Chapter Three

Wes walked on Shane’s right side and one step behind, which put him in the best position to handle any threats by allowing him to block Shane from any angle an attack came from. Usually, he’d have his firearm on him, but he’d had to leave it behind because Canada’s gun laws were much stricter than in the US. He didn’t feel naked without it, per se, but while he was skilled in close combat, his hands were no use if Shane’s stalker had a gun.

Isaac and another member of his security team led them down a long wide hall, while two men followed behind their entourage that included the rest of the band members, Jonas, and Sonia. They all squeezed into the service elevator—not an easy feat when Isaac and his team were bigger than average men. No one spoke during the short ride to the parking garage, but Wish tapped out a steady beat with her drumsticks on River’s back. The doors opened to the underground parking garage to reveal three silver SUVs with tinted windows waiting for them. Isaac climbed into the driver’s seat of the first vehicle—Shane sitting between Wes and Sonia in the back seat, and Jonas in the front passenger seat. The rest of the band piled into the other two vehicles.

The drive to the concert arena was quick, only a few blocks, but even in that short a drive the downtown traffic was enough to put Wes on edge. Even with the windows closed, he could hear the noise of the bustling city. The air reeked of exhaust, and he longed to be back home, where the air was fresh and smelled like earth and sweet grass.

His phone pinged with a text message. His younger brother Levi sent photos of the new wild horses they’d brought in that morning, jumping from the trailer and into their new, rewilded lives. A wave of melancholy gripped him at missing out on that moment to babysit a rock star for who knew how long.

Levi: This boy is massive!

The attached photo was of a chestnut pinto mustang. Head held high and defiant, and his nostrils flared. Wes could imagine the big horse snorting in warning and stomping his hooves to let the two-legged creatures know to keep their distance. Formidable. Majestic. The constant cruel roundups of these iconic wild animals pained Wes, but he was grateful to join Mason Hayes in giving those they could some semblance of their freedom back.

Wes loved what Mason had done with his legacy cattle ranch, turning it into a wild horse sanctuary and domestic horse rescue. After a twenty-year hiatus, Wes and his brothers lived at Haverstall Mountain Ranch again, and Wes worked with Mason and the horses as much as he could. He’d found unexpected joy and peace in giving wild horses their freedom on the ranch, after the heartbreak of being needlessly torn from their family bands and the vast public lands they roamed in the west.

Wes: Pissed I missed the freedom jump.

Levi: No worries. You’ll be here for the next rewilding.

Wes huffed a soft sigh and frowned. As much as he loved helping care for the mustangs, he hated the need for them to be there at all. Unless people raised their voices loud enough, the senseless roundups would continue.

“Girl trouble?” Shane quipped.

Shane sat too close, sandwiched between Wes and Sonia, his shoulder brushing Wes’s as he tried to sneak a peek at Wes’s screen. Wes narrowed his eyes at Shane as he tucked his phone back into his shirt pocket. He didn’t bother with a response, because his protectee didn’t get to know anything about his private life.

“Or is it boy trouble?” Shane lowered his voice with a hint of seduction that any other time would have enticed Wes. But this wasn’t any other time. And not with a client. Unlike his older brother Colt, who’d fallen hard for Mason Hayes on their last job. But those two had a history, so it hadn’t been a typical scenario.

Wes turned to stare out the window at the endless tangle of concrete and steel and glass that made up downtown Toronto .

“No trouble,” Wes replied. He knew full well Shane was fishing for some insight into his sexuality, but he wasn’t about to take the bait. It was none of Shane’s business because it didn’t matter either way. Shane was off limits. Period.

Shane snorted. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Wes glanced over at Shane, and infusing a note of warning into his voice, he repeated, “No trouble.”

Shane’s grin morphed into a bewitching smile that made Wes’s toes curl. He shifted in his seat and Shane’s smile widened, like he knew he’d affected Wes. The light in his eyes glittered like diamonds. Hypnotic. Captivating.

Dammit .

“What can I expect when we get there?” Wes addressed Jonas rather than fall under Shane’s spell.

“A lot of fans on the way in.” Jonas swiveled in his seat to face Wes. “Inside it’ll be quieter fan wise, but busy with crew running all over the place. There’ll be a small crowd of fans in for the soundchecks. We offer that as a VIP add-on for super fans. Then a short meet and greet for the press before the concert, and another for the fans after.”

AKA potential threats from every angle. Wes could’ve used his brothers on this assignment to cover the blind spots, but at least he could call on Isaac and his team for backup, if he needed.

“And we’re always around,” Isaac said, as though picking up on Wes’s concern. He glanced over his shoulder at Wes. “Shout and we’ll come running.”

“Thank you.”

They pulled into the main parking area, and Wes got his first look at the crowd. The sheer number both marveled and worried him. Fans lined both sides of the drive, screaming and yelling and waving band paraphernalia and signs that read things like “I love you Shane” and “Marry me River” and so on. He glanced at Shane, who was grinning, but the tight set of his jaw betrayed his mirth.

Was he wondering if any of those people could be his stalker?

When they reached the gates to a private parking garage, arena security held the crowd back so their SUVs could enter. The band flowed out of the vehicles and from then on, everything swirled into a flurry of semi-organized chaos .

Wes stood on the floor at a corner of the stage where he had a wide view of the surroundings and VIP super fans as Shane and the band went through their pre-show soundchecks.

A man jumped down from the sound booth and made his way across the floor toward the stage. He wore a black Audio Siren tour T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, and around his neck hung a lanyard that read CREW. Wes tracked him as he climbed the risers with a nod at one of Isaac’s men and walked over to Shane. Wes didn’t hear what was being said, but Shane removed his microphone from the stand and handed it to the man, who smiled at Shane with a fondness that felt misplaced in a work environment. Wes narrowed his eyes and took a step closer. A roadie ran over to them and exchanged microphones. Wes hadn’t heard any issues with Shane’s mic, but then, he wasn’t a sound technician.

“Thank you, Bobby,” Shane called after the roadie.

The sound guy replaced the mic on the stand and motioned for Shane to test it. Shane belted out a chorus that had the hairs on Wes’s arms standing at attention. His voice was a powerful tenor with a haunting grit to it and reverberated deep in Wes’s bones. He didn’t recognize the song, but Shane’s fans sure did. They cheered and clapped, and Shane bowed for them, earning another cheer. Shane stepped back and nodded at the sound man, who placed a hand on Shane’s shoulder, resting it there for a beat too long. He slid his hand down Shane’s arm, and with another adoring upward curve of his mouth, made his way back to the sound booth.

Were Shane and this man involved? Could he be Shane’s stalker?

When soundchecks were done, the band mingled with the small crowd, signing autographs and posing for photos. The fans’ excitement about meeting their idols was palpable, but thankfully, they remained respectful. After Isaac’s team escorted the VIPs out, Wes sat with Shane in the stands.

“Who was that guy from the sound booth?” Wes asked as he settled into a seat to Shane’s right but a row behind. “The one who switched your microphone.”

Shane turned to him with furrowed brows. “Doug? What about him?”

“He came across as more than a coworker. ”

“No.” Shane snorted. “We dated ages ago but realized we made better friends than boyfriends.”

Wes wasn’t so sure, but he made a mental note to take a deeper look at Doug.

“I love how this all comes together,” Shane said as he watched the roadies building the stage for the evening’s show.

He’d been oddly quiet after Wes’s questions, as they sat there while the behind-the-scenes magic unfolded. Not that Wes knew if that was odd or not, given he’d only met the man a few hours ago, but Shane wasn’t tossing innuendos at him. He’d take the reprieve because he had a feeling it would be short-lived.

With a couple hours until showtime, Wes followed Shane and the band back to the green room, which, of course, wasn’t actually green. The band snacked on fruit, cheese, and yogurt and began warming up. The room was L-shaped with only one entrance, set up much like the production room back at the hotel. Only this time, there was a bar with food and drinks. Wes realized none of the band was drinking alcohol, except for Daryl, who was chugging back a beer.

Shane rose from the barstool he’d been sitting on, grabbed a bottle of water, and walked over to the other side of the room, much like backstage at a theater where several vanity tables lined the wall. Through an open archway was a locker-style changing room with showers. Wes followed him into the small offshoot room and leaned against the far wall, where he could see both Shane and the main door to the green room. He knew a couple of Isaac’s men watched the door, so no one unexpected should come through, but Wes wouldn’t be doing his job right if he weren’t watching, too.

“You don’t like me too much, do you?” Shane asked a few minutes later, leaning toward the mirror to put his stage makeup on, his gaze meeting Wes’s in the reflection.

“Doesn’t matter if I do or don’t.” Wes shrugged, but no. He didn’t care for Shane’s attitude or profession all that much. Not that he’d tell the man. “I’m just here to do a job.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t be friends while you’re doing it.” Shane added some charcoal eyeshadow and brushed the edges for a smoky look. He glanced over at Wes again and grinned. “Or more. ”

Wes’s heart did a little stutter that surprised him. He liked how that dark eye shadow enhanced the golden brown of Shane’s eyes and made them pop. He knew an attractive man when he saw one, and Shane Castle was undoubtedly that. But appreciating his appearance was as far as it could go.

“That’s exactly what it means,” Wes rumbled, his voice a little lower than normal, but hopefully not enough for Shane to catch on that he’d had any kind of effect on Wes. “Strictly business, otherwise the risk of my being distracted or not thinking clearly is too high, which could be detrimental to you. Even fatal.”

Shane’s grin faltered, but he covered it with what Wes was quickly learning was his go-to attitude: deflect and flirt at level ten.

“Isaac and I are friends,” Shane said matter-of-factly. Wes heard the shrug in his words.

“Which is why Isaac isn’t your personal bodyguard.”

Shane made a pfft sound as he put his makeup away and started digging around in the backpack he’d brought with him from his suite. He frowned. “Shit.”

Wes pushed off from the wall. “What is it?”

“My gum.” Shane pulled items from his bag, letting them fall to the floor as he rooted around inside. “I need my gum.”

Wes raised an eyebrow. Seriously ? Another reason he wasn’t a fan of celebrity gigs. Drama over trivial things. It was just gum, not the end of the world.

Shane dumped the bag unceremoniously on the floor as he stood and stormed over to the other side of the green room.

“Which one of you assholes stole my gum again?” Shane barked, his hands on his hips.

Everyone in the room turned wide eyes on Shane, except for Daryl, who was grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

“Daryl,” Shane growled, low and threatening, and the hairs on Wes’s arms rose with excitement.

What the hell ? Wes clenched his jaw and mentally forced his body’s reactions to Shane into submission. There would be no going there .

“What?” Daryl raised his hands, one of which was holding a beer bottle. “Why are you looking at me? ”

“Because you look guilty.”

Wes had to agree.

Daryl, half frowning, half grinning, put his beer on the counter and made a spectacle of patting his pockets while his ice-blond hair fell over his eyes like a shield. He flicked his hair to the side and gazed up at Shane.

“Sorry, man. Oh!” His whole face lit up, and the piercing in his lip caught the light. “Yeah. Here.”

A small, blue and white packet flew toward Shane, who deftly caught it.

“What the hell is this?” Shane held up the packet and Wes caught the brand name, Trident . Looked like gum to him.

“Uhh . . . Gum?”

“This isn’t gum,” Shane snapped. “This is tooth whitener. Where’s my gum?”

Jesus . It was just gum .

“Does the brand really matter?” Wes asked, trying to keep his irritation at something so ridiculous from bleeding into his voice.

There was a collective gasp throughout the room as all eyes turned to him. The dark look Shane leveled at him over his shoulder made Wes’s libido sit up and take notice.

“Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit is gum,” Shane articulated with a thick layer of condescension. As though it was the most obvious thing in the world and deigning to explain was beneath him.

Wes narrowed his eyes and bit back a rebuke. Isaac trusted him with this job, personally chose him, so as much as this man-child of a diva annoyed him, he would not screw up and embarrass Isaac by speaking his mind.

Instead of engaging further, he pulled his phone from his shirt pocket and texted an S.O.S. to Jonas. A thumbs up emoji popped up on his screen and a few minutes later the door swung open. Sonia entered the green room and cast a glare at Wes as though everything was his fault. She placed a bright yellow ten-package box of Juicy Fruit chewing gum on Shane’s open palm.

“Oh my god, Sonia.” Shane gave her a clumsy hug before dropping the package on the coffee table and tearing it open. With a slight tremor to his hands that Wes doubted anyone else noticed, he ripped the wrapper off a stick and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed with his eyes closed for a few seconds, grinning at her when he opened them again. Crisis averted, apparently. “I’d be lost without you.”

“I know,” Sonia said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Do you need anything else?”

Shane exhaled a raspy breath and smiled. The brief flash of a man not as unaffected by the world as he put out there vanished so fast, Wes wondered if he’d seen it at all. The whole thing seemed at odds with the face Shane put forward. Why a man who exuded confidence and sensuality, who seemed so in control, slipped into a static of panic without chewing gum, Wes couldn’t parse.

“All good.”

Sonia nodded, and after a studying look, she turned to leave the room, but not before giving Wes a parting glare.

“I don’t think she likes me,” Wes said when the door closed behind her.

Shane snorted. “She keeps my life in order and doesn’t like anything interfering with that.”

“I’m not your stalker,” Wes said.

Shane turned to face him, and by the heated grin on his face and the bright flash in his eyes, Wes knew to brace himself.

Shane took a step closer and whispered, “You can stalk me any day, Cowboy.”

The crowd was intense. The twenty-thousand-seat arena was jam-packed, and the floor writhed from the mass of sweaty bodies moving as one to the heavy beat Wish laid down. Hands reached out and Shane clapped as many as he could, getting a thrill of his own from the looks on their flushed faces when he made contact. Knowing that one moment in time made this a concert those few would never forget. A few body surfers made their way onto the stage and Shane let a couple of them sing along with him before security dragged them off. Another played air guitar beside Jamie, who was always so lost in the music that he never seemed to realize anything existed beyond him and his guitar. And through it all, they hadn’t missed a single note. The show had been flawless.

By the time Shane and his band exited the stage—after two, three-song encores—his whole body buzzed with adrenaline and his feet barely touched the floor.

Wes stood at the bottom of the stage stairs waiting for him, his gaze taking in everything. He stood out from the leather and T-shirted crowd with his tall, broad-shouldered frame, and big-ass belt buckle and Stetson hat. And for a brief second, the urge to launch himself at Wes and wrap his arms around him rose unbidden. He checked himself with a quick mental slap upside the head. The very last thing he needed to do was to throw himself at another cowboy.

Been there, done that, burned the T-shirt . Thank you very much .

Oh, but Wes’s reactions to his teasing were to die for. The guy didn’t seem to like him, which made it even more fun, made Shane want to push even harder just to see how far he could push even as he knew shouldn’t. But with any luck Wes would get annoyed enough to quit. Then they could find a bodyguard who looked like a proper bodyguard. One Shane would have no trouble ignoring, and that didn’t call up memories he’d long ago buried. Someone who didn’t put him on the offense—which meant cranking his flame up to eleven—to prove that he would never again tolerate being belittled or bullied for who he was.

Wes watched as he descended the stairs, his gaze piercing, and his mouth tipped down in disapproval. Something lingered in the blue-gray depths of his eyes that Shane couldn’t quite decipher, but he was too amped to bother trying.

“How turned on are you by my performance?” Shane teased as he reached Wes. “C’mon, you can tell me.”

Wes shook his head, his frown deepening. He said nothing as he fell back into step, just off Shane’s right heel. But as soon as they cleared the main backstage area and headed for the hallway, Wes rounded on him.

“What the hell were you thinking, letting people come up on stage like that?” Wes barked at him. “Any one of them could have been your stalker or had a weapon on them. ”

Shane reeled back, his performance euphoria taking a direct hit. He would not let his bodyguard harsh his high. “I was having a good time and making their concert-going experience something to remember for the rest of their lives.”

Wes huffed and flapped an arm back toward the stage. “At the risk of your life?”

“I was fine ,” Shane growled. How dare some redneck cowboy from Podunk, Nowheresville rain on his parade? “Besides. You were watching my back. Right?”

Shane pushed past Wes and stormed down the maze of halls toward the green room.

“ Shane —” Wes began.

“Your job is to stand there and look mean.” Shane spun back around, too amped to keep the snarl out of his voice. “Not question my job.”

“Oh?” There was a condescending edge to Wes’s voice that made Shane bristle. “I thought you wanted to be friends.”

“ Puh-leeze .” Shane scoffed and let his gaze roam down and back up Wes’s admittedly sexy body. He curled his lip. “I thought you were a hick, but I didn’t think you were dense enough to fall for that.”

The second the words were out, Shane wished he could yank them back. Wes’s expression blanked, and a distance settled into his eyes that sent an icy shiver down Shane’s spine. That had been a shitty thing to say. He wasn’t usually that much of an asshole to people, and Wes hadn’t deserved his ire. He was only doing his job, and Shane was man enough to admit his reasons for attacking Wes had nothing at all to do with Wes in particular. It was just that the guy was a fucking cowboy. Too goddamn good looking at that. And he smelled good, too. Like suede and sandalwood and spice, and it made Shane’s mouth water.

“Look,” Shane said sheepishly. He hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his leather pants. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just riding high from the show, and don’t need anything bringing me down. My emotions are at eleven.”

Wes said nothing. His expression remained unreadable, and his gaze straight ahead over Shane’s shoulder .

Did he not get the eleven reference? Hadn’t everyone on the planet watched Spinal Tap? Or at least knew about it?

Shane sighed. He supposed he deserved the silent treatment for calling Wes a hick. Shane turned and made his way to the green room, surrounded by a silence that was louder than the buzzing in his ears from the concert. Wes’s bootheels echoing behind him boomed like cannon blasts. Wes would probably quit now, which would piss off Isaac. Isaac was scary when he was mad. Sure, Shane wanted a non-cowboy bodyguard, but now that he might have succeeded in his plan to get rid of Wes, he didn’t feel the sense of satisfaction he’d expected. Instead, his lungs squeezed, and his stomach knotted, as though he was about to lose something important.

Dammit .

Shane took a deep breath, pushing his clattering thoughts away as they entered the room for their post-show debriefing. Wes took position holding up the wall near the door and stood statue-still but hyperaware.

Shane shook his head. He wanted a bodyguard that he could ignore, so Wes’s stoic closed-off pose shouldn’t bother him, but . . . Some bratty part of him wanted to keep teasing Wes. Reveled in getting a reaction out of him, no matter how minute.

His concert high was fading too fast, and his stomach rumbled in demand. All because he was thinking way too much about a bodyguard he didn’t even want.

Shane crossed the room to where a dozen boxes of pizza, water, beer, and pop were waiting for them at the wet bar in the corner—food and drink that Wes had insisted Jonas properly vet beforehand—and grabbed himself a bottle of cold water and a slice of warm pizza. He sat on the couch and waved his pizza in Wes’s direction.

“Help yourself to some.”

Wes regarded Shane for a second, his gaze cold. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Dude!” Daryl plopped down on the couch beside Shane and bumped shoulders. “Did that show fucking rock or what?”

Shane laughed, grateful for something to distract him from the flatness of Wes’s voice .

“Get off me, you fool,” he teased, but Daryl chortled and hooked a leg over Shane’s.

Shane shoved him off with an elbow and then he and his bandmates fell into an animated discussion of the show from their perspectives, each as great as Shane’s experience, while they devoured the pizza and guzzled their drinks. Shane stuck with water. He always expended so much energy during a concert he was positive he sweated out at least five pounds in water weight.

Jonas entered the room with Doug, the band’s head technician and Shane’s ex. Doug sent a friendly smile in Shane’s direction, which was all it was, right? Usually, Shane would return the gesture and forget about, but now, thanks to Wes and his comments during soundcheck, Shane wondered if there was more behind that smile. No. Of course not. Shane dismissed the thought out of hand—he and Doug were happy as friends—and joined his bandmates as they all gathered around for their debriefing. The whole time, Wes never moved from his post by the door. Every time Shane chanced a look his way, Wes was staring straight ahead. How long could he stand like that?

“Okay.” Jonas clapped his hands. “Fan meet and greet is in thirty. Get yourselves showered and into clothes that don’t reek of sweat.”

After a quick freshen up—and a few extra minutes for Shane to reapply his eye makeup—they made their way down to the M&G room in one large group. Isaac and one of his team members led the way, Jonas behind them, followed by Shane and Wes, and the rest of the band behind them. Two more event security guards brought up the rear. Wes still hadn’t spoken, or even looked at Shane, but Shane was acutely aware of the cowboy on his heels. Jonas’s phone rang, a shrill echo in the large hallway that startled Shane from thinking about Wes again .

Jonas stopped so suddenly, Shane barely managed to avoid crashing into him—only because Wes had shot his arm out across Shane’s chest, holding him back. Shane glanced down at the large hand splayed over his front. The tanned hand with faded scars on a couple of knuckles felt like a branding iron against his skin, even through his thin T-shirt. He looked over at Wes, who quickly dropped his arm .

Jonas turned around and eyed Shane as he listened to whatever the person on the other end of the call was saying. Not good news, if the pinch around Jonas’s mouth was any indication.

“Thank you,” Jonas said, his voice somber. “I’ll let him know.”

“Let who know what?”

Jonas shot a glance at Wes before his gaze returned to Shane.

“You tested positive for Rohypnol. There were traces of it in your water bottle from your hotel suite in New York as well.”

Roh-what ? It took a second for the word to click. He stared at the bottle he’d brought with him from the green room. And dropped it as if the plastic had stung him. He jumped back as water shot out like a geyser, splashing at his feet on the polished floor.

“I was fucking roofied?”

A chill gripped him. His mouth went dry. The world spun around him. The hallway seemed to extend and warp before him.

“That means . . .” Holy shit .

“Yes,” Jonas’s voice was grave. “The stalker was already in your room when you arrived.”