Rhythm of the Road (Lost Kings MC 16)

Gee, and here I expected Rooster to go all caveman and tell Bane he’d handle things from here and to get lost.

“Just doing what the boss told me to do,” Bane says.

Rooster smirks at me. “My girl didn’t feel it was important to tell me about this until just now, or I would’ve been here sooner.”

“Still woulda been watching out for her.” Bane’s serious expression doesn’t change. “Come on. I’ll walk you guys back to her room. Greg was lookin’ for ya, Shelby.”

Rooster keeps his arm around me, tucked so tight to his body we keep bumping into each other.

“You wanna just pick me up and stick me in your pocket?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’d be easier.” He squeezes my hip. “Quit being a smartass.”

Bane stops at an unmarked white door and twists the handle, gesturing for us to go inside. “I’ll be right out here if you need something, Miss Shelby. Good to meet you, Logan.”

“Thanks, Bane.” I pat his arm as I pass him.

He closes the door behind us.

Rooster immediately searches the room. It’s not that big. Tiny window, way up high. Round table with two chairs. Long, steel rod for wardrobe. Small closet-sized bathroom with a large frosted-glass window big enough for a pony to fit through. Not much different from dozens of other dressing rooms.

Someone left my trunk on the table and I snap it open, pulling out dresses to hang on the steel rod. This is actually a nice change. I don’t always have somewhere convenient to hang up my stuff.

“I’m surprised you didn’t tell Bane to get lost.”

He stops his search and narrows his eyes at me. “I may be an overprotective caveman, but I’m not fucking stupid, Shelby. I want as many people watching out for you as possible. I’d prefer to have brothers I know and trust, but I’ll take what I can get right now.”

“Well, I don’t know how long I’ve got Bane, honestly. He’s one of Dawson’s guys. The label’s been giving Greg the runaround about sending security.”

“Motherfuckers,” he grumbles. “That’s fine. Jiggy’s planning to come tonight.”

“Rooster, I can’t keep asking—”

“Shelby, we’ve already had this conversation. You’re not asking. I am. Trust me, Jiggy ain’t gonna complain about being on the road for a while, hooking up with chicks in every damn city.”

“But I thought you were planning to train him to do your bow-chicka-bow-wow stuff.” I punctuate the silly sentence with an obscene hip thrust.

He rumbles with laughter and yanks me closer. “Love you, chickadee.”

I reach up and trace the lines around his mouth. “Even though you’re still a little mad at me?”

He kisses my forehead. “You make it hard to stay mad.”RoosterMy anger with Shelby for holding back the letters gives way to fear for her safety.

That and the desire to find whoever scared my girl and rip their arms off. While she’s downplaying the situation, I know it has to be bad if Dawson’s loaning out one of his bodyguards.

And I wasn’t lying. That warmth pulsing through my chest whenever I’m with her doesn’t leave room for anger.

As soon as she’s settled, I text Greg.

Me: We need to talk.

Greg: About time she told you.

“Even Greg said you should tell me, didn’t he?” I ask Shelby after showing her the message.

She bites her lip and glances away. “Well, yeah. Dawson did too.”

Huh. Guess I’ll have to be nicer to those guys.

“You want me to find some tea?” I ask as she starts humming her scales.

“If you don’t mind. Water too.”

“You got it.” I lean in and kiss her cheek. “Stay in here, okay?”

“Couldn’t sneak away if I wanted to. Bane will be planted there all night.”

“Good.”

As Shelby predicted, Bane’s standing in the hallway right across from her door. He’d have to be asleep for someone to slip in without him noticing.

“You’re not going anywhere, are you?” I ask him.

“No.”

“Where can I find Greg?”

“Logan!” Greg shouts from my right.

Bane’s serious mouth shifts into a half-smirk and he jerks his head to the side. “Right there.”

“Thanks.” I sneer.

I turn. Greg’s power-walking his way down the long white corridor, dodging several carts of equipment.

Without stopping, he grabs my arm, pulling me down the hallway and into the hospitality room. A few people wearing yellow and black polo shirts identifying them as employees of the arena are milling around, setting stuff up. No one even glances at us.

“What the hell?” I shake him off me. “You call and bug me when her phone’s off for five seconds, but you can’t give me a heads-up that someone’s sending her threatening letters?”

He stares as if he never considered contacting me. “I don’t know what the status is of your relationship is exactly. She said she didn’t want to worry you. I work for her.” He scans me from head to toe. “Not you.”

I stalk over to one long table and search for a bottle of room-temperature water. “If you work for her, then your job is to do what’s best for her. And that’s get her some fucking security and let her boyfriend know what’s going on.”