Lyric

by Molly McAdams

  Her gaze slowly lifted, her eyes filled with sadness. “Then you’ll lose.”

  The hollow in my chest was screaming that I’d already lost the only thing that mattered.

  Libby

  “LIBBY,” ZEKE CALLED OUT AS he made his way toward me. “This is a bar. This is where you’re employed, in case you forgot.”

  My brow furrowed as I poured the mixed drink into the glasses, garnished them, and pushed them forward. “Uh . . . I didn’t.”

  He stopped beside me but didn’t speak again until after the customer had paid and turned. The entire time, her eyes were darting back and forth between us, like she was waiting for something to happen.

  Like Zeke to fire me.

  Not happening.

  “We’ve never had a problem before, and I don’t want one now. I’m only gonna say this once: I don’t pay you to get deliveries and love notes here,” Zeke said gruffly. “Do we understand each other?”

  “I have no idea what you’re—” I stopped cold when he shoved a plain white envelope at me, back side up, full name typed neatly on the bottom right corner.

  My stomach swirled with inky dread and icy fear.

  “Where—when—Zeke, who gave that to you?”

  He leaned close and rumbled, “I’m your boss, kid. Not your messenger.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re ten years older than me. Tell me who gave you this.” When he started backing away, I grabbed his arm and begged, “Zeke.”

  His eyes rolled and he blew out a pent-up breath. “A homeless guy.”

  “Homeless,” I stated dully. “In Wake Forest.”

  Zeke rubbed at the back of his neck before gesturing toward the front of the bar. “He came up asking for free drinks, so I told him to get out. He dropped the envelope on the bar and said he was on a mission to deliver this to you and was owed drinks for completing it. I made him leave after that.”

  If there had been any food in my stomach, it would’ve ended up on Zeke.

  “No more, Libby,” Zeke said in warning.

  I nodded weakly. “I’ll uh . . . I’ll—yeah. No more.”

  When Zeke turned to go back to the other side of the bar, I let my gaze slowly move through the crowded bar while my thumb worked under the lip of the envelope. Once I had it opened, I pulled out the Polaroid waiting inside and sucked in a frail breath.

  With one last look around, I dropped my head to look at the picture.

  It was instant. The feeling like someone had punched me—stolen every last ounce of air in my lungs. The way tears built and my chest tightened from trying to keep them at bay.

  But I didn’t let myself react. I couldn’t.

  If I did, they would know they were affecting me—frightening me.

  And I knew with one hundred percent certainty that was exactly what they wanted. Just as I knew they were watching.

  The picture was of me working the bar from just a few stools away—tonight, if my hair and provocative top were any indication. On the bottom, written with a Sharpie, was one simple word.

  Boo.

  I glanced up and whispered under a shaky breath, “Fuck you,” to the crowd and the people sitting at the bar. I put the picture back in the envelope and ducked down to shove it in the cabinet on top of my purse.

  “No one owns you. No one controls you. Nothing scares you,” I chanted to myself. “They can’t touch you. You’re Libby Borello, damn it.”

  With a steadying breath, I fixed a fuck off look on my face and straightened in time to see Gabe making his way into The Jack with another man.

  I grabbed two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey, and was finishing his drinks when he stepped up to the bar with a crooked smile that quickly turned bemused when he glanced down.

  He reached for the barstool. “Someone lost . . .” He held up a thick, plain, white envelope, his brows pulling tight when he flipped it over to look at either side. “Uh, this.”

  The bottle of whiskey almost slipped out of my hand.

  “Maybe Elizabeth Borello will come back for it. Yeah?” he asked as he tossed it onto the bar top.

  I stared at the envelope.

  I’ve been right here. I would’ve seen someone leave it . . . right?

  Knuckles rapping on the bar top snagged my attention, making me look at Gabe.

  “I’m Elizabeth Borello,” I said automatically, the words sounding like a horrified confession.

  Gabe shot me one of those piercing looks. “Thought your name was Libby?”

  “It is,” I whispered and slowly reached for the envelope.

  This one was different. This one was stuffed so full the flap barely closed.

  “Are those for me?” Gabe asked carefully when I didn’t offer anything more, his eyes now searching me. “You okay?”

  “Of course,” I said quickly. “Of course, I’m sorry. Yes. These are for you.” I cleared my throat and tried to push every worry from my mind. “Only two of you tonight?”

  He studied my face for a few more seconds before nodding. By the time he slid his credit card over to me, he was already looking around the bar with that frustrated yet content expression he somehow pulled off.

  “See you around, Libby,” he murmured softly before stepping away.

  I didn’t realize I hadn’t responded until I was already another handful of customers in and replaying everything from when Zeke walked over to when Gabe left.

  I’d never been more anxious or more scared to open an envelope.

  I’d known they were in The Jack. I’d known.

  But to know they’d been right in front of me had chills dancing along my skin like a taunt.

  Or could it have been the girl I last served . . .

  Zeke said a homeless man brought in an envelope. Literally anyone could be leaving them for me.

  “Screw it.” I fell to a squat to grab the latest one from where I’d tossed it inside the cabinet next to my purse.

  I didn’t need to ease the flap open. I barely touched it and it popped from being so tightly packed.

  My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped half the pictures while pulling them out.

  I stilled for a few seconds before quickly pressing the stack of pictures to my chest when I realized what I was seeing in the first one. I looked wildly around to make sure none of the other bartenders were watching me, then dropped my hands again.

  It was a man in a chair. He was dead.

  Not just dead—murdered.

  There was a date on the bottom of the card written with a Sharpie.

  I flipped to the next picture. Another man, another date. The next picture had two dates. Before I could flip to the fourth picture, a cold sweat broke out over my body when I took a closer look at the man in the chair.

  I knew that man.

  I’d had sex with that man . . .

  I fumbled with the pictures as I struggled to look at the previous two and couldn’t stop the cry that left my lips when I realized how I knew them. I’d had sex with them too.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

  I flipped to the fourth picture and couldn’t stop the tears of relief when the picture was of a note rather than a man.

  You belong to me.

  The following pictures were more of the same. Pictures of notes.

  I own you.

  This is what happens to men who touch what’s mine.

  This is a few who have dared.

  Who will be next?

  “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” Another sob burst from my chest as I sloppily shoved the pictures into the envelope and threw it into my purse. My movements seemed slow and my fingers weren’t cooperating as I frantically searched for my phone in my large purse. I nearly cried in relief when I finally found it.

  My calls to Maxon went unanswered every time.

  I shouldn’t have expected anything else.

  I called Einstein and started screaming into the phone as soon as she answered. “Where’s Maxon?”

  “H
oly shit,” she yelled back. “Tone it down, how would I know?”

  “I need to know where he is right now. He bought a house. Find it. Track him.”

  “So much for privacy.”

  “Einstein.”

  There was a pause. “Did fans find him?”

  “This isn’t a joke, Einstein,” I cried out. “Get Dare and the twins and stay with Maxon. He’s in danger.”

  “Got it. Done.”

  I threw my phone into my bag and hurried out from behind the bar . . . not thinking to tell anyone I was leaving.

  All I could focus on was finding Maxon alive.

  I tried to sidestep a couple and ran into the back of a man standing at one of the high-top tables.

  “The hell?”

  “I’m sorry.” My breaths were rough and mind frenzied as I tried to steady myself. “I’m so—”

  “Libby?”

  I glanced up just as I was about to push away from the man I’d run into, and saw Gabe peering around him.

  His eyes were wild as they took me in. “Christ, are you okay?”

  I couldn’t imagine what I looked like.

  I could hardly catch a breath. I could barely see past my relentless tears.

  I was fucking terrified.

  “I have to go.” I glanced at the man Gabe was with and breathed another apology before pushing through the crowd and bolting out of the entrance.

  I ran, barely noticing the humid night air pressing down on my lungs. Never once thinking this was probably their plan all along.

  That they figured I would leave. That they might be waiting for me outside.

  No, I was so focused on Maxon that I didn’t think of anything else until I got into my car and nothing happened.

  No light turned on. No sound came from the engine.

  My body trembled violently.

  My stuttered breath sounded like a scream splitting the air.

  I slowly leaned over to the glove box and popped it open. My eyes shut and a muted sob lingered on my lips when I reached inside and couldn’t find what should’ve been there.

  What was always there.

  My head dropped as I closed the glove box. I opened my eyes to see my tears splashing on the steering wheel like tiny devastations.

  “Fuck you.” The curse was nothing more than a breath. “Fuck you.” Another breath ripped through me and I screamed, “Fuck you.”

  I jumped when my phone blared from the passenger seat and scrambled to pull it out of my purse. My fingers couldn’t move fast enough to answer when I saw Einstein’s name and face on the screen.

  “Where is he?” I demanded.

  “At Holloway.”

  Relief tore through me so fast that a sob sounded deep in my chest.

  Multiple voices murmured words of shock before Dare spoke in a tone I hadn’t heard in years. “We’re headed there now. Tell me why. Tell me everything.”

  “I don’t have time,” I said through the knot in my throat. “Moretti. Dare, it’s Moretti. They’re here—they’ve been stalking me. They’ve killed guys I’ve slept with.”

  He swore loudly.

  “They were at the bar with me tonight. They did something to my car. My gun’s gone.”

  “Where are you?” he yelled, the car accelerating nearly drowned him out.

  “My car.”

  “Lib—fuck. Are you kidding me? Get back in the goddamn bar. We’re coming to get you.”

  “I have nothing.”

  “Damn it, Libby,” he roared. “Run. Run to the bar. Now.”

  I grabbed my purse and was running as soon as my stiletto-covered feet touched the pavement.

  The few people in the parking lot and hanging outside The Jack looked at me like I was insane. I didn’t care.

  They’d never understand what it meant to live in our world.

  I reached for the double doors just as one swung open, sending me stumbling back and nearly knocking me on my ass.

  I swore and shot my hand out to the side, reaching blindly for the building and losing my footing.

  A large hand latched onto my bicep and pulled me upright. A harsh “Christ” met my ears at the same time my gaze landed on a dark, familiar stare.

  “Gabe.”

  He looked stunned and confused. “Rough night?”

  I could hear my name being yelled from far away, and quickly lifted my phone to my ear. “I’m here.”

  “What the hell happened?” Dare growled.

  “I-I fell.”

  The man Gabe had been drinking with was suddenly there beside us. I hadn’t even noticed him until then.

  He murmured something into his phone, then smacked Gabe’s shoulder. “We going?”

  Gabe looked from him to me, his expression darkening with worry by the second. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course. I’m—”

  Dare was talking, but I didn’t hear anything he said.

  I felt lightheaded and nauseous.

  The pictures were flashing through my mind, the words on the notes screaming jarringly.

  This is what happens to men who touch what’s mine.

  This is a few who have dared.

  Who will be next?

  My thoughts had instantly turned to Maxon . . . why wouldn’t they?

  But there was one right in front of me.

  My stomach rolled. “Oh God, Gabe.”

  His eyebrows pulled tight. “What?”

  I lifted a hand to my forehead and spun in a slow circle to look at my surroundings.

  At the street. At the people around me.

  “Meet me at Holloway,” I said shakily into the phone.

  Everyone began yelling, but I hung up.

  I turned again to look at Gabe, who was still watching me warily. “I need you to take me somewhere. Now.”

  He laughed hesitantly. One of those crooked smiles lit his face for a brief second before disappearing. “Uh . . .”

  “We don’t have time to stand here. We have to leave.”

  The frantic edge of my voice didn’t go unnoticed, and after a quick glance at his friend, he stepped closer. “Libby, what’s going on?”

  “I’ll explain later, but we have to leave. Now. Right now. And my car—” I swallowed thickly and looked in the direction of my car. “We need to use your car.” When he only stood there staring at me in bemusement, I gripped his arm and begged, “Gabe, please.”

  His eyes searched mine for a second before he nodded. “Okay. Okay, yeah.”

  After a quick word with his friend, he placed his hand on the small of my back and led me across the street.

  “What about—”

  “He has another car.” He shot me a look when we reached his truck, his features no longer pinched with worry and confusion. “You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

  “When we’re driving.” We needed to get away from The Jack as fast as possible.

  Gabe didn’t respond, only rubbed at his jaw and gave a single nod as he opened the door.

  “There’s a lot I can’t tell you, and I’m sorry for that,” I mumbled once we were off the main street. With a sobering breath, I turned to face him in my seat and told him the truth. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but the bottom line is, there are people stalking me, and they’re killing people I’ve slept with.”

  Gabe barked out a laugh, then glanced over at me. “Funny.” When I didn’t respond or waver, his face fell.

  I had to catch myself on the dashboard when he slammed on the brakes.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” he yelled.

  “No, and I’m so sorry. But that’s why I needed you to leave with me. And that’s why we need to go where we’re going now.”

  “People are literally killing guys you fucked?” he asked when he started driving again, his tone incredulous. “Why?”

  “I don’t—take a left up here—I don’t know. It’s this group that’s been trying to control me for half my life because they’re insane. But I swear nothi
ng will happen to you if you just do what I ask you to.”

  “Christ.” He loosened his tie until he could slip it over his head, then threw it into the back seat.

  “Left. Gabe, left.”

  I looked over my shoulder in the direction we should’ve gone when he turned right and kept going—taking us out of town—and froze.

  Panic gripped me, slowly squeezing tighter and tighter until I could no longer breathe.

  “Insane.” He huffed. “I wouldn’t call us insane. Well, not all of us anyway.”

  There on the back seat was a long, rectangular box filled with my nightmares. Blank white envelopes, a box of disposable gloves, Polaroid cartridges, and a Polaroid camera.

  “We’re passionate about keeping what belongs to us . . .”

  I slowly lifted my gaze in time to see him smile at me.

  “And you’ve always belonged to us, Libby.”

  The last thing I remember was lunging for him and the steering wheel before blinding pain exploded across my skull.

  And then everything went dark.

  Maxon

  TWO DAYS.

  I hadn’t known until now that two days could feel like a goddamn eternity.

  Minutes felt like hours. Hours like days.

  I’d gone months without her—even a year. But it’d never been like this.

  Because it’d never been over. I’d never been the one ignoring the calls.

  Throughout it all, I felt like I was endlessly breaking.

  My body unwillingly putting itself together just to experience the pain all over again.

  I thought I’d moved throughout the house. I thought I’d eaten. Maybe even showered and changed into someone else’s clothes.

  Whatever I’d done had been forced movements from the guys.

  I didn’t know where I was now. Only knew my guitar was resting in my hands and my phone was beside me.

  She’d called. A few times.

  Like she wanted to remind me she was still there, still holding my shattered heart in her hands.

  As if I wasn’t acutely aware.

  Every minute that passed in the past two days had been spent physically keeping myself from going back to where I’d left it with her.

  I looked up when someone hit my shoulder.

  “Food’s here,” Lincoln said gently. “Let’s go, you need to eat something today.”