Twisted Rhythm: A Dark Rockstar Romance (Twisted Rhythm Series Book 1) Read online

  “Come on Jake,” she whispered. “Jesus Christ, take me.” They remained like that, staring into each other’s eyes for some moments, Jake’s hands firmly grasping her hips, her arms around his neck and their faces so close they were sharing breath.

  “I can’t get off if I’m hurting you,” Jake finally said, his voice firm but gentle, his eyes passionate and intense.

  Amanda leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his and as Jake looked at her innocently, she whispered, her voice soft and alluring with memories, “Bullshit. You know you get off.”

  Then, like some slow motion playback, the same memory card flashed in their heads; lurid scenes from their final incident, the pain re-awakened within the blackest depths of their souls, the darkest moments they’d shared. Their three-day argument, horribly bitter and nasty to begin with, had culminated in Jake’s uncontrolled fit of rage, his longest to date and one that began as the sun arose in the morning and ended deep into the night.

  Amanda shuddered as she remembered what Jake was capable of.

  His eyes shut tight to ward off returning demons, Jake murmured, “Fuck...No...Don’t take me there.”

  Lowering herself back down on her knees, Amanda whispered into Jake’s face, so close that her lips touched his, “Lots and lots of other times too Jake. I remember...and right now I just don’t fuckin’ care.”

  Their eyes met, locked. Fascinated, Jake searched her eyes, his own alight with the knowledge that his power over her was profound, vast and unshakable.

  “You’re one fuckin’ crazy bitch,” he said, smirking, and shook his head.

  That was basically what the media had said too during Jake’s widely publicized trial. Rivaled in pomp and prominence only by O.J. Simpson’s spectacular court case, which waned in comparison, Jake’s trial for forcible confinement, sexual assault and attempted murder made headlines worldwide. When, against his lawyer’s advice, Jake took the stand, the press literally screamed for more.

  “It’s only rape if she’s resisting,” he’d told a packed courtroom, his confident smile never wavering.

  “Was it rape?” the prosecutor had asked Amanda earlier after showing her, the judge and jury and the packed courtroom pictures taken of her at the hospital, in emergency.

  Her face and much of her naked body had been covered in blood and once they’d cleaned her, her multiple bruises and deep cuts and scrapes had shown more clearly. Cracked and broken ribs, a broken wrist, broken nose, fractured jaw, sprained ankle, black eyes, severe bruising over most of her body plus internal bruising and bleeding, various locations. And a concussion.

  “Jake’s never done anything to me that I didn’t want or enjoy,” she’d said calmly. Speaking over gasps in the audience she’d continued, “But that day we were also fighting, attacking each other. Nevertheless, in between all of that it wasn’t rape, believe me.” And then she’d smiled.

  She’d denied that Jake had kept her locked in his mansion, despite evidence found by cops that she’d been locked in the bedroom and tied in the closet and on the bed. She’d vehemently denied that sexual activities of any kind were anything even close to assault.

  “What happened with the whiskey bottle?” the prosecutor had asked, his eyes ardent as he flitted in front of the witness box like a gazelle courting his predator, aware but aroused that he is prey. Amanda had made short work of him.

  “What do you mean?” she’d asked serenely even as her mind raced, wondering how the hell he’d known about that.

  “You were tied face down on the bed, were you not, when Mr. Steel assaulted you anally with the empty bottle of Jim Beam?”

  “Oh,” she’d managed a warm smile. “I’m not really sure what to say. Jake knows what I like and he found a way to add a new twist, that’s all. I guess some people would consider that kinky but I think that’s a matter of opinion. I can only say that nothing has ever felt wrong with Jake; that everything’s always felt exactly right.”

  “Do you love Jake, Miss Wilder?” he’d retorted.

  Amanda had hesitated and although she tried not to, she couldn’t help but look at Jake sitting at the defense table beside his lawyer. He was watching her performance intently, his eyes mischievous, his gorgeous long hair tied back in a ponytail cascading luxuriously down the back of his light green Armani suit. He was wearing very little jewelry, unlike his usual decadent wardrobe, and he seemed calm, cool, collected as he leisurely smirked at her.

  “Yes,” she responded.

  “Enough to lie for him in attempt to keep him out of jail?”

  “Yes,” again she responded and then, amidst more gasps and mumblings in the audience she’d continued, “But I’m not lying now. Jake and I have issues, I’ll be the first to admit that. Not just issues with each other and in our relationship but issues within our own personal lives. Some people would refer to that as baggage but to put it bluntly we’re both just severely fucked up.”

  ”We sometimes end up hurting each other but deep down we don’t really mean to. What is it they say? You always hurt the one you love. I tried to hurt Jake as much as he tried to hurt me that day and not just physically either. Most of the time Jake was just defending himself. I just wouldn’t quit. I turn into a lunatic when I’m really angry.” She’d smiled apologetically, “But no way did Jake try to kill me. That’s ludicrous. We just both get very angry and rough.”

  When the verdict came in less than a day later the world shook itself in disbelief. Headlines across continents screamed in almost every language: Jake Not Guilty: Beast Mistress Secures Freedom For Only Beast She Couldn’t Tame. Although cleared of forcible confinement, sexual assault and attempted murder, Jake was convicted of aggravated assault and put on probation, given conditions for release and of course was forced to sign a peace bond in which he promised to forego any and all contact with Amanda. He visited her the next night.

  Chapter 3

  A cool evening breeze rustled the serviettes beneath Amanda and Katelyn’s drinks as they sat chatting underneath the pagoda outside Amanda’s imitation 13th Century castle home.

  “Jesus, I still can’t fuckin’ believe your Academy Award winning performance yesterday girl,” Katelyn laughed. “Jake never meant to hurt me, honest judge.”

  Tabloids from around the world lay scattered on the patio table. Amanda smiled at Katelyn. She loved shit like this. Ever since the two had met way back in high school in Conroy, Texas, now a world and a million miles away, Katelyn had thrived on flash and fury, lurid romance, danger and excitement. Born Kathrine Smithers, Katelyn, along with Amanda, had changed her name when the two arrived in Hollywood at the ripe old age of 17 and 16 respectively.

  But while Katelyn experienced the thrill of danger vicariously, playing it pretty safe for the most part, Amanda shed the persona of Alison Jameson with ease, tossing it aside as happily as a caterpillar sheds its wrinkled skin to be miraculously reborn a breathtaking butterfly. Alison re-emerged stunning and electrifyingly sensual as Amanda Wilder and, true to her newfound identity, hadn’t slowed down since.

  She wrestled with tigers while Katelyn cuddled her house cat and tangled with California’s hottest bad boys while Katelyn contented in dating wannabe actors and bad boy look-alikes. Real all out no hands barred danger scared the piss out of Katelyn and she had no qualms reiterating this to Amanda, especially that night.

  “Fuck Amanda, I honestly don’t know if I woulda done the same thing for Jake if I were you. The fucker tried to kill you for Christsakes. He’s as loony as they...”

  She gasped, catching her breath sharply as she looked behind Amanda. Jake stood behind her only a few feet away. He’d emerged on the walkway winding from her gardens, creeping up as silently as any big cat.

  Startled at the sudden halt in conversation and the look of horror on Katelyn’s face, Amanda’s blood ran cold at hearing Jake’s voice so close behind.

  “I’m as loony as what Katelyn?”

  Amanda spun around in her chair and th
e three eyed each other in silence. Finally it was Amanda who spoke.

  “Jake, you shouldn’t be here...”

  “Go home,” surprisingly Katelyn had gathered her courage. “Leave or I’m calling 911.”

  Jake laughed, bitterly arrogant. “Oh yeah Kat? You’d do that to me?”

  Amanda had been about to side with Katelyn but, looking at Jake so ungodly confident and sinfully magnetic in his tattered skintight red, white and blue bicycle shorts and ragged white muscle shirt she relented, demanding instead, “Katelyn wait,” and then looking at Jake questioningly, “What do you possibly want?”

  Jake smiled as innocently as a kid with cash in an ice cream parlor. His white bandana held most of his hair from his face but even so, Amanda hated herself for the familiar warmth tingling between her legs at the sight of his wind-blown locks, cascading long and uncontrolled half way to his waist and peaking from atop the bandana forming partial bangs that hung into his brilliant green eyes like licorice melting into a fire.

  “Just came to say thank you.” He smiled again, innocent and sweet, tantalizing and warm.

  Amanda sighed, knowing better but ordering Katelyn to her quarters in the house anyway - she’d hired her as her personal assistant when Beast Mistress hit it big - and she invited Jake to sit down, offering him whiskey or his favorite beer. He went for the whiskey straight up and when she returned with it she found him standing at the pagoda’s edge in deep thought, his arms crossed in front of him. He was listening to the yowls and grunts of her cats housed nearby in their night buildings. The open windows and cool westward breeze brought their power and restlessness to him and he seemed amazed although he’d heard them a thousand times before.

  “Mating,” Amanda said.

  “Huh?” Jake looked at her surprised, missing even the glass of whiskey she held up for him in her hand.

  “Morocco and Kontikki are together. She’s old enough now to mate and she’s been in heat since yesterday.” She tapped his arm, “Come on,” and headed towards the tiger house. “I gotta give them their snacks. The lions already got theirs.”

  And so they walked in silence down the stone staircase that wound its way through the mini jungle that separated the cat houses from Amanda’s own. The sound of insects everywhere as they brushed palm fronds away from their faces reminded Jake of India. He’d been there once, not touring but on vacation, and he’d been impressed with the culture and the magnificence of their temples.

  As Amanda unlocked the steel mesh doorway and they stepped inside the sound of the tigers was deafening. Not just Morocco and Kontikki but the other three as well who greeted them with loud huffs and chuffs, welcome noises for familiar friends. Amanda walked over to the closest steel cage on the right which held Seh-Khan, her youngest but largest male weighing in at about 650 pounds at six years old. He moaned loudly and circled, then rushed forward to greet his mistress.

  It never ceased to amaze Jake how Amanda never had any fear, immediately reaching between the thick steel bars to soothingly stroke the big cat’s head. “Hey big boy,” she said, “I love you so much.” Seh-Khan moaned, then chuffed softly, slamming his head into her hand, rubbing affectionately. Jake watched in amazement as Amanda reached into a nearby pail and pulled out small pieces of chicken, still dripping blood, and offered them lovingly to her boy. Fuck, he could bite her whole arm off, Jake was thinking as he held his breath and watched Seh-Khan gently take the food from his mom.

  One by one, Amanda visited and fed the others, Sahara, her oldest female at eight, Kahari, her five-year-old female, and then finally Kontikki and Morocco who were four and seven respectively. It was when Amanda came to Kontikki and Morrocco’s holding pen that all hell broke loose. Morocco, already hyped because his mate was in heat, refused to let her come forward and greet mom, much less the male who, although he recognized as his friend and her frequent companion, was not a true member of their multi-species family. Pouncing upon Kontikki as she’d moved forward, Morocco pinned her roughly to the ground, his roar echoing off the steel walled building, almost literally shaking the foundations.

  “That’s all right big boy,” Amanda soothed. “She’s your girl. I know it. Don’t worry. No one’s gonna bother you or take her away.” It was then that he chuffed softly, still growling intermittently under his breath, but calmed down. He arose off Kontikki and walked cautiously towards mom, not even fully trusting her at the moment.

  As Jake gasped, Amanda reached her arm inside the pen without hesitation and crooned to her baby, “It’s OK, come and say hi anyway. I still love you.” Jake prayed silently about ten feet behind her as Amanda lovingly stroked the cheeks and whiskers of her favorite man. Even as Morocco’s huge pink tongue licked her arm roughly, Jake remained rooted to the spot, afraid of upsetting the big cat and sending him into another frenzy.

  Morocco took the food gently from her hand but because he refused to allow Kontikki close to her, Amanda threw the food to her across the big pen. Because it was breeding time Morocco was generous. He refrained from snatching it and correcting her, but allowed her to eat in relative peace except for the odd warning growl.

  When Amanda finally backed up and came to stand beside Jake she smiled at him devilishly. The tigers and lions were the only leverage she had on him. They were the one thing where she had complete control, the one circumstance where Jake stepped back in respect and where he allowed her to call all the shots.

  “They’re going to make beautiful babies,” she said. “I just hope the whole courtship and mating ritual isn’t too traumatic for her. She hasn’t allowed him to mate yet.”

  Jake watched the pair in awe, Morocco circling around and around his mate as she groomed her paws, cleaning blood from her snack. “She’s cherry,” he said and smiled.

  Amanda laughed softly.

  “Yeah Jake but only you would think of putting it that way.”

  Following Amanda’s cue, Jake stepped back with her until they stood another ten feet or so away, within the doorway of the large walk-in storage and freezer room that was almost directly across the hall from the cats’ main isolation quarters which held their breeding pen. They watched in amazement as Morocco, still agitated from visitors to his breeding area, diligently sniffed the steel bars at the front of his cage, as if he’d never smelled Amanda before and had to make double sure it had been only her up so close and that she had moved away. Then, lifting his magnificent head and vigilantly sniffing the air, he gazed purposefully in their direction, unable to see them from where he stood but fully aware of their continued presence just the same.

  “Wow,” Jake murmured low under his breath, “He’s one smart cat,” and Amanda laughed softly, whispering only, “Quiet. I wanna see if she’ll finally let him breed.”

  Kontikki’s wishes were irrelevant and Amanda knew it. Like all dominant male Siberian tigers, Morocco was master of his domain. In the wild, perhaps in northeastern China or northern Korea but most probably within the coniferous scrub oak and birch woodlands of eastern Russia, Morocco’s territory would have been enormous, overlapping that of one to seven females each holding territories of about 200 square miles. Solitary, Morocco would have almost constantly been on the move following the uneven distribution of elk and wild boar, his main prey, as they moved seasonally, cavorting with the females he’d claimed as his own only when they came into season.

  Now, Kontikki sensed the change in Morocco’s mood, acutely aware of his sudden urgency and inflated superiority. Maybe because visitors had entered his lair he instinctually needed to re-assert his reign or just because he’d grown impatient with his mate’s reluctance, Morocco suddenly revved into overdrive. Spinning suddenly, his sleek four-foot tail slamming against the steel bars, he easily pounced the twenty foot distance to where Kontikki had retreated, roaring as he landed, growling as he slithered atop her.

  Jake gasped and instinctively stepped backwards, the sheer power and animation of the big cat catching him off guard. Amanda stayed put,
more accustomed to her cats’ stealth, strength and deafening vocalizations. Nevertheless she froze, enraptured by her babies’ brutal, raging, sensual mating dance.

  A split second after Morocco landed Kontikki rolled onto her back, swatting him savagely across the face, all claws bared. The lovers rolled, raged and wrestled as one erupting, snarling mess, first tangoing this way, then that, bashing against steel bars, hollowed logs, concrete walls and then finally, coming to rest merely inches from each other, teeth bared, motors coursing, sharing heated breath.

  Lying half on her side, front paws braced and ready to pounce, Kontikki snarled at her master, refusing as yet to give in to his advances. Undeterred, the bigger cat slithered forward until the two were nose to nose, still open mouthed, teeth exposed and growling. Guttural sounds of courtship reverberated off the walls bouncing from one cat room to another. In the main holding room Seh-Khan, Kahari and Sahara were going crazy, pounding around within their cages, their moans, growls and roars adding to the chaos before Amanda and Jake.

  “Jesus...” Jake whispered, shaken, “They’re gonna kill each other.”

  All of Amanda’s instincts and experience told her things would be all right. Even though this was her own animals’ first breeding she’d spent twelve years working with others’ tigers, lions, cougars, leopards and cheetahs, as well as other wildlife, at various facilities - small zoos, larger wildlife parks, a sanctuary, an illusionist’s and briefly, even a circus. Although that small one per cent of her worried because these were her “children” the other ninety-nine kept her under control. The same ninety-nine that took over whenever Beast Mistress hit the stage.