Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC Book 17)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  I knock on the bathroom door. “Place is clear.”

  “Okay.” A few seconds later, she pops out of the bathroom. “You didn’t have to kick him outside.”

  “You seemed uncomfortable.”

  She shrugs as she pulls clothes out of her drawers. “I imagine eventually it’ll feel like having a big brother around.” She pauses and seems to reconsider. “Except one that might notice and comment that I’m not wearing a bra in the morning.”

  “He will not notice or comment on that if he wants to keep breathing.” Now I can’t help dropping my gaze to her tits. “You look fantastic braless by the way.”

  She pulls her arms out of her sleeves and shimmies a bra under her shirt. “Thanks.”

  “What are you doing?” Like magic, she finishes fastening her bra, then slips off her nightshirt, quickly trading it for a tank top. “No one can see you.”

  She glances at the windows—covered by shades. “I know. I just need time to get used to everything.”

  A thought I’m not too happy about pushes its way into my caveman brain. “What did you do in the van?” I have to force out the next words. “With the guys?”

  “Sleep in my bra.” She shrugs. “Change under my blanket.”

  Fuck. For the first time, I kinda hate myself for saying goodbye to her in Texas. Knew damn well, even back then, that what we had was more than a hook-up, that she was special and I wanted her in my life long-term.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Rooster

  Shelby’s Mysterious White Knight

  “What the actual fuck?” I pick up the magazine someone helpfully shoved under our door sometime either late last night or early this morning.

  “No.” I stare at the picture of us on the front of Glow. A national fucking magazine. My arm’s around her shoulders. I’m staring down at her. She’s staring up at me. It’s sweet and sappy as fuck. My face is in profile but still recognizable.

  I jam my fingers through my hair. This can’t be happening.

  Fuck.

  I flip through the magazine, searching for the article.

  There it is.

  Full-page spread of Shelby on the roof of the hotel in the sunshine. No more pictures of my face, thank God. The one on the cover is bad enough.

  At only twenty-two years old, Shelby Morgan possesses a rare Zen-like calm. She smiles warmly and takes dainty sips of her sparkling water. Every now and then her gaze strays to the enigmatic man watching her from across the room.

  You’d never know that she was recently held captive by a mad man.

  If this leads you to think the beautiful, up-and-coming country music star is all sugar and no spice, please reconsider.

  “I’d rather call out the bullshit than smile my way through it. I did enough of that on Redneck Roadhouse.”

  It’s the first time she’s hinted that her experience on the show that launched her career was anything less than perfect. But that’s old news. Today, she’s still healing from being the object of a stalker’s obsession.

  “It was the most terrifying event of my life. I thought I was gonna die.”

  The article moves on to discussing the kidnapping. What details they couldn’t pull from Shelby, the writer must have tried to gather by interviewing other people. Dawson’s mentioned but he must not have been cooperative because there’s nothing useful there. Whoever the author contacted at the FBI had “no comment on an ongoing investigation.” So-called “anonymous sources” add details about the fire on Dawson’s bus and the fact that Shelby was carried out in her trunk. I assume those “sources” can only be Bane or someone from Dawson’s road crew. Shelby’s band was interviewed but Trent assured me they spoke about the tour more than Shelby’s kidnapping. Doesn’t really matter, I guess. Still hate that all these people are gossiping about Shelby like she’s an amusing tale to joke about over beers and not a human fucking being.

  My phone buzzes and I check the message.

  Z: I’m swooning over here!

  A picture shows up. Z’s big mouth making a ridiculous kissy face at a copy of the same magazine I’m holding in my hands.

  Me: Why do you even know the word swoon?

  Z: My wife says I make her swoon all the time.

  Me: Are you sure she didn’t say suffer?

  Z: Definitely swoon.

  Me: Since when do you read Glow?

  Z: Since my VP made the cover.

  Fuck. Great. Just what I need.

  “What’s wrong?” Shelby’s voice trembles. “What’s it say?” She reaches for the magazine.

  There’s no way to hide this from her, so I hand it over with an apology.

  “Oh my God.” Her eyes bug out as she studies the cover. “Logan, I’m so sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “The club…I thought you didn’t want to bring attention like this to yourself…”

  I show her the photo Z sent me. “My president doesn’t seem to have a problem with it. What I’m sorry about is that it took the attention off you and made it about us instead of your music.”

  “I never expected them to give a fig about my music. Glow is basically a big ol’ gossip rag these days. They were only interested in a juicy story. Since I couldn’t give them tons of details about the kidnapping, I guess they went another way.” She shrugs. “The check cleared. As long as you’re not mad at me, I’m not worried about it.”

  “I’d never be mad at you about something like this.”

  She stares at the cover again. “Did I ever tell you Dolly Parton was my hero growing up?”

  I huff a laugh and tuck her hair behind her ear. “No, but I can picture that. She’s pretty cool.”

  “She’s a national treasure, Logan. Anyway, it always impressed me that she’s been married for more than fifty years. Can you imagine?”

  Before Shelby? No, I couldn’t picture wanting to be with the same person that long. My father set the worst example possible in that department.

  “They’ve always kept their relationship extremely private. Not a lot of photos or interviews. Her husband never wanted a piece of the spotlight. He never went to industry events or award shows with her. He’s a quiet man and she wanted to protect him because she knew if he got the attention of the media, they’d never leave him alone.”

  “Don’t know if that’s possible these days. Everyone with a cell phone camera and a social media account thinks they’re a fuckin’ reporter now.”

  “That’s true. Anyway, somehow they’ve made their marriage work all these years. I guess I thought that could still be a thing. I’m sorry.”

  She sounds so broken up, I don’t know what to do but reassure her. “Shelby, I’ve known this was a possibility.” I glance at the cover again, hating it so much. Wondering which skeletons from my past might see it. “Okay, maybe not my face plastered on the cover of a national magazine possibility, but everything will be fine.”

  I really hope that’s true.

  SHELBY

  After reassuring Rooster I’m not mad about the article, it’s time to call my momma. Lord knows, she’ll have an opinion or ten to share with me and I want to get it over with early, so I can get ready for tonight’s show in peace.

  She answers after one ring. “Guess what I’m holdin’ in my hand?”

  Well, she sounds happy—a good sign. “Glow magazine?”

  “With my baby girl on the cover!” she gushes.

  “I never thought this would happen.”

  “How’d Rooster feel about them puttin’ his face on the cover too?”

  “Not that great, honestly.”

  She hums a noise I can’t decipher.

  “He’s not keen on being public,” I add.

  “I imagine his club don’t appreciate it too much either.”

  “So far, it’s okay. His president seemed more amused than annoyed.”

  “Well, that’s good.” She lets out a long, slow sigh. “You knew they were going to want some juicy details about so
mething. I’m glad you didn’t give them much about your ordeal. You don’t need the whole world salivating over those details or, Lord have mercy, some other nutter getting ideas.”

  “My thoughts too. Plus, I spoke to a lawyer friend of Rooster’s and she advised me not to say much. And the FBI agent had already warned me not to give details to the press while the case is ongoing.”

  “Back up. Rooster’s lawyer friend?”

  “Uh, one of his brother’s wives.”

  “Huh.”

  “He’s done a lot for me, Momma.” I hate the tentative note in my voice. “A friend of his set me up with the public relations person who cinched the interview for me. She’s working on maybe having me attend the Small Screen Music Awards.”

  “Oh, honey. That would be so great. I would love to watch you walkin’ as many red carpets as possible.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How’s Trent?”

  “All right. We haven’t had a lot of time for chit-chat.”

  “Why not?”

  “Uh, well. I’m ridin’ with Rooster.”

  “Shelby.” Her voice’s thick with disapproval. Exactly the reason I haven’t told her yet. “You’re a star, you can’t be riding on the back of his bike like some wild child. What if you get hurt?”

  “I’m not a star. Not yet, anyway. And I’m not.” I grit my teeth. If she says something nasty about the sweetest damn thing anyone’s ever done for me, I swear I’m hangin’ up the phone and never speakin’ to her again. “Rooster bought…he bought one of those tow-behind RVs and a truck. You know, like the set-up you and Daddy always talked about when I used to sing at the fairs and stuff.”

  Silence.

  “He surprised me with it before we left Virginia,” I add.

  “Well now,” she breathes out. “Okay then. That’s quite. Uh, that’s quite a—”

  “Commitment?”

  “Yeah, I reckon so.”

  “It’s really nice. I’ll send you pictures later. He found the cutest little strands of flamingo lights and strung them all over my yoga space for me. It’s real soothing. And it’s been nice to have, you know, my own place to go after shows where I’m comfortable with all my stuff around me.”

  More silence.

  “You there, Momma?”

  “I’m here.” I swear she sniffles. “Can I talk to him for a second?”

  “He’s meetin’ with Dawson’s crew right now. Why?”

  “Why’s he hanging out with Dawson’s guys?”

  “Security stuff. Dawson hired a whole bunch of security experts. Dawson invited Rooster and Jigsaw to take the class the company offers. All his roadies and crew are taking it too.”

  “Sounds like Dawson must’ve taken a shine to him, then?”

  “I guess so. They seem to get along.” I pause for a second, trying to come up with a way to broach my next topic. “You doin’ all right, Momma? With the house and bills and everything?”

  Before I left for the tour, I was contributing to the household. Since I haven’t seen much in the way of funds from the tour yet, I haven’t been able to help out. Now with that money from Glow, I can.

  “I’m fine, honey. Picked up some extra shifts here and there. Without you home using up all the hot water, it evens out,” she teases.

  The familiar joke lightens my heart a bit. “Glow ended up paying for that interview.” I laugh softly because I’m findin’ out I’m woefully uneducated when it comes to financial matters. “You know I always wanted to buy you a house—”

  “Shelby.”

  I keep right on going. “After taxes and everyone took their cut, there ain’t enough for a house. But I want to cover the mortgage for the rest of the year, so you’re not working all those extra hours.”

  “No. I’m your momma. That’s my job.”

  “I’m twenty-two—”

  “And you’ve been working and helpin’ out ‘round here since you were fourteen, something I hated having you do.”

  “I never minded.”

  “I know you didn’t, baby. And it means a lot to me. But I want you to save that money.”

  “Momma, buying you a house has always been my goal and you know it. We used to talk about it all the time.”

  “And one day you will, Shelby. I have no doubt.”

  “But if I helped out, maybe you could work fewer shifts and come see some of the shows when we’re in Texas at least.”

  She laughs softly. “Now, you’re just playin’ dirty.”

  “Is it working?”

  “We’ll talk about it when the time gets closer.”

  That’s my momma, stubborn as all git out. Guess that’s where I get it from.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Shelby

  Rumbling motorcycles yank me from a warm, comfortable sleep. A few seconds later, my phone beeps.

  I reach for it blindly and flick it on.

  Trinity: Yoga time!

  Isn’t she chipper at ass-crack-of-dawn-o’clock?

  I pat the bed but come up with nothing but cold, empty sheets. Huh. Rooster’s up before me. No surprise. He seems to be an early riser. I make a mental note to ask if that’s how he got his road name.

  After splashing some water on my face, brushing my teeth and jumping into a pair of yoga shorts and a tank top, I pull out my mat, pop on my sunglasses and head outside.

  The park we stopped at last night is fairly secluded. The guys had arranged to rent a back corner where we’d have some privacy. At the moment, Wrath and Murphy are moving two heavy picnic benches closer together.

  Trinity bounces over with a colorful woven blanket draped over her arm. “Wrath sent the guys to the store for breakfast. Should give us forty minutes of private yoga time.”

  I chuckle at their ingenuity.

  Two big strong arms wrap around my waist, yanking me in the air. Rooster’s beard tickles my skin as he peppers my cheek with kisses. “Morning, chickadee. Got a space all set up for you with no prying eyes.”

  The few mornings the girls and I had tried to get together for yoga attracted more attention than Rooster cared for. Honestly, it made me jittery too. I turn and loop my arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

  “We’re all set!” Heidi jogs over waving her iPad in the air. “Swan’s about to start class.”

  “I’m going to vomit if you keep moving the screen around!” Swan shouts. “Morning, Trinity! Morning, Shelby!”

  “Oops. Sorry.” Heidi slows her steps. “Where are we setting up?”

  Rooster points to the truck that he’s pulled tight to the curb. The grass is especially thick in that area and the truck blocks anyone in the parking lot from spying on us. “You can set the tablet up on the truck bed or on the ground. Whatever works better.”

  Trinity has the tablet now and she’s busy talking to whoever else Swan has with her. “Is Lilly there too? I don’t believe it,” she says.

  “I’m here,” the dark-haired beauty who I remember is Z’s wife waves at us. “Hope lied to get me to the clubhouse this early.”

  “If it makes you feel better, we’re an hour behind you.” Trinity points to the sky.

  “No.” Lilly laughs. “No that doesn’t make me feel better.”

  “Where’s my lil’ buddy?” Trin asks.

  “Rock and Z have the little ones,” Hope answers. “They’re ‘helping’ in the garage.”

  Trinity chuckles. “I want to say hi before we hang up, but let’s get our yoga on.”

  “How are we doing this?” Swan’s pretty face fills the screen again.

  “Maybe set your camera back a bit so we can get an idea of what you’re doing?” Heidi suggests.

  “If I was doing this from Furious I’d have better equipment set up. Sorry, girls.”

  “It’s fine,” Trinity assures her. “I’m just happy to see your faces.”

  “I’m excited to practice with other people,” I add. “I can follow along from your cues, Swan.”

  We make some adj
ustments, find our places, and settle down. Swan starts us off with five minutes of easy pose and meditation. I have trouble settling my mind and have to focus hard to anchor my breath.

  ROOSTER

  “That shit’s harder than it looks.” I lift my chin toward the girls who are quickly moving from a straight plank, down to their stomachs, then back to plank and into downward dog. Trinity and Shelby seem to be at about the same level. Although Trinity’s longer legs seem to help her transition easier. Heidi struggles with a few advanced poses but never quits. “I don’t know how they make it look so graceful.”

  “Damn right,” Wrath agrees. “Takes a lot of upper body strength.” He slaps Murphy’s back. “I gave him a hard time about adding yoga classes but it’s one of the best things we’ve done at Furious.”

  Murphy whistles “Holy shit. Never thought I’d hear you admit it.”

  “You have a good idea once in a while.” He pokes the side of Murphy’s head.

  I shift my gaze to Wrath. “You must be such a joy to work for.”

  He grins at my sarcasm.

  “Dex hasn’t stopped bitching about how we stole his best dancer.” Murphy takes a quick look around as if he’s waiting for Dex to pop out from behind a tree at the mention of his name.

  “Come on. Swan had to have been at Crystal Ball for years.” Shit, she’s been around as long as I’ve been in New York. “Strippers don’t usually last that long.”

  “No shit,” Wrath agrees. “She’s a hard worker, so I get why he’s so bent. Everyone loves her. The other dancers were so upset about her leaving, they’re all coming to Furious to take classes now.” He rubs his money-making hands together. “Helped pull us out of our slump. All the college boys are coming in to gawk at the strippers now.”

  While Wrath and I discuss gym business, Murphy keeps an eye on the girls. They’re on their backs in something Shelby’s called ‘dead pigeon’ when Murphy undoes his belt.

  “The fuck you doing?” I ask, slapping his arm.

  He scowls at me, doesn’t answer, walks over and drops the belt down next to Heidi. She smiles up at him and scoops it up, wrapping it in her hands and using it around her foot for leverage.