Chapter 1

ONE

ZANE - SIX MONTHS LATER

Bears are bottomless pits when it comes to food, gobbling up honey every chance they get. And when their favorite snack is in danger, they’ll be the fiercest bodyguard in the wild. Nothing will stand between them and their most cherished bite!

—Bear Facts for Insomniacs, Episode 17

I hadn’t even felt the stamp this time. The best I could tell, it had happened when I’d been jostled to the side by a stage tech rushing past during the set break. Immediately afterward, Carlo and Kim, the makeup and hair duo, had stepped forward for a quick touch-up, and Kim had quirked her head and asked why I had red ink under the collar of my shirt.

There hadn’t been time for the words to even sink in until I’d taken the stage. But there, in front of the hometown Atlanta crowd at the Shaky Knees festival, I’d realized what she meant.

I’d been marked with another red bull’s-eye .

Another target.

Another time someone had proven they could get to me by pressing a tiny rubber stamp onto my skin with permanent ink.

As soon as I’d realized what had happened, I hadn’t been able to help glancing over at the wings. My tall, heavily muscled bodyguard—the man I’d begun calling Bear a few months ago to tease him and even started thinking of as Bear for… other reasons—had been waylaid by my petite former publicist. Noelle had tried several times to speak to me, but Bear had made it his personal mission to keep her away, especially since I was due onstage.

When he’d seen my face, he’d known immediately that something serious had happened. Bear always had the ability to see through my attempts at hiding my emotions… and it drove me up a wall.

He’d already taken a large stride in my direction before someone stopped him, gesturing wildly to the tape on the ground indicating the sight line for the backstage area. Bear’s square jaw had flexed, his brown eyes had darkened, and he’d practically bared his teeth at the poor stage manager. I’d forced myself to look ahead into the tens of thousands of screaming fans. The crowd here in the park was pumped, the weather was unseasonably warm, and the sun had been setting in golden peaches and pinks across the concert venue.

It would have been glorious…

If only I hadn’t been ice-cold inside.

Thankfully, the set had gone by fast with all of that energy. I’d allowed myself to get lost in the music, to let it comfort me and help me forget my troubles, as it always did.

At least until I came off the stage and Bear yanked me past everyone into the dressing room before demanding, “What.”

It wasn’t a question but a command, and it cracked the icy, calm blanket I’d pulled around myself to get through my set. My hands shook, and my skin began to tingle as the reality of the situation sank in. How ridiculous was it that I hadn’t started trembling until Bear was with me and I’d known I was safe ?

“It’s fine,” I said automatically. “Really, Bear. F-fine.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak.

I tried to keep my voice steady. “I think…” I gestured to the collar of my shirt. “Um… behind… over my…”

He stepped behind me and pulled at my collar. When he sucked in an outraged breath, it made it all real. My legs wobbled, and his arm banded around my front. The strong warmth of his touch never failed to make my breath catch, which caused my head to feel even floatier.

I hated feeling weak, hated causing concern and more work for others. And I especially hated the idea of Bear thinking I was some kind of fragile diva who needed protecting from the big, scary world.

So I shoved him away and took a breath. “I told you, it’s fine.”

“Say that word to me again,” he said in a low voice. “I dare you.”

I closed my eyes and tried to focus. “I mean to say, I’m not hurt.”

Bear made a grumbling noise that suggested he’d be the judge of that. “Take off your shirt.”

A huff of humorless laughter came out of my nose. I’d fantasized about Bear saying that many, many times in the past year. Fantasies in which he’d growled exactly that phrase, among many others, with the same ferocity.

Never had I imagined it would carry so little lust.

Instead of arguing with him—which I knew would be pointless—I yanked off my sweaty tee and dropped it over a nearby chair. I kept my back to him so he could investigate the stamp, but I watched him in the dressing room mirror.

His face was a full storm. A hurricane band swirling around and around, picking up strength as it circled. His large hands came up to hold my shoulders, one thumb smoothing the patch of skin just over my shoulder and out of my own sight range.

“Is it the same?” I asked softly, trying to ignore my prickling awareness of his gentle touch.

He grunted confirmation.

Silence filled the room with jagged tension before he spoke. “This is the third time, Zane. We can’t keep ignoring this. We need to get back to LA and call in reinforcements?—”

“No,” I said emphatically. “No way. We’re due in Barlo tomorrow morning to see my family for a few days. I promised them. And I’m not canceling it.”

“You’re not canceling it. I am. This is the third time some psycho has gotten their hands on you, Zane, and I’m not allowing you to?—”

I whipped around, shaking his hands off me in the process. “Not allowing? I’m not your child, Ryan . I’m your principal, as you remind me on a regular basis. You work for me, remember?”

His eyebrow winged up, possibly at my use of his real name, and there was the barest hint of a smirk at the edge of his mouth. “I actually don’t work for you.” He paused before casting my own word back at me. “Remember?”

I pressed my lips together in frustration. “Fine. You work for the label. But you’re here for me, for my protection. And the label doesn’t get to decide that I can’t visit my family. I’ve been looking forward to this trip for months, and you know it.”

“I do know, and I’m sorry. Genuinely. But it’s not safe. We don’t know what the stamps mean. We don’t know who’s doing this. We don’t know how they keep getting to you. And we don’t know what they might do next. We need to regroup. To come up with a new personal protection strategy to?—”

I held up my hand. “No. I know what you’re going to say. You want the label to bump up the detail and put a fucking army of people on me. That’s not happening, not when there’s no proof the person or people doing this mean me any harm.”

He shot me another look. The man had an innate ability to read my mind, but I did my best to keep my emotions locked down anyway. If he realized just how freaked-out I was by this situation, he’d burn the whole world to get me home to LA and shut me up tight in my Malibu home.

He’d threatened to suspend the tour to “reassess our security strategy” more than once, but thus far, I’d always managed to convince him to do the reassessing while keeping the tour going. Canceling shows meant costing the venues revenue and costing their workers jobs, not to mention costing the fans lost time and money.

Bear knew how committed I was to following through on my promises, to providing jobs and bonuses to the people on the team who busted their asses to make these performances the best they could be. He knew how devastated I’d be if our team’s decision caused even one penny-pinching preteen to be disappointed.

But this time… this time, I was almost tempted to let him take over. To curl up in a ball and ask him to ferry me away from the crowds and the fear of the unknown. The only thing stopping me was the thought of missing a long-awaited visit with my gran.

There was no place I felt safer or more loved than in Barlo, Georgia. In Barlo, nothing would be able to reach me. There, everyone knew me and loved me. Everyone would gather round and keep me safe. For at least a little while, I’d be able to forget about Zee Barlo and simply be…

“Zane.” Bear’s voice was like whiskey poured over gravel. “Someone touched you. They stamped a literal target onto your fucking skin?—”

I sucked in a breath. “Yes, a stylized target. The same target as the one on my first album cover,” I reminded him. “It’s not a threat. Necessarily. It’s probably a… a… I don’t know. A prank. A dare, maybe. Or they have a weird obsession with the album. Or the target icon. Or they think they’ll seem cool if they can get close enough to me to…” I didn’t have the words to describe what I was trying to say, and I could tell that my arguments were only making Bear more angry. I added hastily, “My point is, there’s no proof they intend harm. So we’re not going to overreact. You and Lou can handle things in Barlo. It’s a tiny town, for god’s sake. Then we’ll head back to LA and figure out if there’s anything to be concerned about. But I can already tell you there won’t be.”

“Need I remind you there is a contract stipulation about your safety that indicates… ”

I stopped paying attention to the lecture since it was nothing new and instead focused on Bear’s face as he spoke—on his intense, broody eyes and chiseled jaw, on his strong hands that always touched me so gently, on the broad shoulders and barrel chest that made me feel safe and nervous all at once.

“Zane? Are you even listening?” he demanded.

I winced. “Uh. Yes?”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, storming out of the room. He paused and turned when he got to the hall.

“I’m done trying to reason with you, Zane,” he barked. “We’re doing this my way, and that means wheels up in sixty minutes. Do you understand?”

I firmed my jaw and forced myself to sound unaffected. “No. I told my family I was coming in time for Sunday supper tomorrow. We’re not leaving Georgia until after I’ve had my aunt Rinny’s tomato corn pie and cheese grits. I’ve waited months to see my family, and I’m not letting some bullshit prank take that away from me.”

Bear was usually an island of calm sanity in the midst of my chaotic life, and seeing him upset—especially when I knew it was out of fear for my safety—brought home exactly how serious he perceived this threat to be.

It wasn’t a prank.

He knew it. So did I.

But while I loved how much he worried about me—seriously loved it—I hated seeing him this way. Hated knowing that I caused him stress and worry. I swallowed and tried to get us back to normal, to the way things were supposed to be.

“Bears are supposed to be very food-motivated. They’ll eat anything and everything, according to the podcast episode I listened to last week,” I managed to tease, though my voice came out wobbly and an entire octave higher than usual, which probably ruined the effect. “So I’ll remind you that last time we were at Gran’s, you ate three helpings of those cheese grits?— ”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he demanded. “I don’t give a shit about your podcast, Zane. This is about your safety. It’s not a joke?—”

“I know it’s not,” I soothed. “I do know. I promise. It’s just… how many times do I have to tell you… I’m fine!”

“Sure you are, Zane. You’re Mr. fucking Fine. Keep telling yourself that.”

As soon as Bear— Ryan— stormed off, I closed the dressing room door behind him and locked it before leaning my back against it and sliding down.

The tears came instantly. I’d been holding them off for hours to get through the final set, and now here I was, on the floor, face swamped with tears of exhaustion, fear, and a desperate, bone-deep need to go home and see my family.

To forget that someone had touched me without my knowledge.

Had managed to pull aside my shirt and ink my skin.

Had tried sending me a message of some kind without explaining what the fucking point was.

I let out a shaky breath and tried to get control of my emotions.

I was the king of good fortune, I knew that.

In the grand scheme of things, my current hardships were small potatoes, and I had no right to complain.

Not only was I a megastar—one of the rare unicorns who’d dreamed of being a successful rock musician and had actually made it happen—I was also part of a priceless brotherhood of lifelong friends and, although hardly anyone outside of my brotherhood knew it, a rags-to-riches story even before I’d started my music career.

Bash, Silas, Landry, Dev, and I had met while attending Yale and had worked together to invent ETC, an emergency response software. Selling our company had netted us each over a billion dollars. We’d also learned the hard way to keep our windfall a secret from everyone but our assistant, Kenji, and our life partners, for those brothers lucky enough to find one.

Obviously, the millions I made from my music career were impossible to hide, but that was no hardship. It just meant that I got to be crazy-generous with my wealth without risk of divulging my brothers’ secrets. It meant that I could consult with property agents about which of several multi-acre spreads in Wyoming I’d like best and not have to factor the cost into my decision. It meant that I got to be selective about the music I recorded and the contracts I signed.

It was the kind of life I’d have been scared to even dream of, growing up in Barlo. A comfortable, easy life, where I’d gotten to make all—or at least almost all—of my dreams come true. And by living my own dream, I was able to help others reach theirs. That was a privilege as well as a responsibility.

So yeah, I was Mr. fucking Fine, as Bear called me. And I damn well should be.

I damn well had to be.

Too many people were counting on me for me to be anything else.

So even if I was scared, even if I was freaked-out and violated and outraged and wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball under the covers, I was going to remind myself of how freaking lucky I was. Then, I was gonna smile and get on with the show.

And I did…

Until the emails started.