The Dirty Dozen: Damsel Edition

by Kay Maree

  “It’ll be okay, baby. They’ll behave, and if they don’t, I’ll have security escort them off the premises.”

  Mumbling under her breath, Faye shrugs. “It’s your funeral, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Half an hour later it’s clear my instincts were off when it comes to three stressed out meatheads with more testosterone between them than the Texans entire defensive side.

  “You know it’s only a matter of time before they find your corpse rotting in some obscure forest somewhere, right?” Carter, the youngest of the three sneers.

  “Jesus, Carter, what’s your fucking problem?” I grate out. “We’ve gone over this already. I love your sister, and she loves me. If she’d marry me tomorrow, I’d have her dressed in white and meeting me at the end of the aisle, but that’s not my call, brother, it’s hers.”

  “If you’re serious about her, then why is this the first we’re hearing about it?” Drake asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not like you don’t know where we live.”

  True, but why the hell would I want to deal with these assholes when the only man I care about giving me permission to marry his little girl already did more than twelve months ago.

  “Can we get back to why you’re here, and table this shit for later?” I suggest.

  “I second that,” Cole quips, striding into the room and flopping onto the couch.

  “Motion carried, since majority rules and all,” Dylan chimes in followed by a grinning Tate.

  “How do you figure that? You fuckers don’t get a say in who our sister dates, so mind your own fucking business,” Leo finally says.

  “Neither do you, little brother,” Faye shouts from the doorway to our bedroom. “As far as I’m concerned, the only reason you are even here in the first place is because Reid asked you to be. Which means, you are not permitted to comment on my relationship with Dante. I don’t want or need your advice, lectures or anything in between. What I do with my life, where I work, and who choose to date, or have mind blowing sex with has nothing to do with you. Adult, remember,” she ends, pointing to herself.

  “Hold on a second, Sis. We’re just…”

  “No, Drake. I know what you’re trying to do, and I love you in spite of it. You need to back off and trust that I can make decisions for myself. Good, bad, indifferent, it doesn’t matter; they are my choices, and I’m the one who has to bear the consequences if I choose wrong. But let me assure you, Dante isn’t on that list. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and if you take a step back and really look at me, you’ll see that for yourselves.”

  Fuck but I love this woman!

  Pulling her into my arms, I sit us both down in one of the large, overstuffed wing chairs. It’s positioned next to the floor to ceiling picture window that spans the length of the living space and has a fantastic view of the city streets below. But that isn’t what has my attention because the woman in my lap is far more magnificent than any view from any building in all of the world.

  “Hey, baby,” I mutter, kissing her forehead. “Good shower?”

  “Yeah,” Faye sighs happily, burrowing into my chest.

  The tiny cutoff denim shorts, along with her tight tank top that she’s not wearing a bra under has my cock stirring in my jeans, but this is hardly the time or the place to strip her naked and fuck her bent over the armrest of the chair. We’ll just have to save that for later when these assholes leave.

  “Can’t say the live porn show isn’t a hell of a turn on, but how about we discuss the elephant in the room,” Dylan pipes up. “The first we heard about this was this afternoon from Reid. None of us have seen the letters, so I’m not sure how much help we can be, but we’d all do anything for Faye so count us in on any plan you come up with.”

  “Ryker’s downstairs dealing with some of the security issues we discovered when we re-conned the hotel earlier,” Leo relays, snapping straight back into business mode. “After he’s done briefing the staff he said he’d be up to introduce himself, but Ryker’s happy for us to take the lead on this one.”

  Drake doesn’t miss a beat, picking up where Leo left off. “The strategy’s simple; Faye isn’t to go anywhere unaccompanied. By the looks of it, she’s covered when she’s in this suite,” Drake grunts, giving me a less than friendly scowl. “But if for any reason she has to leave it, Faye’s to have two men on her at all times, that includes to and from the car, in and out of venues and other public places. For now, we’re going to limit the number of unnecessary outings until we can accurately assess the threat. So, Faye, do you want to tell them what was in the letters or should I?”

  Faye’s body trembles, but she doesn’t burst into tears or run screaming from the room like a lot of women would. No, my woman is fierce, fearless, and so fucking strong. I’m proud as hell of how she’s handling herself.

  Clearing her throat, Faye shakes her head. “I think it’s best if they read them for themselves. I didn’t want it to come to this, because honestly, I don’t think whoever sent them means me any harm. But I will admit, the last one scared me.”

  Tightening my arms around her, I hold out my hand to accept the letter that’s encased in a plastic bag for preservation's sake. Faye takes that as her opportunity to remove herself from my lap and announce that she’s going to order room service for everyone. After she has my and their orders, Faye slips into our bedroom and closes the door quietly behind her.

  “Before you read it, I’ve got to warn you that you’re not going to like it. The shit that’s in it is seriously whacked,” Carter mutters.

  “It's not whacked, brother; it’s fucked up. The sick bastard who wrote it is obsessed with Faye, and it shows,” Leo counters.

  Ignoring them, I look down at the simple single-sided sheet of plain white paper, and begin reading.

  My darling Faye,

  You grow more beautiful every time I see you. I have been following the band you are employed by, and I must admit questioning why you would want to work for a group of womanizing heathens. You are better than that. You are better than them.

  It has been quite some time since I have had the opportunity to just sit and watch you as I did today, but my thoughts are never far from you even when hundreds of miles separate us. However, I grow restless. I am tired of the distance between us, and I think it would be best if you quit your job so that we can finally be together.

  My patience is a finite thing, Faye. Watching you from afar, seeing the inappropriate clothing you wear, and the way that one disgusting pig looks at you is tiresome. So with that in mind, I have a proposition for you.

  If you of your own free will choose to come to me without delay, I will promise not to hurt the man you have foolishly given your heart to. Yes, I see the way you look at him too, sweetheart, but I can forgive you almost anything if you sever your connection to him immediately.

  In the event you choose unwisely, deciding to stay with a man that will never love you the way I do, who blatantly fucks everything that moves, and debases you just by breathing the same air, I can also promise you he will not be breathing much long.

  But alas, it is your decision, sweetheart; him or me. His life for the promise that you will tie yours to mine.

  Do not mistake my intentions, Faye. I do not wish to see any harm come to you, but as I am sure you are aware, in any war there are casualties. My sincere hope is that you are not one of them.

  Your devoted and adoring admirer,

  Steven.

  It takes every ounce of my willpower not to crumple the letter into a ball and toss it into the trash where I’ll burn it later. Instead, I hand it to Dylan before I destroy evidence that may be crucial in building a case against this fucker if and when we find him.

  “Does anyone have any leads on who this Steven motherfucker is?” Cole snaps minutes later after he’s read and re-read the letter twice.

  “Not a one, but Reid’s contracted a private invest
igation company, operating out of Dallas that’s working on it as we speak. They’ve already analyzed it for fingerprints and are running the ones they found through their databases now,” Drake answers.

  “And she read this?” Dylan’s voice rumbles, echoing off the sparse walls. “Faye, she read this shit, and she didn’t say a fucking word.”

  “Yeah, she read it,” Drake confirms. “She did the right thing, though. Called Reid, told him about what was in it, and then couriered it to him,” nodding at the letter that’s now made its way to the coffee table. “The envelopes are postmarked, Orange County, California, so that’s at least a jumping off point for Brookes and his crew over at EyeSee.”

  “Who’s Brookes, and what does he have to do with this?” Tate questions.

  “CEO and founder of EyeSee Private Security and Investigations,” Drake confirms the little I had already pieced together. “The guy’s a fucking machine. Ex-military, built like a brick shithouse, he even puts dad to shame. Brookes has taken a backseat when it comes to his business in the last few months after his wife delivered their baby girl, but he still takes a particular interest in high-profile cases like this one. According to Reid, Brookes is the best the industry has on offer, and I trust his judgment, so that’s who we’re liaising with.”

  “So, we’ve got no idea who this guy is, a first name that’s probably fake, and a postmark that narrows the search down to what, a hundred thousand or more people and that’s it?” Cole grunts in summary.

  “That’s about the size of it,” Carter returns. “We’ll know more tomorrow if Brookes’ searches throw up any red flags. But for now, we stay alert and follow the plan.”

  Nothing that’s been said gives me any measure of peace. The only thing that will is knowing the threat to Faye is gone. It wouldn’t hurt if I could find a way to bind Faye to me permanently either. Albeit that won’t change the fact she’s got a crazy obsessed stalker after her, it might placate my temper some.

  Chapter Ten

  Faye

  “Dad, I promise everything is fine. The boys are behaving themselves, and it’s only a few weeks until the tour is finished. You don’t need to fly out and check on me, I’m covered,” I insist, rolling onto my back to stare at the ceiling.

  It has been four weeks since, Drake, Leo, Carter, and the elusive Ryker joined the tour. At first, having my brothers around was nice; I’d missed them even if they are annoying pains in my ass the majority of the time. However, nice turned into smothering within a week, and every day afterward it has only gotten worse.

  I’m at the point now where I would give just about anything to punch one or all of them in their overbearing, bossy, temperamental faces. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate them putting their lives on hold to play protector and chaperone, but their high-handedness knows no bounds.

  Just yesterday, I was getting ready to give Dante a well-deserved shower blowjob when Drake burst into the bathroom, sat down on the closed toilet seat and began telling me about the latest in his long line of fuck buddies.

  Now, I’m not stupid; I know a cock block when I see one, but come on. I’m a grown woman with needs. Needs mind you that are not being met due to my brothers perfect or imperfectly timed, depending on how you look at it, interruptions.

  “Are you sure, baby girl?” My dad asks for what has to be the ten millionth time this week. “There’s a flight out of DIA in two hours, which means I could get to you in less than four.”

  “I’m positive, daddy. Aside from the nineteen times I’ve considered committing felony manslaughter today, everything’s good. There haven’t been any more letters, no one is lurking around the hotels we’ve been staying in or the venues the guys play, and security couldn’t be tighter if I were locked in a cell,” I reassure him.

  Chuckling, dad huffs. “All right, but only if you’re sure. You know if you change your mind…” dad lets his sentence trail off.

  “Oh, I won’t,” I say wryly. “I think I have all the testosterone I can take with them invading my personal space without adding you to the mix too.”

  “Don’t be a smartass, Faye. I’m your father, it’s my job to worry about you,” he reminds me as if I’d ever forget.

  “Look,” I sigh heavily. “I know you and mom are worried, and I wish I could tell you there’s no reason to be, but we both know that would be a lie. The best I can do is promise you I’m safe, and that if I need you, I’ll call.”

  “I can live with that,” dad eventually concedes.

  A few more minutes and assurances that I’m not just blowing smoke up his ass, and I will actually call if I run into trouble, dad hangs up. Finally, blissfully alone, I get the chance to run through my mental checklist for tonight’s concert. Catering, stage setup, lighting transport, bus parking, VIP passes, meet and greet, the list is endless. But I suppose that’s to be expected when I’m running a one-woman show here.

  There are times I wished I has taken Dante up on his offer to hire someone that could work as my assistant because until this stalker situation is resolved, the boys refuse to bring anyone else on board. Which I completely understand, it’s a reasonable request after all, but that doesn’t lessen the strain on my already limited time and energy.

  Lately, I’ve been feeling more drained than usual too. Dante puts it down to the stress of having my brothers around twenty-four/seven and the added pressure of the tour winding down. As much as I’d like to agree with him, I can’t. Especially when I have the sneaking suspicion the cause of my lethargy, all-day nausea, and incessant need to pee every five seconds has nothing to do with my family, but one we may have made together.

  Yes, I am a walking, talking cliché. Not only was Dante my unrequited love interest, but the first man I slept with, and he also managed to knock me up on the first go. What are the odds?

  The results of the six pregnancy tests I’ve done aside, I think part of me instinctively knew that Dante and I will be expecting a little rocker of our own in eight or so months.

  Speaking of which, I have approximately seven minutes before my ass has to be in the kitchen so that Ryker, my silent but deadly bodyguard can drive me to the Staples Center where My Addiction is playing tonight for a sold out crowd.

  “Ask Sean to play with the reverb on Cole’s microphone. It sounds tinny to me,” I tell Brandon, one of the assistant soundboard operators.

  The guys are nearing the end of their sound check, and the quality of sound Cole’s mic is putting out is becoming a problem. I only allotted them an hour to run through their set list, and we’re closing in on that fast. If Sean, our head sound engineer can’t work it out soon, there won’t be another chance before they take the stage and that will make for one seriously pissed off lead vocalist.

  If there were such things as diva’s in rock bands, ours would have to be Cole. He’s not a raving bitch, complaining about the color of the M&M’s in his dressing room not being the right shade of green or anything, but he is a perfectionist which brings about its own set of issues.

  Take last week when we played in Phoenix for example. Cole has a specific ritual he performs before every show. After sound check, he drinks one bottle of water followed by a liter of Gatorade – it has to be blue – before he signs autographs at the stage door. On the way back to the tour bus, Cole singles out a lucky lady who he deems worthy to give him a pre-show blowjob. This isn’t the same woman he takes back to the bus after the show mind you.

  Most of the time, if the gods are smiling down on us that day, Cole graces us with his presence minutes before he’s due to take the stage, still zipping up his pants with or without a shirt on, depending on what time permits. All in all, Cole’s ritual hasn’t caused too many problems that I can’t solve with the promise of bacon, bourbon, and boobs. Phoenix, however, is a different story altogether.

  Ashley, the traitorous whore, lives in Phoenix, and if I never lay eyes on that tramp again, it will be too soon. So sadly that meant, Cole’
s routine would be interrupted whether we liked it or not, and that never bodes well for anyone. Especially, me since I’m the one who is in charge of putting out all the fires.

  The best way to explain Ashley is to share that she is the reason Cole and Ryker haven’t spoken in years. In fact, Ashley was the sole cause of the band almost calling it quits after a particularly nasty bar brawl that landed Cole, Tate, and Ryker in the hospital with a vast array of injuries.

  But thankfully, after a night spent pacing the ER it was confirmed that there were no broken bones or anything that wouldn’t heal, except for maybe Cole’s heart that is.

  Ashley fabricated and executed what she believed to be a flawless plan to trap either Cole or Ryker into marrying her by telling them she was pregnant. As they had been engaged in a long-term, three-way relationship there was no way to tell whose baby it was, nor did they care.

  Cole and Ryker were ecstatic with the news they were going to be fathers. Ryker came from a broken home and had no siblings, and Cole has so much love to give that I just knew they would make excellent dads.

  About eight weeks after Ashley dropped that bombshell, we were on the road, half-way through the guy's fourth tour when we arrived in Phoenix to play a show. I had arranged it so there was a two-day layover afterward. That way, Cole and Ryker could spend some much needed time with their baby momma.

  Everything would have worked out fine if it weren’t for the fact that when we walked into an obscure bar downtown to blow off some steam after the concert, Ashley wasn’t practically dry humping some guy and downing tequila shots like they were water. Needless to say, it didn’t take long to put the pieces together and realize Cole and Ryker had been played.

  Ashley has her own tragic background, and while I have immense sympathy for the abuse she suffered as a child, it doesn’t excuse her behavior as an adult. It certainly doesn’t justify lying and cheating on two of the best men I know.