by Chiah Wilder
“Yes. I do,” she whispered. “Oh, Sangre.” Isla smiled weakly and put her hands on his thighs, and he crushed her to him, rocking her back and forth until she stopped shaking and relaxed in his arms.
As she sat pressed to his side, her head resting on his chest, he looked at the letter.
I see you. I watch your every move.
I know your daily routine. Where you go.
I stalk from behind the trees, the rocks.
I lurk in the darkness. Face hidden. Knife gripped tight.
I’m your shadow … your constant companion.
No one can save you.
I creep closer and closer. Waiting for the kill.
If I can’t have you, nobody will.
♥♥♥Your Best Fan♥♥♥
Anger seared his nerves, curled tightly around his muscles, and bubbled under his skin; it was like acid—burning, slicing, potent. I’ve got to find this psycho and give him everything he’s given to Isla and the other women. I need to talk to Steel, Paco, and Diablo tomorrow.
“Isn’t that creepy? This is the worst one yet.” Isla said in a hushed voice.
“He’s a fuckin’ bully who gets off on scaring you.”
“But he’s killed four other women.”
“You don’t know if it’s the same person. It could be someone obsessed with you who wants you to believe he’s the killer.” I don’t believe that shit one bit, but I’ve got to ease her mind.
She sat upright. “I never thought of that. That actually makes sense. Should I show the letter to the sheriff?”
“No harm in doing it. I’ll go with you in the morning.” He brushed his lips across hers. “We should get some sleep.”
After turning the lights off on the main floor, they went up to her room. As she washed up, Sangre stood by the window looking out at the street. The neighborhood was quiet, and all the houses were dark. Are you out there, motherfucker? He stared at the trees in front of her house and the ones in front of the neighbors’, but he couldn’t see anything. It was quiet as a graveyard.
“See anything?” Isla asked.
Giving the street one last look, he closed the shutters and moved away from the window. “You live in a quiet neighborhood.” He went over to the bed and stripped off everything except his boxers then slid between the sheets.
“That’s why I love it here.” She joined him under the covers.
He tugged her to him and held her close. She snuggled deeper into him, and he lightly ran his hand up and down her arm, smiling when he felt her skin pebble underneath his fingertips.
“I feel so safe in your arms,” she whispered.
He squeezed her tight and kissed her hair. Her breathing deepened as she fell asleep. Staring up at the ceiling, he knew sleep wouldn’t come as easily for him. Thoughts whirled around in his mind: Isla, Carrie Nolan’s murder, the threatening letter, Jefferson High, the killer. He couldn’t let her get hurt. They’d finally found each other after all those years apart. He couldn’t lose her.
All at once, she had become someone very special to him.
And he meant to keep it that way.
Chapter Nineteen
Isla watched as Sheriff Wexler stared at the note she’d just handed him while Sangre sat next to her, holding her hand. It meant a lot to Isla to have him with her. The night before, Sangre told her to trust him, and she did. It was a new feeling for her—complete trust in a man. For a long time, she’d thought Sangre hadn’t cared about her, but after he informed her that he never received the letter she’d left on his door, it suddenly made sense as to why he never contacted her.
“Last night, was anyone from your company watching Ms. Rose?” Wexler asked Sangre.
“No. Last night we were at my parents’ having dinner, so I didn’t have any of my guards watching the house.”
“I heard about Carrie Nolan,” Isla said softly. “How terribly sad.” The muscles in the sheriff’s jaw twitched. “Do you think the person sending me the letters is the same one who killed Carrie?”
“We can’t rule anything out. You need to be extra careful.” He grabbed a cup on the desk and took a sip. Looking at Sangre, he leaned forward. “You need to let me and my deputies do our job. We’ll catch the one responsible.”
Sangre pressed his lips together, his chin jutted out and arms folded across his chest, and stared at Wexler, not uttering a word. Tension crackled between the two men.
“I guess we’re done, right?” she said, hoping to slice through the discomfort.
Before Wexler could answer, the door burst open and Deputy Jeffers rushed in. He glanced over at her and his mouth turned down in contempt.
“What the hell’s going on?” The sheriff’s facial features were pinched and sharp.
“I got a lead on the car thefts over in the Sunnydale neighborhood.” Then, Jeffers looked over at Isla. “What are they doing here? Did you get some more fan mail?”
“I’ll talk to you about the thefts in a few minutes,” Wexler said.
Jeffers sank down in one of the chairs, and Sangre stood up, pulling Isla up with him. “We’re going.”
“I’ll need to keep this,” the sheriff said, placing the note in a large folder.
“Go ahead. Please let me know if you find out anything,” she said, her hand in Sangre’s.
“I will. And remember what I said, Sangre. We’ve got this.”
He tugged her out the door and didn’t say a word until they were out on the street. “Do you want to grab some lunch?”
She put her hand on the back of his neck and drew him to her, kissing him passionately. “Thanks for coming with me. I know this was a big deal for you. I’ve picked up that you’re not a fan of the sheriff’s department.”
“I don’t trust badges, or anyone else associated with the government.”
“You have no intention of stepping back, do you?”
“No fuckin’ way. Leroy’s for lunch?”
“Sure, but it’ll have to be a quick one. I’m meeting the band at the recording studio in a couple of hours.”
He straddled the bike and she swung her leg over it. Sensing someone staring at her, she looked up and saw Deputy Jeffers’ intense gaze fixed on her. An unpleasant, tingly chill crawled up her spine, and she quickly turned away. What’s up with that jerk? She tightened her hold on Sangre as he rode toward Leroy’s.
Two hours later she walked into the recording studio and made sure the door locked behind her. Gage sat in one of the rooms, tuning his guitar.
“You’re early,” he grinned then focused back his guitar. “I need to change one of the strings. Can you throw me the pack? It’s on top of my duffel bag.”
Isla tossed it to him and went over to the microphone stand. “Are we the only two here?”
“Jac and Benz are smoking weed out back, and Arsen is running a bit late. According to him, the chick he hooked up with last night kinda threw a scene when he tried to leave this morning. She’s going to work, so he’s making his escape.” He chuckled.
“Sounds kind of fishy to me. He probably wanted some more time with her but doesn’t want to admit it.”
Gage lifted one of his shoulders. “Maybe. He’s always with a different chick, so who knows. Are you excited about playing on Saturday? You’ve seemed a bit tense.”
Isla went over to the small refrigerator in the corner and took out a Coke. “I am. How’s Benz? Is he still super pissed at me?” She popped open the can.
“He’s usually super pissed at something. I haven’t noticed him madder than usual. Are you guys finished?”
“Yeah. We never should’ve started. We’re much better as friends.”
“Me and the other guys agree with you on that. It was a lot of drama last year.”
“Wasn’t Melody supposed to fly out to see you? Is she coming for the show this Saturday?”
He shook his head as he threaded the third string into the tuning peg. “She can’t take too much time off work, so she wants to sa
ve it for Sturgis.”
“I didn’t know you like motorcycles.” She placed her mike on the stand.
“I didn’t know you did. I’ve see you on the back of that dude’s bike. I’m not really into them, but his is wicked-looking.”
“It’s a Harley, and I love riding on them. It’s so freeing, and with the wind all around me, it feels like I’m one with nature. It’s exhilarating.” She turned her microphone on.
“Is that dude the friend Benz is bent out of shape about?” She nodded. “No offense, but he doesn’t look like anyone I’d want to meet in a dark alley.”
She giggled. “He does look badass with his swagger and tats, but he’s a nice guy. He’s super cute with his nieces and nephews, and he’s got a big heart even though he doesn’t want anyone to know that. He’s just awesome.”
Gage looked up from his task, locking gazes with her. “Sounds like he may be more than a friend.”
“We’ve known each other a long time. I’ve always had a crush on him.”
“So, you’re with him now?”
“Yes. I am.” The admission made her stomach flutter and a rush of warmth spread through her. I’m dating Sangre. We’re together, having the most amazing sex. He wants me.
Before Gage could comment, Benz and Jac strolled into the room. “Glad you decided to show up,” Benz said, walking past her and going over to the drums. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snipping at him. “Where the fuck’s Arsen? I’m really getting sick of this unprofessional bullshit from all of you.” He adjusted the drum heads.
No one responded. They’d all been around Benz long enough to know that when he was in one of his moods the best thing was to let him get it out of his system, but sometimes he was too much and she’d end up getting into a fight with him, or Jac would tell him to shut the fuck up. Even Gage, who was normally calm, would go off on him if Benz kept goading them. Arsen seemed to be the only one who knew how to handle him, but then they went back since high school.
“Are you guys ready to go?” Terry Z asked as he came into the room.
“Our lead guitarist isn’t here yet, but he’s on his way,” Isla said.
Benz glared at her. “Did he personally tell you that, or are you just talking outta your ass?”
“That’s what he told me, dude,” Gage said.
Still scowling at Isla, he picked up the drumsticks. “Then why the fuck are you acting like you talked to Arsen? Are you trying to show us how important you are?”
Anger pricked at her skin. “Give it a fuckin’ break. This is petty shit and you know it. If you’re going to be a major asshole the whole time, I’m leaving.”
“So you can fuck your friend?” The drumsticks slamming on the cymbals clashed deafeningly.
Arsen walked in at that moment. “Sorry I’m late.”
Isla turned around, her back to Benz, and smiled at him. “We’re just getting ready to start. Why don’t you tune up, and I can lay down the vocals?”
“The drums go first. You should know this. You’re supposedly a musician,” Benz said.
Terry Z folded his arms across his chest and stared at Benz. “I don’t know what the fuck’s going on with you, but this shit stops now, or you can take your pain in the ass attitude outta here. I don’t have time for juvenile bullshit. I told Isla we’re laying down her vocal tracks for ‘Before I Ever Leave You’ then we’ll lay drums for the new song. I’m the one calling the fuckin’ shots.” He glanced at Isla. “Ready?” She nodded. “Let’s get going.”
As Terry Z went into the soundproof booth and settled in front of his sound board, she picked up the microphone and put on headphones. She could feel the intensity of Benz’s stare burning through her back, but she ignored him and watched Terry Z for her cue to start singing. Soon Benz faded away as she lost herself in the music.
Two hours later she sat in the lobby, drinking a bottle of water when Arsen joined her.
“You sounded great. You nailed that song.” He pulled out a joint and offered it to her.
Isla stared at it for a few seconds, the craving for it tearing through her body. She shook her head then brought the water bottle to her mouth.
“It’s only pot.” Arsen lit up his joint.
“I can’t take the chance.” She was afraid that if she smoked, it’d trigger something in her that was always just beneath the surface—calling to her, making her sweat, enticing her to just take one last hit. It’d been seven months since she snorted a line or smoked a joint. I can’t risk it. I can’t go back to using.
“Did anyone tell you we got a gig at Sturgis?” He took a pull off of his joint and blew out. The familiar sweet scent spread around the area as spirals of smoke wisped upwards and vanished above his head.
“No. Gage mentioned he and Melody were going to Sturgis, but he didn’t say the band was going to perform there.” Excitement shot through her. “We’ve been trying to play there for the last five years. This is so cool.”
“So you told her?” Jac asked as he flopped down on the cushy armchair next to the loveseat she sat on. “Benz wanted to be the one to tell her.”
“So, the fuck what? He’s in a mood, and we need to be on the same page for the gig.” Arsen handed a joint to Jac.
“When do we leave? We have to practice our asses off.” The water bottle, slick with chilled condensation, began to slide through her fingers, and she tightened her grip around it before it fell to the floor. “Which venue are we playing at?” She leaned over and put the bottle on the small oval table.
“Buffalo Chip,” Arsen replied.
“Rough Creek Label is gonna be there.” Jac leaned his head back against the leather chair.
“They wanna see if we sound as good live as we do in our recent recordings,” Gage added, sinking into an overstuffed chair. He snapped his fingers, and Arsen looked up at him. “Gimme a joint.” Arsen handed him one.
Isla’s insides quivered and she pressed a hand on her churning stomach. If we get signed on that means months of touring. Can I do it without falling back into my old lifestyle? All of a sudden the room began to spin, and she closed her eyes and reclined against the cool black leather cushion. How will I see Sangre if I’m touring? Is this what I really want? Damn. Get a hold of yourself.
“Are you okay?” Gage’s voice pulled her back to the conversation.
“Yeah. It’s just hot in here.”
“Terry Z worked you pretty hard,” Arsen said, craning his neck. “Here he comes. I must be on.” He pushed up from the chair and disappeared down the hallway.
“How’d it go?” Jac asked as Benz took Arsen’s seat.
“Good.” He looked over at Isla. “We got a gig at Sturgis.” Knowing he’d be pissed as hell that she already knew, she feigned surprise and delight. “It’s going to be such a good time. And the exposure’s fantastic. After the gig we’ll head back to LA, so you’ll have to bring your shit on the tour.”
“I have to come back here to close up the house and all that,” she said softly.
Benz narrowed his eyes. “You’ve got almost a month to do that. We gotta start touring and playing festivals and shows around California.” He crossed his leg over his thigh. “We take off for LA after Sturgis. And that means you, too.”
Of course, he was right. They’d been out of commission for too long, and they had to get back to performing. The band would’ve already played several festivals if it wasn’t for me. I can’t hold them back. It’s not fair. I just have to grow the fuck up and step up to the plate. Vacation is over. Sadness descended over her. “Okay. I’ll get everything together.”
Benz nodded, smugness creeping over his face. “Are you going to sell your place?”
She jerked her head back. “No, I’m going to keep it.”
“When we’re on tour, you can’t be running off every fuckin’ minute you have to come back to this dump of a town.” Benz got up and went into the small kitchen down the hall. When he came back, he had two beer bottles in
his hands. He twisted off the top, took a long pull then sank back down in the chair.
“I’m keeping my house and will come back here when I need to get away. I like it here, and since you don’t ever have to come back, there’s no reason to get bent out of shape.”
“The band comes first—just remember that.” He took another gulp.
She nodded and glanced down at her phone. It’s going to be a long night.
Later that night, around ten o’clock, her phone woke her up. She’d fallen asleep on a cot in one of the back rooms that had been set up for artists who worked through the night.
“Hello?” she said groggily.
“Hey. Are you still at the studio?” Sangre asked.
“Oh … yeah. I’m sorry. I should’ve let you know that we’re going to be here for a long time.”
“No worries. I was just making sure you’re good. Are the doors locked?”
“Yep. Terry Z always keeps them locked. He’s got millions of dollars in equipment.” She yawned and continued, “I can’t believe I fell asleep. I’m not sure how much longer I can be here. I’ll do one more song since we have the show this weekend, but I don’t want to blow out my voice, you know?”
“I’ll come over and hang with you. I’ve never been in a recording studio, so it should be interesting.”
She smiled. Just hearing his voice made her weak in the knees and breathless. “I’d love for you to see my world.”
“Leaving now. I’ll give you a buzz when I get there.”
She stared at the blank screen for a long time. How am I going to live without him? Putting her hands on the back of her neck, she kneaded the sore muscles. I don’t want to think about that. I’ll just enjoy the time I have before I have to leave.
By the time Sangre arrived, Isla had at least two energy drinks and was raring to go. She sang her heart out, happy that the man she loved was in the booth with Terry Z watching her. The lyrics she’d written about finding each other again and letting go of all the hurt from the past held special meaning now, and she sang them to him, knowing that each time she’d perform the song she’d think of him. He was engraved in her mind, her soul, and her heart.