“You’re playing like you’re trying to piss me off today, Fawn, and I’m not in the mood,” Houston snapped.
Two hours ago, our interview had appeared online, announcing me as Bound’s new guitarist and turning Houston into a bear with a thorn in its paw. Bound had chosen a nobody to replace their beloved Calvin and no one, despite their pretty words, was thrilled about it.
“Do it again,” grumpy bear ordered.
Despite my obvious fatigue and despondency, I’d shown up for rehearsal bright and early as expected. I wouldn’t have put it past Houston to break into my apartment and drag me out of bed if I hadn’t. I would have preferred it—staying in bed, not being pulled out of it.
“Back off, Morrow. I don’t need your shit today.”
The air became still as soon as I stopped speaking. The world had come to a screeching halt just to witness my punishment for talking back.
“Say that again?”
Behind me, I heard a heavy sigh.
It could have been Loren or Jericho who’d made the sound. Neither were unused to our daily squabbles.
Squaring my shoulders, I looked Houston in the eye. There was no use backing down now. “Allow me to elaborate,” I offered. Flipping him off would have been subtler. “I said I had a rough night, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t breathe down my back today.”
“You had a rough night?” Houston’s tone was gentle, making me instantly wary. I stared at him, not bothering to respond. “And you thought you’d come to my session, play like shit, and then cry on my shoulder about your personal problems?”
“I don’t see any tears, do you?”
This time I heard a low, drawn-out groan behind me.
“You know what I see? I see a whiny brat who doesn’t want to earn her keep.”
I didn’t have time to consider the repercussions before I exploded.
“I bust my ass every day, Houston! It’s not good enough, though, is it? It never is. We both know I’m good. You were an amateur once too, but I doubt you were half as good as me. So what’s your real problem with me, huh? Do I not have the right equipment for you to accept that I deserve to be here? Are you too macho to admit that you’re only pretending to be in control? Well, I see you, Houston, and maybe that scares you. If you want me to quit, you’re going to have to try harder than being an asshole who thinks too highly of himself. If you’re scared, get a nightlight, bitch. I’m not going anywhere.”
Exhaling all the air I’d trapped in my lungs, I fooled myself into thinking I’d won. I’d finally shut Houston Morrow up. After my little speech, however, he couldn’t even give me the benefit of a reaction. Not unless I counted the fury in his green eyes right before he moved them over my head and spoke to his friends behind me.
“Get out.”
I knew he didn’t mean me, but I was tempted to flee anyway. The moment the door closed behind Loren and Jericho, Houston moved away from me.
I didn’t expect that.
The only problem was that I could no longer see him. It wasn’t until I heard the lock turning that I dared look over my shoulder.
Oh, fuck.
This time, when he closed the distance between us, he stood behind me. I could feel every breath he took on my nape, sending chills down my spine. Instead of the coppery scent of fear, I tasted cherries and smelled cinnamon.
“Braxton?”
“Yes, Houston?”
“I want to tell you a secret.”
“Oh, good, another one. I’m sure it will be riveting.”
Wrapping his hand around my neck from behind, he pulled me even closer before placing his lips at my ear. “Whatever you think you know about me, I promise you I’m much worse. So are they. Loren likes for people to think that what you see is what you get. He saves what’s really lurking inside for special occasions. Rich, he’s nice, isn’t he? He does whatever I tell him to. I can see that desperate need for us to be close again in his eyes. He wants it so much that if I asked him to help me hide a body, he would. Without question.”
Houston’s arm locked around my waist when I jerked forward from shock. Was he implying what I thought he was implying?
“A horrific thing like that would surely bond us forever, wouldn’t it?” I tried to speak, but he gripped my jaw, shutting me up. “It’s simple, Bambi. Be a good girl, do what we say, and you’ll never have to find out what kind of man I really am.” Releasing my neck, he spun me around but kept his hands locked on my waist. “Go home. Take the day. Think about if you really want to have this conversation again.”