by Anne Malcom
The prospect’s eyes bugged out, but Killian’s hand at his throat meant he couldn’t answer.
“’Cause that’s what’s gonna happen. I’ll put a bullet in your skull for even thinkin’ bout her. Sayin’ that shit. You do not speak about her, unless you want to die. You ready to meet the reaper?”
“Shit, the prospect fuck up the taco order again?” an amused voice asked before Killian could make good on his promise.
Killian’s gaze flickered to the door where Lucky and Cade had just entered, not loosening his grip on the prospect or lowering his piece.
Lucky was glancing at him amused. “I know it’s annoying when he forgets the hot sauce, but, bro, do you really want to shoot him? If you kill the prospect, who will clean up his blood? Not me.” He bit into an apple with a smile and sank down on the sofa behind them, switching the channel and putting his attention to the TV.
Cade was a little less blasé about the situation, maybe because he registered the murderous glint in Killian’s eyes. He stepped forward, his face blank as always.
“You wanna loosen your grip, brother? Prospect’s turning blue,” Cade remarked casually, crossing his arms as he came to stand beside him.
“Good,” Killian replied, glaring at the man who he was holding, who was indeed changing color. “Fucker deserves it.”
His president didn’t betray any emotion. “Let me be the judge of that. We try not to make a habit of killing prospects, fucks with our membership.”
Killian didn’t move, but he loosened his grip enough so the prospect could suck in a mangled breath. He didn’t lower his gun.
“I’m assuming there’s a good reason for this.” Cade nodded his head to the gun.
“We shouldn’t have a prospect who talks shit about the club’s family. Who doesn’t respect that.”
Cade’s body stiffened a smidgeon at Killian’s words, his jaw stiffening. Family, loyalty, and respect were more than important to the club. It was the foundation of the brotherhood. Cade took that shit seriously.
“Lexie?” he guessed correctly. Cade was shrewd and didn’t miss a thing.
Killian nodded sharply.
Cade sucked in a breath. He eyed the prospect. “You should be glad Bull wasn’t here. We’d be cleaning your brains off the walls right now.”
“Who says we won’t be?” Killian asked, serious.
“’Cause we don’t kill prospects for sayin’ stupid shit. If we did, Lucky never would have gotten his patch and we’d have dug his grave the day he first set foot in here,” Cade remarked.
“Hey!” Lucky called from the sofa. “I resent that.”
Cade ignored him; his blank eyes were on the prospect. “Though it’s tempting. Let him go, Kill,” he said in a flat voice.
Killian didn’t miss the command in his president’s tone. He loved the club, lived for it in fact. Breathed it. Respected Cade; hell, he was more of a father to him. But right now, he was ready to disobey him and put a bullet in this fucker’s skull just for saying those words about Lexie.
After a moment, he did let him go. Not because he was afraid of killing someone, he’d done that, what was another black mark on his soul? No, because he respected the club. Because the club was the only thing he had left to live for.
That didn’t mean he didn’t switch his grip on his piece so he could coldcock the fucker in front of him, sending him crumpling to the ground, unconscious.
Cade clapped him on the shoulder, not blinking at the violence. “He’ll be educated on just how serious we take shit like that.” He glanced down. “If he hasn’t been already.”
Kill regarded Cade. “Just keep that fucker away from me if you don’t want me murdering a prospect.”
With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the common room. Not before tagging the bottle of whisky on the bar.
“And you need a code to get into the property?” the officer asked me, glancing up from his notepad.
I nodded, hugging my arms around me. “And you have to get through security at the front gate.”
“But that fuckin’ security guard was too busy stuffing his fat face to check anyone too closely,” Noah clipped from beside me, his arms going around my shoulders, squeezing me into his warm chest. “He’ll be getting fired. Tomorrow.”
Wyatt and Sam stood on either side of me, their arms crossed and faces tight. I’d called to the three of them as soon as I’d gotten off the phone with Zane, but by the time they’d come into the kitchen, the figure was gone. Sam had immediately gone out to check, despite my protests, while Wyatt called the cops. Sam didn’t find any sign of the lurker, which I was glad of. Not that the boys couldn’t take care of themselves, they’d grown up and turned into men. Like, real, muscly badass, rock star men. They could hold their own. Evidenced by the handful of bar fights they seemed to find themselves in. Brawls I didn’t condone but they’d won.
“And you’ve not had security breaches such as this in the past?” the officer continued, his eyes flickering back from Noah.
I shook my head again. “Not since we moved here.”
“And you can’t be sure it wasn’t just a paparazzo?”
“I didn’t see a camera,” I told him, shivering slightly. That’s the thing that freaked me out the most. I was used to people going to great lengths to get a photo, but I hadn’t had my privacy invaded like this before. I’d be feeling a lot less freaked out right now if the person had had a camera, instead of just watching me. I shivered again at the memory of that stare. Even from a distance it had sent an uncomfortable prickle down my spine. Scared me.
“What do you mean, ‘just a paparazzo’?” Wyatt asked, voice tight. “They fuckin’ trespassed. It’s a goddamn crime. It’s enough those scum follow her around enough as it is. Whoever this was, they invaded her privacy. It’s not fuckin’ acceptable.” He glared at him like this single cop was responsible for making the law.
“I agree,” the cop said, surprising all four of us. His expression was hard, betraying distaste that didn’t suit his face. He was older, with salt in his pepper hair and lines around his tanned face. But he didn’t have a gut hanging over his belt like a lot of older police officers. There didn’t seem to be an inch of fat on his body. “But as I can’t change those particular laws, I’ll enforce the ones I can.” He moved his attention to me. “I’ll do everything I can to catch this person. You’ve got cameras?”
I nodded again. “I handed the tapes over to another officer earlier.”
“Good. I’ll be honest with you, Ms. Williams. The chances of finding people like this are slim, especially since you didn’t see his face. The fact he was smart enough to get in without raising any alarms makes me suspect he won’t be stupid enough to get caught on camera. I’ll do my best. In the meantime, I’ll have a squad car outside your property tonight. You won’t be staying here alone?” he asked, his eyes touching on the boys.
“Of course she fuckin’ won’t,” Sam answered for me. Even though the officer was polite and just doing his job, the boys were glaring at him.
Before they did anything that may or may not get them arrested, again—another story for another day—I ushered the officer outside with a thanks and a promise to call if I had any more problems. It wasn’t his fault, really. I knew that. Celebrities—ugh, I hated calling myself that—got people lurking around and harassing them all the time. It came with the territory. But something about this was different. The gaze, the figure, I couldn’t put my finger on it. It felt… menacing. I had eyes on me all the time; I was used to it. But I could feel the change in that gaze.
But of course, that was ridiculous. You couldn’t feel something in a gaze. Well, only one person could make me feel something in a gaze.
Careful, Lexie, mustn’t think of that.
“I’m calling Duke,” Wyatt declared once I reentered my kitchen where Noah had started preparing food. Eating was the last thing I wanted to do. My stomach was ful
l of ash. The combination of the funeral and the peeping Tom outside my window had me feeling unnerved. But I’d eat. I didn’t want the boys to worry. They did. Like old grandmothers.
I didn’t want Zane or Mom to worry either, which was why I didn’t tell him what I saw when I was on the phone to him. He couldn’t do anything anyway. He was three hours away. As badass as he was, I doubted even he could teleport. And I’d known I wasn’t in immediate danger. I was in the house with the boys. Whoever that was stayed outside.
Or maybe I was kidding myself. Maybe I knew I didn’t tell Zane because I didn’t want it getting back to… him. I could take care of myself. I had no choice now.
“We’re not calling Duke,” I argued as I pushed up onto the barstool, taking the glass of red wine Noah handed me. He knew me too well. My nerves were frazzled.
Noah glared at me. “Lexie,” he warned.
“You’re fuckin’ callin’ him,” Sam growled in a voice that surprised all of us.
My eyes cut to his. They weren’t full of humor or teasing glint like usual. No, they were hard, and for once, he looked dangerous. Not that he didn’t normally to the naked eye. He’d taken off his black shirt and all of his tattoos were visible with the tee he was wearing. He’d started getting them the day we moved to L.A. He and Wyatt both. Whereas Wyatt only had one full sleeve and a bit more scattered ink, Sam was covered. Both of his muscled arms, his chest, and he was considering getting a back piece. He was the most tattooed of all of us. Me being the least. There was a small music note on the finger I held my guitar pick with and the one we got the day we completed our first album. Unquiet Mind was scribbled on my wrist in a sloping script. The boys had it on various spots. Sam’s was on his neck. His black hair was still long, and he mostly wore it in a messy bun, which drove his fans crazy. There was a fan page for ‘Sam Kennedy’s delicious bun’—he loved that. One of his eyebrows was pierced and his face had hardened and lost all the softness of boyhood. He was hot. But right now, he looked more serious than I’d ever seen him.
“Babe, there is no discussion. We’re gonna look out for you, no question about that. But this world’s full of crazies. Add this into the fuckin’ creepy letters you’ve been getting…” He trailed off.
Both Noah and Wyatt glared at him.
I narrowed my eyes. “Letters?” I snapped. “What letters?”
Sam’s eyes bugged out. “Fuck,” he muttered.
“Good one, idiot,” Wyatt shot at him.
“What letters?” I repeated.
Wyatt sighed and ran his hand through his shaggy blond hair. It was no longer spiky like he’d had it in high school; it was thick and messy. “It’s nothing.”
I glared at him. “It’s obviously not nothing considering you have all kept it a secret. Need I remind you all we don’t do that.” I looked at each of the boys who looked slightly sheepish, though their eyes were hard.
I was right. We had all promised not to keep anything from each other, nor lie to each other. This business was full of lies and secrets. We weren’t going to be like that.
Or so I’d thought.
“We get letters every day. Hundreds. Most of them are to worship my godlike talents and hauntingly beautiful good looks of course,” Sam declared, his face and tone not matching the humor of his words.
I glared at him, which meant I wasn’t amused.
“Some of the letters we get are less than desirable, you know that,” Wyatt added.
I nodded. When we first started out and read every single piece of correspondence sent to us with childlike excitement, we’d laugh over the letters that called us ‘talentless hacks’ or other creative insults. There were some nasty ones that got to us, got to me, more accurately. Why was it that it was the one bad letter that made me feel like shit when I’d just read a hundred good ones?
When we started getting bigger and busier, we lost the time to read every single letter we got. Our assistants read them now and passed some on that they knew we’d want to read, a lot from sick kids and things like that. We always answered those personally and visited the hospitals if we could.
Because we didn’t read them, those negative and hateful letters didn’t get near me and I guessed they got thrown out.
“Hannah noticed that there was a lot of letters that came from the same person,” Wyatt explained. Hannah was my assistant and one of my best friends. She didn’t tell me either? I was so giving her hell the next time I saw her. Not that I could hold a grudge.
Except with one person. Grudge wasn’t exactly what I’d call it.
“What was in them?” I bit out, chasing those thoughts away. I didn’t want the demons of the past haunting me while I dealt with the demons of the present.
Wyatt’s eyes went hard. “Just that this person loved you, wanted to meet you. Said you were meant to be together. The usual.”
This, again, was not uncommon. Wyatt, Sam, and Noah had girls proposing marriage all the time. They got naked pictures continuously. No one actually knew, apart from us, that Noah was not interested in naked girls. He hadn’t come out. Didn’t speak about it. We’d never acknowledged it, but we all knew, the boys too. I think they’d always known but realized it when we moved here. They didn’t treat him any different, didn’t love him any less. Something haunted him about embracing his true identity. Not something. Someone. His father. I hated that he was hurting and troubled and I couldn’t help. I also hated his evil father who wasn’t afraid to put his hands on Noah when we were in school, but didn’t hesitate to put his hand out when we started earning the big bucks.
“Then they got angry that you weren’t replying. Got creepy,” Wyatt continued.
“Creepy?” I repeated, getting that uncomfortable prickling feeling again.
Wyatt shrugged. “Weird poems. Shit like that.”
“Let me see them,” I demanded.
The boys exchanged glances.
“I know you’re trying to protect me, but you were going about it the wrong way. I’m a big girl. I can handle it. Now let me see them.”
“Well, we can’t exactly do that,” Sam answered. “We kind of… burned them.”
I raised my brows and took a long sip on my wine. “Burned them?” I said quietly. “And what in the ever-living hell possessed you to do that?”
Noah leaned forward to squeeze my hand. “They were ugly and creepy, sure, but they were harmless and not shit you needed on your brain. You’ve got enough going on,” he said softly, his dark eyes seeing too much. The boys knew. They knew what demons I fought. Memories of him. Memories of Steve and Ava. My father’s ghost haunted me. They knew because I poured it out into my songs. Every song that went number one, that earned us the big bucks, was built on my pain. Not that I resented that. I needed it to survive. I needed to play in order for my soul to be quiet. To silence those memories. To numb the pain.
“Plus, they’re probably not even connected,” Wyatt said, sipping his beer. “But it’s better to be safe. We’re calling Duke.”
I stared at all three of them. They weren’t going to back down.
“Fine,” I grumbled.
Sam grinned, but I didn’t miss the shadow behind it. He was worried. They all were.
And I couldn’t seem to get rid of that prickle at the back of my neck.
He watched her from his place in the bushes. Now that the inept police had left, he had an unobstructed view. Incompetent swine, all of them. He had easily evaded them; they hadn’t even caught a glimpse. That car on the curb was useless. It wouldn’t stop him. Nothing would. They were meant to be together. Nothing could stop that. Stop destiny. He would get her, his golden angel. All he had to do was wait. And maybe get rid of any obstacles, but that wasn’t a problem. He’d done it before.
He’d do anything to make her realize they were meant to be.
For you had to show the ones you loved you were willing to overcome any barriers in order be with them.
And that’s what he’d do.
ONE WEEK LATER
“You really need to work on your right hook,” Duke informed me, his eyes scanning the parking lot of the gym that was somehow blissfully empty.
I scowled up at him. “No I don’t. You just need to work on your dodging.”
He raised a brow. “My dodging?”
I nodded, my sweaty ponytail moving with me. Who said miracles didn’t happen? I was here, looking like a total mess after my workout with Duke and not a pap in sight. “Yes, your dodging. You’re too good at it. If you slow down a little, my right hook would do just fine.”
Duke chuckled but his face quickly turned serious and he put his full attention on me now that he was convinced there was no immediate threat in an empty parking lot in a gym at dusk. Granted, this gym wasn’t in the best area, but that’s why I liked it. It wasn’t full of barely clad girls and men who wore more makeup than me. It was mostly full of gruff men who knew me and didn’t blink at me working out and training with Duke in the ring. I had been cornered once; I wanted to know how to defend myself. I’d been sparring with Duke ever since we employed him. He was a good teacher, but a hardass.
“Babe, you’re cute, but I’m serious. You’re good. Better than most women, ‘specially ones who look like you. But you want to be serious about protectin’ yourself when I fall down on the job, you work on your right hook.”
I grinned at him and playfully punched his arm. Then I screwed up my nose and rubbed my hand after it protested from hitting pure concrete instead of human muscle that most men were made out of. “You? Fall down on the job? I think I’d be more likely to see Sam become a monk than that. You’re like Captain America, super solider with a dirtier mouth and better outfits,” I informed him, glancing down at his sweats appreciatively. Not his sweats exactly, more accurately the muscles bulging out of them. I appreciated them in a detached, sisterly way like I did the boys’ in the band. Duke was hot, no doubt about that, but I didn’t feel it with him.
I doubted I’d feel it with anyone.