Chapter 1
DAWSON
“Holloway’s disappeared.”
The voice of my colleague, Lennie, crackled in my earpiece.
Fuck, this was getting out of hand.
I loved being a bodyguard, but some primaries made my life a living hell. And Iain Holloway was one of them.
Or, rather, he was it.
Join a security team for a popular rock band, they said. It’ll be fun.
Fun, my fucking ass.
The past four years had been a never-ending cycle of yanking the bad boys of Wayward Lane out of one rockstar fire and preparing for the next one.
“What do you mean he’s disappeared?” I barked in response. “You accompanied him from the dressing room directly to their VIP room. How could he have disappeared?”
A year ago, I’d asked my boss, Regan, to take me off Iain’s detail. I couldn’t handle the lead guitarist’s Houdini hijinks anymore. Or his endless flirting. Not that I minded much of the latter, and hell, he flirted with everyone. But it wasn’t smart or professional.
So, I switched to guarding the band’s singer, Brodie James. At least Brodie had grown some common sense. Of course, that could be because he was recently married to his former manager, Ivan Cross. To say Brodie was protective of his husband was putting it mildly.
For a while, my work stress had lowered. Iain was someone else’s problem.
But a month ago, there was a break-in at Iain’s Nashville home, and Regan put me back on Holloway duty. My blood pressure had never been the same. Lately, my face was as red as the hair on my head.
And I had red fucking hair.
Iain was a free-spirited imp who chafed at any kind of authority figure. Rules and safety protocols? Iain ignored—and fought against—most of them.
What he needed was a good, hard spanking to put him to rights.
Not that I would ever say that out loud, or my boss would kick my ass.
And I was still working out how to get through to Iain.
He didn’t take me or any of his security staff seriously, and as the band’s popularity rose, the stakes got higher.
It wasn’t just a matter of being unexpectedly approached by one rabid fan for an autograph.
It was getting swarmed and injured, or worse.
It happened at a nightclub in New Orleans back in October when a drunk hit Iain in the face. I’d been guarding Brodie and Van, but when I heard my boss's SOS call, my blood turned to ice. Just thinking about it now, about something bad happening to Iain, had me sweating like a marathon workout.
All a perp needs is a split-second opportunity to get close. To inflict harm.
And my job was to anticipate those threats.
Even if the biggest one came from the person I was guarding…
“He found a way to sneak out again, boss. None of the guys in the band know where he’s at. I swear, I only turned my back for a second.”
I had a good idea where Iain was at. He was getting sucked off by some groupie backstage or just outside the building. I’d found him in that same scenario so many times that if you asked me what Iain looked like, I could accurately describe his dick and balls to a sketch artist.
And yeah, he had a pretty cock. And balls.
Not that I paid attention. Or that I should be thinking about that.
Ever.
The band members were told that when they hooked up on a venue site, they needed to pick a place where security could be on standby, like a closed dressing room, but no.
Not Iain.
And I was done playing his fucking cat and mouse game.
“I put you in charge of him while I was doing the last rounds. Your job is ensuring he stays within the building and the rooms we set out! If you can’t handle being my secondary, I’ll assign someone new,” I snapped.
“Sorry, Daws. It won’t happen again.”
As irritated as I was at Lennie for losing Iain, I also knew how difficult the job was. Not to mention, I was worried. The thought of Iain getting hurt made all my protective instincts kick into overdrive.
Maybe it was also the single dad in me. Protectiveness came with the territory.
I was concerned about all my details but Iain most of all. Not every fan had good intentions. And he was taking unnecessary risks. One of these days, he was gonna find himself in a situation he couldn’t joke his way out of.
But even though Iain was always playful, I didn’t buy his flippant act for one minute. Sure, he loved what he did, and he enjoyed himself, a lot, but no one was that happy-go-lucky all the time.
I’d been around the boys in the band long enough to know that there was more to Iain Holloway than long blond hair, lightning-quick fingers, and salty quips.
“Scour every inch of the hallways behind the VIP room,” I directed. “I’ll check the exterior.”
“Will do.”
“Notify me as soon as you have an update.”
I tapped my earpiece again and hung up. Then, I made my way from the stage to the nearest exit.
I encountered several tech crew members, including our chief engineer, Ace. He was getting the last-minute technical glitches resolved.
Everyone stepped out of my way.
People usually did when they spotted me.
It was a fact that most bodyguards were hired partly because of their size.
It wasn’t the most important factor, but being a big guy (I was just shy of six-four) had its advantages.
And everything about my manner told people to back off.
Throw in the red fauxhawk, redder face (thank you, Iain), and the steam that was now coming out of my nose, and there was a reason my colleagues gave me the nickname ‘Rampaging Viking.’
I walked past the VIP room and spotted all the guys in the band—Brodie, Ronin, the bass player, and Faisel, the drummer—talking with Van and their invited guests.
They were offering everyone celebratory shots and amping up the atmosphere.
Nothing unusual there, but still fairly tame compared to how they used to party.
I’d noticed a shift ever since their last concert on Halloween.
With Faise’s brother in drug treatment and Brodie’s relationship with Van, they partied less but hung out with each other more.
The guys were growing up.
Everyone except you-know-who.
They’d been in the recording studio this past month, finalizing their next album, and tonight, they were hosting an LGBTQ+ community charity event in Nashville. And while the rest of the guys were doing their bit, Iain was nowhere to be found.
I headed down the hallway and spotted the exit sign to the back alley of the building. When I got up close, I noticed the door had been propped open—a breadcrumb leading me to my target.
“Jesus Christ!” I yelled out, then tapped my earpiece. “Xavier, Lennie, I’m on to him. He’s out back. He propped the exit door, and I don’t have to tell you how dangerous that is.”
“Shit, you need backup?”
“I can handle him.”
Oh, I was gonna handle him all right...
Stepping out into the alleyway, I spotted Iain not five yards down, leaning against the brick wall, a man kneeling at his feet. The guy was giving him a hand job and a piss poor one at that.
At least, that’s what I assumed. Iain looked bored as fuck, which was not like him at all.
“Holloway, get your ass in here!” I yelled out.
The man on the ground startled.
“Ow, careful!” Iain snapped at the guy. “That’s my dick, not a squeeze toy.”
The guy dropped his hand and stared at me with wide eyes. “Sorry, he scared me.”
“Yeah, Dawson has that effect. On some people,” Iain replied, looking right at me. Then he gave me his favorite finger and turned back to his fuck buddy. “Keep going, hot stuff. I need to come before I take the stage.”
“No!” I barked and stalked toward them. “Inside, now! I’ll find you a dressing room if you need to finish up, but not out here.”
I pointed to the end of the alley and the busy downtown street where people were strolling by. It wasn’t just that random strangers could see what Iain was up to or take his photo (which was a nightmare for PR); anyone could walk right up to them.
Unreal.
Iain tucked his pretty cock back inside those skintight leather pants he favored and shook his head.
“Move it!” I commanded.
Mr. Squeeze jumped to his feet and bolted past me.
At least one person was listening.
Iain sighed and ran a hand through his wavy blond hair. “You had to ruin that for me, didn’t you?”
“This is just the type of situation I’ve warned you about. Do you not care that you’re putting yourself at risk?”
“For what? STDs?” he quipped and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his denim jacket.
“You’re smoking? Since when?”
“If I can’t come before a show, then a cig will do. I don’t smoke regularly. Just when my nerves hit. Is that okay, Daddy? Or do I need your permission for that, too?”
“You’re the one acting like a child, so—” I gave him a finger in return.
It wasn’t my most mature moment.
But it was better than taking Iain over my knee like I wanted.
Then I noticed his foot tapping the ground and the way he bit his lower lip.
“What are you nervous about?”
Iain rolled his big brown eyes. “Believe it or not, even experienced musicians get nervous before heading out on stage.”
That wasn’t it. This was a charity concert, not a stadium tour. And I’d seen him before shows plenty of times. He was never like this.
There was something he wasn’t telling me.
Surprise.
“It’s nothing,” he continued, pulling out a cigarette and sliding it between those cocky lips. “Can I smoke now?”
I nodded, our gazes clashing.
“Make it fast. I want you inside.”
“Really? I didn’t take you for a bottom.”
Instead of reacting, I stared at him silently.
He pulled out a lighter, lit up the cigarette, and took a deep inhale. Then he looked up at me and let out a long plume of smoke. Right in my face.
My hand itched to show Iain—specifically, his ass—exactly what I thought of his rebellious routine.
If only.