Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Jordan

Two years later

C losing my eyes, I rub at the pulsing blood vessel in my forehead. I'm trying to keep a level head, but sometimes these musicians make me insane.

"Lyrica, you promised you would work at getting clean," I remind her for the third time during this conversation. She's crying on the phone in an alley in Manchester, telling me she doesn't know how she got locked out of her room and kicked out by security.

Killing me smalls.

If she was simply in the States, I could pull some strings and get her back in easily. The United Kingdom is a bit more difficult and not as susceptible to my brand of charm.

" Mr. Miles, it was just a really good night of blow," Lyrica whines. "I didn't even overdo it ."

"Lyrica, you don't have the best reputation, darling," I sigh. "I'm worried you might not wake up one day. Where are the boys?"

"Atlas and Mav are ignoring me ," she pouts. "Draven is just plain mean !"

The screech makes me wince as the phone is ripped away from her.

"Who is this ?" Draven growls, making me roll my eyes. They're both idiots. Their open relationship is toxic, and their love has become twisted over the years. I'm not a therapist, but if it were solely up to me, I'd break them up.

Unfortunately, it's not.

"Hello, Draven," I drawl. "It's Jordan Miles. You know, from Music Hoarde Records ?"

" Fuck, I wish she hadn't called you. I'm really sorry," he mutters. " I'm trying to get her back into the hotel."

"She said she got kicked out. Was she incorrect in this assumption?" I ask. Yeah, my tone gets a bit severe when the occasion needs it. This is the fourth call I've received this month and I'm dangerously close to sending them a babysitter.

" No, Sir," h e says. " I'm just going to smuggle her back to my room to sleep it off until we leave later today."

"If you think you can do that without having the police called, go for it. If not, drag the guys out and sleep it off in the bus," I insist. "Draven, I'm worried about her. She can't continue like this."

"I know, I know ," he says. I can imagine him bobbing his head as he rubs Lyrica's shoulders. Draven may love her, but she needs more than he can give her.

I wish I could think differently, but I think she may end up dead in the next six months if things continue this way. It's a shame, because I remember when Lyrica was filled with passion for the music and the joy of performing.

Over the years, the excitement of being in front of huge audiences has cooled, and I can tell she's reaching for the drugs more and more often.

What blows my mind is that in a few hours, she'll appear to be perfectly fine, and very unlike the mess she currently embodies.

"Draven, I'm sorry, I really think she needs to go to a facility to get clean. The issue is?—"

"If we force her, it won't be pretty," he grunts.

"It also won't fucking work," I rage, swiping my hand through my hair. Pulling on it hard, I close my eyes as I force the sting of pain to help me focus. I can't lose my shit, people depend on me.

I'm sitting in my office in Los Angeles today for meetings and checking in with the bands I help handle all over the world. I would typically do this all remotely, but the executive board insisted that I was needed in person.

Blowing out a breath, I grab my address book and begin to flip through it for one of my last resorts. He's a manager for the label, though he's a hard ass.

I don't think this tour will survive without a firm hand, and I can't leave the country right now.

"I'm sending someone out to you," I growl. "Do not fuck this up, Draven. I'm at my last straw. I have half a mind to fly out there?—"

"No!" he yells, louder than he probably expected to. "I mean, I'll handle it. I haven't been around as much as I should because we had another falling out. I'll patch it up with her, and it should help the drug use."

"That's not healthy," I remind him, leaning back in my chair. Fuck, it really shouldn't be like this. I'm worried about Pull Down the Moon . I don't know if they're gonna make it.

"It's going to have to do for now," he grunts. "Come on, baby. Let's go to bed."

"Draven?" Lyrica asks, sounding so small.

Fuck me.

"I'm sending someone," I repeat again, making sure he hears me. "He'll meet you on the tour as soon as he can. Just… keep it together until he arrives, please?"

" I'll do my best, boss," he mumbles as he hangs up the phone.

"What happened here?" Laurence asks, brows rising. I've worked with him for a really long time, back when we first were getting the label set up. He's on the executive board, and a good friend of mine.

"Fuck," I sigh. "I need to send someone out to babysit Pull Down the Moon . Lyrica isn't doing well."

"Fantastic," he mutters. "Get that handled and then come to the meeting. I'll cover for you."

Nodding, I make the call I really haven't been looking forward to. We tried, but this is my last ditch effort.

Five months later

"What are we going to do?" Allen asks, looking out at us.

Lyrica overdosed a few hours ago, and it's four in the morning here in Los Angeles.

"We're damage control," I remind him. "We figure it out. Lyrica is in the hospital, getting the best care possible. We push her into rehab, because she has no other choice."

My phone notifications blow up, making me frown. The dings are loud, and I only have it set for the bands I manage to go off when their names are mentioned.

It's fucking early, what the hell is happening?

"You should check that," Allen says with a smirk. "As if we don't have enough to worry about, it looks like we have more shit coming our way."

"I'd say I'm sure it's not that bad, but I don't have a great feeling about this," I mutter.

Pulling out my phone, I see photos from various paparazzi photographers of Karina, Marin, and Zeke at a club looking higher than kites. Frowning, I scroll for more information because they're supposed to be on tour with my niece, Layla.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I groan. I thought they were my least likely group to pull something like this, the band's chemistry is amazing musically on stage, and Layla's never said anything about drug use.

Is she keeping shit to herself?

My niece has a tendency of not wanting to rock the boat. She'll walk across eggshells in an effort to keep everyone happy. I fucking hate her father for making her think that's necessary.

James is a dickhead, and also taking an extended stay in a mental institution. My brother isn't well, which makes me even more protective of Layla.

"We have an issue with Layla's band," I tell the group. "They're partying pretty hard, which usually wouldn't be an issue because rockstars are known for this, but they agreed not to do that shit around her."

"She was affected pretty badly when Roark overdosed a few years ago," Allen murmurs, leaning forward. "We need to figure out how bad it is and then force them to quit."

"If they quit, who will step in when she goes on tour in a few weeks?" Laurence asks. "I thought they agreed to no drugs on the tour?"

"Me fucking too," I sigh. "It's not the first nor last time someone will lie to me. I'm going to wake up Karina and see if I can figure out what the fuck is happening."

Calling the drummer, I listen as the line goes to voicemail, and then call again. On the fourth try, I disguise the number so she won't know it's me, my lips twisting in annoyance.

"She's in fucking trouble now," Laurence grunts. My patience is beyond gone by this point.

" What? I'm fucking sleeping," Karina whines as she answers.

Putting her on speaker, I carefully place the phone on the table. The last thing I need is to have to replace it because I threw it across the room.

"Good morning, Karina. It sounds like you had a long night?" I ask, my tone dangerously calm.

Allen smirks, knowing I'm about to hand her ass to her.

" Mr. Miles?" Karina asks with a gasp. " I, ah, I've been on the bus all night, Sir. I was practicing with Layla in fact."

I really hate to be lied to.

"Karina, I was not born yesterday, nor do I believe a word coming out of your mouth. There is a clause in your contract that discusses excessive partying and drugs, does it not?" I ask her.

Layla doesn't know about this. It may be overprotective on my part since she's turning twenty-five soon, but I can't help it.

" Mr. Miles ? —"

"Karina, several photographers have photos uploaded of your night," I interrupt her sharply. "Please don't lie to me. It won't serve either of us, and it'll royally piss me off. What the fuck is going on?"

" The royal princess is the issue!" Karina complains. " She's impossible, incredibly difficult to deal with, and always has a stick up her ass. Her boyfriend is always on tour with us, growling when we speak to her. She's no fun!"

Tyler Mallard is one of the most laid back men I've ever met. He's generally protective, but is willing to let Layla figure out her shit. I'm still missing information, and it's clear Karina isn't going to give it to me easily.

My niece is also anything but a royal princess.

"Since you've started, please tell me what else my niece is up to. Clearly, I'm not up to speed," I lie.

Laurence holds back a snort as he listens, hearing my tactic of getting her to talk indiscriminately.

" Tyler is always traveling with us, and she refuses to spend any time with us," she continues. " I also think their relationship is affecting the music. Layla doesn't sound the same anymore."

Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. Fucking twatwaffling liar. I just watched one of their concerts the other day. I didn't tell anyone I was going, I just wanted to see Lay. My schedule has been insane lately.

I think it's time for a visit soon. Even if I need to drag Layla to Los Angeles to get one.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I say noncommittally. "What else?"

Happy to hear I'm listening and obviously still high, she goes off on a tangent about missed rehearsals and other grievances.

"My niece has never missed a rehearsal in her life," I growl. "It sounds as if these are things you've done. You also fucked up when you said that she's been having sex in the wings before performances. Layla isn't quite the exhibitionist that Lennon and her men are. It was a very nice try, though."

Karina mutters under breath about nepotism in the label, which is also a lie. Layla has worked very hard to get to where she is now.

"I don't think this is working out, Karina," I begin.

" You can't fire us !" she screams. " Fucking hell, Mr. Miles, this isn't fair!"

"Good morning, Karina," Laurence drawls, making himself known. "I don't think show business is really about what's fair, do you? The image you're currently projecting is bad for the label."

" You won't be able to find anyone else!" she screeches.

My mind is already ahead of her as I think about the male band members who are currently without a singer. I know Layla will hate it, but it's about time she moved past her previous issues with Atlas and Mav.

She doesn't think I've noticed the painful lyrics in her songs, but I witnessed them at her show. I found myself brushing away tears as I experienced her torment in some of her songs. Since Tyler would rather tear off a limb rather than hurt her, I have a pretty strong sense of who the lyrics are about.

Fucking Mav and Atlas.

"I already have replacements in line," I state, interrupting her. "I don't believe we'll be needing you any further."

Karina loses her shit, and I can see Allen attempting to count in his head. Of any of us, he's the one with anger issues.

"Enough!" he yells finally. "You won't find any more work with our label, Karina. This behavior is reprehensible. We are ripping up your contract. Goodbye."

I swear, disconnecting that call immediately helps my blood pressure begin to settle. God, I hate these calls.

"Now that's over," I say with a wicked smile,"who wants to play God with me?"

Laurence laughs as he nods. "As titans in the music industry, it's been awhile since we've done that. What do you have in mind?"

"So, I was thinking about flying Draven, Atlas, and Mav home. It seems our girl needs a new band."

Allen crosses his arms over his chest, his nearly colorless blue eyes gazing at me. "Oh, she'll hate that," he mutters. "Tell me how we'll get her to agree."

"We simply make them her only option, and make sure she doesn't know it's them until it's too late," I explain. "They'll either fall madly in love and invite me to their wedding or kill each other. Either way, Layla is still hurting over the bullshit involving them."

"She may roll over for Karina's shit, but I doubt she'll do the same for them. Life's been a bit boring," Allen agrees. "Let's fuck shit up."

Smirking, I explain my plan.

Sorry, baby girl. Time to bring back some ghosts from your past.

Brendan

Lía is prowling our home, unsettled, and I'm not sure why.

"Hey, beautiful, what's going on? Need to go find some lowlife to hit on you to kill? I'm sure there's a rapist rat bastard somewhere we can take to our hideaway," I tease her gently.

There's a darkness in the love of my life that's been brewing since the day her father tried to destroy her. Seventeen-fucking- years-old. His actions make me disgusted, and only one thing is certain.

One day Líadan will take over for her father and change everything. She's the O'Brien's Boogeyman, just like Seán wanted her to be, but the issue with creating a monster is you run the risk of not being able to control her anymore.

When Lía gets like this, we'll hit the bars, and the first truly disgusting man who attempts to drug her, or touch her without her consent is her mark for the night. While her father keeps her busy, Lía's need to quench her bloodlust comes in many forms.

Sometimes she needs to fuck it out and cut me as she rides me. Others, she simply needs to know there's one less monster on the streets.

"I don't know what I want," she mutters. "I feel like something is about to happen, and I don't know what it is."

"Your fingers are twitching," I comment, moving closer to her. "Neither of us have a magic wand to tell the future. You're safe, you're mine, and no one is ever going to take you away from me again."

My fingers ghost up her arms, lighting her up with goosebumps as her breath hitches. Her raven-black hair is curled wildly from the braids she puts her hair in when she works for her father, and she's wearing a long-sleeved maroon dress. March is still very cold in Chicago, so she tends to wear layers even while she's inside.

She looks fucking adorable under the psychotic exterior tonight though with her knee-high gray socks.

"Yours," she whispers, her gorgeous green eyes slightly amused and aroused. I'll take her this way over the anxious pacing mess she was a moment ago.

"We can fuck it out or you can go to the gun range and practice?" I suggest, kissing her forehead gently. I had the tenderness beaten almost completely out of me at a young age. The only person I am willing to bend for is Líadan.

"I know you love your knives, but it's important to be able to shoot straight."

Snorting, Lía's lips tip up farther. The smiles are sometimes hard to find, but God is she breathtaking even with her snarky resting bitch face. I'll take her anyway I can.

"I really hate shooting a gun," she admits. "There's something so much more intimate about seeing your enemy's entrails fall out of their body. To the family and Daddy's enemies, Líadan O'Brien is a ghost. I don't attend any events or church services, and most people don't know what I look like."

"Your father spent a lot of time hiding you away," I agree, reaching out to play with a curl reverently.

All the while, I imagine what it would be like to use my power tools on Seán. I also got a new toy recently that's reminiscent of draw and quartering. It stretches the body until the ligaments begin to tear and rip apart.

It's becoming one of my favorite items to literally pull information from people. The slow motion gives people a lot of time to process how painful it'll inevitably be if they don't give me what I want.

Too bad I'm going to kill them anyway in most instances. Those who live walk as living proof of how terrible and dangerous I actually am. Lía doesn't have to live in the public eye because I do all the shit she doesn't have to. I usually show my face when I interrogate people, while she wears her mask to hide her truth.

Rightly so, too. When she finally tears away the veil, she'll become a target until she eviscerates everyone who stands in her way.

"Do you really want to do all of those things?" I ask her. "Church is really fucking boring, and the priest constantly mutters under his breath as if he can exorcise my demons."

"I love your demons, though," she says, pressing her body against me. She smells like cinnamon and apple spices, no matter what the season.

I think that's one of the reasons she loves her apple cider donuts so much, when they come into season at the farmers market. I don't even mind that they rarely make it back home to share.

"Want to play with them?" I growl, dropping my hands to tangle in the hem of her dress. Turning my head, I capture her lips to devour them as I fist the material of her dress, stretching it, so I can raise it until my fingers can hold onto her waist.

Walking her backwards, Lía doesn't make a sound when she bumps into the large glass window facing the park. It's almost nine at night and there are few people out.

Pulling her dress up and over her head, I toss it to the side. Dragging the bra down, I dip my head to suck and nip at her breasts, spending extra time on her nipples because she loves it.

Her low, throaty moans are music to my ears as I make her writhe against the cold window.

Her skin is overheated, and her fingers tug at my hair as her sweet cries echo in our home. I love that I get to wake up with her every day, even though sometimes it's by her own demons.

"Brendan," she gasps, telling me she's done letting me play. Unhooking her bra, I toss it to the side before turning her to face the window, pressing her against it.

"My demons want to fuck you while you come around my cock, milseán . I want to cut you, watch the blood run over your skin, and then make you come with the hilt of my knife. You game, baby?"

When we play together, I need express consent. I crave the way she submits to me, knowing she's choosing whatever fucked up thing it is that I'm asking for. After everything she's been through, it's the very least my queen deserves from me.

"Yes," she gasps as she places her hands on the window and wiggles her ass at me. "I need it, Brendan."

Bringing down my hand, I groan at the sound her ass makes as my palm strikes it. It bounces perfectly, so I drop to my knees to worship between her legs. Snapping off the scrap of panties she's wearing, I pull her hips roughly toward me, dragging my tongue up her core.

My appearance doesn't matter to my boss outside that I look scary, so to celebrate my girl moving in with me, I pierced my tongue.

Now, I put that piercing to good use as I push my fingers into her wet entrance.

"Oh God," she whimpers, but shows her enthusiasm for my efforts by pushing her cunt against my face.

Growling, I lose myself in her perfection, curling my fingers inside of her as I suck hard on her clit until she's coming all over my face.

"Attagirl," I growl, standing to unbuckle my pants. I learned a long time ago that Lía hated to be called a good girl, but loves to be praised. I trained myself out of the reflex, because Lía responds beautifully to everything I do and I don't want her to relive her nightmares when she's with me.

Releasing my cock from my pants, I stroke it a few times, noticing my pre-cum is already dripping off the crown of my shaft. Adjusting Lía so her cheek is against the cold glass, I ghost my fingers down her naked back.

"My gorgeous girl," I murmur, loving her mewling sounds as I rock my cock through her arousal. "You take me so well. There's no one else but you."

Thrusting inside her pussy, my eyes roll back as I fuck her until my thighs slam against her ass. Plastering myself up her back, I torture her breasts as I knead and pinch her nipples. I'll never get tired of every moment I get to make her mine over and over again.

Pulling my knife from my back pocket, I'm glad I thought to sanitize it earlier. Slowly opening it, I run the edge of the knife over her skin, catching drops of blood with my tongue as I lazily rock my hips.

"Oh fuck, I love how that feels," she moans, making me grin wildly.

"My knife fucking loves you too," I murmur.

Languidly, I make tiny cuts over her skin, enjoying how the red droplets look against the paleness of it. My balls begin to tingle a bit, alerting me that I'm close, but my girl has to come on my knife before I can.

Reaching underneath her after closing the blade up, I begin to rub her clit with the handle of my knife.

"You're my filthy little blood whore, aren't you baby?" I rumble in her ear as I fuck her harder. Lía is fully splayed against the glass, her nipples harder than diamonds between her arousal and the cold.

"Yes," she wails as she begins to tighten around my cock.

"That's it, baby," I praise her as my fingers fist her long, dark locks. My blade continues its pace as I fuck her against the glass, and I pull her head back to kiss her.

It's a hot, filthy kiss, the kind that's sloppy and full of passion. "Goddamnit, milseán. Come apart for me. Just let go."

The permission makes her eyes roll back as she mewls, strangling my cock as I drive her insane. Holding her tightly, I roar as I find my release, my eyesight blackening. Tossing aside the knife, I wrap my arm around her waist as I shudder.

"I can't fucking live without you," I confess in a whisper. I'm balls deep inside of her, my heart shredding and being pulled back together. Lía tried to kill herself once after she found out how badly her father fucked her over, after an infection wracked her body. I don't think she even remembers it, but I do. I'm reminded every time I watch her smirk at me, tease me, or do anything at all. Líadan O'Brien is my living, breathing reason to exist.

"You're my everything," she whispers back, as she usually does when I say this. I don't even think she knows why I cling to her in the darkest times of the night, but she never asks, and I'll never tell her.

I already want to burn the world down. If she left me, the leash she holds would slip from my neck, and nothing would be left.