Rhythm of the Road (Lost Kings MC 16)

“Then why didn’t you tell me about it ahead of time?” I stop pacing and squint at him. “And why don’t you look more excited?”

“They had a last-minute spot to fill,” he hedges.

“And?”

“They’re shock jocks.” He sighs. “Have a bit of a reputation for being obnoxious.”

“Wait, shock jocks are still a thing? I thought all those tools moved to podcasts and satellite radio.”

He frowns at the question. “This duo’s still popular. They got fined into oblivion a few years back but returned with a bigger audience than ever. They do a variety of interviews, from porn stars to pop stars.”

“And you think that’s good for my image?”

“I do. You’re getting airplay on mainstream radio. I know your roots are country but we’ll go anywhere the money’s green, right?”

“If you say so, I’ll do it.”

Another frown. In Greg’s head, this wasn’t up for debate.

“Bane should be the one to escort you. Keep it professional. Your boyfriend’s got a hair trigger for anything he deems offensive against you.”

I snort and then full-on belly laugh. “I’m not sure what it says about you that you think that’s a negative quality in a man, Greg. But I’ll tell you one thing: I’m sure as shit not going without him.”

He sighs and stands. “Just keep him on a leash.”

As if anyone could leash Rooster. Or I’d insult him by asking him to sit there and say nothing, denying his true nature. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“It would be a better use of his time if you’d tell him about the letters.”

“Why? How’s he supposed to track the guy down? With the power of his mind?” I scoff. Greg just wants to use Rooster as free labor, and I’m not havin’ it. Nor am I gonna worry him by telling him what’s going on. I snap a quick picture of the schedule and send it to Rooster, so he at least knows what to expect.

After Greg leaves, I poke my head outside the door. Bane’s standing guard like he has been every night since Dawson assigned him to me.

“Need something?” he asks.

“Just help moving my stuff out.” I’m not bothering to change out of my dress. Rooster said he’s picking me up in a truck so I can bring my guitar to the radio station tomorrow, and I want to look pretty for him.

“I’ll find someone. Stay put.”

As if I’d bother with an escape attempt.

I haven’t personally received any more letters but between Bane’s constant vigilance, Dawson stopping by to check on me every night, and Greg’s arguments with the record label, I have a feeling more have been delivered and no one wants to tell me.

I shut the door with a quiet click and face the empty, lonely dressing room. Eagerness to see Rooster shoots through my belly. If I could sprout a set of wings, I’d take flight right now.

A few minutes later, Trent’s usual rapid-fire three knocks hit the door. “It’s me,” he calls out.

“Come on in.”

He and Bane grab my stuff and sandwich me between them for the long walk to the van.

The fire of a dozen bees are stinging my eyes tonight. Sleep. I just want to sleep in a reasonably comfortable bed.

We reach the van and I help the guys load everything, remembering to take my backpack and another bag up front.

“Go ahead, Shelby. We’ve got the rest of this.”

Stretching out on the thin mattress of my tiny bunk, I groan and close my eyes.

Rooster. Can’t wait to see him.

An instant replay of tonight’s show flashes behind my eyelids. It was good, but not my best. Besides my stinging eyes from whatever pollen is floatin’ in the air, my throat’s raw and scratchy. Dawson hadn’t asked me to perform with him, and instead of being insulted, I was relieved.

I pop a lozenge in my mouth and roll to my side. As I’m drifting off, the guys step into the van. Poor Bane’s been riding with us in our less luxurious surroundings but hasn’t complained.

How the heck am I supposed to explain his presence to Rooster?Chapter Forty-NineRooster

The spot Shelby asked me to pick her up from tonight is a few rows over from where her van’s parked. The lot’s empty at this hour. I’m about to start up the truck and move closer when she pops out of the van, hoisting her backpack on her shoulder.

A big mountain of a man follows her. Dude could give Pants a run for his money in the scary fucker department. Why the fuck’s he following Shelby?

I step out of the truck, keeping my eye on both of them. She turns and stops him, speaking a few words I can’t catch. She points my way and motions with her hands.

Mountain man nods, and she races across the blacktop.

She turns and waves at the guy before flinging herself at me. “Hey. I’m so sorry about that—”