Love Song

by Elle Greco

  “You know what I don’t get?” Dion asked, breaking the silence. “Why would Grimm knowingly poison his own artists? Kyle’s death could have easily been the end of Rogue Nation if Nik hadn’t stepped in.”

  “Dead cat bounce,” Rafe said.

  “Rafe,” I chided, scowling at him.

  “Hear me out,” Rafe said. “Artist dies, the backlist becomes smoking hot. The deals on album sales were always in the label’s favor. We make our money on tours and licensing, not on the shit percentage we get from record sales and streaming payouts. The label only stands to gain when an artist dies. The more tragic the better.”

  Vince looked up, the black circles under his eyes pronounced. “Rafe’s right. New output may not be as valuable as a proven backlist. Eventually bands fall out of favor. It only takes one underperforming album.”

  “But Grimm wanted Presley to produce, like, a lot,” I pointed out. “That’s why she’s in here.”

  “There’s always another Presley waiting in the wings,” Rafe said. “If a young artist flames out, there’s a new one ready to rise.”

  Ain’t that the truth.

  Vince looked at his adopted son. “You have a knack for this business shit, you know that?”

  “Yeah, I do know it,” Rafe said. But damn, his confidence was sexy as hell.

  A woman wearing scrubs and a doctor’s coat interrupted us. “Is Presley Benson’s family here?”

  “Yes,” I said, standing straighter. Nikki grabbed my hand. “We’re her sisters.”

  The doctor looked around the room. “Did you want to step outside?”

  I shook my head. “We’re all family.”

  She nodded. “Your sister will be okay.” I released a breath, and Nikki sagged into me. “We’re keeping her overnight for observation. Then we will have to move her to the detox unit. I warn you, that is not going to be comfortable for her. But it’ll buy you a little time to find a treatment program for her.”

  “Treatment program,” Nikki whispered. I took more of her weight.

  Tears threatened, and I blinked them back with a nod. “Do you have any information on programs in the LA area?”

  “We have lists of programs broken down by cost. The most expensive does not mean the most quality care, but there are added amenities. Would you like all three?”

  “We only need the list for the best,” Vince said. “Cost is not an issue.”

  My eyes bugged out. Cost was not an issue?

  “Vince, Presley blew through her advance from Grimm on that stupid car,” I said.

  “Cost is not an issue,” he repeated.

  “I’m bumming rides because I can’t afford to fix my car,” I continued. “I’m no fan of bargain-basement medical care, but cost is definitely an issue.”

  “I’m paying,” Vince said.

  “Why?”

  The word was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  “Can we see her?” Nikki asked, giving Vince a reprieve.

  “Not yet,” the doctor said. “She’s talking to detectives now, but they have a ten-minute limit.”

  Vince rose to his feet. “Detectives? Without a lawyer?”

  “She’s not under arrest, but we are required to call LAPD on a suspected drug overdose.”

  “But it was an accident,” I said.

  “It’s still illegal,” the doctor finished.

  “Then she needs a lawyer,” Vince repeated. He stalked toward the door.

  “Please, sir.” The doctor raised her hand, and Vince came to a dead stop. “She’s cooperating. She is not under arrest. She was asked if she wanted an attorney, and she said no. I’ll have a nurse come get you when they are done. But no longer than five minutes, please. She’s in rough shape. The less drama the better.”

  Vince scrubbed his face with his hand and then stood and closed the door behind the exiting doctor. He turned to us. “That’s it. We’re out. Rogue, Anthem, Presley. We’re done. Grimm’s done.”

  I slumped into an armchair before I fell over in shock and exhaustion. “What can you prove? Because I want that son of a bitch in jail.”

  “I don’t know,” Vince said, his exhausted eyes meeting mine. “My law firm’s criminal team is looking into it. Until now, we had no actual proof. But this? Maybe this is something different.”

  He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through it. Nikki leaned into Dion, her face pressed into his chest. The room felt heavy, airless. Restless, I walked out to pace the hallway, my mind a whir of all the information thrown at me in such a brief period of time. Presley was hooked on drugs; Grimm was the supplier. It would take a protracted legal battle to get all of them out from under Grimm’s thumb.

  I reached the end of the hallway, sucked in air, and pushed it out, trying to expel the poison of the past hour along with it. When I turned to trod a path back to the other end, I saw Rafe had followed me out. His lithe body relaxed against the wall. In one swift movement, he pushed off and stalked to me. Without a word, he swept me into his arms.

  I looked up at him, his eyes dark anguished with the memories of his father, of his brother Kyle, of everyone that Grimm had taken away from him.

  My eyes filled with tears, and I pressed my hand to his cheek. “Rafe—”

  But before I could finish, his mouth crashed into mine. The press of his desperate lips was almost painful, but I didn’t care. I wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled him to me even harder. His tongue plundered my mouth. My hands moved to the base of his skull, where I twisted my fingers into his hair and tried to pull him even closer to me, as if forcing our bodies to meld together would erase our pain. His hands found their way under my T-shirt, and his nails dug into my bare back, lighting my nerve endings on fire.

  “Fuck, but this is not the place,” he said, pulling his mouth away.

  With his body still hard against me, I wanted to scream, Yes, yes, it is! But he was right. It was not the place, or the time. My body might need Rafe, but Presley definitely needed me more.

  I pressed my forehead against his and allowed myself a minute to come down from the headiness that overtook me whenever Rafe was close. When my breath had steadied, I took a step back from him, and his arms dropped from around me, his hands moving to cradle my face.

  “Go see Presley,” he said, his voice thick. “When you’re done, we have some unfinished music to deal with.”

  The tips of his fingers swept across my cheek, and he feathered my slack lips with a soft kiss. Unsteady, I propped myself up against the wall, watching his tight ass walk away. When he disappeared into the main waiting area of the ER, I released my breath. Only then did I notice my entire body was shaking.

  28

  I crept into the quiet apartment, unsure if Rafe was home and asleep. I didn’t want to wake him. I needed time to process everything.

  Since Vince didn’t know I had moved—and I’d fallen asleep the minute my ass hit the seat of his car—he took me to Rafe’s apartment. When he woke me up, we were in front of Rafe’s building. One look at Vince’s haggard face, and I decided not to argue. I could crash on the couch and catch a ride to Melrose when Rafe woke up. Or I’d walk.

  When I got to the breakfast bar, I dropped my bag on a chair and toed off my Converse. Padding over to the couch, I plopped my ass onto the cushion with a big sigh.

  By the time we’d gotten to see her, Presley was so exhausted she could barely speak. Which was good, because pumping her stomach had made her throat raw, so her voice was hoarse. She needed to rest it to minimize any damage, if it wasn’t destroyed already. That was something Vince reminded her. But he’d reminded her gently, which was good. He’d dealt with the nurses and the doctors and diverted the attention of an unexpectedly good-looking LAPD detective so that Nikki and I weren’t interviewed. Not yet, at least. Nik and I had just kind of collapsed on her carefully, hugged her, and cried. Vince did the heavy lifting for all of us.

  Presley looked like hell. Face gaunt. Circles under her e
yes so dark she’d looked like someone had punched her. Even her hair—her full, gorgeous hair—had looked ratty and lank. And she was sickly skinny. I hadn’t realized how much weight she’d lost until I saw her, the hospital bed nearly swallowing her tiny body.

  I pulled the elastic out of my hair and raked my fingers through it, nails getting caught in the knots, and stared out the high-rise window into the thin veil of midmorning smog ever present over Los Angeles. They’d built these apartments to give the high-net-worth tenants who occupied the upper floors the perception that they were king of the world. Or at least king of LA. But looking over the vast sprawl of the city in front of me left me feeling insignificant and alone.

  I was a lousy sister.

  Presley was on the mend. That was all that mattered.

  But I was still a lousy sister.

  We’d make up for it, Nik and I. How could we have been so stupid to have believed that bullshit that Pamela was spewing? And even if Presley was having an affair with Vince (which she wasn’t, so phew), so what? Right? Presley was a grown-ass woman, and it was none of our business anyway.

  And Vince. Vince, who had tried so damn hard to shield Presley from Grimm’s bullshit. Instead, he’d gotten dragged into our mother’s lies, nearly ruining his own career in the process. He was more of a parent to us than our birth parents had ever been.

  I owed him an apology too.

  I leaned back and closed my eyes. Maybe Nik and I could give statements to the court, make sure that Vince kept his fortune and Pamela got nothing in the divorce. With any luck, she’d slink back to Maine where our deadbeat dad was. Those two deserved each other.

  I loved writing songs, I loved playing. I especially loved doing it with Nikki and Presley. But Satan’s Sisters was a giant question mark now. If the tube they’d shoved down Presley’s throat didn’t destroy her vocal cords, would she even want to go back to the business that had destroyed her? Did I?

  I could write songs and maybe play on the weekends with friends in small bars someplace far from LA while I worked a normal job like a normal person. Low stakes, just for fun. I wouldn’t have to worry about image or having someone like Vivienne dress me like a doll. Or about a “glam squad,” whatever the hell that meant.

  I just needed to get the cash to get through school. Then I could… What? Teach English at a high school somewhere? With a degree in poetry, I wouldn’t be qualified for much of anything but writing songs.

  Dammit.

  I curled into a ball on the couch and stared out the window. I must have fallen asleep because I was jarred awake when the front door slammed closed and Rafe walked into the apartment.

  “Hey,” I said, pushing up on one arm. I blinked out the window, the low sun casting an orange glow over the city. “What time is it?”

  “Going on five,” he said. “You okay?”

  “Shit,” I said, swinging my legs over the side of the couch. I was supposed to be at the studio two hours ago.

  “Take it easy,” Rafe said. “I called Bobby. Told him what happened. You’re clear.”

  “Thanks,” I said after heaving a sigh. I didn’t think I could face a studio full of musicians and Jamie Sage’s exacting standards today. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Meeting. Grimm’s office,” Rafe said before ducking his head into the fridge.

  “Is that safe?” I asked over my runaway heart.

  He popped open a La Croix and then grabbed a glass from the cabinet. “It’s safe.”

  “But if you’re—”

  “If our team did what they were supposed to do, when those papers are served, it will be an enormous surprise.”

  “Okay,” I said, watching him pour the seltzer into the glass. “So the meeting took all day?”

  “You my mother?” he snapped in response.

  “Sorry,” I bristled. I watched him stalk around the kitchen counter and settle on a stool at the breakfast bar.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  “About?” I asked. Anxiety told me to keep my distance, so I remained on the couch.

  “Your apartment.”

  “What about it?”

  “Give it up.”

  “I just moved in. I wasn’t even there one night.”

  “Hope you didn’t unpack much.”

  “Rafe—”

  “Hear me out,” he said. “Shit’s about to get hot with Grimm.”

  “But you just said—”

  He lifted his hand. “Hear me out, please.”

  Since he said “please,” I shut my mouth. But I glared at him.

  “Lawyers are dropping the bomb tomorrow morning, first thing,” he said. “When that happens, the press will go mad. As much as we try to reign it in, Grimm’ll fan those flames. I want you close. I’ll take you to the studio, I’ll take you to meetings.”

  “Rafe, this is crazy.”

  “I’m not fucking around, Jett,” he said. “My high-security building is a hell of a lot safer than Lydon’s walk-up that doesn’t even have a video intercom system.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but, deciding against it, I shut it again. He wasn’t wrong there. Lydon’s place was safe enough for someone living a normal life, but that wasn’t the case with me anymore.

  “With all that’s swirling, I don’t want to take any chances,” he said.

  “So back on the couch I go,” I muttered.

  “When have you ever slept on the couch?”

  My eyebrows lifted, and I opened my arms to show where I’d spent the bulk of the day.

  “That was a nap,” he said, giving me his sexy gap-toothed grin.

  A sigh escaped my lips. “Rafe, we can’t do this.”

  “Give me one good reason.”

  “I signed a lease,” I said. “And Lydon could use the rent money, so I’m not breaking it.”

  “And that’s another point,” he said, just as I realized that bringing up Lydon’s situation wasn’t a smart play. “She’s got her own shit swirling with Grimm. And you’re right next door to that. In a walk-up apartment without security.”

  Rafe circled the couch and sat down on the opposite end. He put his drink on the coffee table and then twisted to face me. “You don’t get it, so I’m going to lay this out for you. Grimm Records has been hemorrhaging money.”

  I lifted my eyes to meet his. “Not surprising given the state of the industry.”

  “Right, and he never had a huge corporation behind him to absorb the rising costs,” Rafe said, which was true. While smaller labels were being swallowed up by large entertainment conglomerates, Grimm—like Bobby—had remained independent. “Outside of Rogue Nation, he has not had a moneymaking artist since Anthem.”

  “So, what, are we talking bankruptcy?” I asked. “Maybe time for a merger?”

  “Sure, all those things were viable options, but instead he pushed his artists harder. Presley wasn’t the only one he fed drugs to.”

  My heart beat faster. “But what does this have to do with us?”

  His eyes closed, and then opened slowly. “Jett, he’s not just a label head anymore. He’s a bonafide drug dealer.”

  My eyes widened. “So what about the lawyers? Why even bother?”

  “Our lawsuit gets us out from under it all before the DEA moves in,” he said. “Grimm Records will be liquidated, and there’s a chance of us getting sold to another label. We want to control where we go, not the other way around.”

  “You can prove it was him?”

  “Jordan’s the connection. He was kicked off the tour for dosing Nik and now he’s selling shit to Presley? While remaining on Grimm’s payroll?”

  “I’m no lawyer, but that doesn’t sound like much,” I said.

  “Jordan’s talking,” he said. “He’s implicating Grimm and a few other C-suite guys.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “You see Presley yet today?” he asked, changing the subject. I shook my head. “You want to?” I nodded. “Get your shit in order, and
we’ll swing by after dinner.”

  “Dinner?” I asked, hoisting myself up from my position on the couch. “Wait, I don’t have any clothes.”

  His eyes went to the hallway, and I followed his gaze. There was my army duffle leaning against the wall.

  “So you just, what? Broke into my apartment?”

  “I talked to Lydon.”

  My head tilted up, and I looked at the ceiling. “Shit.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “She’s totally going to let me out of my lease,” I said. Lydon would never hold me to a binding agreement with this shit going down.

  “No, babe, she’s not,” he said gently. “The apartment is there for you once this blows over.”

  My shoulders relaxed.

  “If you still want it,” he added.

  Then his eyes hit mine with the full force of Rafe, and I immediately questioned what I wanted.

  29

  A hand pressed against my hip, fingers digging in. My eyes shot open, and I got a face full of broad chest. I blinked at the tats covering his coppery skin, as the fingers at my hip started wandering toward my ass.

  “Morning,” Rafe said, giving my butt a good tug so that my body pressed against his.

  Dammit.

  I was supposed to sleep on the couch.

  But after hitting Pink’s—they made an okay veggie dog, but I was really there for the nacho fries—we went to visit Presley. I should say, we tried to visit Presley. They informed us that she could not see visitors. A call to Vince confirmed that she was detoxing.

  A family meeting had convened at Vince’s Hollywood Hills rental, where we pored over the list of treatment facilities. Nik and I were visiting three of them today.

  “How are you?” Rafe asked. His hands were now under my T-shirt, and they swept up and down my back, playing against my spine like a guitar. It felt good.

  I tipped my head up to look at him. “Not sure.”

  “You worried, even after last night?” he asked.

  Vince was solid as a rock, and the family meeting had started in a panic but ended with a plan to get Presley in the best situation possible. Vince was footing the bill.