by Anna Paige
Shit, I know the word but can't remember it. Dammit.
"She'll be at the next venue. We meet up with her before sound check," I muttered, still distracted. I pulled out my phone and looked it up before I went crazy trying to remember.
Fratricide! That's the damn word! Thank you, Google!
Lennox—our bassist—suddenly reached over and snagged my phone. "Could you leave the porn sites for later, man? This shit is serious." He looked at the screen, his eyes darting to my twin before resting back on mine as he slid the phone back to me, face down. He mouthed the words “oh shit” to Jared but didn't comment further.
"And where will the polite police be bunking?" E asked.
"Since she's here because of me," I answered Ethan as I glared at my brother, "I suppose she’ll want to be on my bus. Jimmy’s expecting us to be accommodating, so I'll take one of the empty bunks and she can have the bedroom."
"The bunks are tight, bro," Kane reminded me. "I nearly crippled myself trying to sleep in one. That's why I always crash on the couch now. We're just too damn tall for those bunks."
My brother and I stood at nearly six and a half feet tall. I hated to agree with a damn thing that came out of his mouth, but I had to concede that the couch might be a better fit, literally. "Fine, I'll take the other couch. And you," I pointed my finger at him, hating that he was my identical twin because it felt like I was arguing with myself, "Are not to do anything to offend her delicate PR sensibilities, understand? Wear pants at all times, knock on the bathroom door before entering, put the goddamn toilet seat down… you know, act like a civilized human being so you don't piss her off and get our contract shredded."
"Shit, you sound like Mom right now." He rolled his eyes.
"Mom never gave you anything close to the ass kicking I intend to if you fuck this up," I ground out between clenched teeth.
"We don't need more trouble, Kane. Just listen to him," Jared muttered.
Kane looked around the table and took in the expressions of our bandmates, seeing the agreement in their eyes. He glanced back over at me and nodded, looking properly chastised. "Okay, okay. I won't screw this up."
I wasn't about to take pity on him, not even a little. Especially after the way he treated me when the shit hit the fan. "See that you don't." I gave him one last hard look, adding, "And it goes without saying that you'll keep your dick in your pants."
"Why? She hot?" He flashed a sarcastic grin, making me see red. I raised a hand to point at him, blood boiling, but he cut me off before I could rip him a new one. "Fine, fine. It was a joke, Kade. Chill the fuck out." He paused and tilted his head slightly to one side, a telltale sign that a sarcastic comment was loading. "Besides, I'm not the one whose name’s tied to those indecent pics being plastered all over TMZ right now."
There was a collective gasp from the other band members.
I vaguely registered the sound of chairs sliding across the floor as E and Lenn both jumped up to stop me, but I'd already lunged across the table and had my hands around my brother's throat.
Fratricide, here I fucking come.
•••
The next afternoon, we were parked behind the venue, waiting for our walking, talking slap on the wrist to arrive. Jimmy, our manager, had called ahead to let us know we were expected to be gathered and ready when they got there. It seemed he was escorting her to us himself.
Fucking awesome.
Jimmy only came out of the woodwork and did the “in-person thing” for two reasons; to party with us when we were playing close to home and to piss all over our parade when we fucked up. Lately, he’d been doing a lot more pissing than partying.
And the last two times it had been me who messed up, in one way or another.
I was sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed that I was being forced to give up, packing the rest of my stuff while intermittently looking up at the collection of photos on the wall. My mom had put them up, saying it would make the bus feel more ‘homey.’ She loved doing little things she knew would remind us of her when we were away. I suddenly missed her so much I almost picked up the phone to call. But there wasn’t time just then, so I made a mental note to do it later and refocused on the pictures.
One was of us playing acoustic on a small beach stage in Fiji, some private event I barely remembered. Another one was from the MTV music awards, alongside one from the Grammys. There were close to a dozen pics in the grouping, and Kane was right beside me in all of them, smiling that happy-go-lucky smile of his. Not a care in the world. In all the award show photos, he had an arm draped across my shoulders in that typical brotherly way of his.
We hadn’t been that way, that naturally at ease with each other, since St. Louis. I knew it was my fault, but I had no idea how to fix it. Sometimes I didn’t even want to fix it. And sometimes—like now—it made me feel alone. I missed the way we were; the way we all were before this wall of tension had built between us.
"Hey, dickhead, you in there? PR chick arrives in five," Ethan called from the front of the bus.
I grabbed my duffel bag and walked down the narrow hall, shoving the damn thing into one of the bunks. I wasn't going to sleep on it so I might as well use it as clothes storage.
The bus was cramped, but I’d actually come to welcome the feel of it. It was nice to travel light, with no room for bullshit, just us and the music.
And our ride was pretty sweet, which helped. It wasn’t the newer of the two buses—the rig Jared, Lennox, and Ethan shared was much more recent—but it was damn nice, given its age. The flooring was dark and gleaming, the counters a gray granite that some groupie along the way likened to the color of my eyes. The couches and cushions surrounding the U-shaped dining table were all the same shade of burgundy, soft and supple, the leather always smelling of whatever oil was used by the cleaning crew.
It was always clean, both buses were, because someone would come in every few days while we were onstage and clean everything from floor to ceiling, even taking care of our laundry. Some of the perks of touring under the biggest label in the industry. They took care of “the talent.”
Usually.
We were actually in the process of getting a new bus, one so decked out it would make this one look like a hunk of junk, but my buddy Brant—who was in charge of the upgrades—had hit a snag when he realized the new rig had a nasty tweak in the frame from the manufacturer. It set us way the fuck behind, but the new one had been ordered and hopefully by our next tour it would be ready to roll.
I made a mental note to call him later, too, both to get an update and to update him on a few things. Inconvenient things, like our new chaperone. He was going to have a field day with that one.
I stepped into the main living area, and Ethan gave me a quick once-over, probably looking for signs of homicidal rage, since the last time he saw me I had my brother's throat in my hands.
I didn't say anything, just let him do his visual assessment of my demeanor and then I shrugged. "I'm good, E. No fratricide on my mind today."
"Fratricide?" He frowned. "That what it's called?"
"Yep. I Googled it to be sure."
He raised a brow. "And this Googling… was it for the word itself or ways to get away with it?"
"Funny, fucker." I shook my head at him, trying not to laugh at how serious he sounded. "You and I both know I'm incapable of being subtle. If I were to do it, I'd probably do it on stage or something like that, wherever the mood struck. No time for planning when there are idiot brothers in desperate need of having their heads ripped off."
The corners of his mouth turned up and he nodded. "Guess you're right. You've never been much of a planner."
"Nah, then you get accused of premeditation. Better to wing it." I couldn't help laughing, and it felt good. Hadn't been doing much of that lately; not that I was ever a particularly cheerful person, but I did laugh and smile more before all the bullshit started in the last year or so.
Kane, he was the happy twin. I was the b
rooding, dark one. Or so I'd read in about a million articles over the years.
Someone banged on the door, probably Lennox, given how loud and obnoxious it was, letting us know it was time to step outside and face our punishment.
Ethan clapped me on the back and stepped in behind me as we made our way off the bus. “I feel like I’m in high school, about to be dressed down by the principal.”
“You should have fucked the principal like I did, then you wouldn’t have to be nervous,” I quipped, smirking when he muttered ‘man-slut’ under his breath. It was a lie—the principal thing, not the man-slut thing—but it was funny, and we definitely needed a tension breaker. The moment of levity faded fast as I descended the stairs, pulled in a deep breath, and stepped onto the asphalt, steeling myself for whatever scathing remarks were coming our way. Both from Jimmy and our new babysitter—the polite police.
Fucking hell.
I spotted her first, standing there beside Jimmy, her curvy figure perfectly hugged by a smart pantsuit, her long dark hair pulled back in a thick, intricate braid that lay over one shoulder. She was a total stunner. My mouth went dry.
Ethan shoved me from behind, forcing me forward a couple steps. "Dude, you mind moving so I can get off the bus?" He stepped around me and gave me an odd look. "What's with you? You just stopped like you forgot I was behind you."
I did forget. "Sorry, man. Just not looking forward to this shit." While true, that wasn't why I stopped. I wasn't really aware that I had, honestly. I just sort of froze when I saw her.
E shook his head at me and started in the direction of the others, leaving me to gawk like an idiot, my feet still rooted to the ground. She was talking to Lennox, extending her hand and giving him a curt nod before turning to Jared and Kane. Jimmy made the introductions and she shook their hands with equal efficiency. She wasn't smiling, not in the conventional sense. Her mouth was upturned a bit but it looked more pained than pleasant, forced.
Looked like she wasn't too thrilled to be here.
Once she had made the rounds with my bandmates, she turned her attention to me, raising a brow at the amount of distance I'd left between myself and the group.
What color are her eyes? Blue? Gray, maybe?
I wasn't sure because of the space between us, but they were penetrating, whatever color they were.
Before I could get my feet to move she was closing the gap, waving off Jimmy’s attempts to follow, the same painful forced smile on her lips. She seemed to square her shoulders as she drew near, looking the part of the complete professional. "Mr. Edenfield. I'm Aubrey Taylor." She extended her hand, and I saw it tremble just a little.
I took her small, soft hand into my much larger one and gave it a firm shake. "Call me Kade," I told her in an almost friendly tone. Her astronomical hotness level didn’t cancel out my feelings about her being there. "With two Mr. Edenfield's and twins to boot, it's hard enough to tell us apart. No need to make it harder."
She nodded and looked down to where I still held her hand in mine, her eyes skimming the tattoos that snaked up my exposed forearm. I let her look her fill, taking the opportunity to do the same. She was a head shorter than me, though most women were; her eyes were definitely gray but I was willing to bet they would look blue under the right circumstances. Her perfume was subtle, crisp with a hint of musk. I had to fight not to lean in and smell her.
Her eyes suddenly flashed to mine, as if she knew I was close to doing just that, and she tugged her hand away, stepping back. "James says I'll be sharing a bus with you and your brother, is that all right?"
"James?" I chuckled at her formality. "I don't think I've ever heard anyone call him that."
"It's his name, isn't it?" She frowned, tossing a glance over at Jimmy like she thought maybe she'd been calling him the wrong name.
"Yeah, everyone just calls him Jimmy, that's all."
Her mouth formed a perfect 'o' and I had the disturbing urge to reach up and sweep my thumb across her lips.
"Does it bother him to be called James?" She sounded worried. "I just assumed…"
I put a hand out and lightly touched her shoulder, trying to calm the panicked look in her eyes. I was only partially motivated by my almost uncontrollable need to have my hands on her. "Relax, polite police. You're gonna pop a blood vessel. It's not as serious as all that. We're just really informal. You'll get used to it." I looked her up and down, assessing her outfit. "Trust me, in no time we will have you in ripped jeans and concert tees." I smiled.
Why was I smiling at her? And why couldn’t I seem to stop?
She shook her head, frowning. "I don't think my boss…"
I glanced around the parking lot. "Is your boss here?"
"Well, no…" She hedged, looking intrigued.
"Then who cares? Besides, if you're going to travel with us and be at all of our events, wearing formal looking stuff like that," I motioned the length of her body, "will make you stick out."
She did that shoulder squaring thing again, trying to slip back into her uptight niche where she felt safe. "I'm not here to party with the band or fall into the groupie crowd, Kade. I'm here to pull your collective asses out of the fire."
The way my name rolled off her lips made my dick spring to life.
Not good. At. All.
And the no-nonsense persona she was working so hard to maintain was making her even hotter than she already was.
"Now, back to the issue of my lodging," she began, "is it agreeable that I stay on the bus with you and your brother?"
I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing, she was hilariously uptight. I'd work on that, though. "Yes, Aubrey, it's agreeable. Or would you prefer to be called Miss Taylor?"
"And why would you assume it's not Mrs.?" She bit back at my snarky tone.
I glanced at her left hand and shrugged. "No ring, and what husband in his right mind would leave his wife all alone with five bed-hopping, bar-brawling, trouble-making rock stars?"
"I'm happy to hear that you're aware of your shortcomings."
"Nothing about me is short, sweetheart." I quipped, giving her a slow wink.
Shit, I was flirting with her. What was the matter with me?
Her eyes flashed and she narrowed them on me as she looked up. "I didn't work this hard for this long to allow the likes of you to call me sweetheart, Mr. Edenfield. You are to address me only as Aubrey or Ms. Taylor, understand? I am not now, nor will I ever be, your damn sweetheart."
She spun on her heel and stalked off in the other direction, probably to gather her stuff.
She was self-righteous, uptight, judgmental, and too prissy for her own good.
God help me, everything about her turned me on.
•••
Correction: Everything about that woman pissed me the fuck off.
Her self-righteous attitude, that uptight pantsuit, the cold, dispassionate way she managed to glare at me without actually looking my way. I could feel her judgment on me like a rush of cold water. Every breath felt like pulling in ice.
Who the hell did she think she was?
"You can't be serious." Kane glanced over at me but spoke to Aubrey. Her name had taken on a sarcastic lilt in my head and just thinking it made me grit my teeth.
Her back was stiff in her seat, rigid and unyielding. We'd all gathered on Kane's and my bus and were scattered over the living area while the priss set up her laptop at the kitchen table. I had the good fortune to have grabbed the furthest spot from where she sat, but Kane had thought sitting across from her was a good idea. He learned to regret it, and fast.
She held his eye for a pointed moment, face impassive. "I assure you that I am." She turned to give the rest of us a cursory glance before typing a moment on the computer. "All of your personal social media accounts are dead in the water. You are not to log in, update your statuses or stories, post, like, comment, hashtag, tweet, snap, or anything else without express approval from me. And to save you all some time, the answer is no."
She didn't look up from the screen. "The only activity will be from the band's official pages and profiles, which are now under my control. I will decide what the public knows and when, and I will be scanning and deleting the massive influx of messages that arose after the story broke." Her eyes cut in my direction but never touched on me, like she was tracking a gnat she intended to squash at the first opportunity.
I might have found it funny if I weren’t ready to throttle her.
"So we aren't allowed to communicate with the fans at all? Isn't that a little extreme?" Ethan asked, using his Mr. Reasonable voice.
"It's not a permanent arrangement, just for the next few weeks until this situation is in hand." She dismissed him.
I'd like to have her pretty throat in hand.
“But… what about all my games? I’ve got a mafia to run and candy to crush.” Lennox whined. We all ignored him.
I finally decided to step in, glaring in her direction as I spoke. "So, once this has died down—a few weeks—you'll give us back our toys and be on your way? That how it works? Because I'd like to start counting down the days." My voice was low and full of disdain. How did I ever find her attractive? Fucking ice queen.
"Kade…" Ethan looked at me, eyes full of warning.
I ignored him, glaring at her until the heat of my anger must have registered on her ice cold radar. She turned to look at me, face devoid of emotion. "I assure you, Mr. Edenfield, I too am counting the days."
The room filled with tension so thick it was palpable.
Kane raised his hand like a school kid. "Um, could you not say Mr. Edenfield like the title is some sort of curse? It's my name too, and somehow the way you said it made me feel dirty, and not in the good way."
Her eyes flashed to his and she smiled, actually fucking smiled. "Sorry, Kane, no offense intended." Her quick glance in my direction let everyone know I was the curse as far as she was concerned. It would have pissed me off more if I hadn't been focused on the way she said my brother's name, or the soft smile she was still sporting as she looked at him.