CHAPTER TWO

Wez vacated the taxi, handing the driver a roll of bills as he slung the carry-all over his shoulder and gripped the suitcase with his free-hand.  His head was cleanly shaven and he was thankful he donned a toque before leaving his apartment since the blistering, chilly wind nipped at his skin.  Fuck, he loathed New York winters.  He headed up the steps, eyeing the remodeled, majestic hotel.  The lobby was huge, filled with people rushing about and he continued to take in all the gold and marble.  His first duty was to carefully assess the hotel map that was nestled in black lacquer, sitting on a gold stand.  He noted the exits and entrances.  Satisfied, he started to the elevators.

So out of place.  Damn, he hated these kind of fancy-ass establishments.  But, best to get used to it since he'd be dogging a rock star for lord-knows-how-long.  And those spoiled celebrities lived to spend money and flaunt their wealth.

The doors drew open and he stepped inside, pressing the button to the fifteenth floor.  Ten more people herded into the elevator and Wez scowled.  Dammit, just a few more years of this nonsense and he'd be far away from civilization and all the crap that went with it.  

Memory, his memory was as photogenic as they came and he assessed each person stuffed into the small, enclosed space with him.  He eyed an elderly couple, an attendant holding a tray, a young couple with a baby, two businessmen, a working girl who looked to be an assistant, an electrician, and a woman who was maybe about thirty and casually dressed.  Experience told him any of these individuals could be the killer.

Up they went, every now and then stopping, someone would get out and it would start up all over again.  Soon, he was just left with the young couple and the woman.  The doors drew open again, the fifteenth floor and Wez stepped out.  When he heard the doors close, he glanced over his shoulder.  Satisfied he was the only person in the hallway, he began making his way to Bubba's room.

Along the way he met a bellboy carting mounds of luggage.  The young man smiled, nodding his head but Wez ignored him, quickly putting the guy from his mind.  Killers tried to blend in, not stand out so the smiling attendant was legit and worked here.

He continued to glance at the room numbers and then stopped when he came upon the suite he was looking for.  Just a quick, sharp rap and the double doors drew open.

"Come on in," Bubba announced as he took a step back.  "Jesse's in the shower.  He'll be out in a minute."

A man came forward and motioned for the carry-all and suitcase.  Wez shook his head, silently telling the male to bugger off.  He continued to clutch his luggage as he followed Bubba through the suite, not at all surprised by the fancy furniture and the plush living room he was led to.

He set down the luggage and took a seat on the sofa, taking the time to unbutton his leather coat as he removed his toque.  An attendant appeared and she set down a silver tray that held a platinum coffee butler, crystal sugar and milk containers, and fine-bone china mugs.

Wez almost rolled his eyes since he noted even the ashtrays were crystal.  "Get rid of it," he grunted.  "We will make the coffee."

The male assistant's jaw slackened in disbelief.

Wez pulled out a fresh can of Folger's, along with sugar cubes and coffee mate.  "You both serve Jesse?" he asked.

The man and woman both nodded their heads.

"No more room service," he growled.  "You buy groceries and cook the food here.  And when you cook, I will supervise.  Got it?  Now I watch you make the coffee."

Bubba took a seat in the armchair, neatly crossing his legs, not at all surprised his comrade was already hard at work.  "I spoke with my secretary.  She'll be in New York this evening to deliver you the file."

Wez nodded his head as he stood in the archway to the kitchen, watching the girl make a fresh batch of coffee.  When the water drained all the way through, he motioned at the woman to fill the butler which she did.  He grabbed the crafter from her and headed back into the living room, taking a seat.

Just then the double french doors to the master quarters were drawn open.  Wez held his breath, his earlier agitation disappearing when he watched Jesse Black appear before his eyes.  So different.  He didn't expect this at all.  The golden mane of hair was damp, falling in thick layers around those high cheekbones.  Gone was the black eye-liner and powdery, white make-up, along with the blood-red lipstick.  Not a hint of leather adorned the sinewy body.  Instead, he gazed at a face so ethereal, so beauteously mesmerizing.  Yeah, the Golden Youth was looking just like the lad in the publicity photo that sat on his desk. 

Not in a million years would he imagine this genteel, young man to be a vampiric rock star.  A silk robe was wrapped around those lean muscles, belted at the slim waist and opening into a V, exposing the firm pecs and flat stomach.  The long, endless legs were garbed in baggy, silk, draw-string pants.  The singer wore slippers instead of the trademark leather boots.  A gold chain was clasped around the delicate throat.

"Hi.  You must be Mr. Cawston."

Wez still stared.  The voice . . . so different from the screeching, effeminate shouting he heard during live concerts or videos.  So soft was the tone, a husky whisper, maybe even somewhat shy.  And Mr. Cawston?  Heavens, the kid had impeccable manners.

"Forgive me," Bubba spoke up as he stood.  "Jesse, this is Vernon Cawston but everyone refers to him as Wez."  Then he looked to his comrade.  "Wez, this is Jesse Black."

"It's good to meet you," Jesse hesitantly began as he held out his hand.  "I'm really glad you could come on such short notice."

Wez was again dumbfounded.  The kid was living up to his fantasy.  He sure didn't expect this.  The rock star wasn't behaving at all like the cliché spoiled celebrity.  Then he realized he was just staring.  He quickly stood, extending his arm as he gripped his hand around those long, delicate fingers.  The touch.  Again, Jesse didn't fail him since the kid's skin was as smooth and silken as it looked.

"This man and I go way back," Bubba informed the singer.  "You're in good hands.  The best hands."

"I believe you, Mr. Zanetti," Jesse replied as he took a seat.  "You said you'd get me the best since you're unable to commit to my schedule and I know you're a man of your word."

Just then the female attendant hurried forward, quickly fixing the vocalist's coffee with a dash of coffee mate and one cube of sugar, a bit nervous since the burly bodyguard carefully watched her.  Then she held up the mug.

"Thank you," Jesse softly said.  "That will be all."

Wez also took a seat, still slightly shocked over what he was witnessing.  He thought for sure he'd be dealing with a hellcat who'd rebel and would be sneaking off to the gay bars, and snorting through mounds of cocaine.  Now he noted how the rock star rubbed that slim nose and he carefully scrutinized those glassy, chocolate eyes.

"Where is it?" he asked. 

Jesse flushed, sipping at the coffee.  "Whatever do you mean?" 

"The blow," Wez coolly stated as he folded his arms.  "I know you're high."

Now Bubba also carefully assessed the singer, frowning.

"Look, it's just a couple of lines," Jesse stammered as he tossed back his hair.  "It's not a big deal."

Wez leaned forward then, his eyes narrowed as he stared hard into those brown gems.  "Get one thing straight.  I do Bubba a favor cause he an old friend.  I also do you a favor cause I like your music.  Don't fuck me around.  If we work together, it is on up-and-up.  If you want to ply me with bullshit, I leave now."  He stood.

Just then Ross Spellman entered the hotel room and the first thing he heard was Wez's statement.  "Now hold on," the manger sputtered as he dropped his suitcases.  "Is this the bodyguard?"

Bubba nodded his head.

Ross now gazed at Jesse.  "The blow.  Give the man the blow.  Now!"

"Just remember you work for me," Jesse coldly said as he also stood.

"I went to a lot of trouble to get you the best," Ross spat out in disgust.  "Your band is counting on you.  I'm counting on you.  And your fans are counting on you.  The fucking record label is counting on you.  There is a serial killer who wants to snuff your goddamn life out.  And if you don't listen to this man, it's gonna be second-raters who are gonna be guarding your ass, which means you're gonna end up with a bullet between the eyes just like Kid Wikkid and Kyle Fox.  Do you wanna join your peers in the grave?"

Jesse's jaw tightened.  Then he glanced to Wez.  "It's on the third shelf in my bathroom."  He took a seat muttering under his breath, "What the fuck does doing blow have to do with this bullshit?"

Wez whipped around and slowly he bore down on the rock star who shivered and backed up into the plush chair.  Those powerful arms snaked out, the strong fingers just resting under the delicate chin.

"Drugs make you weak.  Have no control.  When someone is hunting you, takes all your wits to remain alive," he growled in a hissy voice.  "No more drugs."

Jesse's chocolate brown eyes were wide with fear as his heart pounded.  Cripe, he swore he was staring into the eyes of Lucifer.  Shit, this so-called bodyguard was probably the . . . "He's the killer," he squeaked out as he drew his long legs up.

Wez gave a bitter laugh.  "A killer?  Yeah.  Serial?  No.  Why would I hunt someone so weak?  I hunt men who challenge me.  You are no challenge.  Could kill you with my bare hands before you blink."  He stepped back then, casting the singer a warning look.

Jesse's mouth still hung open, his eyes remained wide with fright as he lowered his legs, gasping for breath.  And yet, the fear . . . it wasn't a dreadful fear, more like an awe-struck fear, so shocked since he never met anyone like this before.  All the rock stars, the security crews, they all talked so tough, sparking feuds in the media, and yet it was the quiet ones, those with the darting eyes, carefully taking in every single movement - yeah, it was these sort of fellas who had the nerves of steel, capable of walking the walk instead of talking the talk.  These men didn't have to prove anything since they knew with the snap of the fingers they could bring life down without remorse or regret.

"Why don't you get dressed," Bubba suggested.  "Ross and I still have to meet with Wez and review with him how I have the security restructured."

Jesse slowly nodded his head as he stood, still clutching the mug of coffee.  But he continued to stare at the bodyguard.

Just then the doors to the room opened and Cutter entered, carrying a white, plastic bag.

Bubba took a deep breath since he could already sense the tension thickening as Adrian carefully looked Wez over from top to bottom.  And he couldn't help but note his comrade performed the same task.  The two burly men reminded him of male lions, sniffing one another out, trying to find a weakness that could be used to take down one another so the winner could be king of the pride.  Yet, this pride didn't have a legion of lionesses.  There was only one, a male:  Jesse.

"Adrian, meet Wez.  He's the new bodyguard," Bubba spoke up.

Cutter's green eyes narrowed as he slowly nodded his head, making no movement to shake hands.  Instead, he removed his leather jacket and threw the garment over the arm of a chair.  Then he looked to Jesse.  "I got your stuff."

Wez stepped forward, his hand outstretched.  "Anything for Jesse, I look over first."

Cutter snorted.  "I don't think so.  Not only am I the head of security for The Black Attack, I'm also his boyfriend, so there is no chance in hell you are gonna inspect everything I give him."

Bubba growled under his breath.  When he first met Adrian, the big man fed him the same attitude, but not with this kind of hostility.  "He's only doing his job," he said in a flat voice.  "Let the man do what he's being paid for."

"Fine," Cutter snarled.  "Ya wanna know what's in here?  Salt N Vinegar chips.  It's all Jesse will eat for breakfast.  And I have two skin mags since he also likes to look at big dicks.  Are you satisfied?"

Wez took a step forward, noting Mr. 'Tude was an inch taller and probably outweighed him by ten to fifteen pounds, yet he wasn't the least bit intimidated.  He met many Cutters in prison and when he'd been War Chief for the Dogs of War.  And this type of man lived to flex muscle.  "I not ask you to tell me what's in bag, I said give it to me," he softly growled.

"Adze, do as he says," Jesse whispered.

"Fine.  Ya want a look?  Here."  Cutter fired the bag straight at Wez's chest.

Bubba again took a deep breath as he looked to Spellman.

Wez caught the bag.  He took another step forward.  "I see how this going to be."  He set the bag down on the coffee table.  "Okay.  We settle right now.  Give me your best shot."

"What the fuck?" Cutter hissed in disgust.  "Get off it, man.  Sit your ass down and get a hold of yourself."

"Just as I thought.  All talk."  Wez arched his brow and folded his arms.

Cutter's jaw tightened but he held his tongue.  Fuck, he sure as hell didn't like Bubba, and putting up with this new bodyguard was going to be ten-times worse.  He refused to get into a scuffle with this dickhead since common sense told him the man was a killer.  Yeah, he could see the look in those light blue eyes.  But still, he would not let the big ogre intimidate him.  He was determined to mark his territory and like hell this asshole was going to search everything he gave Jesse.

"Let's go," Cutter snapped as he motioned his eyes towards the bedroom.  "I've had enough."

Jesse turned and followed the big dude to the master quarters.  All that could be heard was the closing of the door.

"I'm very sorry," Ross sputtered.

"Not matter," Wez said as he took a seat.  "Let's get down to business.  How you have security restructured?  Also need to know everyone on band payroll and what job they do."

"Well, as you know, Cutter's head of security," Ross replied as he took a seat and helped himself to the coffee.  "I can get my secretary to print off the entire team.  Furthermore, I'll also give you the entire road crews names and positions."

Wez nodded his head.

"I have the entire band travelling in separate limos right now in order to confuse the stalker," Bubba informed him.  "I was also looking into hiring a double.  Spellman and I will be conducting interviews this evening.  We have four potential Jesse Blacks."

"Good idea," Wez agreed.  "I want him with me at all times.  Will need a new car, bullet proof.  I will drive Jesse wherever we go.  No need for a disguise since killer most likely know everyone who affiliated with The Black Attack.  Will need a job close to the stage so I can watch Jesse at all times."

"You got it."  Ross added the addition into his palm pilot.  "Anything else?"

"Cutter not like this but will be too bad for him," Wez began.  "Need change in accommodations.  Two double beds in one room for me and Jesse."

Ross again punched into his palm pilot.  "Done.  And don't worry about Adrian.  I'll let him know about the changes.  He won't like it but if he wants to keep his boyfriend alive, he's gonna just have to sit back and take it."

"Also want full report from your private investigators," Wez added.

Bubba frowned but refrained from saying anything.

"I can have a full report for you by this evening.  You can read it on the plane," Ross stated.

Wez sat back and sipped on his coffee.  All bases were covered.  He just needed that file and report.  Iron Bar would take care of the rest.

Next Page - Chapter Three