Mine: Forever After (Forever After Novella Series Book 1)

by Natasha Thomas

  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 investigation 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 24/7 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.

  I can’t remember how the fight started, and it doesn’t really matter considering the results were disastrous. Punches were thrown, the crowd got involved, chairs and tables were broken, and I was left with the bill to pay for the damages.

  The guy at the center of it all, the one Ashley was groping, ended up with a broken leg, fractured ribs, and two black eyes. Initially, he threatened to press assault charges on Cole and Ryker, but he was easily placated when I offered him substantial check if he would forget about them and sign a non-disclosure agreement. Which, of course, like the weasel he is, he did.

  In the end, Ashley’s plan to attach herself to the hottest male vocalist on the music scene today blew up in her face. Because now, instead of having two men who adore her, were committed to taking care of her every need, and love her completely, she’s living in a run-down, one-room apartment in the seediest part of the city. The last I heard – and, yes, I keep track of her whereabouts – Ashley was working the graveyard shift, bagging groceries at a discount food store.

  “Faye,” Dean shouts from his underneath the mixing board. “We’ve got a problem you’re gonna want to come take a look at.”

  Of course, we do. What would one of My Addiction’s concerts be without a host of problems only I alone can solve?

  “What’s going on?” I ask, crouching down beside him.

  “See this cable,” he says, pointing to the thick blue one. “This is the HDMI cable for Cole’s mic setup. We run closed circuits for each of the guys, so if there is a problem during the show, only one of them is affected.”

  “And…” I prompt when Dean falls silent.

  “And, Cole’s has been fucked with. I’m sorry to say, but this isn’t wear and tear or accidental damage, sweetheart. Someone’s gone out of their way to destroy it without making it obvious.”

  Great, just what I need.

  “Can you replace it? If you tell me exactly what you need, I can send someone out to get you a new one.”

  Shaking his head dejectedly, Dean grunts,

  “These aren’t your usual, run-of-the-mill HDMI cables, sweetheart. You can’t just pop into your local Wal-Mart and pick one up for ten bucks. We’ve got to order them in special from Yamaha, and it takes a good week for them to arrive. Before I called you over, I put in a call to the guy who handles all our parts and equipment at Thunder Records. He said he’d place the order today and mark it as urgent, but that’s still a lead time of three days minimum.”

  Clutching my iPad tighter to my chest, I suggest,

  “What about Darkness Rising? Is there any chance they use the same cables and we can borrow one of theirs in the meantime?”

  Darkness Rising is a newly signed member of the Thunder Records family, and My Addiction’s current support band. As soon as the guys heard their demo, they were one hundred percent on board with having them join us on tour.

  Caleb, Killian, Zander, and Jessie – the only female in the band, and their drummer no less – are fantastic to work with. They’re laidback, easy-going, and extremely dedicated which makes them my favorite kind of recording artists. There’s no drama or infighting, they don’t make ridiculous demands, and have taken to performing on stage in front of an audience of thousands like a duck takes to water. I have no doubt that in less than a year, they will be the next big thing. Coming second only to My Addiction, of course.

  “Shit, I didn’t think of that,” Dean grins up at me. “See, that’s why you get paid the big bucks, sweetheart; ideas like that.”

  Scoffing at the ridiculousness of that statement – because, truthfully, I will never get paid enough to deal with some of the things I do – I let him know that I’ll take care of talking to Darkness Rising’s sound technicians and get back to him if I have any luck.

  It isn’t until I’m half way to Darkness Rising’s tour bus that I realize something’s wrong. Not only am I alone, which hasn’t happened in the four weeks since my brothers and Ryker showed up, but the parking lot is eerily empty. Usually, at this time of day, it’s a hive of activity; buses unloading gear and passengers, early bird fans milling around hoping to catch a glimpse of a rock star, and venue staff are busily setting up barricades and directing traffic. But today, there’s no one in sight.

  A cold shiver races up my spine as I see a shadowed figure lurking off to the side of the arena. I can’t make out if it’s a man or woman, or their features from where I’m standing, but it’s obvious, that whoever it is, is watching me.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ~ Dante ~

  This afternoon's rehearsal went as I expected it would; fucking terribly. All of us are distracted, lost in our own heads, and it showed.

  Aside from Cole’s mic making him sound like he was beating a feral cat, he couldn’t hold a note to save himself. The guy might be one of the most naturally talented vocalists in the country, but today he was flat out tone deaf.

  Tate wasn’t much better. The transition between his riffs wasn’t smooth, and during his solo, Tate missed key changes and dropped notes like a virgin drops her panties on prom night.

  Dylan seemed to be the only one of us who could manage to go more than five minutes without fucking up, but even he was riding the thin
line between being the ‘King of Bass’ as the tabloids had christened him and a second-rate stand-in.

  I don’t have the first fucking clue what their problems are, and I don’t care. As long as they’ve pulled their shit together by the time we step out on stage, they can be miserable fucks because I refuse to let their pity parties ruin the good mood Faye put me in before I left the hotel.

  Memories of her riding me are all I’ve been able to focus on for the past three hours, and with the state of my cock – rock hard and throbbing– my top priority is how fast I can get the hell out of here and back to her.

  We’d showered together after eating a late, lazy breakfast in bed that consisted of pancakes for her and Faye’s pussy for me. Let’s just say, I was inspired by the sight of the maple syrup on the tray room service delivered, so I took full advantage of what was on offer. Namely, Faye’s naked body.