Second sets omnibus, p.56
Second Sets Omnibus, page 56
After sending Ode a picture, she assured me it would do the trick and have them drooling within two seconds. I quickly put on a pair of slightly unprofessional six-inch heels and made my way to the band house to greet my new neighbors with a smile.
The moment I walked in and showed them to the dining room table was fucking priceless. Their faces tightened, and lust swam in their eyes. For a fleeting moment, at least. Until they all averted their gazes, sat in their seats, and awaited my direction. But who says I can’t saunter through the damn house, swaying my hips and making them regret every minute of walking out on me without a goodbye.
So, here I stand nervously in the kitchen, tapping my damn toes, anxiously waiting for them to finish the read-through of their final contract. The one they must sign before they settle into this place, and I take total control of their lives. My mind screams run, bitch, go back home, but my body remains rooted where it needs to be. Who knew being in their presence for only a few hours would have my skin fucking crawling with the need to run and hide like a coward. Did I ever want to face them again? Nope. Not a chance. But here I am, facing the bulls head-on.
My eyes drift toward the dining room, where all four of them sit quietly, discussing the paperwork I handed them an hour ago with civility. Well, kind of. The occasional huff, scowl, or grunt comes from their direction, letting me know how delighted they are to be here, too. Thankfully, I haven’t been verbally attacked in the last hour. I’d call that an improvement. So far, so good. I guess.
Only the tiniest spark of tension hangs in the air like a persistent rain cloud between the five of us. It’s so small I barely notice the divide. All bets are off when I step into the room, and by the down-turned look on their faces, they’re getting a glimpse of my fun stipulations. But what can I say? I typed these rules up an hour before they showed their faces. So, I had plenty of time to set the boundaries they must adhere to without question because I’m the damn boss this time.
I glance at my phone, hoping for a text back about the package I received this morning, but get nothing in return. I shrug it off. Sometimes my other best friend Olivia is prompt with her responses. Sometimes, she’s chasing her three-year-old son around the house while wrangling her five husbands. Other times she’s hard at work as an agent at Veritas. She’s a ridiculously busy woman. So, it’s a toss-up on what she’s doing.
I take a deep breath and reign in the antsy feeling crawling over my flesh. Leaving my phone on the counter, I head into the open-concept dining room. Bright afternoon sunlight streams in through the floor-to-ceiling windows from the spacious living room and bounces off the dark wood floors adorned with the most comfortable couches and recliners money could buy. Three years ago, I invested my own money into this home across from mine, hoping to make something of my new position—my damn dream job. My brothers agreed without protest, letting me take the lead on my newest project. And since then, I’ve blossomed into this, restoring one band at a time to its former glory.
Kieran snorts in anger, flipping through the pages of rules. “Seriously? We’re not babies,” he complains with a shake of his head. “We’re grown damn men. If I want to stay out all night, then I fucking will. I don’t need to be here twenty-four seven.”
Heat spears up my neck and onto my cheeks, as my rage builds. I’m getting sick and tired of his mouth running, and I’ve only been in his presence for a few hours. Whatever is going on between us, we’re going to have to solve them, just like Ode suggested. Before I do something stupid like explode or stab them.
Maybe this is all a sick and twisted test from my brothers, so they can watch me squirm and laugh at me as I stumble my way through this. Sounds like them. Those assholes. Usually, this is easy. The bands respect me the moment we meet, eager to build themselves up again and follow my lead. Instead of respect from Whispered Words, I’m getting verbally abused by four whiny babies stuck in the past. You are, too, idiot. I huff at my inner voice and shoo it away. I’m not as stuck as they are. I’ve moved on with my life and made something of myself. I have a kid, a house, and a damn beach all to myself. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. So why do I feel like a piece of me is still missing?
Taking a deep breath, I soothe my rage monster. “Absolutely,” I say with a shrug, slowly pacing the space around the table. “Go ahead. You’re free to do whatever you want to do. Go gallivant in front of the cameras again with your arm around a different chick every day. See what West Records does. See what I do,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, begging him to test me and my thin patience.
“You sound jealous, River Blue,” he goads, spitting the name like poison. Slowly, he climbs to his feet, ready for a fight. “Is that it? Did it tear you apart to see me on TV?”
No, but it killed your daughter, you buffoon.
I’m tempted to shout in his face. But for the sake of my profession, I sink my teeth into my tongue and quickly stop my burning retort. If he wanted to be in her life, then he’d make it happen. So far, he hasn’t stepped up to the plate like a man. He hasn’t even asked about her or seemed to care that she exists, which is going to make our conversation in the future all the more difficult. He’s either in or he’s out, and that’s the end of story. Whoever else wants to step up; I won’t stop them. Lyric wants a daddy—more specifically, these four idiots. I’m not about to deny her a relationship with them if she wants it, even if it kills me a little on the inside.
I raise my brow. My heart pounds against my ribs when I lock my challenging gaze with his. Bring it on, Kieran. I can go as many rounds as you want, but I will always come out on top.
“Jealous?” I ask, seething on the inside, but soothing out the rasp of emotion in my voice. “Not by a mile. It’s the rules, Mr. Knight. Every band that’s lived under this roof has had these rules.” My index finger pokes into the wood of the table, stabbing it with every word. I swallow the lie, expertly perfecting my indifferent mask as if this doesn’t affect me.
“Leave her alone,” Asher pipes up, shaking his head at Kieran, and signs his contract without question. “Just sign the damn papers.”
Sure, every band has rules, but never ones like this. Am I a fucking professional? Yes. Am I keeping Whispered Words on a shorter leash? Also, yes. So, sue me if I want to enact a little petty revenge for leaving Lyric behind. I can’t cut off all their hair and then glue it to their balls as a form of retribution without blinking. So, I do the next best thing and professionally tie them to this house after 10:00 p.m. It’s genius if you ask me.
“Bro, sit down. Sign the papers,” Rad grumbles, grasping Kieran’s forearm and setting him back in his seat with a reluctant huff. Picking up his pen like a good boy, Kieran flips to the last page and signs his name in messy cursive, pouting the entire time.
I bite the inside of my cheek when he grumpily throws the pen down and crosses his arms, glaring out the windows, refusing to look in my direction.
Callum’s head stays down, studying the rules one at a time, memorizing them at a glance with his photographic memory. It’s always stunned me to know he can replay anything at will in full detail. In the past, the memories from his parents and sister’s death held him by the throat and didn’t let him go. I wonder how moving out here has helped him cope and grieve properly, or is he still stuck in the same damn relentless loop? Does he think about the kiss Van forced on me when he stood in my kitchen and watched it happen?
“A 10:00 p.m. curfew? No parties? No alcohol? And no guests?” he murmurs, running his finger over the words with furrowed brows. “Band practice every Monday through Friday at 8:45 a.m. Weekly shows at undisclosed locations. IE; The KC Club South, The KC Club Shores, and River’s Run, on Saturday evenings. A once-a-week group therapy session.” Swallowing hard, his gray eyes meet mine with confusion.
“Whoa. Therapy?” Rad asks, holding my stare, and I shrug. “Pretty Girl, I don’t need therapy. I’m as right as rain,” he says with a lop-sided grin, brushing off his shoulders like this is nothing more than a little stop before he returns to his fame.
My breath hitches at the nickname, and my lungs squeeze in my chest. Seeing the same old, carefree Rad from five years ago sitting before me liquifies my insides. A multitude of memories hit me square in the chest, reminding me of our adventures together. From the man who insisted I was his girlfriend when I wasn’t to the man whose eyes drop to the table, filling with sadness. Rad refuses to look at me again like I broke his damn heart, and maybe in his mind, I did. But that’s on him. If only they had come to me and let me explain what happened, we wouldn’t be in this damn mess.
“Right. No matter how right you feel, it’s required of all bands that stay in this house.” I give a sharp nod. “This isn’t a negotiation,” I say with authority, reminding them I’m the one in charge here. Not them. The sooner they realize they’re stuck, the sooner we can move on to fixing their career and getting them the hell out of my house.
“I can’t fucking believe it,” Kieran murmurs once again, letting his attitude out to play. Still glaring out the window, he rubs a hand down his face.
“Well, believe it. That’s why you’re here. This is a unique opportunity for each of you. So, don’t blow it. No matter our past, you have a better future. And whether you or I like it or not, this is happening,” I say in a calm tone, clasping my hands in front of my body. “Does anyone else have a problem with that?” I ask, staring around the table at each of them shaking their heads. All except shithead Kieran, who glares at me with a scrunched-up face filled with more rage than before.
“Unless we get a better offer,” Kieran mutters more to himself than anyone.
I really shouldn’t punch him, should I? You think one knock to his stubborn as hell head would do the trick? I’d love to find out.
“Sure, go ahead and try.”
I know my fucking worth and what I bring to the bands. So do other record labels out there. Try and see where you get, you insufferable dickhead.
Collecting the contracts from each of them as they sign, I place them into a folder to file later.
“Your belongings should be here at any moment. Please unload your possessions into one of the rooms you select upstairs. There is storage in the attached garage for vehicles and such. I will allow you all to get settled in for the rest of the weekend and explore your new house. There’s a home gym in the basement with anything you may need. There’s also a recording studio down there for when inspiration strikes.” My eyes scan the boys, as they sit attentively, listening to my speech.
“Remember, we will start band practices on Monday with no exceptions. Same time, same place, in the practice room. Every amenity possible is here that you could need. Per the rules, you’re permitted to leave the property to get groceries or some fresh air. But please remember, you represent West Records and always have. Your public image is also important.” My eyes zero in on Kieran when he scoffs, muttering under his breath again like a petulant child.
“Also, under no circumstances are you allowed to visit the house across the street without warning. That’s my home. So, no unannounced visits. The moment you step foot inside, your contract is terminated unless you are given permission to do so. If you need me, my direct phone number is on the fridge. I am your contact for anything you may need now. I am your boss. This house—this opportunity is your last chance with West Records. If you fail, there is no more. Are we clear?” I scan the guys again when they each nod their heads in reluctant agreement, not wanting to accept the fact that I’m now in charge of their every move.
“Good. I’ll return with copies of your signed contracts on Monday. I’ll also put a copy of your new schedule on the fridge for practices, therapy sessions, and your performances.” I give them all a tight smile, deciding this is as best as any time to walk out the front door and let them unload their things. The next six months will test them and me beyond belief.
The moment I step into my house, I release my frantic breath. Fuck. That was worse than I thought, but I survived the ordeal unscathed. Besides a few snarky comments here and there, they all seem to be settling with the fact I am momentarily back in their lives as their damn boss.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, alerting me that my other best friend, Olivia, has texted. It’s useful that my friend has connections to higher powers and is a badass agent with Veritas–the government agency resembling the FBI, only more secretive and illusive.
Olivia
Sorry, Riv. Busy day on the home front. Just saw your message. Is it the same content as before? Anything new?
Me
It’s okay. And yeah…same shit… Same flowers… Somehow it ended up on my desk.
Olivia
Really? Your desk? Did Kat leave it there?
That reminds me. My assistant and I need to have a very serious discussion again about the packages I receive from the obsessed psychopath who loves to watch my every step. Hell, she even scheduled the installation of my home security system and cameras when I felt threatened enough. She should know this is serious and not something to mess around with. Yet, she leaves the reminders of his obsession on my desk.
Me
Yeah. Going to talk to her. Want me to pass it on to Carter?
Olivia
Yeah. I’ll get it from him tomorrow. So sorry, Riv. We’ll get them, I promise.
Me
It’s escalating, Liv… I’m starting to freak out… What if this gets worse? Effects Ly?
Olivia
Don’t. Not now. Let Veritas handle it, ok? We got this. We got you guys. We’ll always protect you.
Me
Ok. Thanks, Liv.
I blow out a breath and close my eyes. The moment I saw that package on my desk with my name scribbled in perfect cursive and a million stamps placed on the corners, my heart sank. For a brief moment, I hoped they had forgotten me and moved on to something else productive. But they didn’t. They never do.
The package is a silent reminder that they’re still there after three years of anonymous harassment, watching my every move from afar with a camera in their hand. I’ve been down this road before. We’ve looked for suspects left and right. Hell, they even looked into Van as a safety measure, given his previous stalking ways.
“You’re positive it’s not him?” I mumble, tracing the picture my stalker sent me. It’s nothing but my grinning face, roasting in the sun. Lyric had a dance recital that day, near the lake on an outside stage. It could have been anyone.
Olivia runs a hand down the left side of her face, drawing my attention to the faint scars lining her flesh. I can’t imagine going through what she did when she was a teenager. She rarely talks about the trauma of the fire or losing her three best friends.
“Yes. We’ve looked into Donavan Drake several times. He’s been overseas with the production company he works for, for several months now. There’s no way he could follow you around and be halfway across the world.”
My only saving graces are Liv and Veritas having my back, or I’d be up shits creek without a paddle. A hopeless feeling envelops me, not knowing what to do about this stupid stalker. When will it end? It’s been three miserable years of watching my back, and now I have to worry about Ly, too. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder and making sure whoever they are isn’t there lurking in the shadows.
I rub circles over my temple, trying to settle my rampant heartbeat. It pounds in my ear, taking over everything around me. It isn’t until a distinct rumble coming down the drive, vibrating my entire house, brings me back to reality. As four moving vans park on the curb and open their back doors. Peeking out my window, I raise a brow when Rad wheels out his old dirt bike and places it in the garage.
I’d recognize that bike from a mile away. It’s his winning bike, the one he raced around Raccoon Run, and the same one he finger-banged me on before spreading me over his winning eight-hundred bucks. Fuck. I close my eyes, trying to erase those happy memories from my brain permanently. Seeing them again awakens something odd inside of me. Something I never thought I’d have to face again. Maybe they’re my nightmares, or maybe they’re here to set things right.
Back then, when we first met, we were thrown together in a whirlwind and fell hard for each other. We were simplistic kids with enormous dreams, just trying to find ourselves. Then it all went to shit, which is something I won’t let go of easily. They used me, intentionally, and admitted it. They invited me along on a trip they never intended to take me on and then left like I meant nothing after witnessing something they didn’t fully understand. Forgiveness is not in my vocabulary at this moment in time; maybe, if they make it up to me somehow, but I highly doubt that.
I’ve moved on with my life with Lyric by my side. I don’t need them anymore.
“See you, assmunchers, later. I’m going for a ride,” I grumble, running a hand through my hair, trying to distract myself from her—River. The woman I fell head over heels in love with. Only to have my heart ripped violently out of my chest and spit on. “Fuck,” I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut as the pain of her betrayal sears through me again. Stopping before the garage door that connects to the house, I recover my breath and sigh. I have got to get a handle on my fucking self. I’m being ridiculous. I can’t fall apart because she’s back in the picture. Not now. I’ve fought too damn hard to get back to the easy-going, carefree guy everyone loves to see. No matter the dark cloud floating over my head whenever I’m alone.
