31. Metaphorical Lion’s Den

31

METAPHORICAL LION'S DEN

SOPHIA

"It's in a barnacle's nature to be clingy. What's your excuse?" I roll my eyes, biting into the hot ham and cheese Ollie made me for lunch before everyone left for sound check as I wait for my sister's response.

Gossip should have been her middle name, not Monroe.

When Lacey doesn't pop off within a matter of two seconds—her usual retort time—I add, "We used a sex swing, one time, like, two weeks ago. Give it a rest, Barnacle Barbie. I'm not caving on the details."

"I'll wait."

Whatever. Less than half my sandwich is eaten when she pushes the topic.

"Do you want it to happen again?"

"You can't handle not being in the know, can you?"

Holding up her hand in a surf's up pose that is better suited for a tipping drinks back gesture, she asks,

"Is this punishment for drinking the last Orange Kiss Alani yesterday? "

"Keeping my personal life, I don't know, personal, isn't punishment. It's respectful to my—"

"Harem," she finishes my thought, though boyfriends is a much more acceptable term for what they are.

"We haven't put a label on things," I lie. We have put a label on things. "If you're referring to the foursome that set my soul on fire and left me needy, like a feline in heat, then, yes, I want it to happen again. Like yesterday."

Looking delighted, she says, "I knew you'd cave. Tell me more."

"Suck a dick."

"Shit. I'd love nothing more to suck a dick, sissy. I'm surrounded by claimed ones, which does not bode well for my kitten. She hasn't purred in ages."

It was a moment of blissed-out euphoria that I had a minor slip of the tongue and confided in her and Vanna about our band bonding session. Since then, she's been hounding me as relentlessly as a bill collector to give her a scrap of information.

I'll take the details of what the four of us did, shared, to my grave, along with the notion that Mazen is airing closer to bi-land than I ever could have imagined. He basically has a PO box there now.

Lacey is one depraved detail away from humping the arm of the couch.

Giving her a small treat, I chew and talk. "It was the hottest night of my life. Ten out of ten. What wet dreams are made of kind of experience."

"Why hasn't it happened again?"

That's the same question I've asked myself nightly for almost fourteen days straight since we allowed ourselves to get lost in a lust-filled evening.

I've been with them all separately since then, in one way or another. Sometimes Ollie and Cannon at the same time. Much to my displeasure, we haven't been together, the four of us as a group, again. I can only assume it has to do with Mazen. He's moodier than a broken Magic 8 Ball that keeps showing the same answer.

Mostly keeping to himself, he's been preoccupied with his music, laying tracks alone to perfect them before bringing in the others. Ollie said that, sometimes, he gets like this, in his head, tuning everyone and everything out.

That's how I feel when I'm tattooing. When I'm in my zone, there's nothing but the humming sound of my machine and a blank stretch of skin. I get it to an extent. The only peace he gets is from creating or, lucky for me, the taste of my body when he finally leaves the studio and devours me like he hasn't eaten in days.

Those nights are secretly my favorite. I've always known where I stood with Oliver and Cannon about our sex life and the connection between us. Even with Cannon, who seldom speaks his feelings into the air, there was never any guesswork with how he felt. In the times he didn't know how to verbalize it, he achieved showing me in other ways. His adoration was etched into his actions—bringing me coffee in the morning, running a hot bath, ordering me a new tattoo stool when the leather started to crack on mine.

We declared our feelings toward one another when we bared our bodies. Cut open without a hint of shame, we left it all on the table. Maybe it's a silly, naive thought to think that one foursome would change things between us. I'm not sure what I expected. But this, feeling like a yarn being strewn and unraveling, is the furthest thing from forming a relationship that one can get.

The biggest change has strangely been in Mazen. He's withdrawn in ways the other two haven't. Yes, he's also made strides, shown a vulnerability that I don't think he's ever offered another human in his life. He's been sweet in his affection both before and after he consumes my body, claiming he's making up for lost time. The passion between us is next level.

Still … can you blame a girl for thinking that our foursome was laying the groundwork for … I don't know … at least a weekly reenactment?

My voice drops in volume when I say, "Your guess is as good as mine."

Lacey sinks onto the barstool next to me, stealing the other half of my sandwich. I'm greeted with a huge smile as she takes a bite that is not very ladylike from it before handing it back to me.

"Brat!" I swat at her hand. "That was made for me with love."

"Hopefully not semen."

"You're vile. Really. How we're related is beyond me."

Her cheeks pull taut over her cheekbones, her eyes narrowing. There's a look of dread that overcomes her. Even Jupiter can sense something is off when he starts to bark at my feet.

"It's okay, buddy." I rub my bare foot over his fur coat to calm him down.

While I'm the queen of jokes and Jupiter, as the band's road crew has dubbed me, I find the sudden shift in mood frightening.

Lacey's face turns serious. "Since you confided in me, there's something I need to share with you too."

"So, spit it out."

"Vanna overheard Murphy and Cannon on the phone earlier."

"Unless they were conspiring to throw me a surprise birthday party, which I would hate," I add for emphasis—Lacey knows surprises are not my jam—"what's it matter to me?"

The mood and subject shifts when Lacey drops a bomb that has me choking on my food. "They were on the phone with Caddell."

The gooey sandwich I savored threatens to reappear as my thoughts immediately dart to the text messages that I've been receiving from Knox for a solid week— keeping secrets to prevent stress from harming those I love wasn't even a decision that had to be made.

Knox: Count your days, Red.

Knox: One dick isn't enough for you, is it?

Knox: You're going to regret not choosing me.

Knox: Uncle Julian is growing impatient.

If it wasn't for Devon or an employee from my shop back home needing a way to reach me, I would have turned off my cell phone a long time ago.

"It didn't sound like a friendly conversation according to Vanna." Lacey bites the inside of her cheek.

"Come again?" Smoothing my hair to keep my hands busy, I lower them toward my stomach and hug myself. Nope. There's no calming myself down at this point. "Why are you just now telling me this? Where's Vanna? She didn't say anything earlier."

Lacey's face scrunches before she leans back in the chair and closes her eyes.

"Tell me everything she heard." Why wouldn't she have told me herself ?

She rises from her chair in one fluid moment, and her answer punches me in the gut.

"She said she heard—and I quote—‘I don't do well with receiving idle threats. The next one I receive, you'll find that there's been a terrible fire at your mother's nursery. I hear river birch is highly flammable.' Vanna said Caddell was threatening Cannon's family for some reason, and Murphy had to calm him down."

There is no justification of time where the heart is concerned. It beats faster than any hand on a clock. Like my feet that are moving from the barstool, out the suite door.

Preston offered no response to my demand. No questions. Just gave me a simple nod of his head when I told him I needed a ride somewhere fast and then ushered me into the blacked-out SUV parked behind the hotel. I've never moved faster in my entire life. Even now, as we're speeding down the street, it doesn't seem fast enough.

I have a one-track mind, and it's aimed at making sure my men don't do anything reckless. "Hurry. Fuck the red lights, Preston." My knee is shaking. My breathing is labored. "How close are we?"

Preston never takes his eyes off the road. The man is strictly business. Cold and calculated in both the efficiency in which he weaves through traffic and in the static tone he responds in. "Five minutes."

"I need to get there faster," I demand, hoping that they're even at the venue. There's a sinking feeling that tells me they won't be. Call it a hunch, my intuition. Whatever the hell you want. I know that something is brewing. I just hope like hell it's not my guys that are stoking the flames.

If Caddell was threatening Cannon's family, there's a reason for it. He doesn't do anything without intent or cause. Did Cannon provoke him? He could have gotten too close to outing Caddell's shitty organization or something. Maybe he threatened to out him. Whatever the reason, Caddell's warning about Mrs. Rhodes's nursery is serious. He's the man calling the shots, never the one bowing to them.

"Where are you going?" I'm tossed to the side of the back seat when we take a hard left in the opposite direction of the venue. I know because I went with Vanna yesterday to watch them do their sound check.

"They're not at the venue."

Surprise, surprise. A lady's intuition is never wrong.

"Are you certain?" A full-body tremble shakes my body. I'm far past worry. This is scared-shitless territory. If anyone knows what Julian Caddell is capable of, it's me.

"After my job was threatened in Chicago, I started tracking all their locations regularly." I assume he's referring to the band members I'm dating.

"I'm sorry about that. You did your job. We didn't even leave our room, and you still got in trouble."

Sighing, Preston takes a sharp turn. "The label doesn't mess around with their biggest assets. Way I see it, I still have a job. Thanks for that."

It feels like an hour has passed by, but the glowing clock shows it's only been fifteen minutes when Preston pulls into a concrete parking garage. "The app says they should all be here."

"I thought it was just Murphy and Cannon." I remember quickly that they're a band of brothers. They don't do anything alone. "So, where are they then?" My mind reels, considering ten possibilities all at once as we creep upward, one concrete level at a time.

Love makes us do stupid, foolish things. Like running into a fire to protect those we care about even if it means being burned in the process. I'd willingly melt for Mazen, Oliver, and Cannon. If it was between keeping them alive and safe or myself, I'd light the match without a second thought.

"My guess is, they're on the top floor. If I were into shady shit, that's where I'd meet someone." The vehicle comes to a sudden halt. "We're going to park, then walk up the last flight of stairs. There's no way I'm about to deliver you to the lion's den. They didn't want you here for a reason."

Preston's expression stills when he comes to the realization that he just drove me directly into the metaphorical lion's den himself.

"Fuck. I'm getting fired."

"Not if I have a say in it. Okay? I'll have your back if you have mine. I'm hoping Ashton equips his men with guns?" It's a loaded question—no pun intended.

The deep frown on his furrowed brow lifts. "Bet your sweet ass I'm packing."

"Good. Then, it's set. We're embarking on a shitty situation, and we have no clue what we're getting ourselves into. We have each other's back. What could go wrong?"