The warm wall of Rooster’s big body closes in behind me. He runs his finger over my shoulder. “For not going with you.”
“What?” The metal bucket slips from my fingers, clattering onto the desk.
He grips my shoulders and turns me to face him. “I should’ve been there with you.”
“No.” I shake my head, willing the quiver in my voice to vanish. “I can’t ask you…you hate that kind of stuff. It’s a lot. I understand why you—”
“Shelby.” His serious tone draws my attention to his face. “I knew those kinds of events were part of the deal. What Miranda said got to me. I don’t ever want to bring you bad attention. That shit that went down in Tennessee was fucking awful and that was my fault—”
“No, it wasn’t. I wanted to go. It’s—”
“I should’ve been watching everyone in that place a hell of a lot closer.”
“Logan, you’re not responsible for everything.”
He hesitates.
Tell him.
“I missed having you there, though,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to guilt you into going with me next time or anything.” I shrug, helpless to come up with an explanation. “It felt like a piece of me was missing. And I wanted to tell you all this little stuff. Share the whole experience with you. I’m sorry. I know you don’t care about those things and you’d hate it.”
He moves in closer, backs me up against the desk and curls his arms around me. “I’ll be with you at the next one.”
“The next one is the big one. The one that really counts. It’ll make last night look like a toddler’s birthday party.”
He snorts. “I don’t care. I’ll blend into the background. As long as I’m with you.”
“I’d really, really like that,” I whisper.
“You mean that?”
“Yes.” I can’t help it, I have to ask. “But what about you? They’re going to keep writing crap. Eventually your club might get brought into it.”
“I have a feeling Sippin’ on Secrets won’t be around much longer.’ He shrugs. “The rest of it we’ll handle as it comes up.”
My selfish little heart is so happy he’s here, I don’t bother to ask what he means.
Chapter Sixty-One
Rooster
Shelby’s half-asleep, using my arm as a pillow. At first it was sweet but now my arm’s falling asleep. Slowly, so I don’t wake her, I roll to the side. My phone dings and I pick it up off the nightstand.
Ice: Done.
There’s only one thing that could mean.
Me: Thank you.
Martin Suggs won’t be sending another letter.
Should I tell Shelby?
The decision’s made for me when my phone rings.
Jackson.
“Yeah?” I answer as quietly as possible. Shelby still moans and rolls over.
“I figured you’d want to hear this right away,” Jackson says without any other introduction.
“What? Don’t you dare tell me Suggs made bail.” I should at least try to act like I don’t know what he’s about to tell me.
He pauses. Good, maybe he bought the innocent act.
“No. Martin Suggs was found dead in his cell this morning. Hanging from his bedsheets.”
Way too easy for him. I should’ve specified to Ice it needed to be bloodier.
“Holy shit. Are you sure?”
“Oh, I’m sure. I can send you photos if you want.”
“That’s all right.”
“Tell Shelby I’m sorry. He took the coward’s way out. Then again, I wouldn’t expect anything less from him. But she deserved to see justice done.”
I’d argue justice was done and Shelby’s been spared having to relive this over and over for the next few years. “Do you need to talk to her?”
“No, you can give her the news. Have her call me if she has any questions or if she needs anything.” Almost as an aside, he casually asks, “Where are you now?”
“On the other side of the country.” Damn good alibi if you ask me.
“That’s not why I was asking. The media will be all over the story. She might want to lay low.”
“I’ll handle it. Thanks, Jackson.”
“You’re welcome. Take care.”
Shelby’s sitting with the sheet wrapped around her. Her bottom lip trembles with fear as she watches me set the phone down. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
No point in sugarcoating it. “Suggs is dead.”
She closes her eyes and releases a slow breath. A single tear slips down her cheek.
“Don’t cry for him.” I swipe the tear away with my thumb.
“It’s not for him. It’s for me. I’ve been trying not to think about it but it’s always there in the back of my mind. That fucking creep. I’ve wished him dead a thousand times. Then, he sent my mom a letter—” She stops abruptly and tilts her head. “Rooster, you didn’t have anything to do with his…”
Danger. Shelby’s way too fucking smart.
I pull her down next to me, wrapping my arm around her. “Now, how would I have done that, chickadee? I’m on the other side of the country.”
She presses her palm against my chest and sits up again. “I don’t know. I’m sure your club has friends in low places.”
“Nice song reference.” I bop the tip of her nose and she swats my hand away.
“I’m serious.” She rests her hand over my heart. “I don’t want something so dark staining your soul. He’s not worth it.”
“Trust me, I’ve done worse and my soul is content with my choices.” Maybe that means I don’t have a soul, but that can’t be true. Not when everything inside me wants to wrap around this woman and protect her until I die.
“Logan,” she whispers.
“It’s done, Shelby. Jackson said Suggs hung himself.” My voice takes on a harsher edge. Because I’m annoyed she’s accusing me of murder or because she’s right?
“Damn. He couldn’t even get shanked in prison?”
“And you’re worried about my soul?” I give her a wry smile.
“I’m worried about my own soul too,” she says. “Sometimes I don’t like the person that experience turned me into.”
How is that possible? “What—strong and brave?”
“Mean. Bitter. Scared.”
“I don’t see any of that.”
“That’s because you make me better.”
“Like medicine?” I try again for a light tone but she doesn’t smile.
“Kinda.” Her nose wrinkles and she glances away. “I acted ugly last night.”
“How?”
“We ran into Glenna Wilson outside the auditorium. I kinda told her off.”
“Good. She deserves it.”
“That’s what Dawson said.”
“How was he?”
“Nice. He made sure I was comfortable but he said he was afraid to touch me because he didn’t want you to beat him to death.” She fixes her pissy little stink eye on me. “Did you threaten him?”
I wink at her. “That’s between me and Dawson.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
Shelby
“On the road again…” I can’t help singing the same few lines over and over while I finish my shower. The awards show was fun and I’ve enjoyed all the primping and pampering that went along with it. The hotel is lovely, but damn I’m eager to settle into my RV and get back to the tour.
“Rolling out in thirty!” Rooster shouts.
“I’m almost done!”
“I’m teasing.” His voice sounds a little closer now. “Take as long as you need. Want me to run downstairs and grab some coffee?”
“Nope.” I shut the shower off and slide the door open. Rooster’s waiting for me with a towel in each hand. I wrap my hair first, then dry off with the other one. “I would love it if you’d help me dry my hair, though.”
“You’ve got it.”
My heart thumps. I reach for him, skimming my fingers over hi
s shoulder. “You make me swoon, Logan Randall, you know that?”
He touches my cheek and smiles faintly. “I always want you to feel that way.”
“You never told me how the heck you made it back here so fast.” I watch his reflection while I drag a comb through my wet hair.
“Jiggy and I didn’t make it to Washington.”
That’s weird. I thought it was important to pay them a visit. “Where’d you go?”
He fiddles with the blow dryer. “Just a small town on the border.”
Border of where?
But he flicks on the dryer and I don’t have a chance to ask.
By the time we’re finished, I’ve forgotten the question.
Downstairs, we find a small cafe on the first floor of the hotel. The lobby’s bustling with people. No one seems to be paying attention to anyone, though. The inconspicuous hotel security guards stationed at each entrance definitely reassure me.
I slip on my big sunglasses but leave my hair down. In a town full of real celebrities, no one should care enough to recognize lil’ ol’ Shelby Morgan.
“What else do you want?” Rooster asks as we approach the counter. “Besides coffee.”
“One of those little egg-white thingies.”
“They’re like two bites. You sure you only want one?”
“Maybe two.”
The corner of his mouth curls up. “Two spinach and cheese egg-bites and a large coffee.”
Could I love this man any more than I already do? “Have I mentioned how happy I am that you’re here?”
“Yeah, but I don’t mind hearing it again.” He curls his arm around my waist. “Jiggy should be here soon. Then we’ll get on the road. Stop and see some beaches.”
“I feel bad you made him ride all by himself.”
Rooster laughs. “Don’t. He badgered the hell out of me for not going to the show with you.”
“Aww. You know I’m not mad about it, right?”
“Yeah, chickadee. I know. Still, won’t happen again. Promise.”
As we approach the counter, he releases me to pull out his wallet. I unzip my purse but the stern side-eye he gives me has my fingers zipping it shut. “Go grab us a table,” he suggests.
I glance at the small, cluttered seating area. Except for one lone woman wearing an enormous sun hat, the space is empty. Everyone seems to be taking their orders to go.
I snake my way through the tables and chairs, finally deciding on a spot in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.
The heat from outside’s already beating against the glass. Glad I’m wearing shorts. Maybe I can get a little color on my legs later.
Rooster’s gaze constantly searches the surrounding area as he waits for our order. Every so often, his eyes land on me and he smiles.
My gaze wanders, stopping on the girl in the hat who seems to be gawking at my man.
Hands off, lady.
Can’t blame her, though. Rooster’s one exquisitely-sculpted man. I spend a few moments enjoying the way he stands, confident and calm. Hands in his pockets. Wide shoulders back, chest lifted. He likes wearin’ his jeans a lil’ on the baggy side, which suits me fine. No one else needs to know about the firm rear end he’s hiding under that denim.
Finally, the clerk hands him his order. Rooster catches me eyeballin’ him as he turns and heads my way. He lifts his eyebrows, a playful expression rippling over his face.
“Whatcha lookin’ at, chickadee?” he says as he sets the small green tray in front of me.
I bat my lashes and answer in a slow drawl, “How sexy you look in those jeans.”
“That right?” His gaze drops to my crossed legs peekin’ out from under the table. “Did I tell you how much I’m looking forward to staring at those sleek legs of yours on our drive to San Francisco?”
“Yes, but you can tell me again.”
“Can’t wait.” He leans down and kisses my cheek. “I’m gonna run to our room and grab the rest of our stuff, load up the truck, and move it around front so we’re ready to go when Jiggy arrives.”
“Do you want me to help?”
“Nope.” He takes another quick look around. “You’ll be all right here.” He nods to one of the security guards. “No one should bother you.”
“Logan Randall, I’m not a little kid. I’ll be okay.” I search the area again. “Best believe I’ll scream my head off if someone tries stuffin’ me in a box.”
The playful smile on his lips fades. “Not funny.”
“I’m fine.” I pick up my phone. “Got plenty of comments to go through on my social media and some photos to post.”
“I shouldn’t be long.”
Content in the sunlight, I munch on my egg-bites and sip my coffee while I post some photos from the other night. Comments pop up almost instantly. I respond to the nice ones and delete the nasty ones without comment—because fuck mean people. I’m sick of ’em.
“Shelby, right? I wanted to speak to you.” A husky female voice interrupts my scrolling.
Big hat girl.
My inner warning bells start clanging.
Why’d she wait so long to approach me? No, correction, why’d she wait until Logan left the area to approach me?
If she’s a fan, she would’ve said something right away, wouldn’t she?
“You are Shelby Morgan, right?” she asks again. “The singer?”
“Yes,” I answer carefully, slowly running my gaze over her to see if she’s reaching for a weapon or something. Can’t be too careful after what happened in Virginia.
I scan the room, searching for Rooster. Or hell, anyone at all. The security guard by the elevators is staring straight ahead toward the front door. The clerks behind the counter are busy cleaning out the coffee pots.
At least people are around if I need to start screaming.
Wait a second.
I take another gander at this gal. Can’t be more than a buck twenty soaking wet. She’s got some height on me, but I’m pretty darn spunky when I wanna be.
She’s beautiful. Perfectly shaped oval face and smooth, clear skin. Neatly put together in a dainty polka-dotted dress paired with a slim belt. Long, sleekly blown-out caramel-colored hair. A shade of blond I don’t think is found in nature often. Must spend a fortune at the salon. Lightly tanned skin, like she perfectly times her sun exposure down to the second.
A rich, spoiled mean-girl vibe I’m all too familiar with rolls off her in waves. I grew up around girls like this. Went to school with lots of ‘em. Got bullied, insulted, and pushed around by entitled brats plenty of times.
But I’m not poor little Shelby Morgan anymore. I’m making my own damn money off my own god-given talent, not livin’ off my parents or some trust fund. I’m not about to take guff from anyone.
I stand, forcing her to scuttle away a few steps. Pulling my shoulders back, I straighten to my full height, which is unfortunately still about two inches shorter than this haughty gal.
“What can I help you with?” I ask in my own imperious tone.
“I read the Glow article. About what happened to you.”
Oh. Okay. Maybe I should calm my tits. That scene with Glenna the other night might’ve rattled me more than I realized.
Is this chick a reporter? Or shoot, maybe she’s another victim of Martin Suggs? Or a therapist trying to drum up business?
I look her over again. Nah, she doesn’t look old enough. I peg her to be a couple years older than me. Besides, that has to be an unethical way to round up clients.
“And?” I prompt.
“I want to talk to you about that man you’re with.”
Over her shoulder I spot a blur of black leather. Jigsaw. Thank God. He seems to be searching the lobby.
Not caring if I seem rude or not, I raise my hand and wave. “Jiggy! Over here!”
The girl reaches out and wraps her fingers around my arm, forcing me to meet her intense eyes. “Shelby, you need to listen to me.”
“Get your hand off
me.” I jerk out of her grasp.
She glances behind her and mutters, “Son of a bitch.” Whirling back to me, she reaches for my hand again. “Listen, the man you’re with. He’s not who he says he is.”
“What in the Sam Hill are you talking about?”
“Shelby! You all right?” Jigsaw calls out. He comes to a dead stop about two feet from the woman. His eyes bug as recognition sets in.
Rage twists his features. “Ashley, what the fuck are you doing here?”
Clearly they know each other.
How?
I look her over again. She doesn’t look like a club girl or porn star. How does she know Logan? Or Jigsaw?
Where the heck did they go if they didn’t go to Washington?
“Jensen.” She gives him a look that could freeze hot lava. “I should’ve figured you’d be around here somewhere.”
“Come on, Shelby.” Jiggy muscles between us and curls his arm around my shoulder. “You need to fuck off back to wherever you came from, Ashley.” Jigsaw’s threatening voice should send her screaming from the hotel, but she defiantly lifts her chin.
“Still coveting his girls, I see.” Ashley sneers. “Careful, Shelby, or you’ll end up as his sloppy seconds.”
Jigsaw growls and coils tight.
Now this bitch has really pissed me off. I shrug out of Jiggy’s grasp. “I don’t know you and I’m not interested in whatever trouble you’re trying to cook up. You hear me?”
“Shelby!” Logan’s voice echoes through the lobby.
Jigsaw tugs on my hand. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Ashley reaches for me again. “I’m trying to help you out here. You don’t know the full story.”
Taking a wild stab in the dark, I figure this is Logan’s ex from high school. The one Jigsaw supposedly lost his virginity to a few weeks after she and Logan broke up. “I’m not interested in petty high school bullshit, sweetheart. You need to get over it and move on.”
“No, honey.” Her lips curl into a cruel smirk. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand.”
“Ashley?” The shock and devastation in Rooster’s voice tears me away from the girl.
Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC Book 17) Page 42
