Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 29744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
"Cancel them, songbird," he growls.
"He's insane," I splutter to Riley. "You hired a crazy person to protect me."
A menacing growl rumbles in his throat as he stomps forward, putting himself between me and my manager so I'm forced to look at him. "She didn't hire me," he says, his eyes locked on me. "You did because you know I can protect you. And protecting you means not dangling you like fucking bait in front of the psycho who wants to kill you, songbird."
"I can't just cancel everything, Ronan," I say, striving for calm. "I have a job to do."
"Is doing it worth your life? Because that's the risk you're taking."
I open my mouth and then snap it closed.
"If he knows where you live and how to get in undetected, chances are that he knows how to get access to you in the places you're most comfortable," Ronan says quietly, his green eyes boring into mine. "He knows you, Winter. Where you like to go, the things you like to do. Until they catch him or know who they're even looking for, you can't do those things."
"He's right," Kasen says quietly.
Cash nods his agreement.
Riley bites her bottom lip and then reluctantly nods too. "He's right, chica. As much as I want you out there doing what you do best, I want you safe more," she says quietly. "No one will judge you for canceling your appearances right now. Not with what just happened. If they do, screw them. They aren't your fans or people who matter. The ones who matter want you safe, even if it means you have to take a step back for a little while."
"What about the record company?" I ask, anxiety churning in my stomach. The last thing I want is to be targeted by a madman or to put anyone else at risk. But there are other people counting on me, like my band and their families. If the album doesn't happen because the record company decides we're overreacting, they don't get paid either. Neither do the producers or mixers or artists or dozens of others who go into making an album a reality.
"Leave them up to me," Riley says, her gray eyes steely. "I'll handle everything."
"God have mercy on Dalton Grady's soul," Kasen murmurs dryly.
Cash pulls a pen out of his pocket and hands it to his wife. Riley takes it without a word and sends it sailing over her head at Kasen, who barely manages to dodge it.
"What the fuck?" he mutters. "I was just saying that you're very persuasive. It's impossible to say no to someone with such a sunny disposition and a generous, loving spirit, Riley."
Cash snorts, earning a side-eye from his wife.
I watch the three of them, trying not to cry. It's their banter that sways me. If I stay and stubbornly go about my life like nothing has changed, it's them and their families I put at risk. After everything they've done for me, I can't do that to them. I won't do that to them. They're the closest thing to family I have anymore. I owe them so much.
"I'll do it," I whisper to Ronan. "Whatever you think I need to do, I'll do it."
Chapter Four
Ronan
"I can't even tell my band where I'm going?" Winter demands, glaring at me from the passenger seat of my truck. She looks pissed, but it's a front. She's clinging to her composure by the skin of her teeth. Anger feels safe. It's better than fear.
"The point of going into hiding is not to let anyone know where you are, songbird."
As far as the people in her world know, I don't exist. When we left Music Row, we left with her hiding in the floor of my truck. Riley drove off in her car, heading in the opposite direction. The paparazzi followed Riley. We drove around town for a while before we made our way to her house to pack her shit and grab her cat.
She didn't take long. As hard as she fought to go home, I don't think she really wants to be there right now. I think she just regrets the loss of the familiar. Everything she knew three days ago no longer feels safe. She no longer feels like she has control. Someone else took it from her. That's shaken her world on its foundations. I don't get the impression she's someone easily shaken. This little songbird may look soft, but she's a warrior underneath that angelic exterior.
"I thought you meant fans and the media," she mutters, her fingers flying across her phone screen again as she texts her band. "Not everyone."
"I meant everyone who doesn't absolutely have to know. As a matter of fact..." I pluck her phone out of her hand, jealousy eating me alive when I see Memphis Hughes name at the top of the display. I don't want her texting her drummer. Maybe that makes me an asshole, but it's true. I want those amber eyes on me. "Do you back up to a cloud?"