Song for Me (Rock Me Book 4)

by Lee Piper

  “Ray.” I drag out his name, buying for time. As much as I want to forgive him, as much as I’d love to rewind the past few weeks and pretend like they never happened, I can’t. Ray stole from me and, in doing so, ruined my future. He was so busy drowning in his own misery he didn’t see how his behavior affected other people.

  Since I’m bitter as fuck about what happened, I won’t lie to my uncle. Even though it would be so easy to say sure, I forgive you, I wouldn’t believe the words. Until I do, it’s best to be honest with myself and with Ray.

  Slowly, I disentangle myself from his hold. “Let’s focus on getting you better first. We’ll sort that out later.”

  Only, he won’t be discouraged. “I know why you borrowed the money.”

  I pause.

  “From the moment you saw your first live band, you always loved music. You’d pester your aunt and me, askin’ so many questions. Remember?”

  I do, but I don’t answer.

  He sighs. “Not many people have your ear for music, Har, and even less know what to do with it. So, whether you forgive me or not, I wan’ you to know that I’m proud of ya.”

  It’s difficult to breathe. No one has ever said they were proud of me. Ever. The words float around my head, restless. It’s as though they’re worried about seeping into my memory for fear they’ll be wrenched away again. So, instead of settling, they flitter this way and that, perpetually agitated. Licking my lips, I glance away.

  “Shouldn’ have gone to The Collector though. Asshole’s evil as they come. Thought I taught you better than to mix with the likes of him.”

  And there it is. The verbal backhand across the face. Stings like a bitch. My fault; I was too blindsided by his kind words to see it coming. I’ll be better prepared next time. I guess the moral of the story is, don’t lower defenses around Ray. Broken or not. Family or not. He’s not good for me.

  In my peripheral vision, Drake shifts, his hands clenching into tight fists. I have to force mine to relax too. The temptation to add further injury is real. I mean, who goes from begging for forgiveness to throwing out accusations in under two minutes? My uncle, that’s who. Jerk.

  However, as much as I want to literally and figuratively wash my hands of him, I need answers. Namely, what the hell happened? Swallowing my anger isn’t easy. It takes a few tries to clear my throat and ensure a string of curses don’t escape. Eventually, I muster up the restraint to ask, “Ray, who jumped you?”

  Again, rather than give a straightforward response, Ray turns his head until one glassy eye is trained on me. “Collector told me to give you a message.”

  Fire crackles through my veins.

  “Said the conditions have changed.”

  It roars in my ears.

  “You’ve got twenty-four hours to pay up.”

  Licks my temper, teasing my self-control.

  “Or you die.” Then he turns his head toward Drake. “And he does too.”

  Chapter Twenty

  No. My harried footsteps pound the pavement of the parking lot. The distance between Ray’s RV and mine is eaten up in seconds. Hell, with the speed I’m going, I could give Olympic sprinters a run for their money. I mean, if they were dressed in tight jeans and heavy combat boots.

  No, no, no. Wrenching the door open, I barge inside my vehicle and ransack the cupboards. Clothes, toiletries, my one plate and cup; they all get ripped from their homes and thrown on the floor.

  “Where are they?” Pausing, I repeatedly tap my head with an index finger. “Come on, come on. Think. Where’d you put them?”

  It’s as though my memory smacks me upside the head, yelling, Where you always put them! Jesus, you’re the one who’s meant to be getting us out of this mess!

  In three strides, I’m outside and standing next to the passenger door of the cabin. Jerking it open, I reach under the seat, inside the glove compartment, and anywhere else I’ve left stray pieces of equipment over the past few months.

  I won’t let The Collector hurt Drake. I won’t. I’ll die protecting him if I have to. Crouching low, I line up everything I have on the cracked bitumen. The tools look like the casualties of war, lain out for identification. When I step back and survey every piece with a critical eye, it’s to realize the entire collection isn’t worth much. At all. Maybe a few thousand dollars if I’m lucky. “Shit.”

  To the side of me, a figure shifts. I jump, then spin around, preparing to defend against an oncoming attack.

  No need.

  After straightening from where he’s leaning against the side of my van, Mikhail ambles over. It’s as though he has all the time in the world. Or, at the very least, no psychopathic debt collector hounding his ass.

  With impeccably pressed white shirt, tan belt, and light gray pants, he could pass for a GQ model—the business suit edition. His hair is as coiffed as it was earlier, his face cleanly shaven. There’s even the lingering scent of spice that surrounds him when the breeze shifts direction. He must spend hours getting ready for work each day.

  It’s irritating how well put together he is. And what the hell is he doing here anyway? Can’t he see I’m in the middle of a freak-out?

  Whatever. I don’t have time to care.

  Hands tucked behind his back, he takes stock of the equipment lining the parking lot. His cursory glance is quick yet thorough. “I see you use a lot of our products. That’s good.”

  It’s true. Nearly all of my equipment has the Global Sound insignia imprinted on it. The tiny metallic globe with quaver inside it glints in various shades of silver depending on how the sunlight catches them.

  “How much do you think I could get for them?” I ask.

  He raises an eyebrow.

  “I mean, they’re not in mint condition or anything. But some are almost new.”

  Mikhail’s cool gaze takes in what must be my manic expression. He doesn’t reply. Instead he observes me as though I’m a map without a compass.

  Fed up with his reticence, I wrench the cell phone from my pocket. “Forget it. I’ll figure it out myself.”

  Swift footsteps hurry across the parking lot. They slow down before coming to a complete stop beside me. “What’s going on?” Drake pants.

  “No idea.” I shrug, too focused on trying to read the words hidden in the spider’s web of my cracked screen to answer.

  “Why are you here, Mikhail?”

  There’s a short pause. When I don’t look up, the taciturn Russian clears his throat. “I need to speak with Harper. In private.”

  Now that gets my attention. After exiting out of what I think is an internet browser, I shove the phone into my back pocket. “Look, I appreciate you making the trip out and all, but I’ve given you all the information I have. You have my designs, and you’ve seen the speaker in action. There’s nothing else I can give you that you don’t already own. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m in the middle of something.”

  “That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about.” He gives Drake a pointed look. “Alone.”

  “Dude, as much as I’m digging the whole straight-edged businessman vibe you’ve got going on, me and Harper are a package deal.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me to his side. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

  I bite back a smile. Despite my relationship with Ray turning sour, despite not having the money to pay off The Collector, and despite being hours away from possible death, the man by my side somehow makes everything seem lighter. “Yeah.” I half expect to see cartoon love hearts circling the air around my head. “That’s right.”

  Mikhail clears his throat again. “As touching as the display of solidarity is, I’ve got a busy schedule.” He pins me with a direct stare, daring me to misconstrue his meaning. “And from what I understand, you’re on a tight deadline too. Correct?”

  My spine straightens. “How do you know that?”

  He glances between me and the equipment at our feet. “Putting the obvious aside, Zeke called this afternoon after you left,
stating that you were in a… time-sensitive situation.”

  Scrunching my brows, I consider his response, trying to figure out the key information I’d missed. “But I never said anything to Zeke about—”

  Of course.

  I glare at Drake. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t suffer a chronic case of verbal diarrhea and offload my troubles to Zeke freaking Danton.”

  He doesn’t blink, doesn’t cower, nothing. He simply stares at me as though it’s his God-given right to make decisions on my behalf.

  Disentangling myself from his hold, I prop fists on my hips, furious. “Seriously, Drake? Why the hell would you do that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Both his sarcasm and eye roll are epic. “Maybe because the woman I’m in love with is too fucking proud to admit her life is in danger? Ever consider that?”

  Holding his gaze, I raise an index finger. A really angry index finger. “One, I’m not proud. Look around you.” I gesture to the equipment lying forgotten on the bitumen. “I’m going to sell these to get some cash together. At this point, I’m not above begging someone to take them off my hands if that’s what it takes to make a buck. Not something a proud person would do.”

  “You’re gonna try selling all this in a few measly hours?”

  “Yes, in a few hours! The internet is a glorious platform from which a person can buy and sell virtually anything. Now shut up so I can finish tearing you a new one.”

  He crosses his arms, jaw tight. There’s no way I ogle the way his biceps grow three sizes larger with the change in position. That’d be stupid.

  “Like I was saying,” I continue, appeased when he doesn’t open his damn sexy mouth. “I’m not proud; I’m willing to sell my most valued possessions for coin. And to add to the many ways Harper Ray Stevenson isn’t who you thought she was, I’m then going to hand over that money to The Collector as a down payment on the rest of the loan. Next, he and I are going to talk. It’ll be a rational conversation with no dying of any kind. Instead, we’ll negotiate a new timeframe for the contract. One where I can actually repay him.”

  Drake’s expression is all kinds of condescending.

  Naturally, I ignore it. “And, two.” I hold up a second finger, referring to the other half of his accusation. “I know I’m in danger. I know The Collector has my neck in a goddamn noose and is tightening the rope as we speak. I. Am. Fucking. Aware.”

  Blue eyes darken to a brilliant cobalt. Whatever.

  “So whatever you might think, I’m not shoving my head in the sand here. I’m doing what I can to sort this situation out so no one ends up with a bullet in their head.” Stepping in close, I mirror Drake’s swagger. And pull it off perfectly, I might add. “You feel me?”

  His nostrils flare. When he next speaks, Drake’s voice is eerily quiet. “You got an issue with my third point, princess? ’Cause I’m not hearing any sass about that.”

  My attempt to pretend his declaration doesn’t have me gasping for air is dismal at best. Like a fool, I even flick tangled blonde hair over my shoulder and attempt a sniff. “We’ll talk about that later. Now’s not the time.”

  “Damn fucking straight we’ll talk about it. Now, if we have to.” If Drake could peel off my clothes through look alone, I’d be stark naked. His gaze, despite being the darkest I’ve seen, has a fire in the center that borders on inferno status.

  Heat sweeps my face and neck, singeing me to the bone. Needing to escape the tension building between my thighs, I clench them tightly, hoping for some friction.

  No luck.

  Mikhail coughs. “I’m on a tight schedule.”

  Drake and I finally tear our gaze away from each other and turn to the Russian. With hands still behind his back, he levels us with an impassive stare. Then, without a word, he thrusts a wad of paper in my hand.

  Taken aback, I glance down at it, raising a questioning eyebrow. “What’s all this?”

  The fact I’m holding some kind of official document seems to put him at ease. He even manages to meet my confused stare with an emphatic one of his own. “Like I mentioned previously, Zeke said this was a matter of urgency so I pushed it through the necessary channels faster than I normally would.”

  I glance at the heavy stack of paper, try to make sense of what’s written on the first page, give up after a couple of words, and meet Mikhail’s stare again. “Um, what?”

  “Your speaker is exceptional, Harper. Your design will revolutionize sound equipment worldwide.”

  I blink.

  “I knew from the first note Global Sound would want to invest in it.”

  Then blink again.

  “Even when placed under intense strain through quick yet varied tests, the speaker still managed to maintain the highest quality sound production.”

  Words. Words would be good. Surely I need to say something? Can’t keep staring at the guy.

  “I want you to know this is a very unique situation. As I mentioned earlier, it normally takes up to two weeks to run the required tests and cross-check the outcomes with the appropriate experts.” He puffs out his cheeks, then slowly exhales. It’s the first time I’ve seen him anything other than controlled. Baffled is a good look on him. Makes him appear more human. “But when Zeke contacted me, explaining your issue….” He points to the crumpled stationary I forgot I was holding. “I had the contracts drawn up immediately.”

  After scrubbing my free hand across my forehead, I clench my eyes shut before opening them again. Nope, not a dream. Mikhail’s still here, and I’m still no closer to understanding what the heck is going on. “Look, you’re going to have to spell this out for me. What exactly are you saying?”

  Drake hooks a finger through the belt loop of my jeans and tugs me to his side. Grateful, I lean into him, needing his strength to hold me upright.

  Mikhail pauses. “Global Sound wants to buy your design.”

  “My design?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want to buy it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like, now?”

  “That’s right. Once you’ve read through the document, Zeke has organized for a lawyer to be available to you. They’re waiting on standby.”

  I nod, pretending it all makes perfect sense.

  “If you wish to proceed, the lawyer will talk you through the terms and conditions. Then, if you’re willing to accept, you sign where required and the contract date starts from today. The purchase amount will be transferred to your nominated bank account.” There’s the tiniest hint of a grin teasing the corner of his otherwise stoic mouth. “It’s on page three.”

  Without glancing at him, I pass the paperwork to Drake. He flicks through the pages until he finds the section Mikhail’s referring to. He swallows. Loudly. “Fuck me dry.” Grasping my shoulders, Drake turns me to face him. Astonishment is written in the eyebrows kissing his hairline and the mouth gaping wide.

  “Will I be able to pay off The Collector?” I ask.

  “You’ll be able to buy his whole damn operation.”

  “Oh.” Seems it’s taking a while for this news to register. I guess I’ve been watching my back for so long and counting down the days until my execution that to believe with one signature it’ll all go away is impossible to comprehend.

  I meet Mikhail’s clear gaze. “How long will it take for the money to clear?”

  “It will be in your account in the next two days.”

  Furrowing my brow, I try to take it all in. It’s not easy. Problems and solutions swirl in my mind, chasing each other in an endless race against time. This is it, Har. You need to make a call. If you’re going to take this chance, you’ll need help. You’ll need Drake’s loan to settle your debt until the cash comes through. Are you willing to woman up and admit you can’t do everything on your own? Or are you going to be a stubborn bitch and die?

  Needing Mikhail’s confirmation that this isn’t some sick joke, I murmur, “You really mean it? Global Sound really wants to buy my design?”


  He nods. “We do.”

  Nibbling my bottom lip, I face Drake. “Mind if I take you up on your offer?”

  He doesn’t ask what I mean. Doesn’t need to. The light in his eyes and shit-eating grin says everything I need to know. “Fuck, yes.”

  That’s when the burning at the back of my throat starts. Next is the tingling in my nose. And my vision blurring. “Goddammit,” I sniff. “I’m going to start crying again.”

  Mikhail takes a step back, his eyes darting left, then right. Clearly, he’s as hopeless with emotions as I am. “Want me to get the lawyer? Not for the crying, of course. To go over the paperwork with you.” He points in the direction of security. “They’re waiting out front.”

  “Sure.” Sniff. “Send them over.”

  He doesn’t need any further encouragement. At my acceptance, the tall Russian practically sprints in the opposite direction.

  Shaking my head, I look to Drake. A short, bewildered laugh breaks free. With it releases the geometric ton of worry and pressure that has been weighing me down since I first accepted the loan. “I can’t believe it.”

  It slowly starts to sink in. I’m free. Free from debt, free from Ray, and free from believing I’m not good enough. Doubt and negativity no longer rule my world. They’ll never again stand in the way of me achieving whatever the heck I want.

  I could fly right now. I could spread my wings and soar into the stratosphere. I could live amongst Sirius, Polaris, and, my old friend, Hercules. Like the luminaries, I could shine down on the earth, evidence that even the smallest star can shed some light in the darkness.

  Long arms circle my waist, drawing me against a lean, muscular frame. “Knew you could.” Drake’s warm lips nip mine. “Knew you had it in you.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my body flush with his. My curves fit his hard edges as though they were crafted from the same raw material. As though they were always meant to be connected in this way. “You never doubted,” I whisper. “Not once. Not even when I was ready to give up and throw it all away.”