Chapter 37
Angus
The official part of the tour ends on Halloween in Vegas.
It’s been a long, crazy two months but we’ve come out the other side of the drama and scandal in a big way. The album had just gone gold when the Rock Harder story broke, and a month later we hit platinum. It’s been a whirlwind of touring, interviews, band meetings, therapy (for me), and… money.
I already have it and certainly don’t need more, but it means the world to the other guys in the band.
Fate can be interesting sometimes.
Despite the initial negativity, the bad press got people talking about us, listening to our music, and watching us live.
And things blew up from there.
The old saying that no press is bad press? It’s fucking true.
Our album started to sell like gangbusters after Ryleigh’s story broke, and because it’s a great fucking album, people started coming to the shows too. Sasha already added ten dates onto the tour between now and when we play the Garden in New York in two weeks. Lexi is going to stay on for a few more dates since she still looks and feels great, with Kirsten flying in to do the shows on the weekends.
Casey Hart flew in for the show tonight to present us with our framed platinum albums and there’s a huge party to celebrate going on at a local club that she rented out for the night. Club Inferno is some kind of private sex club most of the time, but it can be rented out for events like this and the place is packed.
Journalists, DJs, and record company executives from all over flew in for both the show and the party, and it’s wild here tonight.
The one good thing that came from the whole Rock Harder disaster is that my band had my back—and we found our groove again. I’m not talking about music either. That was never in jeopardy, but the floundering personal relationships were taking a toll, but once that story broke it was like everyone realized we were stronger together. As a unit. A team. Brothers .
We spent a lot of time strategizing. I hired a crisis control management team who did a fantastic job spinning the narrative. I personally hired a private detective to get some dirt on Callum and we used that to our advantage, getting the media talking about his bad behavior over the years, and somehow, that seemed to level the playing field.
All of a sudden, Callum was a huge fan of the band and Karnal Death was constantly making comments to the press about how great we are, what good friends we are, shit like that. Basically, doing their own damage control.
It pisses me off, but Sasha said to just let it go. It’s better to keep things positive instead of feeding anymore negativity.
Unfortunately, I don’t know how long we’re going to be able to keep that up.
Callum is here at the party tonight and he’s drunk.
Taryn is with him, and he’s been getting handsy with her—not in a good way.
And Mick isn’t happy.
I don’t know what happened between him and Taryn—he won’t tell us, says it’s none of our business—but he doesn’t act like a guy who doesn’t, or didn’t, have feelings for her.
“I know we’re trying to stay away from anything remotely related to drama, but if he puts his hands on her like that again, I’m going to get involved.” Mick is glaring in the direction of where Callum and Taryn are standing with a group of people I don’t recognize.
“Easy, bro.” I put a hand on his arm. “She’s a grown woman who made a conscious decision to be with him. It’s not your job to play hero.”
He just grunts.
I sigh because I’m torn.
I agree with him—you don’t put your hands on a woman. Ever. If you’re done with her, walk away. Unless she attacks you, and you’re just trying to defend yourself, there is never a reason to be physical with a woman.
On the other hand, I want nothing to do with Callum.
I’m positive he played a role in the article that came out, feeding that whole thing about how Crimson Edge was breaking up. We’ve since disproved all of that nonsense, and the crisis control team has worked hard to distance me from my family. I did legally change my name a long time ago. I do not have any connection to Holland-Burke Pharmaceuticals and never have. I am not currently and have not taken money from my family since graduating from college.
The trust fund I live on was given to me by my maternal grandmother, which came from generational wealth that goes back a hundred years and has nothing to do with the pharmaceutical industry or the Hollingsworth fortune.
And my mother, as promised, already had a tearful and seemingly heartfelt statement prepared, talking about how an accident left August with a low sperm count, so the family decided to use his brother, Alex, as a sperm donor. Nothing nefarious about the situation, but August was embarrassed about his purported inability to have kids, so it was kept under wraps. Then she got pregnant with Abe, which was a miracle.
No mention that she doesn’t even know who Annette’s father is, of course, or that Alden is also Alex’s child, but her statement garnered sympathy, eliminating the need for much discourse by the press. Certainly no mention of the fact that she was having an affair with Alex long before she got together with August, or that they got pregnant the old-fashioned way.
I cut all ties to my family, other than Abe and Alden, even Alex for now. I’m not mad at him but the fact that he’s okay with all of the lies and manipulation makes my skin crawl. He’s reached out a handful of times but I told him I needed time. I don’t know how much will be enough, but I’m doing my best to move on.
Which is why I’ve been in therapy, trying to work through the dynamics of my fucked-up childhood and the lingering trauma.
“Who’s the bald guy with Callum?” Jonny asks me, frowning. “He looks familiar but I can’t place him.”
I gaze in that direction and shrug. “No idea.”
Callum takes that moment to shove Taryn to her knees, grabbing her by the back of the head and pushing it back and forth against his groin, mimicking a blow job.
“I’m done,” Mick grunts, stalking in that direction before we can stop him.
“Shit.” Jonny runs after him and I’m a second behind, stopping Mick a moment before he reaches Callum.
The group around Callum and Taryn are laughing, making lewd remarks, and egging him on, while she’s still on her knees, looking like she’s trying not to cry.
“It’s not worth it,” Jonny hisses in Mick’s ear.
“It is!” he protests, trying to elbow his way free, but I grab his arm.
“ Stop . If you want her, then find a way to get her, but as long as she’s willingly with him, it’s none of your business.”
He’s breathing hard, eyes burning into the back of Callum’s head.
“Hey, Jonny Gold!” The bald guy spots Jonny and calls out to him. He’s red-faced and sweaty, overweight, and completely plastered. He holds out his hand. “Rich Fowler from Rock Harder Magazine ! Nice to finally meet you!”
I freeze and feel Mick tense beside me.
Jonny’s our best spokesperson, always ready for anything, and he smiles politely as he shakes the man’s hand.
“I’m waiting for a thank you,” Rich continues, pumping Jonny’s hand effusively.
“A thank you?” Jonny still has his polite face on, but there’s no doubt he’s teetering on the edge of saying something snide.
“For that article I fudged for you! Ryleigh’s just a kid, you know? Doesn’t know how to play the game, so when she sent in some milquetoast story about brotherhood and redemption...” He rolls his eyes. “I had plenty of sources for info, but once I got your bus driver on board to snoop for us, I got all the goods she wasn’t willing to give up—and look at you now, platinum-selling artists!” He grins proudly, like he wrote the songs or something, and I’m rooted in place.
My thoughts are a wild jumble of shock, guilt, frustration, and confusion.
The bus driver?
Ben? The bus driver who suddenly retired a few weeks ago?
He was a spy?
Not Ryleigh.
Ryleigh didn’t spill the beans.
Not even by accident.
Everything I thought I knew suddenly spirals out of control and I’m a little dizzy.
I’m also fucking furious.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I grab Rich by the shirt and practically lift him off the ground. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? You had someone spy on me to write about personal family information that has absolutely nothing to do with music or the band? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Hey, man, settle down!” Callum tries to intervene, but Mick is already there, putting his body between us.
“Come on!” Rich is still laughing. “This is the best thing that ever happened to Crimson Edge—I mean, look where you are now! You’d still be virtually unknown if not for me!”
I pull back my fist but Tate knows me too well and grabs my arm before I can let loose. Because I really want to hurt this guy right now.
“Not worth it,” he hisses. “Fuck him.”
I thrust Rich away from me shaking my head. “You seriously have no idea how much damage you caused. To my family. To Ryleigh …”
He rolls his eyes. “Ryleigh needs to grow up. She turned down the job offer we made her, which was pretty generous, and last I heard, she’s waiting tables somewhere. She threw away everything she worked for. She even shut down her little influencer channel.” He shakes his head. “Some people have no stones.”
“And some have no ethics,” I snap.
“Dude, slow your roll,” Callum says to me. “Good things happened because of Rich. I’ll let you in on a little secret—my management company is working with yours to have you open for us starting in January. We were going to announce it tonight but now you made me spill the beans.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I turn to Sasha. “He’s kidding, right?”
“Nothing has been decided,” she says quickly before giving Callum an irritated look. “You know that, Callum. Negotiations are ongoing.”
“And you know that other than Nobody’s Fool, there’s no better tour for them than with us.” He smirks at her.
“Fuck you.” The words slip out, and I don’t even try to hide my irritation.
I have to get out of here.
I can’t breathe, and it feels like everything is closing in.
What did I do?
How did I let Rich pull the wool over my eyes like this?
I’m smarter than this.
Better than this.
I may not be part of the family’s pharmaceutical empire, but I fucking grew up sitting at the knee of August Hollingsworth. I cut my teeth on his early business deals, and despite not being interested in participating, I learned the mechanics of how to be cutthroat, cautious, and prepared in every aspect of my life.
Until now.
This bald, bloated, miserable excuse for a human being not just made a fool of me, he hurt the woman I loved.
Love.
Still love.
I’ve been angry at and disappointed in her, but I don’t have an internal switch to make me automatically stop loving her.
And now I’ll burn down the whole fucking city to find her and make this up to her.
But first, I have a phone call to make.
I don’t care what I have to do, but Rich isn’t going to get away with this.
No matter what favors I have to call in, or how much money I have to spend, I’m going to make sure Rich regrets every single one of his life choices.
Then I have to figure out how the hell I’m going to get my girl to forgive me.