Chasin's Surrender (Gemini Group Book 5)

by Riley Edwards

  Therefore I asked from my place on the stairs but he hadn’t answered me. Instead, he was shooting laser beams out of his eyes aimed straight at Holden.

  “Babe,” Chasin called.

  “What threat, Chasin?”

  His shoulders hunched forward and his eyes closed for the briefest of moments before his gaze came to me. “Evie, come here.”

  “No. Tell me what you’re talking about. Did he threaten me?”

  “No, no one has threatened you.”

  Firm, angry, resolute. But still not an answer.

  “Then what’s going on?”

  “Evie, please come here and I’ll tell you.”

  It was the ‘please’ that got my feet to move. It was the I’ll tell you that made them move faster.

  When I was within arm’s reach, Chasin snatched my hand and hauled me the rest of the way. I wanted to complain about him always yanking me where he wanted me, but the truth was I freaking loved it. What I didn’t love was the frown and worry in his eyes.

  “Tell me,” I demanded when he slid his arms around me.

  “There have been threats made against me,” he said.

  “Say wha’? Who threatened you? Why?”

  Safe in his arms, that’s what I was thinking when Chasin started telling me my stalker made direct threats—yes, plural—against him. By the time he was done explaining his life was in peril, I didn’t feel safe. I felt pissed—and lied to.

  “What?” I shrieked. I was aware I sounded like a shrew and I’d screeched in his face, but as I mentioned, I was pissed and I’d been lied to.

  “Babe, please calm down and listen.”

  “Fuck calm. You lied.”

  “Baby, I didn’t lie.”

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  “You’re right, I didn’t. But that’s not a lie. And if you calm down, I’ll explain why I didn’t tell you.”

  “I’m not gonna calm down. You know, you know,” I seethed. “How I feel about things being kept from me. I never would’ve—”

  “And you know how much you mean to me,” he fumed. “You have enough shit piling up, you do not need something new to worry about. This asshole forced this on you, forced it, Evie, you didn’t ask him into your life so he could terrorize you. He broke into your life, into your home, he shattered your peace of mind, made you leave your home, fucked with your work, fucked with your head, fucked with everything. You’re selling your house, making career decisions, you’re worried about Bobby, you’re dealing with the fallout of firing Melissa, Leslie’s crawling up your ass, now you have the media all over this shit and Bent fucking Bromley to deal with. No fucking more. Not another goddamn thing is landing on your shoulders for you to worry about. So, yes, I kept it from you. And, no, I wasn’t ever gonna tell you because you’re not gonna take another fucking thing on.”

  Well, all righty then. I wasn’t feeling all that pissed-off anymore. But I was worried. And there was nothing he could say that was going to make that stop.

  “Okay, Chasin.”

  “Okay?” His body jerked and his eyes narrowed in disbelief.

  “Yes, okay. I understand why you didn’t tell me. I appreciate where you were coming from, even if I don’t like it. And, honey, I really don’t like it. But I get it. Now it’s too late, I’m worried. Whoever is doing this is crazy, and if it is Bent, he’s seriously nutso. He’s always been a little off, but today was outrageously crazy.”

  One of Chasin’s hands moved from around me, glided up my side in a gesture that was intimate, familiar, and even though his knuckles caught a fair amount of side boob, it wasn’t obscene. Just intimate, familiar, and sweet. But when his thumb went under my jaw and lifted my chin, trapping my gaze solely on him, I realized I was wrong—there wasn’t anything sweet in the way he was staring at me.

  “You do not take this on,” he demanded. “The days of this ass fucking with you are over. No more meetings, no more being kept in the loop, that’s done for you.”

  I didn’t like that. I didn’t want to be kept out of the loop.

  “Chasin—”

  “You trust me.”

  “Yeah.”

  “No, baby, that wasn’t a question. You. Trust. Me. I know you do. So all you need to do is keep trusting me. You make music, you sell your house, you work with Bobby. The rest, I handle.”

  Okay, I liked that. Or at least I liked that he wanted to take care of me. But I still didn’t feel all that great about not being told what was going on.

  “I don’t like not knowing things,” I reminded him.

  “I know you don’t. But you have to trust me. No one is gonna get near you.”

  “And you? Will someone be able to get near you?” There was a tic in Chasin’s jaw that scared the hell out of me. “Chasin?”

  “No one’s gonna get near me, either. The guys have my back.”

  I decided then I would trust Chasin. Completely.

  But before I did, which meant before the flow of information would stop, I needed to know one thing.

  “Do you think Bent is my stalker?”

  “Yes.”

  Damn. So did I.

  “He has the code to my gate,” I informed him.

  “What gate?”

  “When I was upstairs, I was thinking about everything. The way Bent was acting, the things he was saying. I mean, he said I would be on my knees. That’s weird, right? On my knees. I guess he coulda meant it like he said it, I’d be on my knees begging, but what the hell? That’s just creepy. So I was thinking about everything and about the break-in at my house. There’s a front gate, you need a code to get in, or someone has to open it. Since I don’t think anyone opened it to a stranger, and as I far as I know, since Bobby was out, I was the only one home in my studio. Which means they’d have to know the code. Bent knew my code,” I finished my long-winded answer.

  “Why did Bent have your code?”

  “He’s been to my home studio.”

  “And you don’t change your gate code?”

  Well, when Chasin asked in that aghast tone, I felt pretty stupid for not thinking about it, but no, we’d never changed the code, until after the break-in.

  I shook my head and watched his lips tighten.

  Oops.

  “Nowhere in the detective’s reports did he mention a gate code,” Holden stated. “Are there cameras?”

  “Yeah. But they weren’t working. And not because they were tampered with. They were being replaced at my request with better ones,” Bobby answered. “The new ones hadn’t been installed.”

  “We need a goddamn print match,” Holden barked.

  “Jameson’s working on that,” Chasin informed him.

  “How long’s it gonna take?” I asked.

  “Evie…” Chasin drawled. “Music. House. Career. Moving. That’s all you’re concentrating on.”

  “Fine,” I snapped.

  Then Chasin’s face softened and some of the irritation slid from his features.

  “Did you get any work done?”

  “No. I was too far in my head thinking about Crazy Bent.”

  Chasin sighed and I could tell he wanted to say something more about Crazy Bent but he changed the subject. “This weekend, we’re goin’ to Nix and Micky’s for a barbeque. I’d expect one, if not all, of the women will be calling to talk to you about it.”

  “We are?”

  “I know you’re going stir-crazy being stuck inside. I thought you could use a change of scenery. We can get you and Bobby to and from Nix’s place without being seen.”

  There it was, another way he was taking care of me. My heart swelled, my chest started to burn, my nose tingled, and my eyes stung. But it was more than just him taking care of me, it was everything.

  “You don’t care I’m Vivi Rush.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t care I’m Vivi Rush,” I repeated, as if the second time around he’d get it.

  But Chasin being Chasin, which meant he was observan
t, attentive, sweet, funny, good-looking, protective, open—he got it the first time. And I knew he did because his whole face changed. At some point, his hand slid to the back of my neck and he gave me a squeeze before he confirmed, “No, baby, I do not care you are Vivi Rush.”

  “You like me.”

  “No, Genevieve, I love you.”

  Straight out, he said that. In front of Bobby and Holden he flat out, bluntly, boldly, told me he loved me.

  What do I say to that?

  Nothing. I said nothing. I planted my face into his chest and breathed deeply in an effort not to cry. Or maybe it was in an effort not to jump for joy, or dance a jig around the living room, or whoop with excitement that this amazing man loved me.

  Just me.

  Not Vivi.

  Not the country music star.

  Not my music, because he didn’t even like country.

  Not my money.

  Not what my fame could get him.

  None of that.

  Just freaking, plain ol’ me. Genevieve.

  “I love you, too,” I whispered against his shirt.

  The change in Chasin wasn’t slight—it was massive. So immense, he froze. My cheek was resting over his heart and I could swear I felt the uptick. One second it beat in perfect rhythm, the next it was thumping so violently it forcibly pounded on my cheek.

  Then the front door opened and I was no longer in front of him. For the second time in one day, he pulled this superhero maneuver, and I had no idea how he’d moved me behind him in a play so fast the Flash would be impressed. I also noted his hand had gone to the weapon on his hip.

  “Reporters are moving in.” Nixon’s voice boomed.

  “Fuck,” Chasin bit out.

  “Whoever leaked the story included that Gemini Group was providing protection. Reporters have been calling the office,” Nixon continued.

  “Fuck,” Chasin repeated.

  “I need to make a statement,” I told them.

  “Hell no,” Chasin countered.

  I stepped out from behind him and took in three very pissed-off male faces.

  “I do. Trust me, they won’t stop. Bobby, let’s call Colleen and ask her how we should play this. I could outright lie and say there is no stalker, but if the letters are leaked, then I’m screwed. I think the best thing to do is downplay it.”

  “I agree.” Bobby nodded. “We can spin it that you’re not in hiding, you just left the city to write your next album. Maybe even give your fans a taste of the new material. Acoustic, stripped down, and raw. Your fans will love it. That also has the added benefit that it’ll hype the next release.”

  “I have a few songs you can look at. Colleen can set something up.”

  My publicist Colleen was awesome, she’d have a plan in two-point-five seconds.

  “Colleen was already working on a statement. I’ll call her and tell her you’re gonna go live.”

  “No way.” There was an unmistakable, unhappy bite in Chasin’s tone.

  Seriously, I loved that he wanted to protect me, but this was something I knew more about than he did. And the reporters would circle like buzzards until I gave them something. And the less they dug and pecked around, the better.

  “I need you to trust me about this. You asked me to trust you to take care of me and I agreed. So, now, I’m asking you to trust me. This is only gonna get worse. The good news is, I haven’t been seen around town, so when the paparazzi descend to Cliff City, they won’t get anything. But I have one shot to get this under control, and going live on social media and giving my fans an update will slow it down. It will give them something juicy to chew on, they’ll share the video I upload, they’ll talk about it, and if I do it right, that will become the story. The stalker will become secondary and that’s what we need right now.”

  I shook my head. “This is the ugly side. The backstabbing, the media, the lies that killed my dream. Melissa leaked this and then she spun a tale to make me look like a bitch and her the victim. More lies will be told about me. I have to get in front of them, before they consume me.”

  Chasin took a moment—a long, angry moment—before he gave in.

  “I hate you’re being forced to do something.”

  “I know you do. I do, too. But talking to my fans isn’t a hardship. That part feeds my soul. It’s all the rest of it I don’t want. Bobby and Colleen will come up with a plan, but before we move forward, we’ll talk about it and make sure it’s safe from a security standpoint.”

  Chasin’s eyes closed and his head bent and our foreheads touched.

  “Thank you,” he muttered.

  I wasn’t sure what he was thanking me for but it felt damn good.

  27

  Chasin had to admit, Genevieve had been right. Colleen loved the idea of Evie making a statement without it actually being a statement, but more of a tease. A taste of what she was working on. Colleen had come up with some points she wanted Genevieve to touch on while she talked to her fans, and when Chasin, Nixon, and Holden had gone over them, they agreed that disavowing some of the lies Melissa told would pose no security breach.

  They’d also decided the best place for Genevieve to do her live video was in front of the old milking parlor. There was nothing that could pinpoint her location, and it was a great backdrop. Even knowing nothing about framing a video, setting a scene, or anything having to do with the music industry, Chasin couldn’t deny that the stage, so to speak, that Bobby had created was badass. She’d called it country cool and she wasn’t wrong.

  Micky had come over and worked her voodoo, setting up a proxy so the IP address of the streaming video was coming out of Bangladesh. She also set the video to simultaneously run on all of Genevieve’s social media accounts and YouTube. By the end of the video, none of Genevieve’s fans would miss her message.

  “We’re all set,” Micky announced.

  Chasin took in the scene around him. The guys had removed the clutter from behind where Genevieve would sit on an old dusty wicker loveseat. They dug it out of one of the barns, and when Chasin had started to wash it down, Genevieve had stopped him, explaining she wanted it dirty and authentic. At least she’d allowed him to dust off most of the cobwebs, but the old rickety piece of furniture looked exactly that—rickety, worn out, and like it had been sitting in a barn for the last year. Which it had been.

  That was now sitting in front of the milking parlor, the old Dutch door that Chasin knew Nixon and his dad had built out of scrap lumber they’d repurposed from a barn they’d taken down, was closed. Both top and bottom sections of the split-style door were worn and naturally distressed; any other place they would’ve looked trashy, but there the door ratcheted up the cool factor.

  Chasin totally understood Genevieve’s vision of turning the parlor into a studio. If Nixon would sell him the property, he’d make sure every detail she’d imagined was brought to life. And he knew his friend was thinking about it. He’d watched Nix’s expression closely when Bobby had once again enthused about the barn and what it could be, and he’d done it smiling.

  “Hey,” Genevieve called, and Chasin’s gaze went from the set-up to the beauty standing next to him.

  Something he learned earlier, there was a difference between Vivi Rush meeting with her manager’s assistant and Vivi Rush communing with her fans, even if it was through a screen. And that was, Vivi Rush was Genevieve Ellison. No change in her hair, makeup, or outfit. She was who she was and she gave that goodness to her fans. She didn’t put on a costume and pretend.

  Thank God, because Genevieve was the epitome of natural beauty and talent, she didn’t need any add-ons.

  “You ready?”

  “Yeah. Are you gonna stay and watch?”

  “Hell yeah.” He watched as she sank her teeth into her lower lip, and a ball of concern grew in his gut. “That all right?”

  “Of course. I’m just nervous.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Evie. We can find another way—”

 
“I’m not nervous about going on. I’m nervous about you watching.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I want you to like it. I mean, like my music. I don’t know what I’m trying to say, I’m just nervous.”

  “I’ve heard you sing,” he reminded her. “And I told you then, but I’ll tell you again, baby, you’re amazing. I’m totally in awe of your talent. I want to listen, but if it’s gonna make you nervous, I’ll leave. Though I’d be disappointed because I seriously loved listening to you the other night and I want to hear more. But this is about you, not me, so it’s up to you.”

  “No. I want you to stay. I’m being silly.”

  “You’re being real and I love that. I love that you’re not afraid to tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “Viv!” Bobby called. “We need to get started.”

  “Break a leg, or knock ‘em dead, or whatever it is I’m supposed to tell my beautiful, talented woman before she performs for her fans.”

  “What you just said works.” She chuckled.

  “Give me a kiss and go before Bobby has an aneurism.”

  “Don’t pay attention to her, she’s always like this. Next, she’s gonna start using my full name,” Genevieve told him.

  “Gen-e-vieve,” Bobby snapped, drawing out each syllable.

  “Told ya.”

  Then suddenly Bobby’s voice, the camera, the barn, and everything else around them melted away when Genevieve’s hands went to his face and she rolled up on the toes of her cowboy boots and jerked his face to hers. And with a hard, closed-mouth, all-too-short kiss, she walked away. Chasin snapped out of it just in time to watch her strut her fine ass to Bobby.

  Same pair of faded jeans he’d seen her wear before, a tight, ribbed tank top with an unbuttoned plaid shirt over it, beat-up cowboy boots she’d worn to go pick berries in, and her hair piled on top of her head in one of those buns women wore.

  Yeah, Vivi and his Evie were the same person, she just didn’t understand.

  Genevieve sat down and Bobby said something he couldn’t hear, but whatever it was, made Evie smile. Then Bobby handed Genevieve her favorite guitar, which, it was worth noting, was badass. Vines and flowers were inlaid along the fretboard, giving it a feminine touch without making it girly. To Chasin, it looked rock n’ roll, but he figured Genevieve would argue it was country. Either way, it was wicked cool.