Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
CALLUM/CASH
Then
One Month Later
Sinful Sensations it’s an anthem of determination. Exactly what my time in Paris is all about.
The second the first riff smashes through the speakers, the audience detonates. Thousands of bodies heave, their every shout a current jolting through my veins. We play set after set while I try to shake the binds that hold me down.
I hold the mic tighter, mouth pressed close, and the words fly out of me like they’ve been trapped in my throat for years.
Tell me you love me when the night is young.
Tell me you hate me when the morning comes.
But darlin’, don’t pretend you aren’t dangerous.
Cuz your love for me was traitorous.
Just like roses, your lilies have thorns.
Your promises rot in the hands of the man with horns.
Our love decomposes.
And our chapter closes.
The concertgoers howl it back, thousands of broken voices echoing mine. It should feel like power, but all it tastes like is blood.
Bren’s guitar shreds fire beside me, his jaw locked like he’s grinding down his own demons.
Cooper thunders his bass in sync with my pulse. His eyes cut toward me every few beats as if checking that I haven’t slipped too far.
Hawke hammers the drums like a fight he refuses to lose, sweat flying off his skin. His sticks pound a beat I can barely hold.
The lights flash crimson across the arena, flooding the stage like a wound split open. I swear I see her face in the sea of silhouettes. Livianna. Or maybe just the ghost of her that refuses to leave me alone.
I bend toward the crowd, hair sticking to my temples, every vein straining as I scream into the mic.
I feel him breathing down my neck.
Devil’s grip, I’m a fucking wreck.
Devil’s hold, tight and true,
But your thorns cut deeper; they break right through.
You’re the chaos in my soul,
A tempest I can’t control.
The roar that comes back is deafening, and for a second I let it drown me. Drown the cravings clawing at me, the truth I won’t admit to the guys, and the certainty that when this set ends, I’ll tear Paris apart searching for her.
Bren edges closer, his back colliding with mine as his guitar howls. Into the sweat-slick air he mutters, almost lost in the noise, “Don’t go looking for her, Cash.”
I don’t answer. Can’t. I’m not even shocked he knows what’s going on in my head. How could he not?
The next lyric catches in my throat, and I shove it out anyway, raw and ragged. The crowd swallows every broken piece of me like they came here hungry for my ruin.
In this battle of love and dread,
Your thorns cause more devastation,
Than the demon who wants me dead.
The song closes on a single brutal chord. For a heartbeat, the silence is absolute before the arena erupts again, louder and wilder, as if they know they’ve been let inside a wound that wasn’t meant for anyone else.
And while the lights blind me and the noise shakes my bones, the only thought left in me is this. If she’s out there and Bren didn’t tell me, she heard me.
The gig goes off without a hitch. Now I’m showered and on my way to the most important meeting of my life. The driver works his way through the bumper-to-bumper traffic, and I get more tense and rigid by the second.
It takes twenty minutes to get where I’m supposed to be when it only should’ve taken ten. When we come to a stop, I get out of the car and shake my body loose.
Once I take in the brisk October night air, I stroll into the gentleman’s club like I’m relaxed and calm.
It takes me two seconds to see him. The man who’s the only way out of my hell. I adjust my leather jacket and bypass the host stand, pointing to the bar.
I don’t know any French, so this is better. They nod and let me in with no trouble.
I reach the counter and slide up next to him. “Mr. Crowne, thanks for meeting with me this late.”
Jaxon twists on his stool and gestures to the one beside him. “Cash, how was your concert?”
“It was great. One of the best we’ve put on in days.” I sit next to him. “You’re sure nobody knows I’m meeting with you?”
“Cash, I know what I’m doing. No one has any idea.” He lifts a finger to get the bartender’s attention. “You seem like you could use a drink.”
“Please.”
The bartender sets a whiskey in front of me. Neat, just how I like it. My hand wraps around the glass, but I don’t drink yet. I need my head sharp, not blurred.
“I didn’t ask you here to trade pleasantries.” My voice scrapes out low and impatient.
Jaxon studies me with a stillness carved in stone. “Then stop orbiting it, Cash. What do you want?”
“I want out. Out of the chokehold the industry’s got on me. Out of the strings he—” My jaw locks. I force the truth back down. “I want my own label. Something that’s mine. Something that can’t be fucked with.”
The words spill fast. My pulse thrums hard enough to rip through my skin.
Jaxon finally shifts as he leans back, gaze steady and unnerving. “And you want me to back you again.”