackenna from staring straight at me.
My face burns as I remember how I loved him.
Deep, hard, completely.
Don’t think about that. You hate him now!
“Nice hair.” He shoves his glasses into the
belt loops of his pants.
His voice, oh god.
His eyes run down the length of my hair, and
Melanie offers, “I suggested she add a little spirit to her hair, so at least
she lookshappy.”
He doesn’t even look at Melanie. He looks at me
in the most intense way, specifically the pink strand in my hair, waiting for
me to answer. I loathe that pink strand, but not as much as I loathe him.
“Nice tights,” I return, and gesture to his
leather pants. “How’d you get into them? From the top of a building and with a
pound of butter?”
I refuse to let his chuckle move me, but I feel
it run down my legs as he starts approaching. “No need to use butter anymore.
These pants are a part of me.” He holds my gaze helplessly trapped. “Like you
were a part of me once.”
He’s coming closer, and every step affects me.
My cheeks burn. The gall of him to remind me. I’m so angry. Years of hurt
simmer in me. Of loneliness and betrayal.
“Fuck you, Mackenna.”
“Already done, Pandora.”
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See where it all began……..
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~ About the Author ~
Hey! I’m Katy Evans and I love family, books, life, and love. I’m
married with two children and three dogs and spend my time baking, walking,
writing, reading, and taking care of my family. Thank you for spending your
time with me and picking up my story. I hope you had an amazing time with it,
like I did. If you’d like to know more about books in progress, look me up on
the Internet, I’d love to hear from you!
~ Connect with Katy ~
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