CHAPTER 36
CLAYTON
Clayton walked Shorty out to his car, his boots crunching against the gravel, fists still clenched from the conversation inside. He was madder than a wet hen, but this wasn’t just anger—it was something darker, something that sat like a lead weight in his gut.
Jamie’s own damn daddy had been behind those threats. A man was supposed to protect his daughter, not turn into the monster under her bed. The thought made his stomach churn. He’d dealt with plenty of low-life bastards in his time, but this one hit differently.
“I apologize for showing up unannounced,” Shorty said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I wanted to tell you in person.”
Clayton gave a sharp nod, his mind spinning a mile a minute.
Jamie was safe now, but what about tomorrow?
Next week? What if someone else came after her?
What if that bastard got out early? The thought made his blood run hot.
He wasn’t the type to let things eat at him—life on the road had taught him how to roll with the punches.
But this? This wasn’t some drunken bar fight or some tabloid scandal. This was Jamie’s life .
“I hear you,” Clayton said, voice tight. “But first thing tomorrow I want you to find a security company.”
Shorty sighed. “Clayton, the threats are over. She’s safe, now.”
Clayton set his jaw. He didn’t believe in luck, and he damn sure didn’t believe in letting his guard down. He knew too many stories about women who thought they were safe—until they weren’t.
“For now.” His voice came out low, sharp-edged. “Ain’t risking it. Ain’t risking her . I want a damn gate up front, cameras—hell, whatever it takes.”
Shorty studied him, his expression unreadable, then finally nodded. “All right. I’ll handle it.”
Clayton barely heard him. His pulse drummed in his ears, his brain playing out every worst-case scenario. Jamie getting a phone call she shouldn’t. Jamie walking through a parking lot alone. Jamie—dammit, he couldn’t even let himself go there.
“And get her a protection order against that bastard,” Clayton added.
“He’s in jail.”
Clayton’s jaw flexed, his fingers twitching at his sides. He wasn’t a violent man, but if Jamie’s father ever stepped within spitting distance of her again he wouldn’t hesitate.
“And one day he won’t be,” he said, his voice low, deliberate. If that bastard so much as breathed in Jamie’s direction he’d handle it himself. Let the law be damned.
Shorty exhaled. “He’s going to be locked up for five years, Clayton, maybe longer.”
Clayton didn’t flinch. Five years was nothing. Five years was a couple of albums, a few hundred shows, and a handful of hits. But when he thought about Jamie—where she’d be, where they’d be—he realized something deep in his gut .
“Ain’t long enough.”
Shorty leaned against his car door, giving him a knowing look. “You think you and Jamie will still be together then?”
Clayton didn’t even blink. Hell, he didn’t even hesitate.
“Till the cows come home.”
The second he said it he knew it wasn’t just words. It was the truth. Solid as the ground beneath his boots. He’d fought it, ignored it, tried to act like what they had was just circumstance, proximity. But it wasn’t. It never had been.
Jamie was his. And as long as there was breath in his lungs, nothing and no one would ever hurt her again.