Chapter 19
“So, is Eden staying then?” I ask as I watch my brother load up a tray with food and some orange juice.
Both of them have shacked up in her bedroom for the last twenty-four hours, and this is the first time I’ve seen one of them emerge. It doesn’t take a genius to know they’ve hooked up.
“I’ve convinced her that it’s in her best interest to stay,” he gives me a sly smile, and this is the first time I’ve seen my brother in a playful mood since….
Well …. since he was in a last relationship with Eden.
And it’s helping my relationship with him. He just about tolerates me around him, and I accept that things between us will never be the same as they were before. Some siblings are tight as a button; we were once like that, but in his eyes, I’ll always be that liar and failure and the one that almost sent Mum rocketing back into depression. So I’ll take whatever he’ll give me, but I’m no pushover, I’m just about tolerating the demands and hoops he’s making me jump through.
“I think we’ve all heard the kind of convincing you encouraged her with,” Asher says casually, looking up from his breakfast to grab a napkin from the holder.
“So, are you two together? Like a thing?” I curiously ask because the last time Ash and I hooked up with her, it didn’t end on a good note.
“A thing?” Haze smirks at me knowing exactly what I’m getting at.
“Rest assured, bruv,” he says. “Her affections are equally shared for all of us. Although she doesn’t believe she stands a chance anywhere with Jagger.”
The truth is I don’t understand where she stands with him. He’s on board with her one minute, and the next, he wants her off the band.
“He’s been going mental listening to you two shag each other like flippin’ bunnies,” Ash interjects as he sips the last of his tea.
“This was his idea,” I’m confused by Jagger’s behavior. “One minute, he says this band needs her, and the next, he wants her gone.”
I run a thoughtful hand through my hair, a little frustrated and confused.
Haze rests the tray with Eden’s breakfast on the counter and reaches out to squeeze my shoulder. I think this is the first emotional move he’s made with me in eight years, so I’m a little shocked but do my best not to show it.
“Callum, don’t push it with Jagger. His best intentions are with the band. Seeing all of us lusting over Eden spirals him into a state of confusion. He’s fighting the urge. We all did and ended up ganging up on her to resist that temptation. He’ll come to, eventually.”
My phone, resting on the counter beside the kettle, vibrates loudly with a new message notification. Simultaneously, Asher”s phone, charging on the kitchen counter, echoes the same sound. Curiosity is getting the better of me, and I lean over to catch a glimpse of his screen.
“It’s just an IG notification. But it’s weird,” I say, strolling over to my phone and unlocking it.
“Did any of you know Eden has a new online profile?” I ask.
We already know she unsubscribed from every social media platform years ago. So this seems a bit odd. It’s not like her to dive back into something she loathes to the core.
Asher pushes his empty plate away and stands up to retrieve his phone from the charger.
“No,” he says. “I can’t see her ever wanting any connection to it again. Not after the way the public treated her.”
“She does,” Haze says, catching our attention, and we look up from our phones. “Technically not, but she needs one, and I asked Sierra to create one on Eden’s behalf as it’s something we all need to have to create a buzz about our return to music.
“She won’t appreciate—”
“She’ll understand the necessity of needing one,” Haze interrupts.
“What the fuck?” Asher exclaims, and we gather around him as he scrolls through photos, which I recognize almost immediately. They’re old ones of us.
“These aren’t recent,” Haze says.
“No, they’re stills from that blasted video,” Ash says, and his upper lip curves into an angry snarl.
“You reckon the stalker?”
“Could be anyone.”
“But only Eden’s been tagged in them.”
It”s so bloody strange.
“Who tagged her?”
Asher goes to check, but it’s one of those fake spam accounts. Untraceable.
“At least they blacked out the explicit parts.”
“They had to, or the platform bots would have removed it,” Haze is the expert in these things. “Whoever uploaded it was targeting Eden, reminding her of her past.”
“It’s nothing she should be ashamed of. Not when we stand by her.”
“This time. But it’s meant to stir up old, hurtful feelings. Everyone knows Eden’s career was over, as was our relationship the moment it went viral, and we weren’t around to support her.”
“We can’t hide this from Eden,” I state, knowing about the stalker Jagger and Haze chased off the property not too long ago.
“You’re right,” Haze looks thoughtful as he rubs his hand over the light stubble on his chin. “I could speak to my techie who handles my online business. They might have a suggestion on how to trace the original person who posted this.”
He hesitates and looks at the food tray, not sure which to follow up with first.
“Go and sort out the online stuff,” I suggest. “Ash and I can take this to Eden.”
I hate that Haze looks at Asher for reassurance as if he’s confident I’m going to fuck up this simple task.
Realizing this, Asher doesn’t respond to Haze’s desperate stupidity and looks back at his phone, ignoring my brother altogether.
“Fine,” Haze mutters and turns to leave, and I hear him mumble something incomprehensible under his breath as he departs.
I grab hold of either end of the tray.
“You coming?”
“Nope,” he replies, not looking up from his phone. “You suggested it, but I don’t need to make amends with Eden. You three were the nasty arseholes to her.”
“Wanker.” I mutter, leaving the kitchen, half happy I get Eden on her own and the other half unsure how she’ll treat me. I’m not as articulate with words as Haze is. He has a natural knack as a smooth talker.
On the other hand, I inherited all the good-looking genes but not the common sense ones.
I knock on the bedroom door, balancing the tray on one arm. There’s a reason why I’m a musician. I play bass, have decent vocals, and am classically trained in piano, but serving and waiting on people isn’t my talent. I don’t have patience for people or have any kind of gift for balancing shit on arms like waiters do with plates and trays.
In case people haven’t yet realized, I generally don’t like humans. So, unlike my self-promoting sibling, I could care less about having a people-pleasing character.
Take me as I am, with a low tolerance level to human stupidity.
Asher is similar-natured to me but much more at peace within himself. He is known among those close to him for his preference for the company of animals over humans. On the other hand, I possess a brow that bears the marks of constant furrowing at idiots. The world is fucking full of tossers.
But the little lady behind this door is the only being on this planet who can naturally calm my volatile nature.
“I’m still here,” playfully quips the feminine voice behind the door, accompanied by a gentle, amused giggle.
Holding the tray with both hands, I use my elbow to push down on the handle and nudge the door open with my hip.
As I step inside, my eyes are captivated by the sight of the beauty, looking every bit the desert siren she is. Her sun-kissed skin and midnight black hair flowing down her shoulders contrast against the backdrop of pristine white bedsheets, making her presence even more pronounced.
Sensing I’m not my brother, and perhaps my hesitation sparks her awareness, she lifts her gaze away from her journal, quickly pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts.
“Shit. I’m sorry,” she apologizes, and I want to toss this tray aside and ravish her lips with my mouth.
“This is your bedroom, siren. You don’t need to apologize,” I say, kicking the door shut and realizing this room reeks of sex. “Plus, I like your tits. No need to hide them on my account.”
Is it wrong that it’s actually the first thing I noticed?
Not that they were out there on display. More like casually there, part of the scene, and her hair covered her rosy round nipples anyway.
A playful smirk graces her lips, but she withholds her usual witty retorts.
I set the tray at the edge of the bed. “Is that a lyrics journal?”
“Yes, ideas tend to pop up in my mind at the most random times. I write it down, whether it’s on a napkin in a restaurant or a receipt from a store; it’s something that could be used for later.” She slides her pen inside the elastic attached to her journal and sets it on the bedside table.
“Where’s Haze?”
Her face looks so innocent and blissfully unaware of the unfolding events behind her back. It weighs on me to be the bearer of this unwelcome news, knowing that I”ll have to be the one to reveal the truth to her.
“He was detoured. Something about work. I can’t take credit for this breakfast tray; he prepped it, so dig in.”
“Not that hungry,” she declares.
“Eat, babe, put some meat on your bones,” I urge.
“I think my fat ass can survive,” she retorts with a hint of humor, emphasizing her self-assured demeanor.
“Fat?” my brows furrow slightly. “No. Sexy? Fuck yeah. Ash is one lucky wanker.”
She stares at me with thoughtful green eyes, their intensity fixed directly on me.
“Haze said that exact same thing. I don’t get it,” she muses.
I can”t help but chuckle; it”s a perpetual joke among the lads. She arches a skeptical brow.
“Fine,” I concede. “I’ll tell you, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
Picking up a knife, I spread jam over a slice of toast and extend it towards her.
”Eat,” I command. Rolling her eyes, she takes it before biting into it.
“I’m surprised you still haven’t worked it out,” I tease with a grin. “When we perform on stage. Where is Ash?”
Her green eyes fix on me again as she takes another bite of the bread. “Playing the drums.”
“Yeah, but where on stage? You’re at the center front, Jagger’s always on your right side, and Haze and I on your left, occasionally switching and moving forward or closer to Jagger, depending on the piece. But Asher is always….”
I lean forward, gesturing for her to complete my sentence.
“Behind. Me.” And it suddenly dawns on her, a flash of realization illuminating her face. “Behind me? Is this what you guys talk about when I’m not around?”
Her sudden realization and innocent surprise elicits a hearty laugh from me.
“Not always, but once upon a time, we were your boyfriends, and we talked and compared notes. It helped to date the same girl. But before we got together with you, we all fancied you back when you performed with the Vixens. Asher had it seriously bad for you. And when you joined our band and performed on stage, the poor lad suffered a stiffie every time. You shaking that sexy arse of yours in those skimpy glitter leotards they made you wear was torture for him because his eyes were just locked on your arse for the entire show. It was a fucking awesome view, but it was torture for him because he fancied you like mad.”
“Wow, I didn’t know,” she exclaims, her mouth slightly agape.
“Back then, Asher was the quiet, shy type. He is who he is because you were his sexual awakening.”
She swallows hard. “Ash was a virgin?” she asks, her eyes widening with astonishment.
“He’s never admitted it, and I don’t push him about it, but I don’t reckon he had much experience with girls back then.”
“And after me?”
“Dunno, luv. We kept in touch but mostly for the odd pub crawl.” I omit pub fights because she doesn’t need to know that dark side of us. “But we never talked about our private lives. That part of us got locked up after the band broke up. None of us are in any relationships now. There is no significant other waiting for us back home in England.”
I added that last bit because none of us discussed it with her, and I didn’t miss the million-dollar question on her face as she asked about Asher’s status.
“Listen, siren, I owe you an apology for last night and just general for my off behavior. You don’t deserve it, and for what it’s worth, I don’t think you were responsible for the video or its release.”
“And the others?”
“I know, Ash doesn’t believe it either. Not anymore. The more I think about it, the more I believe your stalker had something to do with it. If they were stalking you, then they knew about us and didn’t like it. It probably angered them, and they wanted to take their frustration out by damaging you.”
She remains utterly still, lost in thought.
I notice her hand holding the toast is slightly shaking. If I ever discover the piece of shite who did this to her, I will kill himself myself. There isn’t anything any of us wouldn’t do for this woman, and knowing that we left her vulnerable and alone that night does things to my psyche that I wouldn’t want to release to the world. She was our woman, and he violated her home and threatened her life.
It doesn’t sit well with me at all.
“But whoever released it must have had connections with the media because it was released fairly fast. We were at the hotel in New York only a week before. Most media outlets check for authenticity because they don’t want to become embroiled in a lawsuit if it’s from Deepfake content.”
She’s right. I guess she’s thought deeply about this. It only adds to her innocence in this incident.
“Obsessed journalist?”
“Could happen,” she casually shrugs her shoulder.
“That would make them a pedophile,” I mutter angrily.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if the stalker was one,” she remarks, biting her lip as if restraining further words. The way she discusses her stalker hints at a knowledge that makes me suspect she might already know their identity.
“But that doesn’t account for the recent stuff.”
“So you believe someone’s been following me since I arrived in LA?”
“Siren,” I sit on the bed closer to her and watch her put the remaining slice of toast back on the plate. I take that piece and pop it into my mouth, giving me a second to think about how I’m going to explain the recent media event.
“Can you identify the man who broke into your home?”
Her gaze meets mine, and fear resonates in her eyes. It speaks volumes, suggesting that it was someone she knew, perhaps even trusted.
”No,” she replies firmly, attempting to quash my thoughts. ”He wore a mask and used a device that distorted his voice.”
I clench my fists and bite my lip, restraining the anger that threatens to spill from my mouth. It becomes clear that she”s concealing the truth out of lingering fear.
It”s apparent she must be made aware of the current circumstances and the importance of facing the truth.
“Something happened,” I admit. “That’s what Haze is currently trying to fix. A photo circulated the internet and you were tagged in it.”
“Tagged?” she stares at me, confused. “How? I don’t have any online socials.”
“Well, you do. For marketing purposes to create an online buzz, Haze had his PA create a profile of you, linking all of us to the Velocity Vortex group.”
“I see,” she says as her shoulders relax.
“You don’t seem upset by this.”
“About the account in my name? No. I might be ten years behind the news and what’s the vibe with socials. I had that, and all kinds of current news media banned at home. I was so absent of current affairs that World War Three could have erupted, but I wouldn’t have known about it!”
“Sometimes it”s better that way.” Every now and then, ignorance is bliss.
“Yeah, but I understand the importance of having an online presence, especially as a new band, and fans want to connect. But as long as someone else runs it, I personally don’t want to know. I don’t want to see the comments or socialize online. I just want to create music and perform it.”
I think most of us feel that way. I know my brother loves the attention, but he’ll never admit it. The rest of us harbor a deep disdain for social media. It seems overrun with keyboard warriors lurking behind screens, eagerly awaiting the chance to tear others down. They fancy themselves as critics, but in reality, they”re nothing more than professional poncers seeking to boost their own self-worth by belittling those who dare to take action. Eden became a victim of an online witch hunt run by trolls aimed at not just destroying her career but herself as a person.
“And this content of me that was released?”
“Stills from the old video blanked out, so it was permitted online. I reckon the person wants people to remember you as the singer who was damaged, not the performer you are today.”
“I’m a shell of who that girl was ten years ago.”
“Not a shell, siren, just a different style, dress sense, hair, even skin.”
“Weight.”
I chuckle. “Fuck, No.”
“You know the media will come at me for weight gain.”
“You’re a woman, not a waif. The way they kept you and the Vixens was unorthodox. I’m surprised none of you ended up with eating disorders.”
“Mel was a secret bulimic, but it was mostly in reaction to how they wouldn’t let her date females. At sixteen, she was going through a sexual awakening, and they forced her to suppress it. It fucked her up.”
“Fuck. I didn’t know.” Those girls went through a lot more than us, lads. It sickens me, and I have to wonder if they preyed on the children who were less connected to their families. What kind of parent would allow such grueling hardships on their children?
“No one did, except the Vixens and the handlers that the publicists had trailing us wherever we went to control what we said in public.”
“You didn’t have it good, did you?”
Having an intimate relationship with Eden gave us more of an insider view of what they made her and the other girls do. Even when she joined our band, she was forced to maintain an image, and we were aware that she grew to despise that life.
The irony unfolded when the video came out, tarnishing Eden”s image in the media. Angry parents of fans who followed her came forth, threatening lawsuits for promoting individuals like her. Little did they know about the dark side of what was forced upon Eden and the Vixens when they were still minors.
Those accusing parents unwittingly fueled the pockets of those responsible for Eden, acting as enablers for the industry to continue manipulating teenagers into becoming money-making machines.
“Honestly, if I look back on it now as an adult,” Eden replies. “No, we didn’t have it good, but I didn’t know better at the time. I never had parents to step in and object. The rest of the girls had different issues with their parents, so in essence, we were controlled by Oliver, the label, and our publicists. We signed NDAs to never disclose anything.”
“Eden,” I hesitate because while it’s something that kept on eating at me, I know if I learn the truth, I may go on a killing rampage. “Did they ever … did the bosses ever make you and the girls do things. Inappropriate things?”
“No,” she says firmly, and I relax in relief with her reply. “They groomed us to look a certain part, but they didn’t groom us for prostitution or anything close to that. They never requested it, even if we sometimes got creepy vibes from the older men telling us to be sexy and act like eighteen-year-olds when we were only fourteen. But they never laid a wrong hand on us.”
“And now?” I ask. “Do you plan to stay and see this new venture with us like you initially said?”
“I want to, and I promised Haze I would, but what about Jagger? He made it clear he wants me gone.”
“Eden,” I shake my head from side to side. “Haze won’t let you go. Nor will I or Asher, for that matter. We like having you around. Jagger needs to figure himself out, and while most of it has to do with you, this is his dilemma, which he needs to solve on his own.”
“And you and me?”
“Us?” I stare at her, a little unprepared for the directness of the question.
She nods her head.
“I’m crazy about you, desert siren. But I’m not ready for a relationship with anyone.”
“So, friends with benefits?”
I raise my brow at her. “Is that what you want?”
“No,” she says firmly, “But how do you want to deal with whatever’s happening between us? We fucked recently, and now you’re sitting next to me, and I’m wearing nothing but a white sheet that sits between me and you.”
“Fuck,” I breathe out. “I’m going to have to adjust myself.”
A laugh escapes her. “You”re quite crass, aren”t you?.”
I respond with a grin. “Consistently so, siren.”
She leans forward and kisses my cheek, and I have no idea what possesses me at this moment, but I turn and catch her lips with my own. It’s the kind of kiss friends don’t have; we linger a little and then move away from each other uncomfortably.
We detach, and there’s no missing the emotion in her heated gaze. It’s more than I’ve ever seen before, and it strikes me speechless. There’s no smile on her lips, only the intense stare that I know if I act on my own desires, we will start an inferno, and I just told her I can’t commit.
Not to her or anyone.
Because I’ve been in love with her before, and I can never put myself out there like I did in the past.
She’s my addiction, and the previous withdrawal from her led to self-destruction. And while I can control what I put in my body, I can’t control my heart.
An intense tension tightens within me as the sinister whispers of addiction claw at the edge of my consciousness, urging me to submit to my craving and take this woman and claim her mine.
Summoning every ounce of strength within, I resist her and the seductive pull she has with me. I glance away and abruptly stand up from the bed.
“Eat something, siren,” I say as I stroll towards the door.
I walk out feeling defeated by the victory of not acting on my true feelings for her.