Skeletons of Us (Unquiet Mind Book 2) (6 page)

I didn’t want Zane or Mom to worry either, which was why I didn’t tell him what I saw when I was on the phone to him. He couldn’t do anything anyway. He was three hours away. As badass as he was, I doubted even he could teleport. And I’d known I wasn’t in immediate danger. I was in the house with the boys. Whoever that was stayed outside.

Or maybe I was kidding myself. Maybe I knew I didn’t tell Zane because I didn’t want it getting back to…
him
. I could take care of myself. I had no choice now.

“We’re not calling Duke,” I argued as I pushed up onto the barstool, taking the glass of red wine Noah handed me. He knew me too well. My nerves were frazzled.

Noah glared at me. “Lexie,” he warned.

“You’re fuckin’ callin’ him,” Sam growled in a voice that surprised all of us.

My eyes cut to his. They weren’t full of humor or teasing glint like usual. No, they were hard, and for once, he looked dangerous. Not that he didn’t normally to the naked eye. He’d taken off his black shirt and all of his tattoos were visible with the tee he was wearing. He’d started getting them the day we moved to L.A. He and Wyatt both. Whereas Wyatt only had one full sleeve and a bit more scattered ink, Sam was covered. Both of his muscled arms, his chest, and he was considering getting a back piece. He was the most tattooed of all of us. Me being the least. There was a small music note on the finger I held my guitar pick with and the one we got the day we completed our first album.
Unquiet Mind
was scribbled on my wrist in a sloping script. The boys had it on various spots. Sam’s was on his neck. His black hair was still long, and he mostly wore it in a messy bun, which drove his fans crazy. There was a fan page for ‘Sam Kennedy’s delicious bun’—he loved that. One of his eyebrows was pierced and his face had hardened and lost all the softness of boyhood. He was hot. But right now, he looked more serious than I’d ever seen him.

“Babe, there is no discussion. We’re gonna look out for you, no question about that. But this world’s full of crazies. Add this into the fuckin’ creepy letters you’ve been getting…” He trailed off.

Both Noah and Wyatt glared at him.

I narrowed my eyes. “Letters?” I snapped. “What letters?”

Sam’s eyes bugged out. “Fuck,” he muttered.

“Good one, idiot,” Wyatt shot at him.

“What letters?” I repeated.

Wyatt sighed and ran his hand through his shaggy blond hair. It was no longer spiky like he’d had it in high school; it was thick and messy. “It’s nothing.”

I glared at him. “It’s obviously not nothing considering you have all kept it a secret. Need I remind you all we don’t do that.” I looked at each of the boys who looked slightly sheepish, though their eyes were hard.

I was right. We had all promised not to keep anything from each other, nor lie to each other. This business was full of lies and secrets. We weren’t going to be like that.

Or so I’d thought.

“We get letters every day. Hundreds. Most of them are to worship my godlike talents and hauntingly beautiful good looks of course,” Sam declared, his face and tone not matching the humor of his words.

I glared at him, which meant I wasn’t amused.

“Some of the letters we get are less than desirable, you know that,” Wyatt added.

I nodded. When we first started out and read every single piece of correspondence sent to us with childlike excitement, we’d laugh over the letters that called us ‘talentless hacks’ or other creative insults. There were some nasty ones that got to us, got to me, more accurately. Why was it that it was the one bad letter that made me feel like shit when I’d just read a hundred good ones?

When we started getting bigger and busier, we lost the time to read every single letter we got. Our assistants read them now and passed some on that they knew we’d want to read, a lot from sick kids and things like that. We always answered those personally and visited the hospitals if we could.

Because we didn’t read them, those negative and hateful letters didn’t get near me and I guessed they got thrown out.

“Hannah noticed that there was a lot of letters that came from the same person,” Wyatt explained. Hannah was my assistant and one of my best friends. She didn’t tell me either? I was so giving her hell the next time I saw her. Not that I could hold a grudge.

Except with one person. Grudge wasn’t exactly what I’d call it.

“What was in them?” I bit out, chasing those thoughts away. I didn’t want the demons of the past haunting me while I dealt with the demons of the present.

Wyatt’s eyes went hard. “Just that this person loved you, wanted to meet you. Said you were meant to be together. The usual.”

This, again, was not uncommon. Wyatt, Sam, and Noah had girls proposing marriage all the time. They got naked pictures continuously. No one actually knew, apart from us, that Noah was not interested in naked girls. He hadn’t come out. Didn’t speak about it. We’d never acknowledged it, but we all knew, the boys too. I think they’d always known but realized it when we moved here. They didn’t treat him any different, didn’t love him any less. Something haunted him about embracing his true identity. Not something.
Someone
. His father. I hated that he was hurting and troubled and I couldn’t help. I also hated his evil father who wasn’t afraid to put his hands on Noah when we were in school, but didn’t hesitate to put his hand out when we started earning the big bucks.

“Then they got angry that you weren’t replying. Got creepy,” Wyatt continued.

“Creepy?” I repeated, getting that uncomfortable prickling feeling again.

Wyatt shrugged. “Weird poems. Shit like that.”

“Let me see them,” I demanded.

The boys exchanged glances.

“I know you’re trying to protect me, but you were going about it the wrong way. I’m a big girl. I can handle it. Now let me see them.”

“Well, we can’t exactly do that,” Sam answered. “We kind of… burned them.”

I raised my brows and took a long sip on my wine. “Burned them?” I said quietly. “And what in the ever-living hell possessed you to do that?”

Noah leaned forward to squeeze my hand. “They were ugly and creepy, sure, but they were harmless and not shit you needed on your brain. You’ve got enough going on,” he said softly, his dark eyes seeing too much. The boys knew. They knew what demons I fought. Memories of
him
. Memories of Steve and Ava. My father’s ghost haunted me. They knew because I poured it out into my songs. Every song that went number one, that earned us the big bucks, was built on my pain. Not that I resented that. I needed it to survive. I needed to play in order for my soul to be quiet. To silence those memories. To numb the pain.

“Plus, they’re probably not even connected,” Wyatt said, sipping his beer. “But it’s better to be safe. We’re calling Duke.”

I stared at all three of them. They weren’t going to back down.

“Fine,” I grumbled.

Sam grinned, but I didn’t miss the shadow behind it. He was worried. They all were.

And I couldn’t seem to get rid of that prickle at the back of my neck.

He watched her from his place in the bushes. Now that the inept police had left, he had an unobstructed view. Incompetent swine, all of them. He had easily evaded them; they hadn’t even caught a glimpse. That car on the curb was useless. It wouldn’t stop him. Nothing would. They were meant to be together. Nothing could stop that. Stop destiny. He would get her, his golden angel. All he had to do was wait. And maybe get rid of any obstacles, but that wasn’t a problem. He’d done it before.

He’d do anything to make her realize they were meant to be.

For you had to show the ones you loved you were willing to overcome any barriers in order be with them.

And that’s what he’d do.

ONE WEEK LATER

“You really need to work on your right hook,” Duke informed me, his eyes scanning the parking lot of the gym that was somehow blissfully empty.

I scowled up at him. “No I don’t. You just need to work on your dodging.”

He raised a brow. “My dodging?”

I nodded, my sweaty ponytail moving with me. Who said miracles didn’t happen? I was here, looking like a total mess after my workout with Duke and not a pap in sight. “Yes, your dodging. You’re too good at it. If you slow down a little, my right hook would do just fine.”

Duke chuckled but his face quickly turned serious and he put his full attention on me now that he was convinced there was no immediate threat in an empty parking lot in a gym at dusk. Granted, this gym wasn’t in the best area, but that’s why I liked it. It wasn’t full of barely clad girls and men who wore more makeup than me. It was mostly full of gruff men who knew me and didn’t blink at me working out and training with Duke in the ring. I had been cornered once; I wanted to know how to defend myself. I’d been sparring with Duke ever since we employed him. He was a good teacher, but a hardass.

“Babe, you’re cute, but I’m serious. You’re good. Better than most women, ‘specially ones who look like you. But you want to be serious about protectin’ yourself when I fall down on the job, you work on your right hook.”

I grinned at him and playfully punched his arm. Then I screwed up my nose and rubbed my hand after it protested from hitting pure concrete instead of human muscle that most men were made out of. “You? Fall down on the job? I think I’d be more likely to see Sam become a monk than that. You’re like
Captain America, super solider with a dirtier mouth and better outfits,” I informed him, glancing down at his sweats appreciatively. Not his sweats exactly, more accurately the muscles bulging out of them. I appreciated them in a detached, sisterly way like I did the boys’ in the band. Duke was hot, no doubt about that, but I didn’t feel
it
with him.

I doubted I’d feel
it
with anyone.

Plus, I actually liked Duke, a lot. So if I felt
it
with him, it would eventually lead to pain, heartbreak, and Lexie turning into a zombie. So, no it was good the feelings were only platonic. Even so, I’d have to be dead not to appreciate those muscles.

“And,” I continued, “most likely any rabid fan would be way slower than you, considering your super-solider reflexes, so I’m thinking my right hook is safe.”

Duke regarded me then shook his head, a shadow of a grin back on his face.

“Let’s get a burger,” I suggested as we made it to the car.

Duke raised his brow. “A burger?” he repeated in disbelief. “I can’t be hearing you correctly. Did you fall too hard on your head in the ring? I’m sure you mean a kale salad and a protein shake.”

I poked my tongue out at him. Duke wasn’t just my bodyguard; he was my friend. Therefore, he knew, and teased me mercilessly about, my love of healthy foods. Like it was something to be ashamed of.

“I’m feeling dangerous.” My attention moved to something on the window screen of my cherry red Jeep.

Duke’s eyes followed mine and all teasing glint leaving them. His body turned taut and he went into full-bodyguard mode. The transition scared me when I saw it the first time. He went from joking with me about a pop star to a soulless and emotionless machine in a split second. Now, I was used to it, but it did unnerve me.

“Calm, Rambo, it’s probably just a flyer for a Mexican restaurant,” I said, stepping past him to snatch the paper. “Actually, I could do with some Mexican. How about a burrito? I know this…” I trailed off when my gaze zeroed in on the piece of paper that was not a flyer for a Mexican restaurant.

No.

It was a photo of me, tangled in my white sheets, sleeping. A single word was scribbled on top of it.

Soon.

My blood turned to ice and that prickling at the back of my neck came back, along with a strong urge to vomit.

The paper was snatched out of my hand and Duke regarded it for a millisecond before his jaw turned to stone.

“In the car. Now.” He didn’t even give me time to move before he half carried me to the destination and I, in my fugue state, let him.

He had rounded the hood and screeched out of the parking lot before I knew it, phone to his ear.

“Keltan? I need LAPD at Lexie’s place now. I also need you to call up every single bit of camera footage from the past…” He trailed off, glancing at me. “Lexie, you have any idea when this was taken?” He passed me the photo.