Heartless Savage (Angels Halo MC Next Gen 7)

The morning seemed to fly by. After breakfast, Emmie introduced me to all four of the international rockers she had recently signed. Park Min Gi was from Seoul, Korea, and lived up to the K-pop hype that I’d seen some of my friends at school getting into. Only, he was a rocker, so I guess it was more of a K-rock hype. I didn’t know, and I didn’t really care. I just liked looking at him, because the guy was possibly the most beautiful man I’d ever seen in my life.

Second most beautiful. Because even as dreamy as Park Min Gi was, he couldn’t stand up to my idea of perfection that Ryan was.

The three rockers I would be translating for all week kept me busy from the moment I walked into the penthouse. Laura Consoli had an expensive-looking guitar in her hands, holding it like a baseball bat as she swung it at Franco Rossi’s head, screaming and cursing at him in Italian. While Garik Kipelov sat at the dining table encouraging her to “kill the motherfucker” as he shoveled waffles into his mouth.

The guard named Marcus grabbed her from behind, while Rodger carefully tried to pry the guitar from her hands. A difficult feat since she was still swinging it.

“What is she saying?” Emmie asked at my side as we watched the shitshow.

I quickly replayed the scene through my head that we’d walked in on. “Rossi wanted to know if Laura’s er…if the curtains match the drapes is a less crass way of saying it.” It was a little more complicated than that, but it was all Emmie needed to know before she was walking up to Rossi and grabbing a handful of his hair at the back of his head.

She was a smaller-sized woman, taller than me by several inches, but more slender than I was for sure. Yet she dragged the six-foot-two-inch rocker into the sitting area and flung him onto the couch.

“Nova, translate for me,” she commanded, not taking her eyes off her client as she got in his face.

Rossi rubbed at the tender spot at the back of his scalp as he glared up at her.

“I don’t give two fucks what your last manager put up with,” Emmie seethed. “I’m not them. I will throw your dumb ass in a dumpster somewhere and then help the cops look for you.” He started to sneer back at her, but she grabbed his hair again, jerking his head back so hard, his eyes began to water. “Don’t believe me? Try. Me. I will drop your ass if you don’t respect others. Especially the women you will be working with. I don’t care what their job position is. I don’t care how old they are. I don’t give a single fuck how innocent you think the disrespect may be. You want to make a name for yourself in this country like you did back in Italy? Then behave yourself, or I will put you on a plane back to Milan.”

I quickly translated everything for her, and she stepped back. Rossi’s eyes skirted from her to me, narrowing as they skimmed over me in a leering kind of way that had me rolling my eyes.

“You need me a hell of a lot more than I need you,” Emmie continued. “This is your only warning.” Her gaze went around the room, taking in the other three rockers. “The only warning any of you will get. Behave and respect one another. You want to kill one another? Do it when you get home.”

I repeated everything in Italian and then Russian for Garik’s benefit.

Solemnly, Emmie crossed to where Marcus was still holding Laura with her arms locked over her chest. “Are you okay?” she asked in a softer tone. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” Laura grumbled in Italian, and I quickly translated for her as she spoke. “Only insulted me.”

“Next time, come to me first. I won’t allow him to harass you in any way.”

After a few deep breaths to calm herself, Laura gave a nod, and Marcus finally released her.

“Nova, you should introduce yourself,” Emmie instructed, taking the guitar from Rodger and inspecting it. “Then we should get going for the first set of interviews.”

It only took a few minutes to let them know who I was and that I would be helping to translate for them, even though I was sure they had already garnered that small detail.

“Your Russian is flawless,” Garik praised when we were in the back of a van on the way to the first radio station. “Who taught you?”

“My best friend,” I told him evasively. “He taught me Italian as well. He comes from a multilanguage home.”

On the drive over, I took a moment to observe the three I would have to work with all week. Laura was tall and slender, with glossy jet-black hair that was dyed in a rainbow underneath, and startling blue eyes. Her voice was on the raspy side, and I wondered if she would sound more like Janis Joplin or Stevie Nicks. Rossi was verging on skinny, reminding me a little of Steven Tyler with his long hair and the way he always seemed to want to take his shirt off.

Then there was Garik, with his dark-blond hair and ice-blue eyes. He was built like a tank and, I could only assume, the older of the three. He had a more mature air about him, or maybe he’d just had a harder life. I wasn’t sure, but I found myself befriending him a little more than the others as the week progressed.

22

Ryan

Walking into Pop’s home office, I tossed a few files on his desk. I’d already put a note on the top of the stack to remind him I needed everything back by the next morning, so there was no need for me to stick around. With it being the week after Christmas, I knew he would just be wandering aimlessly around the house or out with Samara somewhere. When Mom was gone to Paris with Nova, he tried to find things to keep himself busy so he didn’t miss her as much.

Tired, I scrubbed a hand over my face, wishing I had something to distract myself other than just work. This bullshit with Nova was killing me. She wouldn’t call me or return my texts, and I was trying to give her some space so she could cool down from whatever was going on with us.

But not being able to talk to her every day was killing me.

“Ryan!” Samara called out.

My head snapped up, finding my baby sister skipping down the hall toward me…with Mom right behind her, carrying a plate of cookies.