The Price of Mason (Forbidden Men 10)

“Wait!” My suspicions rose. When he paused, lifting his eyebrows questionably, I hesitantly asked, “Who else showed up?”

Because if either of my parent

s or sisters were here, I was probably already made. Mass hysteria would ensue. Oh my God, it’s those singers from that one band; let’s everyone scream and rush them and ask for their autographs like hysterical idiots.

Trick winked at me. “That’s it. Sorry, your fan club’s small tonight.”

My shoulders relaxed, glad no one else had come. “No, that’s fine,” I assured him. It was exactly what I wanted. This was like my first test. Could I do this on my own? Could I control a crowd? Rile them? Excite them? Transfix them? Before, I’d only been able to gain cheers because they’d known who my parents were. But tonight…tonight was my time.

“Knock ’em dead,” Trick called, already in the hall with the door shutting behind him.

“Thanks,” I answered, turning to examine myself in the mirror, making sure I looked okay.

My hair was still shorter than I’d ever worn it in my life. A moment of mourning passed, missing all the silken dark locks I’d inherited from my mom. But it’d grown out enough that I’d been able to spike it up and out, dying strands here and there with different colors. My cropped black leather jacket, the leather strip with silver spikes wrapped around my throat, and tall black platform boots over fishnet pantyhose completed the look. The only thing I was wearing that wasn’t black or silver was my hair, the hot pink tank top I had on under the jacket with a unicorn outlined in glitter on my chest, and the pink and silver glitter eyeshadow I wore. Even the bangle bracelets piled up both my arms were black.

I was tickled with how well I’d captured the eighties punk rocker look I’d been going for. I was so ready to shake this joint up. I spun, feeling the excitement spike through my system, until—ouch! Oh crap. I moved past the edge of the folding table too close, where a plastic piece of the lining had worn away and peeled off, making it poke out from the corner like a sharp, plastic dagger. It sliced into my upper thigh, hurting like a bitch and making an instant run in my hose.

“Dammit. Shit.” My perfect look was ruined.

Immediately thinking of damage control, I hurried to the door and yanked it open, hoping to catch Trick, so he could find his mom and see if she had some clear nail polish on her to paint over the area and stop the run from growing bigger. Aunt Eva was the super girly type and always carried the most surprisingly unusual things in her huge name-brand purse. It was possible she had a quick fix for me.

“Hey, Trick!” I called, rushing from the room, and turning to see if I could spot him in the hall. But I must’ve hurried out right in front of someone.

Because whoever it was bumped into me from behind.

“Oh, God. I’m sorry,” I gushed, whirling around to apologize.

“It’s fine,” a familiar voice with a familiar twang answered on a familiar husky laugh. “Are you okay?”

I faced him at the same moment he finally looked up. He’d been busy adjusting the strap of his guitar he had hanging off his back before finally checking on me.

Figured, I almost snorted. Check over his own things before making sure the girl he’d just plowed over was all right.

“Oh,” he added, his amazing grin dying flat before his blue eyes narrowed with disdain. “It’s you.”

Two

Rory

If I could be described as the stereotypical rocker chick, then Tucker Holt was all things country, from the cowboy boots, hat, Wrangler jeans, big belt buckle and the plaid shirt with pearl snap buttons. Even his freaking name went with the whole Nashville theme. Together, we were like George Strait meets Gene Simmons in Kiss gear.

We shared a class in school, and the first day I’d transferred there, the teacher had assigned us to pair up on a project together.

Tucker had been so sweet, and welcoming, and cute. Oh my God, the boy had it in spades in the looks department. Mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes, dimple in his cheeks, impressive height, dreamy wide shoulders, lean narrow hips, and his butt…wow. Even I couldn’t knock the jeans he wore because they hugged his ass to perfection.

Chemistry had sparked between us at first sight. And I had flirted, big-time. My hair had been nearly buzzed off at that point and I still had a few bruises and scratches on my face from fighting off the girls who’d shaved me, but he’d looked at me as if I were pretty. It was the perfect welcome to a new place. We’d had fun working on the project together too, even though it was a boring history lesson, mostly looking up dates and places. He’d cracked jokes and made it exciting and unusual.

At the end of class, we stayed together, gathering our things at the same pace and walking into the hallway side by side as he asked get-to-know-you questions and followed me to my locker, so I could gather my things for my next class.

But as soon as I’d worked open the combination on my locker and swung open the door, he’d clutched his heart and winced as he took in the picture I had pasted on the inside of the door.

“No,” he’d groaned, angling his torso away from it in mock horror. “Say it ain’t so. You like Non-Castrato?”

Okay, so I know…I’d come here under a fake name so no one would know I was the product of two members from the Non-Castrato band, because I’d been hoping to avoid unwelcome negative attention from fellow classmates. My parents had gone through a lot to protect my identity. They’d offered private schools, personal tutors, all sorts of shit to keep me safe. But I thrived on people and crowds, and I’d wanted to finish my senior year in a public school. So they’d reluctantly agreed to let me move off and live with my dad’s brother, so I could attend Albright High until graduation, which would only last a few months.

All that should mean I probably shouldn’t have posted a huge sticker in my locker, blasting my allegiance to my parents’ band, if I’d wanted to stay anonymous and disconnected from them. But I loved their music, and come on… They were my parents. I had to show my support in some way. I mean, I didn’t even have their faces in the picture, just the group’s main logo.

And Tucker had gaped at it in horror as if it were the most offensive thing he’d ever seen.