Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC Book 17)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  I unzip the bag and after a few seconds of searching, Shelby joins me.

  She pulls a clear plastic squeeze bottle out.

  “Where do you want it?” I ask.

  “My legs.” She glances down. “I can do it. I’m fine.”

  “Come here.” I curl my hands around her waist and boost her onto the edge of the sink. “Have a seat.”

  I lower one knee to the floor and place her foot on my thigh. Holding out my palm, I motion for her to give me the gel. She squirts a small amount into my hand and I work the slippery stuff into her skin, from ankles to knees. “Good?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Slick stuff,” I mutter as I smear it over her other leg. Can’t deny getting her all slippery is giving me certain other ideas. But I’m able to take care of her without being a big fuckin’ pervert. At least, I think I can.

  I press a quick kiss to her knee before finishing up. “What’s next?”

  She’s busy lazily rubbing lotion on her arms and slowly slides off the counter without looking at me or answering my question. I take the tube and work some lotion into her shoulders and back, trying not to lose my shit over all the black and blue marks painting her skin.

  “Here,” she whispers, passing a different tube over her shoulder. “Can you rub some of this on the bruised parts?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” I take the orange bottle and flip open the cap.

  “It’s arnica. Trinity said it would help the bruising.”

  She winces a few times even though I’m as gentle as my big, rough hands allow.

  “I look battle-worn,” she says, staring listlessly into the mirror.

  “You are.” I set the tube on the counter when I’m finished. “Next?”

  She lets out a jaw-cracking yawn and unwinds the towel on her head. “I’m going to work this through my hair.” She holds up a small bottle of gold oil labeled hair serum.

  “You’re gonna be lubed from head to toes.”

  She laughs softly. Improvement. “Bet you never wanted to know so much about girly routines before.”

  “Wrong. I want to know all your routines.”

  She rubs the oil into her damp hair in sections, then runs a wide-tooth comb through from scalp to ends.

  “You want me to help you dry it?” I ask.

  “Do you mind?”

  “No, Shelby.” I don’t mean to be harsh, but I wish she’d stop assuming she’s annoying me and just let me help her. I locate the hotel’s dryer and plug it in. “Tell me where to aim it,” I shout over the noise of the little motor.

  “Follow the comb!” She waves the copper-colored, wide tooth comb and a large round brush at me.

  I’m not good enough that it’s time to consider a career-switch, but together, we manage to dry most of her long, thick waves. Shelby twists it into two loose braids before finally setting her comb down. Her legs wobble and I slip an arm around her waist. “Time for bed.”

  “That sounds good.”

  She squints as the bright light from the bedroom hits her eyes. I flick off the overhead bulbs, leaving only the lamps next to the bed on.

  Her blank gaze searches the room for a second before settling on the bed.

  “Here.” I hold up one of my shirts. “Let’s get you under the covers before you catch a chill.”

  She nods slowly and moves closer, tossing the towel on a nearby chair. I slip the shirt over her head and pull the fluffy white comforter back.

  Once she’s between the sheets, curled on her side, I cover her up. But damn, she still looks so miserable and I have no idea how to relieve her.

  Time. She needs rest and time.

  “You’re safe, Shelby.” How can she believe me after she was stolen on my watch once before? “Sleep as long as you need. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  She shifts, patting the pillows behind her. “Are you coming to bed?”

  “Yup. I’ll be right next to you all night.”

  “Okay.” She yawns and tucks her hand under her chin, closing her eyes.

  I switch off the lamp, watch her for a few more seconds, then quickly hurry through my own nightly routine.

  She’s still curled on her side when I return. I flick off the rest of the lights, plunging the room into total darkness. Helpless little noises pass her lips. Her body jerks, arms and legs twitching. Every tortured cry twists the thorns of guilt in my chest even tighter.

  “Shhh.” I slip into bed and pull her body against mine. Gradually she relaxes, her breathing turning deep. “I’m right here, Shelby.”

  I hope it’s enough to help her feel safe.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Shelby

  Anxiety tingles through my chest.

  I blink open my eyes and stare into the shadowy room.

  Long curtains come into focus. Weak sunlight peeks around the edges.

  A heavy presence behind me shifts.

  My heart jumps, then settles when I recognize Rooster’s breathing. Something tickles over my shoulder. His heavy arm curls around my waist. I roll to my back, wincing as all my aches and pains wake with me. I must’ve slept in the same position all night and my body’s announcing its extreme displeasure.

  “Morning.” Rooster’s gruff rumble greets me.

  “You’re awake?”

  “Mostly. It’s early, though. Get some more sleep.”

  I stare up at the ceiling. How’d everything go from great to horrible so fast? My thoughts are too jumbled to sort and my eyelids slowly close.

  The room’s brighter the next time I wake.

  I roll to the side, coming face-to-face with Rooster’s warm chest and I burrow against it. He slides his arm around me, gently rubbing my back. His presence is such a sweet, stunning relief, and I snuggle closer.

  “How do you feel?” he asks.

  “Hurt.”

  His hand stops moving and he rolls to his back.

  “No, I—”

  “Shelby, I’m so sorry.” The pain in Rooster’s voice cuts straight through me.

  I pull away. “Don’t.” My voice quivers. “Please don’t apologize. You rescued me—”

  “He never should’ve gotten his hands on you in the first place.” Regret clings to his words, filling the space between us. “That’s on me. It’ll haunt me until the day I die.”

  I shift and sit up, resting my hand on his chest and staring into his troubled eyes. The hurt and remorse etched on his face releases the sorrow that’s stuck with me since waking in the hospital.

  Logan’s always so stoic. Steady. Rock solid. Admitting any sort of weakness isn’t in his nature. But being honest and expressing his grief to me is more important than his pride. His admission heals some of the brokenness inside me.

  And I need him to understand none of what happened is his fault.

  “Logan, I never once blamed you.”

  He opens his mouth—probably to argue with me—but I silence him with a finger against his lips. “Please, listen.”

  When he nods, I move my hand from his mouth to his cheek. “You heard what I told Jackson. He…the guy…” I refuse to say my kidnapper’s name. “He told me he’d been stalking me for a while. Longer than we suspected. He originally planned to grab me earlier at a different show. You weren’t with me then.”

  I blow out a long, shuddering breath. Between the numb moments, I’ve thought about this a lot. Considered all the possible scenarios. “The truth is, I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there the night he took me. If you hadn’t reacted as fast as you did—chasing down the van, getting the plate number—”

  “Shelby.” His raw voice slices into my heart. “I was supposed to be protecting you. He never should’ve gotten so close. Never. That’s on me.”

  “No. It’s not.” I put enough force in my voice to knock down his stubborn wall.

  “It shouldn’t have happened at all. I let you down. I’m going to be furious about it for a long damn time.”

&nbs
p; How do I get through to him? “What would’ve happened if he’d grabbed me the first time I ran into him? You think Greg or Trent would’ve gone to the lengths you did? They might have been upset but they wouldn’t have searched for me.”

  He grunts in a noncommittal way.

  “No one would’ve known where I was or who to look for. I would’ve been trapped in that…” my body shudders at the memory, “…cage for God only knows how long. No one would’ve known how to find me. I would’ve been lost. At the mercy of the police deciding if something had happened to me or if I’d skipped off the tour. If your club hadn’t conducted their own search, who knows how long it would’ve taken before anyone found me?”

  Oh yes, I’ve thought long and hard about all the possible ways it could have turned out. Rooster’s the only person both relentless and capable enough to pursue me no matter what. “You’re the one who saved me.”

  “I’m no savior, Shelby. Believe me.” His haunted voice ties me in knots.

  “To me, you are.” I cup his cheek, forcing him to meet my eyes. “My white knight who’s always rescuing me.”

  He tilts his head, kissing my inner wrist. “I don’t want to rescue you. I want to love you. I want you safe.”

  “I’m safe with you.”

  His jaw sets in a stubborn line. He wants to deny it. Blame himself more. But Logan’s an honorable man. He won’t pout and keep harping on it once I’ve said my piece. No, I’m worried he’ll store up his guilt and take it out on himself.

  “Please, don’t do this,” I plead. “I love you. I’m so grateful to be here with you right now. You have no idea.”

  “Come here.” He pulls me closer, gently wrapping his arms around me, and touches his forehead to mine. “I love you too. You don’t need to worry about me. I’m not gonna flip out and do something stupid because I’m mad at myself.”

  Geez, maybe we know each other a little too well.

  A hint of a smile ghosts his lips. “Is that what you were thinking?”

  “Not exactly. But close.”

  His big hand cups my cheek, brushing loose strands of hair that escaped my braids out of his way. “This scared the hell out of me, Shelby. He won’t be the last. The more people who fall in love with your music, who think they’re in love with you, the greater the odds of another psycho thinking you’re destined to be together. I need to learn from this and do better for you. I won’t fuck up again.”

  “You didn’t fuck up.” I press my finger to his lips to silence any response. “I hate hearing you say it, but I know you’re right—he won’t be the last. And Lord only knows what kind of kook it’ll be next time.”

  “That’s my fear.”

  “We’ll learn from this together. I’ll take every letter seriously. I won’t go off on my own without letting someone know. I’ll be more careful about my social media—”

  “Stop. This wasn’t your fault.”

  “I’m not saying it was. Trust me. Martin Suggs,” I spit out the name. “He’s the only one I hold responsible. But, I’m trying to be practical and honest here. If I want to keep growing my music career—and I do—then I need to take every threat seriously. What can I do to lower my risk without ruining my life?” I turn my head and brush my lips against his wrist. “It’s not all on you.”

  “I’m never letting anyone near you again.”

  “Good.”

  He turns his head and blows out a long breath. “Dawson’s revamping his security team. Calling in some heavy-hitting experts. They do a training class and he offered it to me last night. I told him Jiggy and I would sign up.”

  “Wow. Really?” Somehow I don’t picture the two of them in a classroom letting a stranger tell them how to provide protection. Rooster already has a bossy, vigilant protector personality in spades.

  His lips twitch as if he senses my surprise. “If it were simple bar fights I was protecting you from, I could handle it fine. But this is so much more. Your career is only going to get bigger and more complicated. Until you can afford to hire professionals—”

  I cut him off with a kiss. “I love you so dang much.”

  His mouth curves up and his hand absently rubs the top of my scalp. “Dawson’s gonna help me set up a small team for you.”

  “Wait, why’s he getting so involved?”

  “I think he feels bad about all this.”

  “Why? It’s not his fault.”

  His mouth twists as if he disagrees but doesn’t want to say it out loud. “It happened on his tour.”

  “Yeah, but that creep had been following me since my Redneck Roadhouse days.”

  “The tour gave him the opportunity,” Rooster says carefully.

  I wrinkle my nose, thinking that through. What if Martin tried tracking me down in Texas? That could’ve been worse. But maybe he wouldn’t have bothered if I hadn’t come so close to him. “I guess so.”

  “He fired Bane.”

  “Shoot, really? Poor Bane.”

  “Poor Bane my ass,” he growls. “That fucker should’ve been doing what he was told to do—watch your door. Not running off to live out his fireman fantasies.”

  I chuckle at that last part but Rooster doesn’t so much as crack a hint of a smile.

  “Great, now there’s someone else out there who probably hates me.”

  “Fuck him.” Even though his words are harsh, Rooster gently strokes his hand over my cheek. “I need to tell you something else.”

  My heart rate kicks up at his serious tone. “What?”

  “We strongly think Glenna Wilson was involved. Actually, we know she was.”

  I shoot straight up, my head spinning so I hard, I wince in pain. “What? Why? How?”

  “Shh.” He pulls me back down next to him. “She denies it of course. But when I had my little interrogation session with Suggs, he named her.”

  “Wait, you did what?” My harsh voice bounces off the walls. How did Rooster accomplish so much and manage to be there when I needed him in the hospital? Good Lord, how long was I out? Flipping through my thoughts, I realize I don’t even know what day it is.

  “I shouldn’t have turned him over to Jackson. But I wanted it on record she was involved.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Sounds like she was jealous.” He shrugs. “Thought you were having an affair with Dawson. Poor bastard. She really screwed him every which way,” he says in a flat tone that suggests he doesn’t give a fuck one way or another about Dawson’s feelings.

  “So that’s why he’s trying to fix things?”

  “It’s the least he can do,” he grumbles. “Chaser got me the name of a PR person. She’s supposed to call and—”

  “What? You called Chaser? He knows now too?”

  “He called me,” Rooster says gently. “Your kidnapping has been all over the news.”

  “Oh my God.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Country music’s bimbo Barbie is going to feel like a delightful compliment compared to all the poor victim stories people will write.

  “It’s gonna be fine. I just want to prepare you for what’s coming.”

  “Yeah. Guess no one else was gonna bother to tell me,” I grumble.

  “I asked Greg not to say anything. I wanted you to rest before being bombarded with all this stuff.”

  Waves of other people’s deceit and jealousy continue to toss me around, spinning my world out of control.

  But Rooster’s my steady constant, anchoring me to sanity.

  “What’s gonna happen to Glenna now?” I ask.

  “Don’t know. Probably not much. She fed Suggs some info about the tour, venues, schedules, stuff like that. Not very hands on, but enough to give Suggs the insight to put things in motion.”

  “He said something about a ‘source.’ I wondered who he was talking about.” I peer up at Rooster. “Do you think Dawson was involved too?” It would kill me if the man I’d been touring with for months participated in this madness.

  He considers my que
stion for a few seconds before answering. “I wondered that too. But he let me listen in when he called Glenna. I don’t think he would’ve done that if there was a chance she’d rat him out. He was pretty shaken up.” He strokes his hand down my arm. “She…threatened to smear you in the press if he made any allegations that she was involved in the kidnapping.”

  “What the—are you joking me? Smear me? She’s the one who helped get me captured by some crazy psycho who stored me in a fucking box under his bed!”

  “I don’t think she had details of Suggs’ plans.”

  “What’d she think he was gonna do with me? Play dress-up and hold tea parties for my dollies? I never did nothing to her, and she helped set me up to be some crazy man’s baby-making machine!”

  He winces. “Shh. I know. I agree. That’s why we’re going to talk to the PR woman. She’s supposedly the best at this sort of thing.”

  “Psycho exes and kidnappings?” I snort. “Seems like a niche market.”

  He rumbles with laughter. “Yeah.”

  “I don’t have money for the best.” No, what I have now, courtesy of Martin Suggs, and apparently Glenna Wilson, is a mountain of hospital bills and a lifetime of fear to sort through.

  “We’re…working it out. I don’t need you to worry about that right now. You’re going to meet with her and see what she has to say, then we’ll go from there.”

  “Jesus, Rooster. This isn’t what you signed up for. At all.” I snort out a sad laugh and cover my face with my hands. “This isn’t the ride-the-wind, open-road adventure you thought it would be. I might as well fire Greg and have you be my manager.”

  “I know dick about the management and entertainment stuff. And even less about country music,” he says, his voice hoarse with emotion. “My only concern is the keeping-Shelby-safe side of the business.”

  What did I do to deserve this man?

  He rolls over and checks his phone, growling before tossing it back on the nightstand.

  “Is Greg looking for me?” I ask.

  “Are you up to rehearsal?” he counters, indirectly answering my suspicion. “Be honest.”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug, feeling prickly all over. “Normally, I wake up with music or notes floating around in my head. Ideas I can’t wait to write down or try out…Even when I’m tired or nervous, I’m usually excited to go to practice.”