ryder
I step out of the shower, immediately scanning the room for Felicity. Her suitcase is open on the bed, a colorful array of sundresses spilling out in an explosion of gossamer fabric, but there’s no sign of her. She’s likely in Carly’s room next door, doing whatever the hell it is girls do that requires three hours of preparation before a date.
A date.
Just the word brings a smile to my face, almost as bright as the one Felicity wore when I asked her if she’d go out to dinner with me before our show, tonight.
Walking to the window, I look out over New York City’s impressive skyline. This is by far the nicest hotel we’ve stayed at — our penthouse suite occupies the entire 52nd floor, boasting four balconies, a full library, and a soaking tub in the master bathroom that made Felicity’s eyes bug out of her head.
I smirk.
I’ve got very particular plans involving that tub, as soon as we get back here tonight…
Dropping my towel, I walk to the bed where my duffle sits beside Felicity’s suitcase. I yank a t-shirt and jeans from the depths and dress quickly, impatient to find her and get the fuck out of here. We’ve only got a handful of hours to eat and explore before we’re due onstage at Madison Square Garden, playing our second to last set.
Hard to believe it’s almost over.
We haven’t talked about what will happen after we play our final show. Haven’t discussed whether the end of the tour means the end of Wildwood as well. Two years ago, when our fates were all hanging on Felicity, she said yes — agreed to make an album, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do.
That’s just who she is.
Since the moment we met, Felicity Wilde has put her own needs last. Sacrificed her own dreams, if it meant letting me chase mine. So I know, if I ask her to stay, if I ask her to keep making music with me and the guys…
She’ll do it.
For me. For Aiden. For Lincoln.
She’d never forgive herself for standing in the way of our dreams… because she loves us. More than herself, more than her own hesitations, more than every instinct inside her that wants to shy away from the spotlight.
But what she doesn’t seem to realize yet is… we love her, too. All three of us, in our own ways. I see it in Aiden’s smile when he looks at her as she sings, hear it in Linc’s laugh as he makes a joke at her expense. And regardless of the fame we’d be relinquishing, regardless of the lifestyle we’d be giving up… if she asked, we’d walk away.
For her.
I shove my phone into my back pocket and start searching for my wallet. It’s not in the bathroom, not in my duffle, not on the bedside table… not anywhere. With a frustrated growl, I flip the lid of Felicity’s suitcase closed to search beneath it, sending sundresses flying in all directions. I hear a thud as something hits the floor.
Bending to look, I expect to find my wallet. Instead, I find her songwriting notebook, the pages splayed open to a column of inky scribbles. I reach out to snap it back closed, but my eyes catch on the unmistakable tear stains marring the page.
Despite the voice of reason shouting from the back of my mind that this is private, that I have no right to read her innermost thoughts… A fissure of curiosity ripples through me as my fingers close around the notebook. And when my eyes snag on the song title — NINETEEN — I can’t help myself. I shut out my screaming conscience as my eyes devour her lyrics.
By the time I finish reading, my hands are clenching the book so hard, I think the spine might snap as shock and grief and anger — so much anger, I can hardly bear it — strangle all the joy out of me.
No more secrets, she promised me, weeks ago. A liar, lying in the circle of my arms.
Only moments ago, I was smiling to myself as I planned out a romantic evening. Now, the expression on my face is one of cool calculation, as I look ahead to the show.
No more secrets, baby, I promise darkly. Not after tonight.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
felicity
“I’ll be here when you’re ready to go back upstairs, Miss Wilde.”
I smile at the newest addition to my security detail — a fifth unit, added after the encounter with my mother — as I step aboard the bus. He stations himself by the doors, an intimidating tower of muscle and brawn in the otherwise deserted parking garage beneath our hotel.
“Diaz,” he grunted a few days ago, when I asked his name.
Another chatterbox, naturally.
Shivering in the chilly underground climate, I tug my thin sweater tighter around my body. I probably should’ve worn something heavier, but I want to look nice for my date with Ryder.
An anticipatory grin spreads across my face.
A real, honest-to-god date at a real, honest-to-god restaurant.
Just a normal couple, laughing over candlelight… except, when we leave the restaurant, we’ll be heading to Madison Square Garden for our second to last show. New York, then Boston…
Then, freedom.
No more contractual obligations to Route 66. No more hours with the boys on this cramped bus, tripping over each other. No more nights on stage with Ryder, singing for our fans.
For some reason, that thought sends a pang of sadness through my chest, rather than the relief it once inspired.
It’s just hard to believe all of this is ending. These past few months have been both the best and worst of my life. Certainly the fullest: each day packed with so many new memories.
Meeting our fans, exploring new cities.
Turning enemies into lovers and friends into family.
My heart is full to the brim as I reach the bunks, ascending the ladder rungs to lean over my mattress. I balance on one foot as I dig through the blankets, searching for the sunglasses I picked up at that cute vintage store. These days, stepping out in public without dark shades to shield our eyes from a bombardment of camera flashes is simply not an option.
They weren’t anywhere to be found in our room and, not wanting to delay our evening, I slipped out while Ryder was in the shower and headed down to look for them here.
Behind me, I hear the wheeze of the bus doors sliding open. Diaz, coming in to check on me, most likely. I don’t give it a second thought as my hands finally close on something hard beneath my pillow, tucked against the wall.
“There you are,” I mutter, pulling the retro sunglasses into view.
Turning to scramble down the ladder, I stop short midway through my descent when I catch sight of the man standing in the middle of the aisle, blocking my path to the exit.
Not Diaz.
I hover there, halfway to the ground, as his eyes burn into mine — so cold with fury, it freezes me in place. So dark with anger, I’m rendered totally immobile.
“Felicity,” he snarls, his weight shifting from foot to foot. “It’s been a long time.”
I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
“What, no hello for dear old dad?” He laughs, but the sound holds no joy. Only the promise of pain. “It’s been almost three years. Aren’t you happy to see me?”
He’s high. I can tell, even from here. It’s not just the sharpness in his features, or the ruined state of his skin — it’s that look in his eyes. Fathomless hunger. The kind that comes when you live your life perpetually in search of your next fix, never fully satisfied by the high you’re forever chasing.
As I stare at him, all the breaks in my body from all the places he’s ever put his hands seem to throb with phantom pain.
Fractured wrist.
Cracked cheekbone.
Shattered shin.
Broken spirit.
He sidles closer, a snake moving in for a kill-strike, and I finally launch into motion as my survival instincts roar to life. Hurling my body from the ladder, I run deeper into the bus, heading for the bathroom. I keep my eyes on the door, on escape, trying not to focus on the sound of his boots slamming against the floor as he gives chase.
My hand closes on the knob and I
throw myself inside. I manage to get the door closed behind me, but before I can turn the lock, his hand clamps down on the knob. It spins viciously beneath my grip as he tries to shove his way in, rattling the entire bathroom with each blow of his fists against the wood. I lean my full body weight into my attempts, straining to keep the door closed with every ounce of strength I possess… but he’s so much stronger than me.
Inch by inch, he forces his way inside.
“Is this any way to greet your father?”
I swallow a bleat of terror as the frame widens another sliver, his fingers curling around door like talons. My muscles are burning as I strain to hold him at bay.
“Your mother told me you’ve been refusing to see her.” His sneer drifts through the gap. “I thought it was time I paid you a little visit, gave you a little reminder of what happens when you don’t respect your elders.”
“Respect?” I spit the word through clenched teeth. “You’ve done nothing to earn my respect.”
“And you’ve done nothing to earn that multi-million dollar fortune Bethany left you.”
Indignation bleeds into his tone, along with the rage; he’s always had a thin skin and a disproportional ego. Easily slighted, easily enraged. I bet just the thought of Gran having the last laugh from beyond the grave is enough to make his blood boil over.
I bare my teeth in a smile. “Gran would’ve sooner given every cent to charity than seen that money go to you.”
“Guess it works in my favor that the bitch is dead, then.” His voice lowers. “And my darling daughter is in control of all that cash.”
“Bite me,” I hiss, panting with exertion. My feet slide against the tile floor as he gains another inch.
“You always were a mouthy little runt.” He laughs, as though my resistance is amusing. “You know you can’t keep me out forever, Felicity. Open up so we can talk about an… arrangement… that works for both of us.”
I don’t bother to respond.
“If you give up now, maybe I’ll go easy on you.”
We both know it’s a lie. He doesn’t know the definition of easy. Any doctor who’s seen my X-rays can attest to that.
He pauses. “What do you say?”
“Bite. Me.”
The door rattles with his rage. His fingers are wrapped fully around the door, now — in another thirty seconds, he’ll be inside. My eyes swing around, but there’s nothing in here I could possibly use as a weapon. If he gets through…
I’m as good as dead.
My muscles are aching with effort, my pulse is erratic as I heave against the door. Eyeing his clutching fingers, the fragments of a plan form. Not even a plan, really — an act of pure desperation.
Without letting myself think about the consequences if this goes wrong, I lessen my hold on the door, yielding another inch to him as though my energy is giving out. The door inches wider and I see his head jut through the crack, his eyes locking on mine. There’s victory in their depths.
He thinks he’s won.
Before he can pull back, I slam my body full-force against the door with all the strength I possess. It jerks back closed, slamming hard against his temple, sending his skull ricocheting against the frame with a sickening thud. There’s a crunch of bone as he reels away, howling with pain as he reaches up to clutch his rattled head.
“Bitch!”
His eyes stream as he pulls himself upright, stumbling off-balance. He lunges for me, but I’m already in motion — clearing the bathroom threshold, flying into the hallway, running the length of the bus on wings of fear and hope. I bound past the bunks, race past the galley kitchen, bypass the driver’s seat, and clear the stairs in a single vault. My feet hit the parking lot with a jarring thud.
I whirl around, searching for Diaz, and see him slumped by the wheel well, unconscious. With no more than a flicker of remorse, I leave him in the dust — running full-tilt toward the elevator. My lungs are screaming for air, my heart slamming against my ribs. I hear boots pounding after me, gaining ground with every passing second.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Don’t look back.
I’m nearly to the elevator when it slides open. Relief floods through me when I see York, Linden, and Stevens stepping through, their expressions graver than death. Lincoln, Carly, and Aiden are close on their heels.
The body guards bypass me, their eyes locked on the man breathing down my neck. I hear a startled gasp as my father changes course, the sound of his boots as he starts fleeing the opposite direction, but it’s far too late. The three guards are on him in an instant.
I pull up short just outside the elevator, slamming straight into my friends like a ball into pins. Linc and Aiden’s arms steady me as I spin around, just in time to see my father cornered against the side of the bus. The guards close in like predatory wolves.
And then, in less than a second, it’s over.
York has him incapacitated so fast, I’m not even sure exactly how it happens. I just know that my father is suddenly pinned against the pavement with a knee planted firmly on the small of his back. Stevens tosses a pair of handcuffs at his partner and by the time they haul him back to his feet, he’s cuffed like a common criminal.
“Felicity, maybe you shouldn’t—” Carly calls after me, but I’m already walking to the bus. My steps echo like gunshots in the concrete echo-chamber. I feel Linc, Aiden, and Carly following me, but I don’t wait for them. I hear Linden a few paces away, calling an ambulance as he checks on Diaz, but I don’t spare him so much as a glance.
My eyes never waver from the face of the man who raised me as I approach the bus, where Stevens and Linden are holding him between them in an iron grip. He’s bleeding from the lip, his dark brown eyes enraged as they lock on my face.
“Come to gloat, bitch?” He spits at my feet.
I stare at him for a long time, searching for the right words.
What do you say to the person who ruined your childhood?
What do you say to the monster who’s haunted your every step?
“What do you want to do, Miss Wilde?” York asks, more serious than I’ve ever heard him. “The police are already en-route. We can hand him over to them, when they arrive. Or we can…” He trails off, but I understand his unspoken implication easily enough.
Or, we can handle this in-house.
Handle him.
I feel darkness crowding in as the thought spins around inside my head. Revenge and rage, so potent I can taste them on my tongue. I want to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until his breath runs out. I want to inflict the same pain on him that he did to me, for all those years. I want to expunge him from the earth, so I never have to spend another second living in fear that he might show up again, someday.
In that moment, I want nothing more than to tell York and Stevens to take him somewhere off the grid and make him disappear, so I never have to think about him ever again.
Handle him. The words are there, waiting on the tip of my tongue. Get rid of him, for good.
“She doesn’t have the guts,” my father hisses, his scornful gaze moving across my features. “She’s weak-willed. Just like that fool of a grandmother she idolized so much.”
I go stiff when he mentions Gran. My eyes close as her final hope for me fills every corner of my mind, cutting through the wrath and despair and vengeance with unparalleled clarity.
Felicity. You’re a light in the dark.
Sirens are sounding in the distance. Any minute now, they’ll turn down into the garage, and the opportunity for my own personal revenge will disappear. My one chance to inflict the same kind of pain back on my abuser, my tormenter, my monster, before he’s caught up in the court system, at the mercy of authorities greater than my security detail.
“Miss Wilde?” York clears his throat. “What do you want to do?”
I take a deep breath.
I steady my shoulders.
I open my eyes.
And I speak to the man who calls
himself my father, but has never been my family. Not in any way that counts.
“In thirty seconds, I am going to turn around and walk away from you, and that will be the last time you ever see me. You will not call me. You will not contact me. You will not come after me ever again.” I lean forward, my tone so sharp, it sounds like a sword slashing the air between us to ribbons. “Because if you do, Terrence, I will make you pay for that mistake with your life. If you do, I will tell every living soul with a badge and a gun that you pose an immediate threat to my wellbeing. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not some scared little girl anymore who you can intimidate into silence with your fists. I’m Felicity Wilde. And I have the connections and the resources to put you behind bars, or worse, if you ever so much as blink in my direction again.”
He’s not smiling anymore.
“You think I’m like Gran? That may be the only thing you’ve ever gotten right in your life. Because Bethany Hayes wasn’t weak. She was strong. She was resilient. And she taught me it’s more important to keep shining in spite of the darkness than to ever succumb to it.”
I look away from him, my eyes meeting York’s.
“Give him to the police. Tell them his name is Terrence Wilde, but he uses the alias Terry Dill, sometimes Terry Wylde, to do business. Tell them he’s in direct violation of his parole for leaving the state of Tennessee. Tell them he’s deeply embedded in the heroin trade, and more than likely has bought or sold a shipment in the past twenty-four hours.” I sigh. “And if that’s not enough to get him locked up for a nice long stint in New York’s finest penitentiary, tell them to give me a call, so I can describe in detail what happened on my tour bus just now, as well as the many, many previous domestic violence incidents that aren’t already in his criminal record.”
York and Stevens both nod.
Without sparing my father so much as another glance, I turn and start walking for the elevators. Lincoln, Carly, and Aiden flank my sides, not saying a single word as we climb aboard. I jam my finger against the button for the penthouse, then clasp my hands together to stop them from shaking.
Unfaded (Faded Duet Book 2) Page 21