by Wynne Roman
Noah pulls her close against him. “I know, baby girl. We all know.”
I wish I could hold her, kiss her, give her something else to think about. My temper sharpens and I take it out on Zayne.
“You listening, asshole?” No response. “Zayne?”
“Wha…?”
“Pay attention!” snaps Knox.
Zayne pushes himself up on one elbow. His eyes are dull and unfocused. “What?”
“You got anything to say?” Knox is relentless when he’s in protective mode.
“About what?” Zayne blinks.
“This!” Knox grabs the phone from Bree and reads the headline and article. Then he shoves the phone in Zayne’s face. “And there’s a picture!”
Zayne squints and looks at the phone for a long time. He glances at Bree, at the rest of us, and says, “When was this?”
“Last night,” I snap, “when you were too fucking out of it to know what you were saying.”
“What happened?”
“You had some skanky chick with you. You know—the one you fucked and probably woke up with this morning. You were calling Bree our wife, the chick started yelling, and the rest of us had to calm shit down. Somebody took a picture.”
“Fuck.” Zayne stares at the phone some more. “Where is she?”
“Who?” demands Noah.
“Skanky bitch.” Zayne holds out the phone. “Why isn’t she in the picture?”
“Jesus.” Noah grabs the phone from him. “She got photoshopped out. How the fuck do we know? And why the fuck are you worried about that?”
Zayne shrugs. “Just tryin’ to figure shit out.”
“Nobody gives a shit about her.” Rye speaks, finally, and when he says shit, it counts. “What matters is that they’re calling Bree a slut—” he jabs a finger through the air, pointing at the phone in Noah’s hand “—and sayin’ that she’s sleepin’ with all of us.” He pauses. “At the same fucking time!”
Zayne’s expression clears, like the truth finally dawns on him. He looks at Bree, stiff and unhappy in Noah’s arms. Her hair is pulled back in a nice-looking braid, but it leaves her expression exposed and almost vulnerable.
“Jesus, Bree,” he mutters. “I’m sorry. I’m…”
“I know, sweetie.” She scoots away from Noah and climbs onto the bed with Zayne, hugs him and gives him a kiss on the top of his head. “You were fucked up. Bad. That worries me more than shit they’re saying about me.”
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
“We’ll deal with it,” she says and keeps holding him. “But what about you? You were using last night. Weren’t you?”
“Bree…” He tries to scramble away, and after a moment she lets him go.
The rest of us look at each other. Bree’s like Knox in that she doesn’t let shit go. If it’s gotta be dealt with, then it’s usually done head-on. The only things she’s treated differently are the thing with her stepfather and whatever this is between her and me. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.
“Zayne,” she tries again, softly. “We’re here for you. We love you. But you got some bad shit going on.”
He wants to deny it. I can see it in his eyes. But none of us have ever had a whole lot of luck lying to Bree. She’s…special. Our baby girl. The one who loves us, no matter what.
The woman who scares the shit out of me.
The woman I’m falling for.
The sound of Zayne’s voice shuts down my racing thoughts. “I…things just got away from me, baby girl. I’ll be fine.”
She shakes her head. “Not sure I believe you, sweetie. I don’t know what you’re doing, but—”
“We had a deal,” Knox interrupts.
Zayne looks at him with a moment of anger that fades to…I don’t know—acceptance maybe? “I’ll take care of it.”
It’s Rye who asks, “You need help?”
“Nah.” Zayne shakes his head. “I got it.”
Bree reaches for his hand. Zayne doesn’t want to take it. It’s obvious when he hesitates. But finally he does.
“You call any one of us, day or night, if you can’t. Yes?”
He closes his eyes. “Yeah. Okay.”
Bree crawls forward for a hug. Maybe she believes him, but I don’t. Don’t know that I’m ready to call Zayne a junkie, but maybe that’s just semantics. Maybe I just don’t want to call him that. Doesn’t matter. I’ve seen the other side of it, the fake claims and denial, the soul-deep addiction. Last thing I want is for that to be Zayne.
“I’m bringing Baz in on this.” Knox pulls out his own phone.
“On what?” Zayne stiffens.
“This fucking tabloid shit!”
“Oh, right.”
“Do you have to?” Bree asks softly. “Can’t we just ignore it?”
Knox is too pissed off to answer, so I do. “Not this, kitten.” It’s probably a mistake, but I cross the room to sit next to her and take her hand. “When it comes to sex, the tabloids can be relentless. Even a rumor of you sleeping with the band and we’re having orgies—” I try to grin, but it doesn’t come across very well “—well, that’s gonna catch a lot of attention. Add the idea of something between you and Knox—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
I glance over at her brother. “I’m not saying it. Jesus, Knox. But as long as it’s out there, we gotta do something.”
“What’ll we have to do?” I can feel the tension in her. There’s plenty to feel tense about, but with the crap she left behind in Austin—her fucking stepfather—I know she feels it all more.
I shake my head. “I don’t know,” I admit.
“That’s why I’m getting Baz involved.” Knox types something out on his phone. “Maybe the label. We’ll see. I’m too fucking pissed to do it myself.”
“Maybe we can spin it through our own social media,” suggests Rye, always the voice of reason.
“How the fuck do you spin something that disgusting?” Knox snaps.
Nobody answers until Noah finally says, “That’s why we need a PR person. Like a publicist or something. Somebody to keep up the website, Twitter, all that crap. Somebody who knows how to spin this shit and can do it right away.”
Knox nods, but he’s paying more attention to his phone. “I met with somebody yesterday.”
“What the fuck?” We’re all surprised, but Noah says it.
Knox shrugs. “After the photo shoot. The label recommended her, and I met her.”
“Who is she?” asks Rye.
“Some chick named London. She’s supposed to be putting together some information for us or some shit.”
“Push it into high gear, bro,” says Noah. “We can’t afford to leave Bree’s ass hanging out there like this for long.”
Knox nods and looks like he’s sending another text. “I’ll see if I can get her an invitation to the party this afternoon.”
“What party?” Bree asks.
Knox looks up. “The label party. At four. It’s a big fucking deal.”
“Oh.” She nods while the rest of us mutter a chorus of low fucks. “I guess I was thinking I wouldn’t go.”
Knox scowls. “Goddammit, Bree, you know the rule of the tour! Where the band goes—”
“I go,” she finishes for him mildly. “Yeah, Knox, I fucking know.”
“You’ve pretty much gotta go now,” Noah points out.
“Why?” She shakes her head.
“You can’t fucking hide out after that kind of gossip! You gotta be out there pretending like it doesn’t fucking bother you.”
She sighs. “I guess.”
“And Knox,” he adds. “You pretty much gotta stay away from her.”
Knox blinks, and I can almost see the wheels turning. “She’s my fucking sister,” he says finally.
Noah nods. “We all fucking know that. But you’re protective as shit about her, and if anything happens—anybody says anyth
ing—your temper is gonna fuck it all up.”
“So everybody else is gonna look after her?” Knox looks at us all. Even Zayne who’s stretched out on the bed again. At least his eyes are open like he’s paying attention.
“I can look after myself, Knox.”
“No, you can’t.” It’s Rye again. “And if the rest of us pay too much attention, it’ll look like the whole band wife thing. The orgy bullshit.”
Knox nods. “Okay…” He’s thinking again.
“She should stick with Ajia,” says Rye.
I cough. What the fuck?
Bree blinks and looks at me, her sparkling green eyes wide and uncertain.
“Why him?” demands Knox. “He’s got a fucking reputation.”
His smile in my direction is generally pissed, and I know why. Ajia Stone, manwhore. Who’d want their sister around a fucker like me? I don’t say a word.
“He’s also the face of the band,” Rye points out mildly.
“Why not you?” asks Knox. “You’re—what do they call it—the tortured one? Troubled bad boy. Whatever. You don’t have the same rep.”
Rye shakes his head. “I’m too much in the background. You put Bree out there with me, it’s gonna look like we’re trying to hide something. Put her out there with Ajia, and it’ll look like nothing’s going on.”
Knox nods slowly. “I suppose…”
“It’s not like they’re gonna be walking around with their hands all over each other, making out in corners,” says Noah with an edge to his voice. Knox may not understand the tone—but I do.
And so does Bree. Her hand is still clutching mine, and her grip tightens.
Going to a high-profile party? Together. Pretending like nothing has changed between us?
I close my eyes. I don’t think a lot about God on a normal day, but right now I’m convinced He has a lousy sense of humor. He’s enjoying fucking with me. Or this is karma, kicking my ass for all the girls I’ve fucked and forgotten before they’re out the door.
Maybe I don’t deserve Bree, but she doesn’t deserve this bullshit making her out to be some kind of slut, either. I’ll do whatever it takes…and try to figure out how the hell I’m going to tell Knox that I’m the reason his baby sister isn’t a virgin any longer.
CHAPTER 19
BREE
I stare at myself in the closet door mirrors and shake my head. My hair is loose and rustles over my shoulders, catching on the lacey bodice of my little black dress. Crystal-and-pearl earrings flash beneath the length of my hair, and a matching bracelet sparkles on my wrist. My four-inch heels have black satin bows at the ankles, and my makeup is heavier than I normally wear.
All in preparation for the label’s Wycked Obsession party.
I head into the bathroom for the last thing—lipstick. It’s a berry color that isn’t quite red but darker than pink. I can’t remember what it’s called, and I don’t care. Get Me Out of This Thing! would be perfect.
I don’t have anything appropriate to wear to this kind of party. Or I didn’t. I told Knox that, thinking maybe I could beg off that way. Two hours later, Baz sends a few boxes to my room. Two black dresses, two pairs of black heels, jewelry, makeup, and perfume.
Really?
Everything fits perfectly, which is just a little bit creepy. The style suits me perfectly, too. The makeup and perfume are high end stuff. And now I’m dressed up like somebody’s idea of a rock ‘n’ roll Barbie doll to prove to the world that I am not sleeping with everybody in the band.
Just fucking the lead singer. But that’s private.
I smile a little as awareness races through me. Being with Ajia is something I’m only just beginning to be able to accept. I’ve wanted it for so long—before I really understood what it meant to be with him—and now that he’s mine, I’m almost afraid to believe it’s true.
It’s a good thing—a wonderful thing—that pretty much outweighs all the other stuff that’s happened in the last few months. Mom marrying Gabe, Gabe being…disgusting, seeing Ajia with other women, living in close quarters with five rockers who always seem to be on the edge of being out of control, our suspicions of Zayne and drugs…
I could go on, but that’s enough. Isn’t it? It’s a lot for me and—
A knock interrupts my wandering thoughts, and I’m just as glad. Looking through the little peep hole, I spot Knox and open the door.
“You ready?”
I nod and grab the classy little black evening bag. Baz thought of everything, including a way to carry my lipstick, a comb, card key, and phone.
“We’re meeting the others in the lobby. Limo’s waiting.”
I nod again, but my brother doesn’t see. He’s walking toward the elevator, his back to me.
“Uh, Knox? Could you slow down a little?”
He stops and looks over his shoulder. “What?”
I point to my feet. “Heels. They’re like four inches high. I don’t wear this kind of shit that often. Give me a break, will you?”
His gaze softens. “Sorry, baby girl.” He waits until I’m next to him and then takes my arm.
“You mad at me?” I ask as we approach the elevator.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m pissed at the situation. That some fucker who doesn’t know us would say crap about you like that. That they’d even joke about something like you—me…”
He punches the down button like he wants to shove the whole control panel through the wall, and I pull him close for a quick hug while we wait. “Don’t let it get to you. You hear me?” I release him and give him the best encouraging look I have. “You’re a great brother. That’s just somebody’s twisted bullshit. It’s got nothing to do with us.”
“What about Gabe?”
“What about him?”
“Maybe we’re good, but he—tried shit. I should have fucking killed him. Now there’s all this bullshit on top of—”
“Knox…”
My voice trails off as the elevator arrives. We get in—just the two of us—and once the doors close, I start again. “Nothing Gabe tried has anything to do with you. Remember, he didn’t succeed. You got me out of there. Just because some anonymous loser out there is saying ridiculous shit about us doesn’t mean squat to me. You’re my brother, I love you, and that’s all there is to it.”
“Yeah, well, now we’re going to this party, and we have to act like we’re not related or some shit.”
“We do not. I’m just gonna hang with Ajia so people know we’re not hiding anything.” I do my best to ignore the rolling excitement in my stomach at the thought of publicly spending time with Ajia. “And you—you got that PR lady coming? You said her name is London?”
“Yeah.” My brother nods.
“Okay. So you spend the time talking to her, and it’ll be like a normal party. If you were busy any other time, I’d be with the guys anyway.”
He nods like I’m making sense. And maybe I am. But I’m also wearing these ridiculous heels and a black lacy dress that are nothing like the real Bree. This is the rock stars’ sister/friend/fake wife on display, and it’s the biggest fucking bullshit I’ve seen yet.
How did such a stupid goddamn joke end up being tabloid gossip? Except for trying to help make it go away—if that’s even possible—I give literally no good fucks about it. The harder thing for me is pretending—for now—like nothing has changed between Ajia and me.
Yes, I’ve totally complicated things. It’s my own damn fault, and I can’t pretend that I’m not the one who wanted to steal some time to just be with Ajia. To not worry about Knox or Gabe or the rabid fangirls who are gonna hate me when they find out Ajia and I are…well, whatever. We haven’t had a chance to give it a name beyond fucking—making love—and I was the one who wanted to wait. To pretend we’re normal people who don’t have all the rock ‘n’ roll bullshit going on.
Well, I got what I wanted. Nobody’s fault but mine if it’s turning ou
t to be different than I expected. More difficult. And there’s nothing I can do about it now.
I force my thoughts away from Ajia. “You look handsome, you know,” I say after a minute. And he does. Knox is dressed all in gray, including shirt and tie. It looks great against his dark hair and I realize in a new way how my once-goofy big brother is a good-looking guy who’s become a freaking rock star!
He grins and looks down at himself. “I’m hot, yeah?”
I laugh. “Yeah. You’re hot.”
The elevator reaches the lobby, and security is there to escort us to the limo. Cameras start to flash the minute we step out through the large glass doors, and I do my best to ignore them and the shouted questions. It’s a lesson Baz instructed me about early on in the tour, and one I never thought I’d need.
The rest of the band is already inside the car. I get in first and end up sitting between Ajia and Knox.
“Damn, baby girl, you look hot!” Zayne seems somewhat recovered from last night’s party and this morning’s hangover. I hope that means things aren’t too bad with him, despite his bloodshot eyes.
“Thanks.” I smile and look around me. The guys look amazing. Every one of them is dressed in a suit and tie. Almost conservative, even. I’m impressed!
“Where’d you get that fuck-me dress, baby girl?”
I shake my head. “That supposed to be a compliment, Noah?”
He laughs. “Well, I’m probably not supposed to say you look hot as hell—but you do. You haven’t worn it before. Didn’t know you brought that dressy kind of shit with you.”
“I didn’t.” I shake my head. “Baz got it.”
Rye shakes his head with a little grin. “He’s like two or three people at once. Wonder how he does it all.”
“You look nice, kitten,” says Ajia from beside me, and I can’t help smiling at him. Talk about fucking hot! I’m surprised he hasn’t burst into flames. He’s wearing all black—suit, tie, shirt, and shoes—and his dark blond hair is pulled back into a tame-looking ponytail at the nape of his neck. I can’t decide if I like that better, or his hair all loose and free and flowing over his shoulders.