Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC 17)

He ruffles my hair, grabs a cup of coffee and marches outside.

I knock on the bathroom door. “Place is clear.”

“Okay.” A few seconds later, she pops out of the bathroom. “You didn’t have to kick him outside.”

“You seemed uncomfortable.”

She shrugs as she pulls clothes out of her drawers. “I imagine eventually it’ll feel like having a big brother around.” She pauses and seems to reconsider. “Except one that might notice and comment that I’m not wearing a bra in the morning.”

“He will not notice or comment on that if he wants to keep breathing.” Now I can’t help dropping my gaze to her tits. “You look fantastic braless by the way.”

She pulls her arms out of her sleeves and shimmies a bra under her shirt. “Thanks.”

“What are you doing?” Like magic, she finishes fastening her bra, then slips off her nightshirt, quickly trading it for a tank top. “No one can see you.”

She glances at the windows—covered by shades. “I know. I just need time to get used to everything.”

A thought I’m not too happy about pushes its way into my caveman brain. “What did you do in the van?” I have to force out the next words. “With the guys?”

“Sleep in my bra.” She shrugs. “Change under my blanket.”

Fuck. For the first time, I kinda hate myself for saying goodbye to her in Texas. Knew damn well, even back then, that what we had was more than a hook-up, that she was special and I wanted her in my life long-term.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Rooster

Shelby’s Mysterious White Knight

“What the actual fuck?” I pick up the magazine someone helpfully shoved under our door sometime either late last night or early this morning.

“No.” I stare at the picture of us on the front of Glow. A national fucking magazine. My arm’s around her shoulders. I’m staring down at her. She’s staring up at me. It’s sweet and sappy as fuck. My face is in profile but still recognizable.

I jam my fingers through my hair. This can’t be happening.

Fuck.

I flip through the magazine, searching for the article.

There it is.

Full-page spread of Shelby on the roof of the hotel in the sunshine. No more pictures of my face, thank God. The one on the cover is bad enough.

At only twenty-two years old, Shelby Morgan possesses a rare Zen-like calm. She smiles warmly and takes dainty sips of her sparkling water. Every now and then her gaze strays to the enigmatic man watching her from across the room.

You’d never know that she was recently held captive by a mad man.

If this leads you to think the beautiful, up-and-coming country music star is all sugar and no spice, please reconsider.

“I’d rather call out the bullshit than smile my way through it. I did enough of that on Redneck Roadhouse.”

It’s the first time she’s hinted that her experience on the show that launched her career was anything less than perfect. But that’s old news. Today, she’s still healing from being the object of a stalker’s obsession.

“It was the most terrifying event of my life. I thought I was gonna die.”

The article moves on to discussing the kidnapping. What details they couldn’t pull from Shelby, the writer must have tried to gather by interviewing other people. Dawson’s mentioned but he must not have been cooperative because there’s nothing useful there. Whoever the author contacted at the FBI had “no comment on an ongoing investigation.” So-called “anonymous sources” add details about the fire on Dawson’s bus and the fact that Shelby was carried out in her trunk. I assume those “sources” can only be Bane or someone from Dawson’s road crew. Shelby’s band was interviewed but Trent assured me they spoke about the tour more than Shelby’s kidnapping. Doesn’t really matter, I guess. Still hate that all these people are gossiping about Shelby like she’s an amusing tale to joke about over beers and not a human fucking being.

My phone buzzes and I check the message.

Z: I’m swooning over here!

A picture shows up. Z’s big mouth making a ridiculous kissy face at a copy of the same magazine I’m holding in my hands.

Me: Why do you even know the word swoon?

Z: My wife says I make her swoon all the time.

Me: Are you sure she didn’t say suffer?

Z: Definitely swoon.

Me: Since when do you read Glow?

Z: Since my VP made the cover.

Fuck. Great. Just what I need.

“What’s wrong?” Shelby’s voice trembles. “What’s it say?” She reaches for the magazine.

There’s no way to hide this from her, so I hand it over with an apology.

“Oh my God.” Her eyes bug out as she studies the cover. “Logan, I’m so sorry.”

“Why?”

“The club…I thought you didn’t want to bring attention like this to yourself…”

I show her the photo Z sent me. “My president doesn’t seem to have a problem with it. What I’m sorry about is that it took the attention off you and made it about us instead of your music.”