"How so?"

  I shrugged. "If the press didn't find me, the guys would inevitably tell someone, and it would get out, and there'd be another story. And I just...all I wanted was to be able to have sex without it being a major news cycle story. Didn't seem like much to ask."

  "Wouldn't think so, no."

  "People say oh, it's the price of fame, but that's bullshit. I signed up to have parts of my life televised, parts I chose to have taped...not every last detail. People think they're entitled to know everything about me, every detail, every little thing I do, everywhere I go, every guy I so much as look at. And the guys, they're just as bad. They all seem to think that just because we fucked once or twice, that they're gonna be on the show and that I'm gonna buy them a Ferrari and take them skiing in Switzerland or whatever. Or if they don't think that, they feel like it's no big deal to take a picture of us together and sell it. Before I came up with my rules, there'd be stories and photos and whatever, and it always came from the guy. Like...how fucking hard is it to realize I just want things kept private? I didn't go to a bar in Rancho Palos Verde because I wanted everyone to know who I was hooking up with. Just because I took my clothes off for him doesn't automatically mean he can take picture of me naked or half naked and fucking sell it to TMZ. Yet they kept doing it."

  I glanced at Duke. "So that's when I made up my rules. Now every guy signs a non-disclosure agreement. You don't get so much as a look at my cleavage without signing that NDA. And the NDA covers pretty much all the other rules. No photos. No selling stories. No telling your friends, no telling your family. Not a single word about anything we did to anyone, ever. That's the first rule, and it's legally binding. It protects my privacy, and it ensures the guy knows I'm dead serious. Anyone can break a promise not to talk, but they're a lot more likely to keep that promise if they've signed a legally binding document, which also means they can't tell anyone about the NDA itself, which is a super clever piece of legalese, if I do say so myself.

  "The second rule is no contact once you leave. You don't get my phone number, I won't be texting you, and you won't be texting me. No stalking me on Facebook and sending me PMs or Tweeting me, nothing."

  Duke did the eyebrow thing. "That's pretty clear cut, I'd say." He hesitated, a moment. "And you tell them this in so many words?"

  I nod. "Yup. I have a speech."

  Duke clapped his hands together once. "Let's hear it."

  I sighed. "Okay, fine. Here it is." I crossed my arms under my chest to prop up my cleavage, which is part of the spiel. "'Listen, Duke'--and here obviously I say their name--'I think you're sexy, and I'm looking forward to getting to the good stuff. But, there's a little thing we have to discuss first.' And here I'd bring out the NDA and a pen. 'So, obviously you know who I am, and I hope you understand that I'm only doing this to protect my privacy, but...I'm going to need you to sign this non-disclosure agreement. This is non-negotiable, I'm afraid. You can read it for yourself, but it basically says you won't tell anyone, ever, anything about what we do together. That includes your buddies, the paparazzi, bloggers, tabloids, your closest bro, nobody. Ever. You also can't tell anyone about the NDA itself.

  "'There's one other thing you're agreeing to, if you sign that, and let me assure you that if you don't sign it, then you'll be leaving. You don't contact me after we're done. No phone calls or texts, no PMs, DMs, or Tweets, nothing, ever. That's not what we're doing here. So, Duke, if you agree to all that, then sign and date the document, and we can move on to the fun part.'" I shrug. "That's pretty much how it goes, more or less."

  Duke was quiet for a while. "And they agree?"

  I nod. "Ninety-nine point nine percent of the time. I've had a couple guys back out, but yeah, most of the time they agree to it, and they sign it." I glance at him. "Why do you sound so...skeptical?"

  He bobs his head to one side. "Well, because I wouldn't agree to that shit. My word is my bond, at the risk of sounding archaic or whatever. That shit is...crazy. I'd never sign a legally binding document just for a chance to bone a chick, no matter how hot or famous she might be." He glanced at me, making an oops face. "That came out kind of harsh, maybe. I just mean--"

  I shrank against the door, away from him, staring out the window. "You've made yourself very clear, I'd say."

  He reached for me. "I didn't mean it like that..." he trailed off, lowered his hand. "Well, maybe I did. But it's not about you, necessarily. Like, It's not about you not being worth the trouble or some shit. It's just...that whole process, it's just...cold, I guess. Takes the fun out of it. Part of the rush of casual sex is the risk, the mystery. You never know who you're hooking up with, which is why you gotta be safe about things, obviously, but I just mean...shit, I don't know how to put it."

  He took a deep breath and let it out, then continued. "The excitement, the fun, the passion--it's about the mystery, not knowing the other person, sharing something intimate with a total stranger."

  Duke pauses then looks at me with a very serious expression on his face. "Putting a legal element to it, banning all future contact, putting this big legal disclaimer in front things, like hey, we're gonna fuck, but you can't ever tell anyone about it, you can't talk about it, you just have to keep this thing that happened secret. I mean, I get why you do it, but it seems like it takes something away from the whole thing."

  "You don't get what it's like--" I started.

  "No, I don't," Duke interrupted. "But that's not the point. Yeah, you got burned, hard. And then you kept getting burned. But even for me, a committed bachelor, an expert at the random hook-up, it seems like you've made a logistical science out of the one-nighter. You've turned it into this--this...cold, passionless...thing."

  He glanced at me, and I hated the look in his eyes almost as much as I hated the precise, brutal accuracy of his assessment. "It's just about the sex, at that point. And honey, plain old sex, if that's all that's happening, well goddamn, that shit is boring. That's where things end. That's the culmination of all the fun parts. If you're just taking these guys home and climbing on and riding their dicks and then kicking 'em out...where's the fun? Where's the--the juicy, messy craziness? Where's the part where you rip each other's clothes off and fuck like animals because you need the fuck, and I mean the tongues and the hands and the devouring each other, the teasing, the edging, the hardcore, rough and rabid, animal fucking?

  "You make a guy sign some stupid paper, yeah it binds him legally, but he's thinking about that shit, not about how hard he's gonna make you come, not about how he can get you to lose your fucking mind. Especially if he knows going in that all he ever gets is one shot? He gets to hook up with the Temple Kennedy, but he can't tell anyone and he only gets one lukewarm fuck? There's no reason to up his game. It's bullshit, is what it is. Yeah, it protects your privacy, but it also puts you up in this unbreachable tower like some kind of fucking Rapunzel. Sex isn't about putting the dick in the pussy, Princess. It's about a whole hell of a lot more than just...fucking.

  "And I'm saying this as someone who rarely taps the same honey twice, okay? But when I do hook up with a girl, I make sure there's...passion in it. I don't know dick about love--I don't mean that kind of passion. I don't even know if that shit exists. I told you where I came from--some asshole paid my mom for a quick fuck with a bag of crack rocks. There ain't ever been love in my life, unless you mean the guys I served with and fought next to--I can say I love those guys, but most of them are fuckin' dead. So I don't mean this is about the love kind of passion, like they put in those stupid Hollywood movies. That shit is for fairy tales and saps and fools, and I don't buy it. So don't mistake me, all right?"

  He stabbed a finger at me, vivid, piercing blue eyes blazing at me before looking back at the road. "But sex, good sex, even with a random, you gotta put a little bit of yourself into it. I've had chicks who think they can make me believe in love try to tell me, oh, Duke, you're giving away part of yourself every time you have causal sex with someone you don't intend to ever see again. But the way I see it, yeah, I'm giving part of myself away, but shit, I'm getting that same thing in return from the girl. That's how it works. If she's acting like I'm just some dick for her to ride and it don't mean shit, it's just gonna be some quick fluid-swapping, belly slapping fuck...and I'll shut that shit down with extreme prejudice.

  "Be real, that's all I ask--be into it. I'm real; I'm a straight-up kind of dude. I'll say it like it is, no bullshit. I'll tell you it ain't gonna be love because that shit doesn't exist, but I'll also promise it'll be the best damn night of your life, and I'll give it everything I've got to make that promise a reality." He met my gaze again. "And what you're doing, Fancy? That shit ain't real. It ain't even fucking. It's just...sex. And, Honey, that's sad, if you ask me."

  My head was spinning, my heart aching, my eyes stinging. "You're a bastard, Duke Silver," I said, my voice thick, breaking.

  "Dammit, all I meant was--"

  My voice was a hissing whisper. "Do not fucking talk to me. Don't call me Fancy, or Princess, or any of that shit. You want to rip my life apart? Okay, fine, whatever. But you don't get to keep talking to me, or acting like you know me. You don't know me. So fuck...you."

  "Temple, calm down a second."

  "Fuck YOU!" I shouted. "I tell you things I've never told anyone, I finally open up to a man because I think maybe I've found the one guy who could understand me, just a little, or at least accept me, and what do you do? You tear me apart and make me feel like shit. Like I'm just some slutty ice queen." I can't help a sniffle, a tear, but then I clamp down on it and focus on pushing the emotions back down where they belong--under the surface, deep down, never to be seen again. "God, just when I thought I couldn't get hurt any more, along comes Duke fucking Silver and his pompous, arrogant ass, proving me wrong, proving to me that, yes, there really is yet another way a man can hurt me."

  Duke opened his mouth to speak, but then the world ended in a deafening crash, and then the universe was spinning and twisting and flipping and something white exploded in my face and something crushed into my chest and something else sliced across my face and lanced past my breast and there was another crash and noise and pain--

  7: YOU DON'T KNOW SHIT

  Well...fuck.

  Again.

  I felt myself coming to, but this time it happened all at once, and in a blinding flash of pain. Then I was hit with the sudden realization that I was upside down, and that something was wrong.

  Everything was wrong, but something big and important and specific was very, very wrong.

  I forced my eyes open, struggling to focus past the crushing pain in my skull and the blood rushing to my head and the blood dripping down my chin and into my eyes and off my nose. Glancing to my right, I could see Temple, dangling limp, suspended by her seatbelt, passed out. She was a mess. Blood was matted in her hair from a cut along her hairline and another dripping slice across her chest, right across that perfect cleavage of hers.

  What happened?

  I was in pain, but nothing felt too fucked up. A headache, whiplash, aches and bruises--

  I glanced to the left, out the window. We'd been knockoff the highway and had rolled down a steep embankment, through a fence, and were upside down in a field. This was the middle of nowhere, a desolate stretch of highway that saw little traffic, which made it not an accident.

  Confirming my suspicions I saw, a quarter mile away, the hoods of two big black Wranglers parked side by side, angled in toward each other. They were kitted for off-road duty with big knobby tires, heavy duty brush guards, LED light bars, winches, and snorkels. Each Jeep was in the process of disgorging four men each armed with HK MP5s, and what looked like body armor. They were walking, single file, in our direction in a neat, precise line, all eight of them. Submachine guns up, butts to shoulders, laser sights on me.

  Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

  I braced my hand against the roof below me, and popped open the seatbelt buckle. I toppled clumsily to the floor...ceiling, whatever. The shotgun, thank god, had stayed in the vehicle with me, so I grabbed that and tossed it out the window on the opposite side of the car. Positioning myself beneath Temple, I unbuckled her, caught her as best I could, which meant letting her lower half hit the floor/ceiling and catching her head and shoulders with one arm. I checked for shards of glass in the shattered passenger window, kicked out a few remaining jagged spots, heaved Temple's limp weight out as far as I could, then scrambled out the rear window, already broken in the previous firefight. I pulled Temple the rest of the way out, and left her passed out behind the crumpled wreckage of the SUV. Peeking over the Tahoe, I could see that the mercenaries were only a couple hundred feet away.

  I snagged the strap of the Mossberg, leaned into the trunk compartment and snagged a box of shells and one of the AR-15s. I dumped the shotgun shells in a pocket, tossed the box aside, and pumped the charging handle of the AR-15. Checked the magazine--full.

  I glanced around me, looking for alternate cover, and saw nothing but the wreckage of the Tahoe and a stand of Aspen a good two hundred yards behind me. Plus a passed-out, bleeding Temple.

  And eight professional badasses coming my way, with proper firepower.

  Good thing I'm more badass than most professional badasses, right?

  My duffel bag was inside the SUV. I hooked a foot into the strap and tugged it toward me, and yanked open the zipper. Where are they? Shit, shit...there they were: two flashbangs, buried under the cash.

  I peeked up over the top of the upside down SUV and saw I was shit out of time.

  I pulled the pin and tossed the flashbang, ducked back down behind the bulk of the vehicle, counted to three--

  BANG!

  This close, the detonation was deafening, as it was meant to be. The second I heard the bang, I sprang up, laid the barrel of the Mossberg over the top of the Tahoe, and squeezed off a blind shot into the smoke pall left by the flashbang, the butt kicking against my shoulder like a mule, then swiveled to the right and fired again, swiveled back the other way and fired again, then ducked down, thumbed fresh shells in to replace the spent rounds, and set the shotgun aside, bringing the rifle up.

  I waited a ten count, and then rolled out around the back end of the Tahoe. The smoke was clearing, and two of the mercs were down, one writhing in pain and one motionless. The other six--

  Shit. One of them was nearly on top of me, firing as he trotted smoothly in my direction. His shots thunked into the body of the SUV, and I returned fire before ducking back behind cover. More bullets were plugging into the SUV, now, from the remaining six men. The racket of gunfire was deafening, and I knew it was only a matter of time before they started punching though and getting lucky.

  As the lead guy was rounding the tail end of the Tahoe, I had no choice but to fire from a crouched position, my rounds crunching through his throat and sending up a spray of blood. I grabbed him by the vest and pivoted behind him, feeling his blood rivuleting warm down my side as I pressed my shoulder into his back, felt him groaning, heard him gulping wetly, and then he was jerking as his companions' rounds slammed into his armored chest. I moved sideways with him, using him as a shield to absorb the fusillade of bullets, and then threw him forward as I reached the back end of the Tahoe. They'd flanked me from the right, coming around the hood.

  Which meant Temple was between us.

  Rage blasted through me, which I couldn't afford to give into. I had to keep cool, keep my head, and fight smart.

  But fuck, they might hit her, or I might hit her, or they might just snatch her and run--

  I rolled back out, rifle sweeping in a horizontal arc as I sidestepped into the open.

  They had Temple.

  One in front, holding her limp form across his body as a shield, the rest of his buddies clustered behind him. He was assuming I wouldn't shoot, that I wasn't willing to risk hitting Temple.

  Never call my bluff, motherfucker.

  I put three rounds through the face shield of the man holding Temple, since he didn't have a gun to her head. He dropped her to the grass, and fell backward, and then I was opening fire, strafing round after round as I hurled myself sideways. Hit the ground rolling, left the rifle on the ground and whipped up the shotgun as I came to my knees a few feet away.

  Temple was still out, but she was moving and moaning now. The mercs were backpedaling, finally realizing exactly who the fuck they were dealing with.

  A bullet creased my shoulder, another sliced my side open, and a third tugged at the loose fabric of my shorts, burning my thigh as it seared past me. Good thing close doesn't count. I aimed high, let loose with that sexy fuckin' twelve gauge, blast after blast, driving them backward and scattering them. One fell, then a second. Another bullet plucked at my shirt, a second scraped the outside of my ribcage, and a third buzzed past my ear. This was getting too close for comfort. One thing about luck is it always runs out. The trick is, know when to fold your hand before luck runs out on you.

  I burst into a run, right at them, thumbing shells into the chamber before unloading more slugs their way. I was aiming more toward them than at them, trying to scatter them, suppress their fire and make 'em run. Which is what they did, the two that were left on their feet.

  They were hauling ass across the field, and making damn good time, too. With the rifle I could've dropped 'em, but with a shotgun, at this distance? I didn't even try. Just let 'em run.

  They reached their Jeep, and I stepped out into the open after them. "TELL CAIN TO FUCKIN' BRING IT!" I shouted. "I'LL TAKE ON EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!"

  One of them answered with his HK, sending half a dozen rounds in two bursts at me. He missed by a mile, but got his point across. I ducked back behind the SUV, letting them get away, especially since Temple was starting to sit up.