“Ruin me, Ruby. Pretty fucking please.”
The fervency in his voice, in his mother’s eyes, stealing through my blood.
I want to scream what the hell’s happening.
But I’m struck dumb. Because for the first time since I met him, I’m not sure he’s the dangerous one.
I’m thinking…I might be.
12
FAMILY & FRACTURE
ZANE
Santa Fe is too damn quiet.
The private estate Freddie secured sits high in the red-dusted hills overlooking the city, sun bleeding gold through every window, heat clinging to the walls like oil. It should feel safe after the fan scare. After the death threats. After the stalker.
But Ruby’s shoulders are too tight.
Her laugh is too forced and God, her hum—my lifeline—is uneven.
And every muscle in my body is coiled.
Freddie sits opposite me in the vaulted living room, hands tight around a tablet, looking like he wants to throw it at my face. “We’re not canceling the party.”
“Yes, we are,” I say flatly.
Freddie’s eyes flash. “No, Zane. We’re not.”
“I said?—”
“And I heard you,” he snaps, louder than he’s spoken to me in years. “You’ve already bailed on the lasttwostudio events. Execs are pissed. The label’s pissed. This whole tour rollout dependson cooperation, not you hiding like a paranoid raccoon because you found a girl.”
My jaw clenches hard enough to crack teeth. “Watch your fucking mouth,” I growl.
“No.” Freddie gets to his feet. “No, for once you watchyourmouth. You think Riot Saints is just you? You think Jude, King, Bishop don’t exist? You think their livelihoods don’t matter? You think the crew doesn’t matter? You think the hundred people on payroll don’t need these partnerships to go smoothly? You’re risking everything because you’re?—”
“Because Ruby’s safety comes first,” I bite out.
Freddie throws his hands up. “Zane, we’vesecuredher. You’re in a private estate with three layers of security and facial recognition on the damn gate. She’s as safe as you are.”
I punch my fist, ready to Hulk-Smash. He shouldn’t have said that because my Ruby just flinched. Barely, a twitch at the corner of her mouth, quick as a blink, but I saw it.
And fuck, I don’t think anything’s terrified me more.
It’s the first crack.
We’re three weeks in, and if the pressure is getting to her, how long before the fame, the fans, the humming, the headlines, the locked-down house, the constant eyes, send her running?
My worst fear unfolds behind her eyes.
She jumps to her feet and everything inside me twists into a pretzel.
I step toward her but she holds out her hand.
“It’s okay. I’m okay. Go ahead and have the party. I need to…” she starts, voice thin, then gives up the excuse. “Give me a minute.”
