A month after the interview, and I was once again questioning my choices. It all began last weekend when I told Houston I wouldn’t be available to rehearse. It had been harder to convince Houston than my actual boss to give me the weekend off, and only when I finally confessed the reason I couldn’t be at his beck and call.
I’d driven to Faithful and willingly suffered through Mass so that my family wouldn’t find out from someone else that I was going on tour with Bound.
I might as well have announced that I’d joined a cult.
As prepared as I thought I was for their disapproval, my parents had topped anything I could have imagined.
There are five stages of grief, and Amelia and David Fawn had only made it to stage two. They’d briefly reached the third when they offered to pay for a lawyer after I brought up the contract I’d already signed. Then they backtracked from bargaining and remained steadfast at anger. The worse part had been the split moment when I was tempted to take them up on their offer.
You can still back out. There’s hope. There’s a chance.
Except, the hope I felt burning in my gut wasn’t for breaking free of Bound.
It was liberating Bound.
I hated Oni for stirring that need in my gut and making it my burden to bear. I’ve been inside the lions’ den. I’ve seen the carnage that no one on the outside could see. Something was ripping them apart at the very seam of who they are—Houston, Loren, Jericho—each different in their own way but incomplete when apart.
I thought back to the words I knew would be the last I’d speak to my family for a long time, possibly forever.
“I don’t want out. I’m going to see this through.”
“See what through?” my father demanded. “This is unacceptable, Braxton.”
“Bound,” I whispered. “I’m going to see them through.”
Fast forward to Monday, and I was left wondering if I’d imagined the interview. Houston, Loren, and Jericho hadn’t just convinced that reporter they respected and needed me—they’d convinced me too. Had it been all for show?
“You’re playing like you’re trying to piss me off today, Fawn, and I’m not in the mood,” Houston snapped.
Two hours ago, our interview had appeared online, announcing me as Bound’s new guitarist and turning Houston into a bear with a thorn in its paw. Bound had chosen a nobody to replace their beloved Calvin and no one, despite their pretty words, was thrilled about it.
“Do it again,” grumpy bear ordered.
Despite my obvious fatigue and despondency, I’d shown up for rehearsal bright and early as expected. I wouldn’t have put it past Houston to break into my apartment and drag me out of bed if I hadn’t. I would have preferred it—staying in bed, not being pulled out of it.
“Back off, Morrow. I don’t need your shit today.”
The air became still as soon as I stopped speaking. The world had come to a screeching halt just to witness my punishment for talking back.
“Say that again?”
Behind me, I heard a heavy sigh.
It could have been Loren or Jericho who’d made the sound. Neither were unused to our daily squabbles.
Squaring my shoulders, I looked Houston in the eye. There was no use backing down now. “Allow me to elaborate,” I offered. Flipping him off would have been subtler. “I said I had a rough night, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t breathe down my back today.”
“You had a rough night?” Houston’s tone was gentle, making me instantly wary. I stared at him, not bothering to respond. “And you thought you’d come to my session, play like shit, and then cry on my shoulder about your personal problems?”
“I don’t see any tears, do you?”
This time I heard a low, drawn-out groan behind me.
“You know what I see? I see a whiny brat who doesn’t want to earn her keep.”
I didn’t have time to consider the repercussions before I exploded.
“I bust my ass every day, Houston! It’s not good enough, though, is it? It never is. We both know I’m good. You were an amateur once too, but I doubt you were half as good as me. So what’s your real problem with me, huh? Do I not have the right equipment for you to accept that I deserve to be here? Are you too macho to admit that you’re only pretending to be in control? Well, I see you, Houston, and maybe that scares you. If you want me to quit, you’re going to have to try harder than being an asshole who thinks too highly of himself. If you’re scared, get a nightlight, bitch. I’m not going anywhere.”
Exhaling all the air I’d trapped in my lungs, I fooled myself into thinking I’d won. I’d finally shut Houston Morrow up. After my little speech, however, he couldn’t even give me the benefit of a reaction. Not unless I counted the fury in his green eyes right before he moved them over my head and spoke to his friends behind me.
“Get out.”
I knew he didn’t mean me, but I was tempted to flee anyway. The moment the door closed behind Loren and Jericho, Houston moved away from me.
I didn’t expect that.
The only problem was that I could no longer see him. It wasn’t until I heard the lock turning that I dared look over my shoulder.
Oh, fuck.
This time, when he closed the distance between us, he stood behind me. I could feel every breath he took on my nape, sending chills down my spine. Instead of the coppery scent of fear, I tasted cherries and smelled cinnamon.
“Braxton?”
“Yes, Houston?”
“I want to tell you a secret.”
“Oh, good, another one. I’m sure it will be riveting.”
Wrapping his hand around my neck from behind, he pulled me even closer before placing his lips at my ear. “Whatever you think you know about me, I promise you I’m much worse. So are they. Loren likes for people to think that what you see is what you get. He saves what’s really lurking inside for special occasions. Rich, he’s nice, isn’t he? He does whatever I tell him to. I can see that desperate need for us to be close again in his eyes. He wants it so much that if I asked him to help me hide a body, he would. Without question.”
Houston’s arm locked around my waist when I jerked forward from shock. Was he implying what I thought he was implying?
“A horrific thing like that would surely bond us forever, wouldn’t it?” I tried to speak, but he gripped my jaw, shutting me up. “It’s simple, Bambi. Be a good girl, do what we say, and you’ll never have to find out what kind of man I really am.” Releasing my neck, he spun me around but kept his hands locked on my waist. “Go home. Take the day. Think about if you really want to have this conversation again.”
Houston Morrow just threatened to murder me, and I wasn’t quite sure whether I believed him or not.
Knowing that was his intent, I didn’t move. My knees were too weak. Sensing this, Houston pulled me close until our hips were pressed together, and I had to tilt my head to look into his eyes.
“Why are you still here, Fawn?”
His warm whisper intensified the ache between my thighs. “I-I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. I wanted to leave, and I wanted to stay. I wanted to see just how bad and terrible Houston Morrow could get.
Slowly, his hands drifted from my waist to the top of my ass, and something like encouragement ripped from my throat. Just a little lower, and I’d be his.
A moment later, we were forced apart by a knock on the door.
“Is everything okay in there?”
Rich.
“Fine,” Houston barked while staring at me. “Braxton was just leaving.”
I was? Oh. Right.
Houston threatened to kill me if I didn’t fall in line and self-preservation told me to writhe all over him like a bitch in heat.
Unbelievable.
I didn’t need any more incentive than that to get the hell out of there. Keeping my gaze off Houston, I left the room, ignoring Rich, who stood there looking confused and concerned. Barry, thankfully, was already waiting outside.
As soon as my ass touched the leather seats inside the SUV, I shifted uncomfortably. The arousal soaking my thong was called The Houston Morrow Effect. It ruined panties and destroyed brain cells.
I had twenty minutes until I was home. Twenty whole minutes until I was alone and could relieve the ache. After that, I’d figure out how I planned to survive a world tour and months of lonely nights spent in close quarters with three men slowly awakening a part of me that I thought was long buried.
