Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
CALLUM/CASH
Six Months Before Now
Speeding Cars & Malibu Magic
It’s the not-knowing that kills you. The realization that she’s with someone...and it's not you.
“Where the hell are you going, Lily?”
The words crawl out of my throat as her brand-new Audi disappears around the bend ahead of me. Her taillights bleed red through the Malibu canyon like wounds I can’t close.
My hands grip the steering wheel of my silver Porsche Spyder until my knuckles crack. The engine purrs beneath me like a caged beast that wants to tear something apart.
Just like I do.
The sun shines orange across the Pacific as I follow her through the winding coastal roads, keeping enough distance that she won’t spot me in her rearview mirror. Now’s not the time to approach her.
I need a plan. One that will sweep her off her feet.
My chest burns with a combination of rage and desperation that’s become my constant companion since she tore out of my life and never looked back.
Three days. Three fucking days since I spotted her outside that boutique in West Hollywood, laughing into her phone like the world hadn’t ended when she left me dying in the wreckage of what we used to be.
She was happy. Radiant. Like someone who’s found exactly what she was hoping for. And that terrifies me more than Leon Baker ever did.
At least with Leon, I know exactly where I stand now. The bastard knows I own him, knows I’m not that broken, stupid boy he used to pump full of Floating V while his friends took turns destroying what was left of my soul.
He knows about the recordings tucked away in my safe and on drives in places he’ll never find. There are multiple confessions from him captured on jewelry so advanced it makes spy movies look like children’s toys.
Who cares that I had to endure more sexual abuse to get my revenge? The fact is, retribution is fucking awesome.
I reach up and paw at my diamond stud that Jaxon had made for me. Leon never stood a chance once Jaxon joined my fight, even though he knows of nothing that happened.
He told me once he’s helping me because he saw a scared boy trapped in a furious shell of a man. He said he had once been there himself, so he knew the signs.
I didn’t ask him about his trauma, and he didn’t ask about mine. I like that about him. He’s a good man.
I’ll never forget the day I played that first recording back to Leon. His face drained of color as he listened to himself confess to drugging me and to letting others abuse me while I was too high to fight back.
The moment he realized I had him by the balls instead of the other way around was truly satisfying.
“You think this changes anything, stupid boy?” His voice shakes like a man standing on a crumbling cliff.
“It changes everything.” I give him a shove. “Now you can bow down to me, you fucking sick prick.”
That was two years ago. Now Leon Baker, the man who destroyed my father and tried to do the same to me, sits in his office knowing that one word from me burns his entire empire to the ground.
My label thrives because he has no choice but to watch me succeed. He knows that every deal I make and every song that hits number one is another reminder of how I’ve turned the tables.
He has no clue that Crowne Ventures International backs every decision I make or that my freedom was bought with invisible technology and offshore accounts that can’t be traced back to Jaxon. Nobody knows that because that’s how we have it set up.
He lets me run the show. All I do is make money and help his bottom line. He’s basically an angel investor when it all comes down to it.
And Leon… Well, that’s where I get a fabulous taste of retaliation.
All Leon knows is that I hold his life in my hands now. If he ever tries to hurt me or mine again, I’ll ruin him the same way he destroyed everyone else. But none of that power means shit if I can’t get her back.
Livianna turns onto Pacific Coast Highway, and my stomach drops as the realization slams into me like a bat to the face. She’s going to Malibu. To someone’s house. Someone who can afford oceanfront property and the kind of privacy that money can’t usually buy.
Someone who isn’t me.
The Audi slows and turns into a gated driveway that screams wealth and discretion. I pull over further away and across the street, parking beneath windswept palms as outrage and heartbreak wage war in my chest.
The house rises from the coastline like something out of an architectural magazine. Modern glass and steel, all clean lines and expensive taste, overlooking the ocean like it owns the fucking horizon.
It’s the kind of place that appears in lifestyle spreads about successful men and the lives they build for the women they love. Everything I never gave her. Everything I was too fucked up to provide.
Through my windshield, I watch her step out of her car with a smile that could power the entire coastline. She’s wearing a short fall dress that wisps around her thighs in the evening breeze.
Her hair is loose with soft waves that make my chest crack open with memories of tangling my fingers through those luscious locks while she whispered my name like I was the only man alive.
She pulls out her phone. Even from this distance, I see the way her face transforms as she answers.
She laughs, that musical sound that used to be mine, and spins in a fucking circle like she’s dancing to music only she can hear. She must disconnect because she slips her phone back into her bag and skips inside.
“Goddammit.” I light a cigarette with hands that won’t stop shaking. “She’s never spun in a circle over me.”
She disappears into the house, and I’m left sitting in my car like some deranged stalker. Then I see it.
Shadows move behind expensive curtains. He’s in there with her, and I’m out here watching while my imagination runs wild with images that make me want to put my fist through something.
Whose place is this? Is she cooking dinner with him? Will they curl up on the couch while he runs his fingers over her soft skin? Is she letting him touch her in ways that used to belong to me?
The thought makes me want to storm through that front door and remind whoever the fuck he is that some things can’t be replaced.
But I can’t.
The truth is, I lost the right to fight for her the moment I let her believe I slept with Zara to keep her safe.
Time and time again, I was abused and chose my anger over Livianna’s heart, choosing everything that was slowly killing me over the one person who could’ve saved me.
My phone buzzes against the console. Three missed calls from Bren and a text that makes my blood run cold.
Guns: Bro, where are you? We’re supposed to be in the studio reviewing the US tour logistics. You better not be doing anything crazy.
Too fucking late for that. I’m already here, witnessing the woman I love disappear into someone else’s life while I sit on the outside like the broken bastard I’ve always been.
The lights in the house dim, and I catch a glimpse of movement upstairs. Two silhouettes close enough together that my vision tunnels with blinding rage. I take a long drag of my cigarette, the smoke burning my lungs in a way that seems appropriate.
At least I can control Leon now. At least I have power over the man who tried to knock me down, the way he hurt the people I love. But power over my abuser means nothing if I can’t have power over my own heart.
The cigarette burns down to my fingers. I get out of the car and drop it, crushing the butt under my boot. I pick it up and toss it into a nearby disposal for soiled, tied-up dog bags.
The palm trees sway above me as I pace beneath them. My leather jacket does nothing to cut the chill that’s settled in my bones.
Who is he? Some fashion billionaire? A movie producer? Another musician who can give her the stability and success I never could?
The questions claw at me like wild animals, each one drawing blood I can’t afford to lose.
My phone rings. Bren’s name flashes across the screen. For a moment, I consider ignoring it, but something in me needs to hear a familiar voice even if I can’t tell him where I am or what I’ve seen.
“Where the fuck are you, Cash?” His voice cuts through the speaker the moment I answer.
“Driving around.”
“Where? You missed the meeting with the tour directors and now they’re questioning whether you’re reliable enough for the dates. They think you’re using hard drugs again.”
“It won’t be an issue, Guns.”
There’s a pause and I can practically hear him processing the tension in my voice. “This is about Livianna, isn’t it?”
Everything’s about her. Every song I write and every deal I make. Every breath I take that doesn’t include her feels like I’m slowly suffocating on my own mistakes.
“Guns, she’s with someone.” I light another cigarette. “I don’t know who, but she’s with someone and she looks...fucking happy.”
There’s a drawn-out silence.
“Maybe that’s what she needs.” The way he says it is gentle, and that makes my chest tighten.
“I thought you said you’d help me get her back.” My focus stays on the house that hides the life she’s building without me. “I'm not done fighting for what’s mine.”
“Cash—”
“She’s mine, Guns. She’s always been mine. And I don’t give a fuck who thinks they can take her away from me. We’re soulmates… We’re meant to have what was stolen from us.”
“Just…” The line goes quiet for a long moment before Bren speaks again, his voice careful. “Don’t do anything that’s gonna get you arrested or worse. We need you.”
“The band needs me. She doesn’t, and that’s the fucking problem.” I hang up before he can respond, shoving the phone back into my jacket pocket as I glare at the mansion that’s become the center of my obsession.
I don’t know who owns this place. I don’t know who’s making her laugh like the world is full of possibilities instead of the broken promises I left scattered in my wake.