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I blow out a breath, staring at my tear-stained cheeks, and nod. “You think it’ll be cruel if I give them a 10:00 p.m. curfew every night?” I ask, wiping under my eyes and removing the wetness from my flesh.
She snorts. “Hell no. Leash them to that damn house. Show them how a big girl gets petty revenge.”
“Petty revenge?” I ask with a laugh. “I don’t know about that…” I trail off.
“Think about it. Talk to them, get a little closure, and revenge, and move on. It’s time to stop letting Whispered Words rule your life. Now, go get them bitch. You got this. And text me after.”
“Bye, love you!” I chirp, hang up the phone, and head into my house.
Maybe it is time for a little petty revenge, right? It can’t hurt. So, with that in mind, I open my laptop and start typing the new contract they’ll have to abide by for the next six months.
Tits up,girl, you got this.Totally fucking got this. Whispered Words won’t know what hit them soon.
I puff out my cheeks and release the air through my parted lips, hoping Ode’s words of wisdom are just that—words of wisdom. I need all the damn encouragement I can get to not storm away from these assfaces and continue my life. Screw them. Screw our future talk. But, ugh. I can’t. This is my livelihood, and I won’t have them ruining the steps I’ve taken to get my life back. Plus, Lyric would be disappointed.
So, after refreshing my makeup following my woe-is-me pity party, I decided that taking a sliver of revenge was in order, thanks to Ode’s wise words. I may be unable to buzz their body hair while they sleep and laugh as they look in the mirror with no eyebrows, but I thought of a creative way to get back at the assfaces taking residency across the street from me. So, after finagling my curves into a smoking hot red dress, I apply a little makeup, including deep-red lipstick. What? I want them to know what the hell they walked away from and what they’ll never have again.
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 screamsrun, 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 whatIdo,” 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?
