Chapter 20
20
LOGAN
K atrina laughs, and it’s like the rest of the world fades away. “Please tell me you’re joking!” she says.
“No,” I reply, totally serious, totally enamored with the way her head falls back against her pillow, her dark blonde hair tumbling over it in long waves. I lie beside her on her bed upstairs, perched on one elbow as I admire her smile. “I’m not joking at all, actually.”
“Goldie swapped Christian Myers’ herbal tea with laxative tea?”
“She did, yes.”
“And that’s why he ran off the stage three songs into his DC show?”
I nod. “Yup.”
“Why did she do that?”
“Because he was a dick. Why else?” I pause as she laughs harder, her head dropping into her pillow to dull the sound. “Guy was constantly feeling her and Tesla up at Connery’s house. She thought it a suitable punishment.”
“Remind me never to get on her bad side, then.” Katrina lets her head fall heavy against her pillow again as she sighs. “It was quite the summer,” she muses. “For both of us.”
I nod in agreement. “It was.”
She closes her eyes briefly, tired, the night far older than young, but I can’t seem to slip away. Just when I think I’ve come up with an excuse to leave, I kiss her or she kisses me, and we drift along, telling story after story of tours gone by.
As she rests, I scan her bedroom loft. Her smiling photographs of her and her brother, her friends. Her little trinkets, picked up from all over the country. An album collection. Bookshelves full of steamy romances and fantasy adventures. Everything one would expect in the bedroom of an ordinary young woman.
“Logan,” Katrina says, her voice drawing me back to her like a homing beacon. “Monroe.”
I fucking flinch. “Monroe?” I repeat.
Katrina bats her curious eyes open to look at me, still perched on my elbow beside her. “The deal you made with him,” she says slowly.
“What about it?” I ask, feeling the cold rush of a pendulum over our heads, threatening to swing lower and break us apart.
She takes a breath, a bit of determination filling her expression as she forms her question. “You said he threatened you,” she says. “That he’d shred your contract if you didn’t help him.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Was that the only reason you agreed to it?”
“I couldn’t let everything Tesla and Goldie worked so hard for be for nothing.”
“Then... you don’t really hate my band?” she asks, arriving at the real question.
Sensing the opportunity to tease, I crack a smile. “Oh, no, kitty,” I say. “I don’t hate Criminal Records.”
She exhales, relieved. “Good.”
“I despise Criminal Records.”
Katrina playfully smacks my arm. “I’m serious!”
“So am I.”
“Why?” She squints, all playfulness fading in favor of genuine need to know. “What don’t you like about us?”
“Where do I begin?”
“Is it our music?” she asks. “Our style? Or are you one of those guys who hates popular stuff just because it’s popular?” she adds with a roll of her eyes.
“Oh, you got me,” I say. “I’m that guy.”
She levels me with a glare.
I chew my cheek a moment before replying. “I don’t hate you,” I say. “I just feel that your success is... unearned.”
“Unearned?” she repeats, demanding more.
“Everything can be bought.”
“And you think we bought our success?”
“You do have a billionaire for a bassist,” I say, shrugging a shoulder. “I’m hardly the first to say this out loud. You know that.”
Katrina pauses, a line creasing between her brows, holding for long enough for me to think her next words will be to boot me off this bed and out the door. But she softens after a breath.
“No,” she says. “I guess you’re not. But I think that they, and you, just don’t know us very well.”
“Is that so?”
“Sure, Jonah has money and influence, but he never wanted it. Not really. He only ever uses it to help his friends.” Her lips twitch. “That’s kinda what made me like him, at first. But me and Knox? We came from nothing. Bronson and Addison did, too.”
I arch a brow. “Addison?”
“She never knew who her father was,” she argues. “And when she found out, he rejected her. Hell, the rest of us didn’t even know until this summer.” She gives me a smile, one of hope and friendship. “You don’t know Criminal Records as well as you think you do, Logan.”
“Maybe I don’t,” I say. “In fact, I’ve warmed up to the Botsford boy already.”
Katrina gives me a questioning look.
I lean close enough to kiss her, hovering over her on the pillows. “If he’d chosen differently, I wouldn’t be here now.”
I kiss her softly, delighting in the way her lips part to accept mine.
“But, also…” I add, drawing her eyes up to mine. “Your brother is a fucking idiot.”
Katrina laughs, the sound piercing my chest with warmth. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, he is. A little.”
I feel her warm hand on my face as I kiss her again and again. “There is one thing I’d change about your music, if I could.”
“What?” she asks.
I kiss the tip of her nose. “More of you,” I whisper.
I don’t elaborate. I know I don’t even need to when Katrina smiles.
We lie like this for a long time, the conversation never straying too far away from music, our bands and tours. Slowly but surely, Katrina drifts off, her body growing heavier against the mattress.
“Katrina?” I whisper.
No reply. Not even a sound.
“Katrina?”
I wait until I know she’s out before slowly slipping off the bed. Keeping each step as light as possible, I head toward the stairs. I watch over my shoulder as I make my way down, looking for any sign of movement.
But Katrina’s out cold.
On the first floor, I look around, quickly spotting the item I came all the way down here for. Katrina’s handbag lies on the carpet by the front door, the one likely place it’d be.
I shuffle toward it, keeping one ear sharp on the stairs as I pick it up and open it. Katrina’s phone rests inside next to her wallet and a small bag full of make-up.
I grab the phone, inputting the pin I saw her use over her shoulder earlier tonight at the pizza parlor.
It unlocks. For a moment, I pause, a twist of unease pooling around my gut as I swipe and search for... whatever the hell I’m supposed to be searching for.
Tick tock, Mr. Shock.
I open her emails first. Unsurprisingly, there are just a few sitting in her inbox, flagged for her to respond to later, but it’s otherwise empty. Of course, she’s the type of girl who has her inbox under control, every email worth saving assigned to a folder.
I skim the flagged ones, but there’s nothing incriminating. Nothing that would help Monroe’s mission.
I close the app, flicking over to her photo gallery instead, keeping one ear trained on the stairs. When I’m sure the silence will continue, I swipe through the photos.
She has her share of selfies, but who doesn’t? More than that, it’s photos of her and her bandmates. On the bus. In the hotels. Backstage at venues, some of which I recognize by the horrific wallpaper whose only purpose is to be memorable. Nothing too wild or crazy stands out.
Not even a nude.
Heat blooms on my cheeks with that thought.
Christ, what am I doing?
What other choice do I have?
I hop to her message app next. There are a few threads pinned to the top. Otherwise, it’s a mess of spam and delivery confirmations. One-time login codes to various apps and websites.
I open the top pinned thread, one that appears to be a group chat with her bandmates. A flick and skim for Monroe’s precious dirt, but it’s all mostly just their manager Jordan telling them where to be and when. What to bring. What to wear.
The next pinned thread is between her and Addison.
Addison
Hey, you okay?
Where are you?
What happened with Jo? You looked upset.
Girl?
What happened?
Answer the door, sweetie.
Ok! Getting scared now.
On my way down to the front desk. Ira’s gonna MASTER KEY YOUR PRETTY LITTLE ASS if you don’t reply ASAP!!!!
Katrina
I’m okay! Slept in. Getting dressed now.
I grin. The morning of the wedding. The morning she woke up hungover in my bed. Naked.
From the texts, she wasn’t too honest about it, either. In fact, she flat out lied about it.
It all couldn’t be that easy, could it?
Would little Katrina Benton falling into bed with the enemy be enough to sunder Criminal Records for good?
What would big brother do if he knew I was here right now?
Then again, members of Criminal Records seem to fall into bed with people they shouldn’t all the time. And Katrina’s empathy and understanding might not be exclusive to her. They might not even care at all.
Then why would she lie about it?
I have to keep this up. As much as I hoped to find what I needed tonight to get this over with, it doesn’t look like there’s much here. Katrina’s as squeaky clean as she appears.
She won’t be when I’m done with her.
The thought sends another guilty charge through my core as the sound of her moans echoes in my memory.
Christ. What the hell am I doing?
I close the apps and stick the phone back in her purse where she left it.