Shards of broken glass.
Razors and knives that impaled the air.
“Just do not leave my side,” he commanded.
“Is he . . . does . . .? Is she?” I tried to catch up to the question, to force some sort of coherency out. Fighting the feeling that was sinking to the pits of my spirit.
This feeling that there was something bigger—uglier—than I’d understood pushing up from the gaps. Winding in and invading.
I refused it. Didn’t want to give it any credence. I wouldn’t allow Cory Douglas to steal any more of my joy.
“He won’t touch you,” Royce reiterated.
Low and hard.
I got the feeling he was making the promise to himself.
Royce’s hand squeezed down on my fingers, breaths turning shallow and haggard as we reached the doorway. Elevated voices echoed out, a buzz and a thrill spilling out through the cracks.
Royce straightened, steeling himself with all that power he exuded like a forcefield, and he tossed open the double doors to the massive office.
Inside, it was decorated in deep browns, ornate mahogany wood, a cow-print sofa, the floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned two stories edged in thick upholstered drapes.
The entire space gave off the vibe of pretension and authority—Nashville style.
All the members of my band had already gathered, the guys sipping from tumblers of scotch, toasting our good fortune, while I was suddenly feeling as if I were coming up on a catastrophe.
Melanie was tucked on a couch in the far corner, and our manager, Angela, sat in one of the upholstered high-backed chairs in front of the imposing desk.
Behind it was Karl Fitzgerald.
The man who’d been hunting us for close to a year. Someone who commanded respect, but there was just something slimy and seedy about him that had immediately made me refuse it.
But he was the money man.
And sometimes you couldn’t ignore or pass that up.
Not when they were offering so much of it. Not when it would change everything. Not when this contract was written in the blood of my band.
Tonight had already been proof of that.
“Ah, I see you decided to show up,” Mr. Fitzgerald said, rocking back in the leather chair that he helmed, his beady eyes immediately latching onto Royce.
Another burst of hatred sizzled through Royce’s being. So violent I felt it punch the atmosphere.
A crack of lightning.
“I’m not here to argue with you, Mr. Fitzgerald. I’m here to sign the band you sent me to acquire.”
Royce had gone all business. The same man he’d been that morning when he’d walked into Richard’s hotel room the first time.
Mr. Fitzgerald’s scrutiny landed on our entwined hands. An incredulous smirk played around his pompous mouth. “I see you’ve acquired a little something for yourself.”
“What I do with my personal life is none of your concern.”
“No?” he challenged.
“No,” Royce returned, so cold, I was pretty sure everyone felt an ice age descend. Angela shifted in discomfort, her eyes wide and almost in shock.
Each of the guys took note of the malice that shivered through the air.
Shoulders straightening and spines stiffening.
Mr. Fitzgerald chuckled a low sound and then gestured to the contract that was spread on the desk in front of him. Angela had scoured it and given it her stamp of approval.
There was nothing left standing in the way except for this terror I could feel rising from my spirit and spilling into my bloodstream.
A warning.
Hostility that had smoldered and seethed and festered until it’d fermented into something toxic. So thick I was certain I was choking on it.
“Shall we finish this thing?” Mr. Fitzgerald asked, craning his head.
“That’s what we’re here for,” Richard said.
My brother stepped up to take the fancy pen that Mr. Fitzgerald offered him.
He was a force. Powerful and proud and persuasive. Though I knew him well enough to see the way his muscles quivered with strain.
Thinking he had to hold the entirety of the weight of this decision on his shoulders.
He hesitated before the tip of the pen hit the paper, and he let the ink flow across the signature line.
He seemed to freeze on the last letter before he finished on a heavy exhale, relief entering his posture when he passed the pen over to Rhys. “This is it, man.”
Richard clapped Rhys on the shoulder as he stepped up to take Richard’s place. He leaned over the desk and signed with a grin and a flourishing sweep of his hand.
“It’s done, baby. Big time, here we come. You’re up, Leif.”
Leif accepted the pen and leaned over the contract. He nodded his head along to some drumbeat that only he knew, as if he were ascribing this moment its own song.
A rhythm to this momentous memory.
He looked up at me. Passing the baton.
“Set it in stone, Em.”
Nerves clawed across my chest. Everything tight. A pinpoint of anxiety.
Royce released my hand, and I felt the power of his gaze hit the side of my face. I looked that way.
You are a star, he mouthed.
I slowly eased the rest of the way up to the desk. Richard shifted the contract around my direction where I stood on the opposite side. Our eyes met, and I sent him a soft smile.
This was it.
I lifted the pen and set it to the line, my hand shaking out of control as I signed, the curly letters of my name blooming to life on the paper.
Done.
Finished.
Like Leif had said—our fate set in stone.
Carved into the paper that promised so many things.
I heaved out something that sounded of relief and shock, realizing just makin’ the decision was the hardest part.
That lasted all of a second before a tremor of dismay curled through my senses when Karl Fitzgerald’s quietly controlled voice hit my ear. “Good girl. Now it’s time to start acting like the superstar I’m going to make you. Ditching my stepson should be the first move. The only thing he will bring you is disappointment.”
Confusion clouded my mind, thoughts distorted, twisting with the dread I’d felt rising since the second we’d stepped into this house.
Stepson.
Royce was Karl Fitzgerald’s stepson?
I stumbled back a step.
The information hittin’ me like a slap of betrayal.
Why wouldn’t Royce tell me he was related to him? After everything we’d shared, I would have thought that would have been simple information he would have given me.
Something about it felt . . . off.
Way off, the tidal wave of unease that had been gathering since we’d gotten to this house gaining speed.
Confused and taken aback, my gaze drifted to Royce.
He slowly shook his head in a silent apology before he tore his attention away and pinned it on Mr. Fitzgerald. Instantly, his expression turned savage, deadly as he stood there clearly trying to keep from throwing himself over the desk to enact his rage on the man who was glowering back.
Smug satisfaction on his face.
As if he’d just put Royce in his place.
Hostility raged in the confines of the room, and the rest of the band was shifting in the disorder. Not sure what was going down. But I think each of us knew it was bad.
“You are dismissed,” Karl Fitzgerald told Royce, rocking back in the executive chair like he was the commander and the executioner. “Permanently.”
My heart clutched, gaze swinging to Royce, expecting him to be devastated.
Instead, a vengeful smirk pulled to his face. “I’m afraid you don’t get to make those decisions anymore, Father.” He spit it like a curse.
“Excuse me? Who do you think you’re talking to?”
Royce just lifted his chin. That was right before the door behind
us banged open, and two men in suits followed by about ten uniformed officers barged in.
A stampede of aggression.
One of the men held a huge file folder, and the other flashed his badge.
Stunned, I looked back at Royce.
Those dark eyes flashed.
Remorse and destruction.
And I got the sinking feeling he was about to destroy me.
Twenty-Six
Royce
A ripple of confusion and fear and betrayal bounded against the walls the second the office doors banged open and Pete, Detective Casile, and an army of armed officers stormed in.
I held fast, needing to see the bewilderment shift to ire in my stepfather’s expression. I wanted to witness the second he realized I’d been coming for him the whole time.
The moment he knew he was going down in flames.
Couldn’t stand it for long, the pull too great, and my gaze was getting drawn to Emily.
The girl a magnet.
Jade eyes darkened, swimming with distrust. The girl watched me like she was begging me to give her a good reason for my treachery. For not preparing her for what was coming when it was plain as day I’d known this was going down.
That this had been a setup.
To answer all the questions spiraling through that sweet, tender gaze.
It was bad enough when she found out I was Fitzgerald’s stepson. Info I hadn’t let her in on because it’d seemed too risky. Like if I let her get too close this would all fall apart.
I knew what was coming next would be a breaking point.
She’d never forgive me.
My guts tangled in regret. In another bout of loss.
I wished I could have done it differently.
But it had to come to this.
I needed that contract signed.
“What the fuck is this?” the bastard demanded, pushing to stand, shuffling the contract together on the desk.
I slammed my hand down on the papers, sneered his direction. “Not so fast. I think we’re going to need these.”
He struggled to rip the contract out from under my hand.
I snagged it up before he could get a chance.
All the men of Carolina George stood, trying to prepare themselves for the unexpected, confused and agitated.
Their manager, Angela, dropped her face into her hands and started to sob. She knew what was in that contract. The contract that had been altered since the last time the band had reviewed it.
But she was cooperating, knew not to say a word that would possibly tip Fitzgerald off to what was getting ready to go down. Willing to testify to save her ass.
Greedy bitch.
She probably wouldn’t even see a jail cell.
Couldn’t say the same for my stepfather.
Pete and Detective Casile moved deeper into the room.
The asshole glared. “Peter . . . what the hell are you doing here?”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Pete said, quirking a smirk that promised he wasn’t sorry at all. He was lanky and thin, in his forties, held down by Karl Fitzgerald’s thumb for so many years that it was about time he finally came out from under it.
A dissenter.
Standing with me in this objection. He’d borne witness to more shady shit than any of us. He’d worked for Fitzgerald for the last ten years as his personal assistant. Once he realized how the company was really run, he’d started collecting evidence and feeding it to Detective Casile. We’d waited until we’d been certain we had enough proof to make sure Karl and Cory went down for a long, long time.
Enraged, Karl’s beady eyes jumped between me and Pete and the detective, his throat bobbing thickly when it passed over the armed officers. He went for innocence when blame was written all over him. “What is the meaning of this? We’re in the middle of a meeting here.”
I tried to ignore the dread spilling from Emily who kept backing farther away. Tried to focus on my purpose.
I cocked my head. “The meaning of this is you’re finished. You thought I was just going to stand aside and let you and Cory get away with what you’ve done? You are more delusional than I thought.”
Fury knocked the calm façade he was wearing from his demeanor. His face turned so red I was pretty sure he was going to blow.
That was the plan.
“What are you talking about? This is nonsense.”
I planted my hands on the desk. “What I’m talking about are the women you’ve extorted. The women you convinced to smuggle drugs in from other countries, promising them a better life, a home, and then turning around and forcing them into being your personal escorts once they get here. I’m talking about the money you’ve laundered through Cory Douglas, filtering it through A Riot of Roses’ royalties. I’m talking about the deranged acts you covered for him in order to keep up the charade.”
I angled down closer and spit the words in his face. “I’m talking about what you allowed to happen to my sister. What that bastard Cory did to her and you turned a blind eye because you are nothing but a greedy, motherfucking monster. I’m talking about every-fucking-thing you stole from me.”
It was a growl.
Pure venom.
A bustle of energy shocked through the atmosphere.
Cracking and stirring.
“The fuck?” Rhys muttered.
Richard inhaled a sharp breath. Still wasn’t sure how much he had been involved. If he’d been a willing partner or if he’d just stumbled on one of Karl Fitzgerald’s seedy parties that gave a whole new meaning to sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll.
Wrong place at the wrong time.
Underground parties that Karl threw.
Drugs and women and men at your disposal. It was always free, but oh, did it come at a cost. None knew they were being photographed. The pictures Karl used to manipulate his artists. What he held over them so he could siphon their royalties, keeping more of the pot for himself.
It was the devastated whimper coming from Emily that told me everything.
What made my spirit cringe and my heart flail. Urges hit me to turn to her and beg her to listen. To explain.
But I had to see this moment through.
“Are you joking? These accusations are nothing but lies. You have no proof.” The bastard shook his head, dismissive. Like he thought this was another hiccup he could sweep under the rug.
Toss some money on it to cover it.
Pete laughed a sarcastic sound and tossed the thick folder to the desk. Picture after picture slid out.
Evidence that couldn’t be contradicted.
Sex slavery and extortion and a mountain of depravity.
“Beg to differ,” he said. “This has been coming a long, long time.”
Fitzgerald’s face turned beet red when he saw the contents of the files, panic rising up before he started tossing his gaze between Pete and me. “Fucking traitors. I was the one who took care of you.” Detective Casile stepped forward. Karl rocked back in disbelief. In fear and the slowly sinking reality that this was happening.
His attention jumped around, like the asshole was actually considering running.
I’d gladly take him down in a second flat.
“Karl Fitzgerald, I have a warrant for your arrest.”
“This is bullshit. Complete fabrication. I want to speak to my attorney.” Karl leveled me with a look that could decimate an entire village.
The detective moved around the desk. “I was just getting to that. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney.” He drew out that part like a taunt as he pulled out cuffs.
My stepfather sneered at me as the detective moved behind him, wrenching his arms behind his back. “You think you have the upper hand?” he spat. “I will destroy you, you piece of shit. I should have ended you a long time ago. What purpose does this serve? You just tossed the silver spoon I’ve been feeding you with in the trash.”
I set the contract Carolina George had just signed on the desk, trapping it beneath the tip of my index finger. The contract in which Fitzgerald had altered the fine print without the band’s knowledge.
Their manager had been in on it.
Paid off by Fitzgerald.
He wanted Emily, but none of the rest.
They’d just signed away their rights as a band.
I’d known he’d done it before but had never had the direct proof until now, the original and the altered contracts in my possession.
“If you remember clause 17.B3 of the Mylton Records bylaws, any fraudulent modifications or alterations of contracts is cause for immediate removal of Chair. Second-in-line is to assume that position. And guess who that is?”
My stepfather’s current position gave him ninety-five percent of the votes, and he’d just ousted himself and placed me as the head of the company.
He struggled as Casile slapped the cuffs on his wrists. “No. I’ll never let you take this company, you little fucker.”
I lifted my chin, adjusted the cuffs on my suit jacket, finding some kind of sick calm in the midst of this.
Years of hatred.
Years of planning.
Years to bring this to fruition.
“You took everything in my life that was important to me. There is nothing left for you to take. This . . . this is for my sister, for my family, for all those women, you pile of shit. Get ready because I’m about to drop a match on it.”
He roared. “This is my company.”
Casile jerked him back. “Let’s go.”
“Fuck you. Release me.”
Casile tugged him back, trying to wrangle him when he thrashed. “No. This isn’t over. Not even close.”
Satisfaction hit me as I watched them start to move him around the desk, all while I was getting smacked with an entirely different dread.
A river of disbelief and hurt flooded my system.
A deluge of her.
My attention jerked through the bodies surging forward to find her standing frozen in the middle of the chaos.
Catch Me When I Fall Page 29
