Dropping down next to Rhett, I looked toward the house, wondering if Billie would reappear, but when two shadows came into sight, it was only Flo and Grayson. They made their way across to us, taking seats on the other side of the fire, which still had random embers scattered around.
“What happened?” Gray asked shortly. I wasn’t surprised; that eagle-eyed fucker never missed a thing.
“Rhett kissed Billie, and Angelo lost his shit,” I said shortly.
Rhett snorted, rubbing a hand over his face as more laughter echoed from him. “Jace punched him into the fire. It was gold.”
Grayson almost looked impressed, and I wondered when I’d become such a pathetic bitch that my bandmates expected me to ignore all the Billie drama rather than fight. It never used to be that way, not when we were growing up. I was the damn hothead, with Angelo the calmer backup. Together, we’d been near unstoppable, which we’d had to be to keep Billie safe.
She was far too fucking desirable for her own good, then and now.
“Why did you kiss her?” Florence asked, arms wrapped tightly around herself, a position she’d been in a lot lately.
Rhett’s laughter died off a touch. “She just… she fucks with my head in ways I never expected. We’ve all done the rounds with women, right? We’ve all beenin lovethat was only lust, but it was never like this. My soul knows hers. It makes no sense, and yet there’s not another fucking explanation I can come up with.”
He knew the truth. Billie was a soul destroyer, and the only way that worked was if she owned a part of it in the first place.
Giving Rhett a break from questions, I quickly filled Flo and Gray in on the information Billie had given us about the surveillance and Big Noise buy-out by Giovanni.
“What are we going to do about Angelo?” Grayson turned serious. “How long will we let this shit go on before we sayenough?”
Angelo, that motherfucker. Part of me wanted to kill him, and another part missed my best friend. We’d grown up together, my family half raising him, since his family was filled with assholes and murderers. I’d never believed Giovanni would get to him, but in the end, Angelo hadn’t been able to break free. I mean, it was the fucking mafia, so I shouldn’t be surprised, but the idealistic kid in me had expected we’d all make music together forever, with no need for his family.
I’d lost both my best friends that day and, along with it, my moronic naivety.
Probably for the best.
“We can’t do anything,” I said when no one else answered. “She made her choice, and her choice was him.” Again. “So we have to do our best to move on and write more fucking Billie songs to appease our broken souls.”
Rhett let out a choked sob but didn’t say anything, his stare heavy-lidded as he watched the fire.
Poor bastard, he was too new at this. But it’d get easier.
Yeah, that was a fucking lie.
He’d get better at pretending at least.
“Let’s shelve the Billie talk for a beat,” Flo changed the subject, “and talk about the surveillance in the house. I vote we leave; I don’t want to have to watch everything I say and do so that some perverted cunt can record us. We are too goddamn rich and famous for this shit.”
Therichwas debatable in her case, but for the most part, she was right.
“Let’s just stick it out for another week,” I said, “so we can get this song down to perfection. I don’t want to mess with our vibe, but after that, we’re out of here. Besides, it wouldn’t be any different in the content house, except we’d have paps camped out on the front lawn.”
No one argued, and for the first time in a long time, we felt like the old Bellerose: a cohesive unit that loved to make music together.
“I’ve got something to tell you all,” Grayson said suddenly, and whatever calm had fallen over us vanished in that one ominous statement.
Rhett even pushed himself up, as if the vertical position would help his buzzed brain concentrate better.
“I’m not from a nice family.”
One simple statement, and it wasn’t that any of us were surprised, considering the scary badass our bandmate was, but he’d never volunteered any personal information about his life before Bellerose.
“Bad in what way?” Rhett asked, sounding clearer.
“Bad in the same way that Angelo’s is,” Grayson replied. “And when Billie was first taken, I had to tap into some contacts to make sure she was okay.”
Part of me loved that asshole for caring so much. The other part hated that he’d even been in this position. Billie fucking Bellerose was a gorgeous pain in our asses. Destructive siren. Minus the singing ability.
