Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“I’m headin’ back, slowly.”
Mal snorts. “You’ve been on the road for eighteen months. Ain’t no place like home, and I need you back here.”
“You’ve got things covered,” I mutter. “Ain’t nothin’ I can add that you haven’t already got right next to you.”
He makes a low sound in his throat, resembling a growl. “My fuckin’ brother, that’s what you can add.”
“Feel you, but I need a bit more time.”
“You’re runnin’ about, livin’ the life of a nomad, but it ain’t goin’ to take the pain away. Comin’ home to your brothers, to your club, will fix what was broken.”
I flinch and anger bubbles in my chest. “Boston still there?”
Mal sighs. “You know he is. What happened wasn’t his fault.”
“It was his fuckin’ fault,” I bark.
“Gotta move on from it, Mav, it’s eatin’ you up. He fucked up, but he didn’t do it on purpose, and you fuckin’ know that.”
“If he was followin’ orders, it wouldn’t have happened. I can’t be in that club with him and not rip his fuckin’ head off.”
“You can’t be out there forever, either.”
I exhale, searching for calm. “Listen, you’re my brother, I respect the hell out of you and the club, but I need more time.”
Mal sighs. “Fuck me. Alright, but you gotta come home eventually. I need you here. Shit has been goin’ down, and I trust nobody like I trust you.”
“What shit?”
“Drugs crossin’ our turf, causin’ wars, causin’ issues.”
“Same shit that was goin’ down months ago?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Find out who’s runnin’ it?”
“Fuckin’ not even close. Whoever it is, he’s smart, and well hidden.”
“I’ll come back, just give me more time, and when I do, I’ll find the motherfucker and slit his throat.”
Mal goes silent. “Ain’t goin’ to bring her back, brother.”
I flinch and growl. “Very fuckin’ aware of that.”
He sighs. “Stay safe. Where you at now?”
“L.A.”
“The fuck you doin’ in L.A.?”
I pull the phone from my ear and mutter, “Chasin’ a fuckin’ rainbow.”
Then I hang up.
-2-
SCARLETT
The roar of the crowd alerts me to the fact that my fans are getting more and more excited that I’m about to enter the stage. I stare at Remy, the man doing my hair and make-up, in the mirror. He meets my eyes, and he understands. He knows I’m tired, he knows I’ve had enough and need a break. He’s been with me from the start, making sure I always look my best on stage. He’s the best at what he does, he always takes the sadness from my eyes, and replaces it with a shine I’ve forgotten how to fake.
“You’re tired, Scar,” he murmurs, holding my eyes still.
“I’m tired, Rem. But I have a good lot more shows on this tour before I get a few months off. I’m looking forward to that.”
“Have you spoken to Susan? Told her you’re feeling the strain?”
I look away, staring at my tight, glittery dress that is perfectly matched with pimped-out sparkly boots. I don’t look naturally country, not anymore. I look fake. Like a popstar who is trying to sing a country song. When I started, they would let me wear cowboy hats and gorgeous white dresses with brown leather boots. I’d sit on the stage, guitar in hand, loving the way it made me feel. Now I bounce around, flicking my hair, singing mostly pop songs that have country mixed in.
Country rock, they call it.
I sigh. “I’ve spoken to Susan, you know what she’s like. I have shows, she’s going to make sure I’m on every single one of them. There is no escaping this for me, Rem, I have to do it.”
“Then at the very least, get some rest. Take some time out for yourself.”
“I can’t take too much time out, you know why. I can’t go anywhere alone, I feel like I can’t escape.”
His brown eyes narrow, and he frowns. “That’s not fair, of course I understand the reasons, but everyone should have alone time. You’re wearing yourself down to nothing, you’re going to burn out. Have you spoken to Susan about going on a holiday? I’m sure she can have some protection for you, that isn’t going to fully interfere.”
I laugh, softly. “Even if that were the case, I can’t go anywhere without being noticed. It’s fine, Remy. I promise I’m okay.”
He mumbles something low in his throat as he finishes spraying my hair so it sits perfectly in place. One of the stage workers pops his head in my dressing room. “Twenty minutes and you’re on, Scarlett.”
I nod, sighing, and stare at the mirror again. Well, here goes. I take a deep breath, let Remy do his finishing touches, and then I stand and walk out of the dressing room. I’m instantly surrounded by people, clipping on microphones, tucking things into my back, making sure I’m set. Susan is beside me, rambling off things I need to remember, asking me if I know my song list.