Chapter 3

“I’m gonna finish getting dressed and take a walk.” North polished off his coffee—Annette would worry if he didn’t—and managed to stand, solidly this time. He motioned for Ballz to take his place when the big security guard’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not getting paid to babysit me. Stick close to your man so Brave doesn’t tear into him.” He turned to Connor. “And I mean it. Let me take the heat.”

“Not happening.” Connor took the ice pack off his knuckles. Opened and closed his hand before tossing the blue gel pack aside. “All good. Brave doesn’t even need to know.”

“Uh huh.” North shook his head, ducking into the bunk area to tug on a clean, dark gray T-shirt from the suitcase he’d dumped on one of the empty bunks before he’d taken off last night. The whole band had been scheduled to meet here this morning, but since he’d been the one who’d gone and picked up their new bus, he’d figured he’d crash in it. Break it in a little.

No one knew where he was, but Ballz was right, that didn’t eliminate the risk. Letters had been left for Annette at the recording studio. At Connor’s apartment. Places she should have been perfectly safe.

A bus with their band logo on the side wasn’t exactly hard to find.

Heading out with a distracted nod to the trio, ignoring their concerned looks, North hit the parking lot. He stumbled when he spotted Winter’s Wrath’s tour bus, parked a few yards away. He’d figured the band must have arrived. Why else would Connor and Ballz be here? They’d probably brought Annette.

But North wasn’t ready to see the band XVI Hours would spend the next eight weeks with.

Wasn’t ready to see him.

“Not my arm! Not my fucking arm! I’m useless now!”

The broken cry jerked North from sleep. He blinked in the darkness, managing to catch himself just before he fell off the hospital bed. He turned quickly, carefully putting his arm around Tate and pulling him close. “Tate, wake up.”

Curled up against North, Tate shuddered, then tipped his head back to meet North’s eyes. His one uncovered eye glistened with tears, but he scoffed and rubbed them away.

“Shit… I had a nightmare.” Tate sniffed, fighting to look all tough. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s all good.” North brushed back the golden-brown hair that spilled over the top of the bandage that covered Tate’s eye, then continued to stroke the semi-mohawk that gave the younger man’s Legolas-look a punkish edge. He could see the youthfulness that made everyone so protective of Tate. But it wasn’t a boy looking back at him with eyes like a storm suddenly spilling over the brightest sky, grays of the clouds mixing with the blue beyond in a way that was fucking mesmerizing.

Well, only one eye was looking back at him now, but he remembered both from when they’d danced together. Full of mischief and longing before they became guarded. Tate was a man who thought he knew what he wanted. Then hadn’t known what to do once he had it. He was fighting for his independence, but he was still vulnerable.

Not in a way that needed shielding from the world.

In a way that shouldn’t be shared with anyone who didn’t see what he was worth.

North saw. For the first fucking time, he saw someone who tempted him to give more of himself than he ever had before. Which terrified him.

His fear meant shit when he’d seen Tate hurt. When Tate had asked him to stay in his hospital room after taking pleasure from an act that should’ve meant nothing. A blowjob—hell, North had sucked so much dick in his life, he’d lost count, why would giving Tate one be any different?

Who knew. All North was sure of was he liked holding Tate. Liked being the one right here when the spunky young drummer needed someone. North wanted to deserve the trust Tate was too wounded to hold back.

“I keep expecting you to take off.” Tate’s lips curved slightly. “When did you become one of the good guys?”

North chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to Tate’s brow. “Staying make me one?”

Tate’s eye drifted shut. “Hell if I know. But it’s a good start.”

Quickening his pace, North headed in the opposite direction of Winter’s Wrath’s bus. He couldn’t face Tate now. Couldn’t deal with the cold dismissal, like the drummer had given him the last time they’d seen one another at Annette’s wedding. North should have taken the hint when Tate had avoided him for so long. When North had been released from prison and Tate hadn’t been excited to see him…

The man had been clear, without being cruel right then, but North needed the picture drawn out for him in harsh crayon strokes. He’d acted like one of those groupies who had to be dragged off the bus by security. Only thing missing had been him screaming ‘I love you!’ before he was dumped on the curb.

Sure, those star-struck groupies pulled it after a quickie they’d insist was all they wanted, but that didn’t make him any less pathetic.

“Hey, don’t tell the guys…” Tate caught North’s wrist as he climbed out of the hospital bed, just before dawn. “What I said during the nightmare? I don’t want them to worry.”

North had to get out of Tate’s room before the drummer’s bandmates showed up—the last thing the man needed was his overprotective, self-appointed big brother losing his shit in here—but first, North had to know Tate was okay. Tate hadn’t wanted to talk about his arm last night.

Escaping a near kidnapping by jumping out of a moving vehicle had shattered the drummer’s arm, but the doctor seemed optimistic about the surgery. Tate didn’t expect the band to wait for him to heal. And while North didn’t know Winter’s Wrath well enough to promise anything, he was sure of one thing.

“I won’t tell them, but… Tate, you’re one of the best drummers I’ve ever heard. They’d be stupid to let you go.”

“Yeah?” Tate’s lips curved slightly. “So I’m worth keeping around?”

“Fuck yeah.” North leaned over the bed, curving his hand around the back of Tate’s neck, kissing him long and slow. He whispered against Tate’s lips. “Want me to stay and make sure they don’t forget it?”

“They’d kill you.”

“They might try.” North flicked his tongue over Tate’s bottom lip. “But I fight hard when I believe in something. And I believe in you.”

Excited shouts tore North back into the present and he stopped and stared at the crowd that had gathered beyond the barrier Winter’s Wrath’s security had set up at the end of the lot. The area they’d chosen to meet was behind a warehouse converted into several recording studios. Musicians from all over Michigan vied for time here simply because Winter’s Wrath used it. The owner was Brave Trousseau’s old singing coach—North hadn’t met the dude yet, but he must be a fucking saint to have put up with the heavy metal diva-of-the-century for so long.

Staring up at the huge, brick and cement building, the windows on the top three floors blacked out, North considered heading in and checking the place out. The bands were meeting here to discuss the tour and record their first two songs together. One a cover of Billy Joel’s You May Be Right, and the other a new song Annette had written with Brave’s brother, Alder, before returning to Hamilton so XVI Hours could practice.

They had access to a pretty sweet studio back home, but nothing like this. North eyed the crowd, forcing a smile and waving distractedly before cutting straight for the back door of the warehouse. After a few tugs he gave up. The door was locked. And now he was stuck out here, looking like an idiot as those at the front of the crowd leaned over the barrier, getting even louder when he glanced their way again.

Might as well go sign some tits and hear how awesome he was. The thought left a bitter taste at the back of his throat as he slumped against the wall, as much out of sight as he could get. Praise from the fans used to make him feel like a demi-god. Like he was steps away from taking over some divine throne, feeding off the worship of thousands, then millions, until all anyone would remember of him was the power he wielded on that stage.

Now proclamations of love meant no more than that of a John who might leave a bit of extra cash on the nightstand because North made him come harder than his wife ever could. The fans didn’t want North. They only wanted him to perform. To play the part of a wicked rock star, give them the sin to lust after, the fantasy to crave…before returning to reality.

While his reality remained empty.

Lonely.

Like nothing they’d ever care to know.

But you have the music because of them. How about showing some fucking gratitude?

Fuck, when had Jiminy Cricket taken up residence in his damn head? And there had to be at least ten groupies of either gender he could pick out of the crowd to fuck after recording was done. Right here if the band didn’t leave the bus to go party. Was about time he ended his goddamn dry spell.

With a slanted smile on his lips, he pushed away from the wall, ready to be the asshole everyone knew and loved. He had a reputation to keep.

“Mr. Beauregard?”

North turned, shielding his eyes as the sun broke past the treeline at the other end of the lot, sending a sharp pain through his alcohol-abused brain. He blinked fast, trying to make out the face of the tall woman striding toward him.

Black hair pulled back in a tight braid, the woman had deep-toned brown skin and rich brown eyes. She didn’t appear to be wearing any makeup, besides a bit of gloss on her lips. Her outfit was all black, boots, jeans, and an XVI Hours T-shirt. Not a groupie—not with that hard gaze and military walk. She reminded him a lot of Ballz.

“Yeah?” He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. “What can I do for you?”

She held out her hand. “My name is Vanessa Templar—Van for short—”

“That’s gonna be confusing. Some of the guys call Jesse ‘Vaugn’.” North relaxed a bit when her brow furrowed. He’d been given her name by Reese, so he knew who she was, but maybe she wouldn’t be as uptight as those on the Winter’s Wrath’s crew who’d been Marines. “You’re our new security, right?” He looked over the tight muscles of her arms and the rigid set of her shoulders. “I feel safer already.”

“If you’re concerned a woman can’t fulfill this position, I assure you—”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic. You look like you could kick some ass.” He patted his own arm, which had some nice definition, but he wouldn’t be stupid enough to challenge someone like her, whose whole bearing radiated strength. “This is all for show.”

Her lips quirked slightly and she nodded. “Very well. If you’d rather call me—”

“I’ll call you Van if you’d prefer.”

“I’d prefer it if you’d stop interrupting me.” Vanessa’s tone hardened. “Whatever you decide to call me, your safety is my priority. Orion, Quinton, and Kace will be arriving within the next twenty minutes. Annette is secure on the bus with Winter’s Wrath’s head of security present. I will try not to restrict your movements, beyond what’s absolutely necessary, but so long as you are in an exposed area, I’ll remain close.” She held his gaze for a moment, continuing when he inclined his head. “Now are you planning to spend some time with your fans?”

“I was debating going over there and finding a few people to fuck.” He waited a beat, pleased when her expression didn’t change. The band did need security, and a bodyguard who couldn’t take him being crass would probably ditch them after the first week. “I hope that won’t make you uncomfortable?”

With a dry smile, she shook her head. “If that made me uncomfortable, I wouldn’t have taken the job. You won’t shock me, North. This is nothing I didn’t learn about you from scrolling through a few articles online. I expect it will take longer to find out the things I really need to know.” She held her hand out toward the crowd. “Until then, I’m only here to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

“Works for me.” He started forward, slowing as the noisy throng was ushered back from the barrier and the partition was moved to allow a long, black limo to pass. His throat locked when he saw Brave leaning out the window, quickly signing whatever was thrust at him past the bodyguards, smiling as cameras flashed in his face. Behind him was Malakai, trying to tug him back, but North couldn’t make out anyone else.

Was Tate with them? He’d assumed Winter’s Wrath was already on their bus, but maybe they’d had something scheduled this morning? Something important enough to merit the extravagance of a limo?

Brave might simply be showing off, but as much as the lead singer of the chart-topping band irritated North, he didn’t see the man wasting money on appearances for a drive to the warehouse district. And either way, the rest of the band—minus Connor—had to be in there.

North couldn’t face Tate. Not yet. Not out here when he hadn’t had enough coffee, when he was still hungover, when he’d pulled on regular jeans and a T-Shirt and looked fucking…ordinary. The fans would love him, no matter how he looked, but Tate—to steal himself against Tate’s cool dismissal again, North needed his leather and studs, his black eyeliner, his sunglasses, as many layers as he could manage to feel untouchable. To not care.

He backed away from the crowd, spinning around, shoulders hunched.

Vanessa effortlessly kept pace with him, not asking why he’d changed his mind, simply walking with him back to XVI Hours’ bus.

She didn’t say a word when he stopped by the door, leaning against the side of the bus and reaching into his pocket for the small baggie he’d shoved in there.

But when he moved to pop the pill in his mouth, she caught his wrist.

“What is that?”

He frowned at her, then stared at her hand. “Tylenol. Do you mind?”

“Yes, I do. Let me see.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Because Reese is having a drug test done for all members of both bands before the tour starts. It’s in your contact.” Vanessa sighed at his blank look and released his wrist. “You did read your contract, didn’t you?”

“Annette read it.” North lowered his hand, fisting it around the pill that would have made this morning fucking bearable. “I don’t even know if this would show.”

“I’ll ask again. What is it?”

North scowled, shoving the pill back in his pocket. He was careful with the shit he took, only indulging now and then, mostly when he needed a bit of a high to get through a night at a club. Or, like now, when he needed to mellow out.

He didn’t expect Reese to understand. And he didn’t know Vanessa, so why would he tell her anything?

“North, let me make one thing clear. I am not here to judge you, but if you’re addicted to some kind of pills that will put you in danger, I need to know.”

“So you can tell Reese?”

“I work for the band, not for Reese. She simply drew up my contract for you. Which includes a non-disclosure agreement.” She studied him for a moment, her jaw ticking with frustration, but her tone remained calm. “I can’t force you to tell me, but I’d rather not have you end up the next beloved star who died too young because of an overdose.”

“I never take more than one.”

“What about mixing with alcohol?”

He made a face. All right, he wasn’t always careful with that. “It’s just Ativan. I used to have a prescription.”

“As in you no longer do?”

“Didn’t need it anymore.” He frowned at her skeptical look. “I like how it makes me feel, but I don’t need it.”

She nodded slowly. “Which I’m sure your doctor told you, which is why you’re getting refills from someone else.”

Tipping his head back against the bus, he inhaled slowly. “No, because fucking my doctor was starting to make me feel like a whore again. I couldn’t afford insurance, so I did what I had to, okay? This guy I know sells them to me cheap.”

“Can you afford insurance now?”

“We’re paying your insurance, so of course I can.” He tried to keep the sharpness from his tone, but he hated talking about shit like this. And he hated fucking doctors, so he didn’t plan to see another. The drugs he took weren’t a big deal. Ecstasy once in a blue moon, the Ativan, and edibles because they didn’t give him any side-effects, but he’d run out of the latter.

He’d done hard shit in the past, but as the band grew in popularity he’d realized he couldn’t rise with them and be stoned out of his mind all the time. Luckily, he’d been able to kick the worst of them on his own, isolating himself from the band so they wouldn’t see him a sweaty, shaky mess.

They still thought he was stoned half the time, but he didn’t bother correcting them. He’d tried going all legit and seen a doctor after they’d sold the rights for their first big hit, but when the medical bills started coming in, and he had to choose between chipping in for the band or paying the doc… Well, he’d come up with another arrangement.

Anything for his health, right?

“Look, the NDA means you don’t repeat anything I said?” He relaxed at her nod. “Cool. Then I won’t take any more pills. It’s been a few weeks, so I’ll pass the drug test. Then I’ll just drink myself stupid if I’m antsy.”

She folded her arms over her small breasts. “Are you feeling that way now?”

“Are you gonna be the band’s therapist? Like Ballz is for Winter’s Wrath?”

Her lips curved as she shook her head. “No, but I’m sure he’d talk to you if you needed.”

“Considering I almost got his girlfriend knocked the fuck out? Naw, I don’t think he would. But I’m good. Honest.” He pulled the baggie out of his pocket, popped the pill inside, then handed his remaining stash to her. “Here. You can flush them. That’s all I have and no one touches anything besides weed unless I’m handing it out.”

Her brow lifted. “That easy?”

“That easy.” He took a deep breath. “You’re here to make sure Annette is safe. If you’re worried about us mixing shit and getting ourselves dead, you’ll be distracted.”

“I’m here for all of you, North, but I appreciate this.” She palmed the baggie, her lips thinning slightly. “Since you’ve been honest with me so far, please don’t hesitate to do the same if you’re having trouble. Or if you slip up.”

“I will. I promise.” North glanced over as Annette climbed off the bus, followed by Connor and Ballz. “Annette, this is our new head of security, Vanessa Templar. Vanessa, this is Annette Paige or… no, it’s Phelan now. And her husband, rhythm guitarist for Winter’s Wrath, Connor Phelan.” He nodded toward Ballz. “I take it you know Winter’s Wrath’s head of security, Ballz…umm…”

“Balthazar Bornstein. Yes, we met briefly earlier this morning.” Vanessa inclined her head to Ballz—Balthazar? Huh—shook Annette’s then Connor’s hands, and continued. “Once XVI Hours is all here, I’d like to go over the new security measures. I’ll be coordinating with Winter’s Wrath’s detail, so it should be an easy transition, but until the threat is eliminated, there will be some necessary restrictions on your movements.”

“I fucking hate this.” Annette leaned against Balthazar’s side, pressing her eyes shut as he put his arm around her. “Everyone should be excited about the tour, not worrying about me.”

“If I do my job, you can all be excited anyway, Annette.” Vanessa gave the singer an encouraging smile. “I was just speaking to North about the priorities for the band and I’m confident we’re all on the same page.”

Really? North grinned, even though Annette, Balthazar, and Connor looked shocked. People didn’t usually have nice things to say after meeting him for the first time, but Vanessa was fucking cool. Talking to her made him feel better about the tour—at least until he spotted a man making his way past the security barrier.

Despite the dark blue hoodie with the hood pulled up and his head down, North would recognize the way that man moved anywhere. He swallowed as he watched Tate cut across the parking lot, rolling a suitcase behind him, a school bag slung over his shoulder, heading straight for Winter’s Wrath’s bus without glancing up once.

At first, North wished he would look over. That he could catch Tate’s eye and…and maybe see what had once been there. A warmth no other man had ever given him. A connection where they could share thoughts and dreams no one else would care about. The way he’d had of staring up at North as though he was worth more than a quick fuck.

His last words to North had proved he wasn’t even worth that.

Gritting his teeth, North dragged his gaze back to the small group around him, shaking his head when Vanessa gave him a concerned look.

“The priority is finding out who’s after Annette and making sure we put on a damn good show every fucking night.” North fisted his hands by his sides, struggling against the urge to glance over again at the click of the other bus’s door. “Nothing else matters.”