All I Want for Halloween Page 2

  “True,” Iris had to add. “He’s just upset because the new girl in the shop laughed when she heard his name.” To Thor, she said, “You should be over that by now.”

  “I am.” Thor gave them a smug look. “Please. I might not be Chris Hemsworth, but I’m rich, handsome, successful, smart, driven—”

  “Verbose,” Iris interrupted. “Arrogant.”

  Gear cut in, “And crazy if you think I’m wearing anything you’ve been holding up.” He sighed. “Do I have to go to this party?”

  “Yeah. You do,” Iris said, no-nonsense. “It’s in your contract that you go, but not that you have to be seen all night. You show up wearing that”—she pointed to a costume for the Joker, Batman’s archvillain—“show your face, growl, and act like the complete jerk you are on Motorcycle Madnezz.”

  “I’m not a jerk.”

  “Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that,” Thor said drily.

  “After some time on camera, duck away, change into something with a mask, stay for the rest of your mandated time, then check out with the producer before you leave. And bingo, you’ve followed the terms of your contract.”

  The last terms. Thank God the contract had been up for renewal. Delaying the agreement had pushed back filming, but it also had allowed him to take a hard look at what his life had become. The dream of running one of the best custom shops on the West Coast had come true, but at a cost.

  Just thinking about the shit Sahara and Brian had put him through—letting him take the blame while they gloried in looking like sunshine and fucking roses—made him want to hurt someone. Two someones. He’d been raised not to hit women, or he’d have decked Sahara. That he hadn’t been hurt by her so much as pissed told him they’d been over for a while. But the betrayal he felt at Brian’s deception… That still stung. The fucker.

  “Stop it. You’re scaring away my good vibes,” Thor complained.

  “Good vibes?”

  Iris cleared her throat. “What our brother is trying to say is that he’s been envisioning a future for you filled with good things. A happy life, a fine woman to love, three children, one of whom you will name Thor Junior, and a return to the fold.”

  Thor nodded, smiling. “Like you read my mind.”

  Iris snorted. “More like I sat through Mom’s latest lectures on positive thinking and the way of the hippie.”

  Gear chuckled. “Glad I missed that one.”

  Iris gave him a mean smile. “Oh, you’ll be getting it when they see you for brunch on Sunday. It’ll happen. I’m envisioning it for you.” She snickered. “Ah yes, I see you coming back, adding to the show. Making your wicked bikes a part of the act. Gear the Magnificent rides again…”

  “Not no, but hell no.” Gear had run fast and far from the family business years ago. His gift with all things mechanical had transformed into a love for the motorcycle—only the finest mode of transportation known to man. His mistake had been in sharing that art with his family, letting them use his funky motorized bikes in the jousting part of their medieval show.

  Since then, his father had been on his ass to come back home and leave his glamorous TV life behind. His mother kept trying to zen Gear into believing life would be good to him if only he believed.

  “Click your heels together, and wish upon a star,” he muttered, remembering her nuttier advice. He loved Orchid Blackstone, but by God, the woman had dropped some crazy drugs in her day. Probably why she tolerated his father though. Otis was one scary motherfucker, a badass biker to the bone with the clichéd heart of gold. It would have been cheesy if it wasn’t so obvious anytime his dad glanced at his mom, his big heart in his eyes.

  For years Gear had itched to leave all their positive energy BS behind. Then when he did, he landed in a black hole steadily sucking away his identity, creativity, and happiness. Hell, maybe Orchid and Otis were on to something after all.

  “I know that look.” Thor shook his head. “No, you are not joining back up with the Blackstone circus.”

  “Steampunk fair,” Iris corrected, sounding irked. Gear knew she had a pet peeve about anyone talking down on the family business.

  Thor ignored her. “Gear, you will avoid the temptation to join up with Satan’s jesters. You and Otis nearly came to blows the last time you tried to help out.”

  “True,” Gear had to admit.

  “You will get out of this mess. We’ll find a way, Bro, don’t worry. And you’ll be even better for it. The parental unit will only drive you insane.” Thor shot a sly glance at their sister. “Look at what they’ve done to Iris.”

  “I would flip you off, but that’s negative.” She threw a tiny pillow at his head instead. “Now embrace the love I just sent you, and piss off.”

  Thor laughed. “You haven’t had a good insult for me in, like, five years. Try again, or—” An alarm on his phone interrupted him, and he turned it off. “Damn. Gotta get to class. Talk to you guys later.” Thor darted away with a light punch to Iris’s arm and a high five for Gear. As usual, Professor Blackstone would be late to lecture.

  Gear grunted. At least some things hadn’t changed. His brother still tried to boss everyone around with his superbrain while being unable to understand how time worked. His sister continued to design amazing costumes for the show while picking on their younger brother, and their parents remained loving, crazy, and humming with positivity while they recovered from Renaissance Daze and prepared for next season.

  “So this party,” Gear said with a sigh. He sat on a stool and watched Iris trace chalk over the fabric on the dummy. “I really don’t want to go.”

  “I know, sweetie.” She paused. “They keep replaying that punch on TV. It’s like it happened yesterday.” It had happened two months ago. “Man, you knocked Brian into tomorrow. Nice. He’s such an asshole. Didn’t I tell you he was no good? But did you listen to me?”

  He groaned. “Please. Not again.”

  “Biggest mistake you ever made was letting that bitch convince you to let her partner up with you guys. You know the only reason they didn’t go it alone as soon as she signed on is because you’re the talent.”

  “And they’re the charm,” he said, having heard that since they’d started Madnezz three years ago. “I know.”

  “Nope. They’re not charming. She has giant fake boobs and bottle-blond hair, and he has a straight, white smile under that fake tan. That’s all they have going for them.”

  He grunted. “Thanks.”

  “So you’re going to go to the party, and you’re going to ignore the rumors about you cheating on her first, that Brian was just defending her honor, and that you’ve been trying to break up the business to steal clients for a solo show. Instead, you’re going to hold your head—”

  “What?”

  “You really need to watch Entertainment Tonight more often.” She sighed, filled him in on what that conniving ex-fiancée of his had been up to, and heard him out as he swore, punched through the wall, then punched it again.

  After he’d knocked a second hole through the drywall and bloodied his knuckles, he sat back on the stool, breathing hard.

  “Sorry to have been the one to tell you, but it could have been worse.”

  “How?”

  “Well, you could have married her, then found out she and Brian would get custody of your love child as well as access to half of everything you own. Now you don’t have to split the kid too. Just start over without them.”

  “Start over? With what? There’s nothing left.” God, he wanted to destroy something before he broke down at the hopelessness of it all. His entire life spent working toward a goal, only to have it crumble because he’d put his faith in the wrong people.

  Fuck.

  Iris put a hand on his shoulder. “You listen to me, Harry.” Only she could get away with calling him that. “You’ve always been up-front about who you
are and what you want. The people who are your friends know this. So you see who’s still around after your house of cards tumbles. And then you pick up, start over, and kick those fuckwads in the ass with the best new chop shop on the West Coast.”

  He felt himself smiling. “It’s not a chop shop, Iris. Those are illegal.”

  “Whatever. Get it done. And if you still hate me calling you Harry, wait until I start calling you Harrison. Or, you know, your other name. That which should never be said.”

  He shuddered. “Fine. I swear. I’ll man up and deal. But I won’t like it.”

  “Don’t. Get mad, get even, but don’t get played for a fool again.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. That.” And that’s why Gear would go to the damn party. Because the studio would throw Brian and Sahara at him, using his loss to drum up ratings for the new show without him, making him a scapegoat for the crap he hadn’t done so they could salvage viewers. He’d go tonight, but on his own terms. Sahara he’d ignore. Brian… With any luck, he would refrain from blackening Brian’s face all over again.

  Gear sighed. “What should I wear to the party?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Iris cheered, came over to hug him, then shoved away Thor’s awful choices and found him two costumes. A villain for the press, the other to hide in.

  He smiled at the second, warming to the idea of the party more and more.

  Chapter 2

  Saturday Night

  The party was in full swing, the mansion outside Seattle, just past Newcastle. Anyone with this much space and a house this large had to live away from the city where land could be had, but at a premium. Joaquin Torano—a friend of a friend of Elliot’s, apparently—liked to live large. Big party, beautiful guests, in a massive colonial complete with marble flooring, gold inlaid columns, and a ballroom that had been cleared to host a hundred-plus guests with room to spare.

  A large, muscular man with tattoos, ear gauges, and a Mohawk standing inside the foyer bro-hugged Elliot, gave Sadie a refreshing once-over to let her know she was indeed a woman, and then let them continue inside.

  The music grew louder the farther they walked into the party. But not so loud Sadie couldn’t hear Elliot’s apparent shock. Or rather, his continued shock.

  “I have no words.” Elliot stared at her as if Sadie had grown two heads.

  “You keep saying that…which is kind of ironic, don’t you think?”

  “Just…no words.”

  She sighed. “What?”

  “You’re…hot. I mean, really sexy in that getup. Ew, I think I threw up in my mouth a little.” Elliot pretended to gag. Dressed as the Phantom of the Opera, he looked magnificent. The half mask he wore emphasized the vivid green of his eyes and the square line of his jaw. But now, inside and adjusting to the festivities, Sadie saw more beautiful people, making Elliot appear almost normal.

  “You know, I can look good when I put my mind to it.”

  “I see that.” He smiled.

  She glanced around at men and women in costumes a lot more revealing than hers. She’d been annoyed enough that she’d decided to go as a warrior princess, complete with a fake sword she considered using on her brother. Sadie’s costume showed a lot of skin but kept the important parts covered. Nothing less than what she wore at the gym, to be honest. A short skirt of fake leather and a matching halter top that bared a good bit of her toned stomach, complete with a scabbard at her back. Fake-gold armbands tightened around her biceps, while quality leather boots with tufts of faux fur around the tops looked authentic enough to be part of the costume. In reality she’d borrowed them from Rose.

  Sadie had left her hair long with a single braid on each side of her face, and she’d darkened her eyes and lips with black makeup. A few fake war-paint lines under her eyes and across her cheeks apparently made her look authentically man-eating—or so the drunk guy brushing by her thought out loud.

  Not bad. If he hadn’t been so sloshed, she might have considered trying him on for size. She had a leather satchel belted to her waist containing some money, a few condoms, and her phone.

  “Oh my God. Is that who I think it is?” Elliot dragged her around the packed dance floor and up a half level toward the rear of the home leading out onto the patio, where the crowd was thin enough to see a small gathering under bright lights. Space heaters and tall tables had been placed around a slate-slabbed yard, while strategically placed minibars provided drinks.

  “Who are you talking about?” She rubbed her arms, feeling the chill before Elliot squeezed them in next to two couples by a space heater. Before she could ask again, her brother shushed her.

  To the small group near them, he asked in a low voice, “Is that Gear in the Joker costume? And B-Man with Sahara?”

  “Yeah,” came a low reply from one of the men. “See the camera guy standing just behind the tall Batman? And the other one, the lighting guy there, is wearing scrubs, but he’s no doctor. Dude is working to keep the lights on in this clusterfu—”

  “Foley,” the redhead next to him chastened.

  “Come on, Cyn. This ain’t the place for reality TV. I just wanna party.”

  Sadie glanced at the guy and blinked. The large man had dark hair, a muscular build—the way she liked them—and amazing gray eyes. Dressed as a sexy cop, he exuded menace more than law and order. Très sexy. Before Sadie could close her mouth, Cyn, the stunning redhead wearing an orange prisoner jumpsuit that clung to her curves, whispered something into his ear. He chuckled, and Sadie turned away, knowing she could never compete with a woman that pretty. Not that she’d ever try to break up a relationship, but with that woman, she’d stand no chance.

  “Look, Sadie,” Elliot whispered with excitement. “It’s the guys from Motorcycle Madnezz.”

  “Oh, right. Birdman and Glock.”

  “B-man and Gear,” he growled.

  “Whatever.” She wanted to turn away, but their dialogue sucked her in.

  Gear, the bodybuilder mechanic from the TV show, wore white makeup and a green wig, and had a Joker grin painted in red over his lips, making him seem both perpetually smiling and sneering at the same time. The purple pin-striped suit he wore seemed painted onto his larger-than-life body. He looks damn good was all she could think, wondering when she’d become so desperate that now maniacal clowns turned her on.

  “Jesus, he shaved off his beard.” Elliot fanned himself. “I’m in lust.”

  “I know.” Cyn sounded in awe until her boyfriend grunted. “I mean, I’m surprised about the beard.” She coughed. “It’s so sad they broke up, isn’t it, Foley? Gear and Sahara were perfect for each other.”

  He shrugged. “Too bad about the show. They sure made some killer bikes.”

  Next to them, another guy agreed while his girlfriend called Gear some unflattering names. Her boyfriend started to argue with her, defending the mechanic.

  “People, we’re getting ready to roll.” A man holding a large mic over the TV combatants glared at the onlookers. “Quiet.”

  The growing crowd around Sadie and Elliot grew silent.

  Elliot gripped Sadie’s hand. “They’re starting. Oh my God. Best. Night. Ever.”

  Illuminated and surrounded by heat lamps, standing across from each other with the mediator seated on a barstool between them, the three leads of Motorcycle Madnezz—Gear as the Joker, with B-Man and Sahara as Adam and Eve—faced off. B-Man showed off pecs and a set of tight abs, clad in shredded shorts covered with vines. He had to be cold. Gear looked hot under the collar and even more impressive despite being covered up in a suit. And Sahara… Eve, really? The woman wore a see-through toga that barely covered her ass when she moved. A fake snake lay around her neck and over an arm.

  Sadie knew she was being harsher on the woman than the men, but Sahara seemed so obviously out to stir up trouble. Glaring daggers at her ex while she clutched
B-Man’s arm and gloried in others fawning over her… She reminded Sadie too much of the girls in high school, the same idiots who’d tried and failed to make her life a living hell. Had she been a less confident person, Sadie would have folded. But she’d never much cared what others outside of family thought of her.

  To my detriment, because it’s a Saturday night and I’m at a Halloween party with my brother. Oy.

  To make sure she didn’t look as ridiculous as Sahara, Sadie gave herself a subtle once-over, checking out her costume. Nah. She looked just fine.

  “So, Gear, B-Man,” the slick emcee began, “do you want to tell us what happened two months ago? What started the fight?” The emcee had teeth too white to be natural. He looked styled, eager for news, and tacky in a gladiator costume showing off a shaved chest and a tan a little too orange to be natural.

  B-Man had his arm around Sahara’s shoulders and hugged her tight. It spoke of comfort, a platonic embrace, yet Sadie had a feeling it meant something more. “Sahara, you tell him.”

  Sahara shifted and flashed her ass at the crowd behind her. The emcee leaned toward her. So did the lighting guy, while a few masculine whistles and groans came from the crowd. Sahara batted her thick lashes and sighed.

  Sadie barely bit back her own sigh—of disbelief. “It’s like you can feel the testosterone leaning closer for a whiff of her p—”

  “Sadie,” Elliot hissed.

  “I was going to say perfume.” Probably. She tried not to be too vulgar in public.

  A few of the people standing near them chuckled before Elliot shushed them. If her brother wasn’t careful, he’d get his ass beat. And she’d be first in line.

  Sahara’s voice came out husky; she sounded vulnerable. “I didn’t want this for us, Gear. For any of us.” She sniffed and turned to the crowd. “They say when you make your life public, ugly things happen. Relationships end.” She sniffed again, and Sadie could feel the woman’s tears building, no doubt ready to roll down Sahara’s perfect cheekbones in slow motion, glistening under the eye of the camera. “But I never thought that would happen with Gear and me. Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.” Yep. There it was. A single tear tracked down her cheek.