Savaged Vows: Savaged Illusions Trilogy Book 2

by Jennifer Lyon

  Justice could feel all the eyes of his band on him, while Beth stood stiff and frozen.

  “We have a video that will show you exactly who she is,” Hayes went on. “The man you’ll see in there is Lyin’ Liza’s ex-boyfriend Dillion Gibbs, and the other woman who shows up at the end is his fiancée, Stacy Jo Miller. Now watch this cozy little scene.”

  “No,” Beth whispered. “How could he have gotten this?”

  Justice burned with silent rage as the screen shifted to night, but there was enough illumination from the streetlights to make out Dillion holding his hand out to Beth in the front yard of his house. The angle didn’t show Beth’s face but came from somewhere over her left shoulder.

  He watched the whole damned thing beginning with Dillion professing his love for Liza exactly as Beth had described. Then Stacy Jo screeching up in her car, getting out and screaming insults at Liza.

  “You’re married and still fucking my fiancé.”

  “Do you even know whose kid you got knocked up with?”

  Stacy Jo threw the bag of peas, Liza whirled around, squirting her with the hose, and the two women screamed and battled.

  The image died away, and Hayes came back on the screen. “Does this woman look like a victim to you? Did you hear what Stacy Jo said? ‘I found the private investigators report Dillion’s father gave him when he told Dillion to dump your fat ass.’”

  Smug satisfaction radiated from Hayes. “That’s right, Liza had dated Dillion, whose father is State Senator Marvin Gibbs. Are you seeing the pattern? She went after the son of a state senator, hoping to hook him. But State Senator Gibbs is apparently no one’s fool, and he had Liza investigated. Once he discovered who and what Liza really was, the man put an end to his son’s relationship with her. But did Liza go away quietly? Did she show any shame or remorse? Not according to this video in Stacy Jo’s own words. Lyin’ Liza kept Dillion on her hook while she was dating and married to Justice Cade.”

  Hayes leaned forward, dark eyes intent on the camera. “It’s time for Lyin’ Liza to tell the truth. My sources have informed me that she’s going to the Savaged Illusions concert at the Tampa Dome tonight. I’m asking all of you who know I’m innocent to show up there and demand that Lyin’ Liza be held accountable for all her lies and schemes.”

  The screen faded to a picture of Hayes with BringGeneHayesHome.com stamped over it.

  Simon muted the TV.

  Fury spewed from Justice like an out-of-control geyser. Gene Fucking Hayes did this. He was manipulating from his little hideout, making the world see Beth as some lying, cheating whore. He’d failed to get her killed, so instead he was going to ruin her this way until she either recanted or the judge assigned to the case overturned the verdict.

  Justice faced his band. “It’s lies and accusations. It’s a goddamned smear campaign.”

  “It doesn’t matter if it’s true.” Simon’s gold eyes blazed with fury. “You saw the protestors, they believe it.”

  He focused on Beth’s too-white face, and his rage exploded. He pulled away from her, spun around and jogged for the door.

  Beth caught his arm. “What are you doing?”

  “The fuckers out front are going to get a truth bomb from me. You’re my wife. Mine. No one talks about you like that.” He yanked free, wrenched the door open and raced down the hall.

  “Justice! Goddammit,” Simon snarled. “Stop!”

  Hell no. He made it through the first turn in the cavernous hallway when a man-sized boulder slammed into his back. He hit the floor, a heavy weight pinning him.

  “Jesus, get off me.” Coiling his muscles, he flipped Simon aside, leapt up and rolled to the balls of his feet.

  Simon jackknifed up, squaring off and blocking Justice from getting to the door. “You’re not going out there. You’ll make this worse.”

  More feet pounded around the corner behind him, but he was too pissed to care. “Fuck you, Simon. You don’t decide. Beth’s my wife. One of those protesters saw her in the car and bashed in her window with a sign, trying to hurt her. I’m not letting this happen.” He had to do something.

  “What about the band? You gonna go storming out there in a rage and hit someone, is that it, Justice? Beat them up on camera? Make those protestors hate us more than your wife already has?” Fury glinted in Simon’s eyes. “This is it, man. We’re finally breaking out and hitting lists. You can’t go off half-cocked, attacking protestors.”

  “He’s right, it won’t help.” Beth rushed up, taking Justice’s hand and unclenching his fist.

  His rage dialed down at her touch, replaced with protectiveness. Some color had returned to her cheeks. “You okay?” All this wasn’t good for her or the kid. He couldn’t let her get hurt like she had when Hans stabbed her.

  “I will be.” She threaded her fingers in his. “Unless you lose your temper and I have to bail you out of jail tonight.”

  She amazed him. How this girl could pull herself together when he was losing his shit showed exactly how strong she was. But she wasn’t okay, her hand in his was clammy and trembling. Wrapping his arm around her, he walked her back to the greenroom, opened a water and handed it to her.

  Beth drank it, then said, “How’s he getting this stuff? I don’t even know who took that video.”

  Shit, who had taken it? One of the neighbors? Or was Hayes having her watched? He didn’t say that to her. She was already worried and upset. “I don’t know. But right now, you need to sit down and—”

  “How we doing in here?”

  Justice craned his head around as a woman walked in carrying a tablet and a professional smile. He’d met her when they’d been here earlier today—Marla, the manager of the venue.

  “Quite a display out front, isn’t it? No worries, our security team here at Tampa Dome is the best, and we’re coordinating with the police department. Everything is under control.” She glanced at her tablet. “You have a meet-and-greet scheduled with some of your street team. They’re in our reception room. Are you ready?”

  It had completely slipped his mind. The street team was made up of fans who earned special perks by completing certain promotional tasks. He loved meeting fans, but now he hesitated.

  “It might be best,” Simon said evenly, “if Liza stayed here with security.”

  Justice bristled. “I’m not leaving her alone.”

  Simon strode over to him. “This is our job. We promised those fans.”

  “Just go,” Beth said, tiredness thick in her voice.

  He glanced around at all the band watching him. Damn it. Justice led Beth to the couch. “I’ll be back before we go onstage.”

  She pulled out her phone and sat down. “Looks like I have a bunch of texts and calls anyway. Emily, Nikki, Tess, Sophie, oh, even Cassie.” She looked up. “Did you know she started college this year? She’s getting around really well on her prosthetic leg.”

  Of course he knew because Beth had told him a half-dozen times. That tiny spark of joy in her gaze nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. Beth had been thrown right back in the pool of misery, and yet a text from a girl like Cassie, a girl Beth had helped, gave her joy.

  “Go meet your fans, rock star. I’m busy here.”

  He kissed her. “Stay with security until I get back.” He got up and started out with his band. In the doorway, he looked back.

  Beth was pressed into the corner of the couch, hunched over her phone, her beautiful face tight with strain. She looked so small and alone, it made his chest ache with the need to rush back, wrap her in his arms and shield her.

  Forcing himself to close the door, he turned, coming face-to-face with Simon. “What? Christ, can you just get out of my face?”

  “This is on you, Justice. That girl in there? She’s already been stabbed once because you dragged her into the limelight. You say you love her, but even after she was attacked, you wouldn’t make a choice.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “You
could have walked away from music and chose her. Or you could have broken up with her and let her go home to make peace with her family. Instead, you’re trying to have it all.”

  Tiny claws of panic tried to sink into him. Music was all he’d had until Beth, it was all he knew how to do. He was only good at one thing—being a rock star.

  But Beth owned his heart. He had to be good enough for her.

  “You don’t understand, she couldn’t go back to her family.” Liar, they would have taken her back if he’d gotten out of her life. But how could he give her up? Beth was his anchor in the craziness of his world. She was his home and his heart.

  “I doubt that, but if you really love her, then get Liza off the radar. She’s in serious danger, and you damn well know it. Keep her away from the tour and off any media.”

  “Hide her?” Like his dirty little secret who he screwed and made babies with on the side? Dillion had tried that shit with Beth, and she’d told him to go fuck himself. Her family had tried to hide and silence Beth too.

  Simon’s eyes shadowed, going dark and cold. “Yes. Unless you want to end up like me.”

  “An unfeeling bastard?”

  “A broken bastard.” Simon walked off.

  Justice watched, stunned. He’d told Beth once that nothing would break him. Nothing. His dad had broken. His mom had bailed. Justice swore he’d never be either of them.

  But as he watched one of the proudest, most stubborn and determined men he knew walk away, he knew the brutal truth.

  Losing Beth would break him too.

  He had to find a way to protect her. And Simon was right, after seeing that protester spot Beth in the car and swing the sign at her, she wasn’t safe.

  He had to keep her safe at any cost. He wouldn’t lose her, nor would he let anyone hurt her. He’d find and kill Hayes first.

  That thought sank in and began to grow roots.

  * * *

  Liza woke up before she screamed. Oh God, her stomach pitched violently, and sweat slicked her skin. What time was it? She glanced over at the clock. Just after 4:00 a.m.

  She didn’t dare close her eyes for fear of seeing her nightmare again. Gene Hayes had stood in front of her, wearing sweatpants and holding out that drink, while behind her people closed in with those awful signs raised like baseball bats.

  She’d been trapped with no way out and nowhere to run, voices blaring in her head, Slut! Whore! You wanted it! You begged for it!

  Just the memory of the dream made her queasy. They’d gotten to bed around two, but she couldn’t sleep now. In the glow of the clock, she could see Justice. He lay on his side, facing away from her, the big lion inked on his back poised to strike.

  Loneliness and fear closed in tighter, the voices rising to an excruciating buzzing that cut into her brain. Her skin ached with the need for pain. Anything to override the horrible drilling whine that made her want to scream.

  Carefully she eased back the covers. The chill of the air conditioner bit into her flesh, and she shivered. After getting her glasses, she went in the bathroom. Almost without thought, her gaze slid to the big shower and her bright purple plastic razor sitting on the shelf next to the bottles of shampoo, conditioner and soap.

  Her fingers spasmed with the need to seize that handle. She knew how to crack open the casing and get to the blade.

  Forcing her gaze to the mirror, she stared at the woman there. Pale, tired, scared.

  Crazy.

  Don’t cut. No cutting.

  Grabbing her makeup case, she dug to the bottom and snatched out a rubber band. Sliding it over her wrist, she snapped it.

  The sharp sting shot out from her skin, running through her like spreading cracks draining the intensity of the buzzing in her head.

  More.

  She did it again and again, raising welts on her wrist to fight the high-pitched static in her head. The screams of haters. The fear.

  More. More.

  Tears ran down her face, but she couldn’t stop. This pain was better than the voices, fear and awful pressure. She didn’t want to feel that, didn’t want to be so terrified. She was afraid to sleep again.

  “Goddammit.”

  She jerked her head up, her eyes colliding with a furious, steely gaze. Justice’s hair stuck out everywhere, his face rough with thick, dark stubble, the blades of his cheekbones sharp enough to cut. He clamped his arms around hers, forcing her fingers to release the band.

  Her mouth dried, and shame charred her from head to toe.

  He slid the band off and threw it. Then he pulled her wrist up in front of them, the overhead lighting showing ugly red welts.

  “I didn’t cut.” This was her crazy, her worst self.

  His arm banded her rib cage, locking her in place. His other hand gripped her jaw to keep her from turning away from his mirror stare. “Talk to me.” The growled words vibrated from his chest.

  “You’re mad.”

  “You wouldn’t talk when we got home. You told me you were okay and you just wanted to sleep. That was a lie. Then you must have had a nightmare, and you didn’t wake me up. Fuck yeah, I’m pissed. You don’t hide in here and suffer alone. Now talk, right fucking now. I don’t care how hard it is, talk.”

  His jaw bulged, and the veins on his neck stood out. Like seeing her hurting herself had snapped something in him. The shame at her weakness deepened, but she couldn’t unhook her gaze from his to look away. As if his stare alone could tame the high-pitched drone of voices in her brain, the rushing thoughts that wouldn’t calm. Justice was her lifeline, her safety net. He didn’t hide his fury, and he didn’t pretend it was okay or ignore her craziness. He confronted it head-on.

  It took all her effort to squeeze out, “I had to make it stop.”

  “Keep going.”

  The command pulled more from her. “Nightmare, then I woke in terror, trying to scream but no sound came out. No one ever hears me.”

  “I hear you.”

  She shuddered and struggled to explain. “It’s a dark sense of doom coming for me and everyone I love. Fear that I’ll make the wrong choice and end up destroying my family again. You and our baby are my family.” When her fingers dug into her belly, she realized she’d laid her hand over her stomach. How screwed up was she that she wanted to cut when she was pregnant? “I don’t deserve this. You, our baby. I don’t. I wasn’t even allowed to go to my dad’s funeral. His family hated me, they said I was a groupie slut like my mom and we were poison. Even strangers hate me too. Like those people carrying the signs at the concert, and that woman who tried to hit me. Now they’ll hate you too for loving me.” All the words tumbled out, just like the blood had poured from her the day she’d slashed her wrist with that glass. Shut up. Please. “I need the pain to make it stop.” It came out a tortured whisper.

  His nostrils flared like some kind of bull’s. “You’re better than all of them. Every damned one.” His jaw flexed, and his shoulders bunched. “You know Screech’s song, ‘Reaper’s Child’?”

  The sudden shift confused her. Now they were talking about a song? “Yeah?”

  He turned on the water and shoved her welted skin beneath the stream. The cold water sent icy zings through her. Seconds later it soothed the burn.

  “It’s about a man fighting the reaper for his son, but he ultimately loses the battle and the reaper takes the kid away.” He shut off the water and carefully dried her arm. Ferociousness blazed in mirror-Justice’s eyes as he dropped the towel. Gripping her hair in his hand, he tugged her head back, forcing her to meet his eyes without the buffer of a mirror. “Your urge to cut is my reaper. Cutting can take you away from me. One mistake and you could die. I’m not letting that happen. You’re mine. I’m not your weak, cowardly family that threw you out. You’re mine, and I’ll fight any force to keep you with me.” He turned her around so they were face-to-face. “This battle you’re struggling with? I’m right here fighting with you. Don’t shut me out, Beth, like you did when we went to bed. Don
’t.”

  She’d done that. He’d tried to get her to talk, but by then, she was too upset. She’d been scared into silence that she didn’t know how to break. “I wasn’t cutting. The rubber band is how I cope.”

  He stroked a calloused finger over the welts. “You get the urge to cut when you hold in your feelings or you’re afraid to tell me. When you think you have to be quiet and that people are judging you.”

  He knew her so well, but that didn’t stop her rush of anger. “They are. What did I do to those protestors? I didn’t do anything, yet they hate me. They think I’m a slut who trapped you into marriage with a kid that might not even be yours. They believe I seduced Hayes for a blackmail scheme, not that he drugged and raped me. My own family hates me.” Her worst fear rumbled up and out. “What if you end up hating me too? If one day you believe his lies like everyone else?”

  He spun around, slapping his hand against the wall.

  With one arm up, his back contoured sharply, all his muscles so defined she could almost see the fibers. His lion tat watched her with predator eyes, the paw lifted, ready to pounce.

  Icy sweat seared her skin, and her heart pounded. She couldn’t bear it if he doubted her. “You don’t believe him, do you? I told you what happened with Dillion that night.” Her throat locked up.

  Don’t talk about it, Liza. You’re making it worse. People are judging you. Her aunt’s voice joined the others.

  He spun around. “I believe you. I’ll always believe you. It’s him.”

  “Who? Dillion?”

  “No, much as I hate him, you can handle that douchebag Dillion. I’m talking about Gene Hayes. I want to kill him. Not rough him up. Not ruin him. I want to hunt him down like the animal he is and kill him with my bare hands for what he’s done to you. For the rape. For the torment. For inciting others to stalk, harass and stab you.” Snatching her wrist, he held it up so the jagged scars and fading welts shown in the light. “For this. But instead, I can’t do jack shit because he’s out of my reach. I can’t touch him.”