I understood and wet my lips before jerking my head in acknowledgment.
Sensing the conversation was well and truly over, I made my way into the bedroom and closed the door firmly behind myself. Only then did I let my shoulders sag, and my spirits plummeted.
What the fuck am I doing here? This is the worst plan I’ve ever had. Hands down, dumbest shit ever.
Except it wasn’tmyplan, it was Angelo’s. Now it was too late to back out without getting both of us killed, so I was making lemonade.
ten
JACE
We’d been dropped in buttfuck nowhere with nothing but fields and some large patches of forest nearby. It was the sort of fresh-air escape from reality I’d daydreamed about while on tour, but the reality was that there was no booze, no food delivery, and less than no pussy.
It was a farm. There were honest-to-godanimalson the property.
How the fuck was a musician supposed to music like this? No one could be creative under these circumstances, and we were already two hundred and fifty percent done with Rhett as he came off the cocktail of substances he’d been hammering into his body for the past two months.
Jesus, I needed earplugs to block out his endless complaints.
“Shut the fuck up, you whiny cunt,” Brenda snarled, and I found a genuine smile for the first time in days. There was a reason she was so in demand with rock stars. She knew how to baby us, but she also knew when to call us on our shit. Both made us better musicians. Better humans, really.
“I’m going to leave,” Rhett growled back, his voice clear, even if his eyes were bloodshot as shit as he paced across the large living space. This might not be a penthouse in the city, but it was far from a dump. “I need booze and weed at minimum, even if you keep all the coke for yourself.”
I settled further into the couch, strumming my guitar quietly, while I let those two go at it. We’d arrived late last night, and Brenda was scheduled to leave this morning after we got settled. Grayson and Florence hadn’t made it out of their rooms yet, but it was early, so that was understandable.
Even if out of character for our drummer.
Brenda shook her head at him. “Rhett, you know I love the fuck out of you. You four are my kids, and I’m sorry that I let you down by not being here when you needed me, but I promise, I’m here now. I’m also not walking away. I will hold your hand through this bullshit, and we will come out the other side stronger.”
Rhett wanted to argue, that flash of anger in his eyes familiar. I’d seen it a lot recently, but as a guy with more than his fair share of mommy issues, he was apparently not willing to rip his adopted “mom” a new asshole. That streak of decency was what got the poor fucker into trouble all the time. It was what Billie had taken advantage of, and many times over the past two months, I’d wondered if she’d destroyed the final slivers of good in him.
But nope. It was still there, deeply ingrained.
Dumb fucker.
“Let’s just focus on the music,” I finally said, also feeling the impact of this label-enforcedretreat.“The sooner we get this album made, the sooner we can get the fuck out of here.”
Brenda clapped her hands together before she dropped them to her slim hips. There was no sign she’d recently had a baby, and dressed as she was in light denim jeans and a simple white shirt, it was hard to believe she was any older than us. “That’s the spirit. We need to use the angst and pain of the past few months and turn that into the record that destroys all others. Show them that no one breaks you and the bullshit news articles aren’t dictating your lives.”
Rhett stopped pacing and I stopped strumming the strings for a beat as we both stared at her.
“What news articles?”
It wasn’t like any of us checked social media or followed up on rumors about Bellerose, but generally, we were kept updated on any major scandals. Had Rhett and I really been so out of it that we’d missed something major…?
Brenda narrowed her eyes at us. “I sent you all multiple emails about a new blog account calledThe Dirty Truths.They’ve been heavily focused on Bellerose for the past month or so. Big Noise has their PR team dealing with it best they can, but these assholes are very good at covering their tracks.”
I caught Rhett’s eye, and he looked as confused as I felt. “Show me the account,” I snarled, because I was a demanding fuck. She deserved it anyway since she’d taken our phones from us—except from Gray, who’d threatened bodily harm to anyone who touched his shit but promised to leave it in his room at all hours so it didn’t interfere with our songwriting.
Brenda didn’t argue, pulling out her huge-ass phone that she ran all our lives from. She hit a few buttons before finding what she wanted, and handed the device across the table to me. Rhett strolled over and sat next to me, and for once he didn’t smell like he’d rolled out of a bar. Moving the screen so we could both read, I stared at the plain black webpage with a simple neon-blue header.
The Dirty Truths.
That was it. No author note. No date. No indication who this site belonged to, and if Big Noise couldn’t figure anything out, then they were good at covering their tracks.
Scrolling along, I came to the most recent headline.
Bellerose goes into hiding. Their addictions hit a new high.
