Chapter 36: Drummer Boys Should Answer Their Phone

The song: Cross Me by Ed Sheeran ft Chance the Rapper. I feel like this song could be playing in the club later in the chapter. And the implied threat in this chapter? Well, it's on, as far as Bodie is concerned, after what happens tonight.

Bodie

Stephanie hasn't changed a bit in six years. She rolls her eyes at Leed's arrogant playfulness and punches Adam in the arm to congratulate him on finally locking down his girl. She speaks earnestly with Trace about the possibility of Soundcrush fully turning the tide back toward alternative music, and peppers me with glares and cutting remarks.

After the interview, I serve her up an olive branch in the form of a super-crafty cocktail I swipe off a server, and say, "Girl, I just gave you a big impress-my-editor piece. I don't know why you still don't like me."

"Because you hurt my friend. Obviously, you did know Marley, and you ignored her, all those times she came out to see Soundcrush."

I sip my sparkling water. "You don't know what you're talking about, Scoresby. You ever think maybe she hurt me first?"

"That just makes you spiteful," she retorts. "Where is she, anyway?" Steph looks around the boldly decorated, uber- modern band house.

"She's getting styled, with the rest of the Soundcrush ladies."

Stephanie narrows her eyes at me and puts her hand on her leather-panted hips.

"What's the deal, Bodie? When you called, you made it sound like you two were together. Now I see you are still with Arabella Burns. I feel like there's a story there."

Shit. I didn't anticipate that this Little Bulldog would be less than grateful for the bone I threw her, but I should have known. She was always tenacious. Now she's a reporter to boot. I definitely don't want her sniffing around and finding out the truth—that Marley is my Beloved Babymama and Arabella is just a publicity stunt.

"Off the record?"

She cocks her eyebrow.

"Need to hear you say it, babe," I say testily.

"Fine, off the record."

"I got in a bad way in Thailand over the hiatus. So bad even I knew I needed to stow my recreational shit. Management hired Marley as my sobriety companion, and I welcome the help. I'm surprised a reporter like you hasn't already figured that out," I hoist my club soda.

"Yeah, I noticed you seem very sober. I just can't believe..." Stephanie bites her lip.

"Can't believe what?"

"That Marley would come to work for you, given the history."

Suddenly I wonder how much Stephanie knows about our history.

Of course in that moment, in the way shit always happens, Darius and Will arrive with Will's parents. I excuse myself from Stephanie to speak to them, and then I skirt the edge of the room with the kids, ushering them out back to the pool house while keeping Darius carefully out of Stephanie's line of sight. I figure Marley will eventually introduce them, but I don't want to be standing right beside, giving the same eye squints and blinking expressions or whatever similarities all these chics see between me and Darius.

Personally I don't see it, but I guess it's hard for me to see my own unguarded expressions. I probably wear different expressions when I look at myself in the mirror, and all the footage of me? Well, that's me wearing a rock star persona.

It's not surprising to me that I find Adam in the pool house, messing around with the DJ and entertaining the kids. When he sees me walk in with Darius, his eyes move ever so obviously from Darius' face to mine and back again.

He grins.

I groan.

He really needs to be cool around Darius.

Okay, okay, it's a slippery slope once you start telling secrets.

After telling Leed, it seemed natural that I would talk to Adam about my instant fatherhood. I mean, just like me and Leed, he got blindsided by the role, too. Then of course, I couldn't ask Adam to keep it from Mac—although I have no worries about her ability to pretend like she doesn't know around Marley.

Pursuing that line of reasoning, there was really no reason not to tell Trace, because I couldn't exactly keep one lone bandbrother in the dark.

Plus, of all of us, he's the most capable of keeping shit on the DL. I mean, he successfully squashed a secret marriage. No one's ever gonna know about that shit until he writes his tell-all autobiography one day.

Adam buries his grin, pulls off his headphones and saunters over, clapping it out with Will and acknowledging Darius.

"You're Marley's kid, right?" he says casually, and when Darius nods, he says, "I hear you have some musical hopes."

"And skills," Darius grins.

Adam crows. "And confidence, it seems." He claps Darius on the shoulder. "Tell you what. Someday soon, you can help us break in the new studio here. We want to see if you're the real deal or all hype."

Darius looks a little nervous, but he says, "That's cool, Dawg," and claps it out like he's already a star.

Adam's younger cousin Blake strolls over with a wing man and a volleyball. "I'm Blake. This is Jonathon. You guys up for a game in the pool?" he asks. Darius and Will exchange glances and then nods with the other two.

"We want to play, too!" A tan brunette yells from the middle of a group of similarly long-haired, long-legged teens. Blake gives her a nod as he tosses the ball. The girls head to one of the bedrooms as a pack, presumably to change into swimsuits.

The girl who spoke lingers, giving the four boys a backward glance. Darius, who is standing off a little to the side, somehow earns a winning smile just as she disappears behind her friends.

Darius elbows Blake. "Who was that girl?"

"My cousin Gwen," Blake shrugs.

It was a rhetorical question, but the Heartely men can sometimes be slow.

Adam clears his throat. "What Blake means is, that's my niece Gwennie. My first, and therefore favorite, baby niece, of whom I'm very protective." Adam looks at Blake. "Don't tell your other cousins I have favorites, favorite nephew."

"I gotshu," Blake says.

"Mmmmm. It's more important that these other dudes got me," Adam gives Jonathon and Will a glance. His intense stare come to bear on the smile-earner.

"She seems nice," Darius says a little nervously and looks to me automatically for help.

I roll my eyes at Adam. "C'mon, Uncle Bear," I tell him, manhandling him to the door. "These guys don't want us old dudes bringing down their party."

Adam pulls me around to the side of the poolhouse—behind a speaker blaring music—and gives me an uncomfortable look.

"So you've talked to Darius about girls, right?" Adam asks seriously. "About how to treat 'em right? And how to be safe?"

I roll my eyes at him. "Adam. We haven't exactly got down on that level, man. Besides, the kid's thirteen. He ain't there yet."

"Well, you said he's precocious for his age. Correct me if I'm wrong but you got in deep with Marley at fifteen. And came out the other side with a kid," he mutters.

"Well correct me if I'm wrong, but you knocked up our keyboardist in the middle of world tour," I hiss back.

"What in the world are you two doing?" Marley's mom voice yells over the Marshmello song blaring from the speakers.

I jump.

Shit. We probably look very sketch. This is exactly how we would step behind a speaker backstage to have a toke.

I turn with hands raised. "Nothing, just..."

Words fail me.

Marley looks amazing. She always looks beautiful, but I honestly don't think I've seen her in makeup or without a ponytail, since the day I saw her fixed up to go to work at the Lunar Lounge.

I know I haven't seen her shoulders bare. Definitely ain't seen her in a burnt orange dress that hugs her curves and makes that sunkissed tan pop.

Now, her eyes are picking up the warm hue of her dress and firing with gold flecks. Her bronzed cheekbones are begging to be stroked by my thumbs.

Her gorgeous beach waves are too perfect for me to muss, but her lip gloss?

That shit is easily fixed, and her pillowy lips are screaming to be kissed.

I'm watching her mouth, probably with a slack expression, when it forms the words, "Are you spying on the kids?" She edges past me and peeps in the window. "What are they doing?"

"Yeah, wanna join?" Adam makes room for her at the window. I smack him in the head and twirl her around. "What is wrong with you two? Always assuming the worst in people? If you treat kids like you don't trust 'em they become untrustworthy."

"Why don't yo go find your girlfriend, Bodie?" Marley says. Adam cackles and high fives her.

"Hey now, you aren't gonna shade me all night like that, are you?" I ask tolerantly, but Marley is ignoring me, peeking in the window.

"My niece was giving your kid the up-and-down. He was giving it back," Adam confesses. "Gwen is thirteen. I'm not ready for that."

"Me neither," Marley groans. "Oh, is that her? The one Darius is talking to in the hot pink bikini? She's real cute. Too cute."

"What in the hell is Alex thinking, letting her wear a scrap like that?" Adam growls.

I jump as someone pinches me on the ass. "Move over, I wanna see," Mac orders, edging beneath Adam's arm. "Oooohhh, Butters, you've been replaced as the cutest swirl in the house. That kid has you beat in spades. That must be Darius."

She beams at Marley.

Huh. That's usually the smile she reserves for Tam or Ashlynn, or more recently, Kat. That's a girl posse smile. I relax a little. Maybe Mac doesn't hate Marley after all.

The kids are joined by another boy—I think he's a Ballard cousin—and now there are about eight girls and five guys. The girls are all looking pretty confident in their bikinis for a bunch of barely teens—preening as they flip their hair and take selfies. The boys are tossing the volleyball around the group of girls, pretending they aren't checking them out.

"Ooooh, should we start a pool on who goes home with a hickey?" Leed asks, as he jukes around me and drapes his arms over Mac and Marley. "My money's on the honey in hot pink."

Adam elbows him in the ribs. "That's my niece, asshole."

"Shit, I know, Preacher. I'm just giving you a hard time." Leed, already bored with playing Peeping Tom, cartwheels across the lawn and is last seen throwing Ashlynn over his shoulder and threatening to chuck her in the pool.

Adams is still eying the group through the window. "Why are they just standing around? They should get in the pool," Adam growls. "And cool off."

"What ground rules did you give them?" Marley asks seriously.

"I told them security was instructed to keep them away from the adult bar, and out of the bedrooms. I told them anything they should be doing could be done in plain sight," he replies.

"That's good," Marley replies.

"You guys sure know how to kill a kid's first party," Mac laughs.

"Right?" I agree. "Guys, come on. They are just gonna flirt a little, dance a little, nosh a little, and post it all to Instagram. All these kids are light years more sheltered than any of us were at their age. Well, more sheltered except for Preacher."

I give him a light jab to the kidney that rips his attention away from the window and puts it on retaliation. After he and I scuffle for a minute, Mac reaches in and extracts Adam.

"I'm sorry, I don't get much time off momming, and I want him intact for hot sex tonight."

"I'm giving you a pass because I love your wife, man," I joke with him.

"Hmmmm, me too," he says as he wraps his hands around her bare midriff. "My angel," he murmurs into her hair.

"I wasn't aware angels wore two piece body-con," Marley pops back.

"It's white, isn't it?" Mac sticks her tongue out at Marley. "Just for that, I feel the need to tell you...Bodie told us all about how he's your Babydaddy. Spilled his guts about Darius on Facetime, over and over."

Adam groans. Marley gasps. I grit my teeth. I'm gonna fucking kill that sharp toothed, loose-lipped maneater—

"But no worries, Butters...because Marley confessed it all herself in the limo on the way over."

I can literally see the tiny little horns on Mac's head as she grins evilly. "It's really silly to pretend we all don't know what the others know, isn't it? I also think somebody should tell the kid. Discuss amongst yourselves, Mom, Dad. Come on, lover." She drags Adam away with her toward the main house.

Marley is staring at me with disbelief. And a little happiness, I think.

"I can't believe you told the band."

"They're my boys. Uhmmm, and girl. I tried not to, but it's too important and I couldn't help it," I shrug. "You told the the Ballards and my cousin, though."

"Not on purpose," she corrects. "You told Tam about your first time with Jasmine Jones!"

I wince. "Awwww, shit. I did do that. Like, years ago. Can't believe she remembered."

"Well, she did. My pseudonym came up and she jumped all over it, and the whole story just...unraveled from there."

I sigh. I reach for her waist, pulling her to me. "I'm sorry. Did that embarrass you?"

I like the way her hands automatically reach for my forearms, and how she lets me rock her slightly from side to side as she looks up into my face, thoughtfully.

"Embarrass me? No, not really. It was just...really emotional. It's hard to hide how much..."

She stops and looks down at my chest.

"How much what? How much there is between us?"

Now her hands are pushing me away. Before she forces us to break contact, I say quickly, "You look beautiful, Marley. You look like you deserve to look everyday. Vibrant. Alive. Happy."

She smiles at me as she slips from my grasp. "Thank you. You look like you deserve to look everyday, too. Healthy, sexy and sober."

Her glossy bottom lip quivers just slightly.

That's when I lose my mind. I close the distance like lightening, and utterly destroy that pretty pout.

She surrenders to the kiss, opening fully with a breathy sigh.

She's bubbles and berries bursting in my mouth.

The sweetest forbidden fruit I've ever tasted.

The kiss goes straight to my heart, making it race. I push her gently against the wall and lose myself in her. All the while she gives me her whole being back.

We kiss and kiss, feeling every part of each other. I feel her heart racing like mine, and her hands roaming me, clutching at my strength. I feel the edge of her soul, excited and scared and wanting.

God, I want her too. In every way. I want us the way we should be. The way we always should have been. I want to tell her the truth.

That I love her. That I always have, and even when I tried to put her in the past, forgetting her was like forgetting me.

I pull back from the kiss. "Marley, I—"

My words are arrested by a solid thwonk to the top of my head. I know what it is immediately. I release Marley and stoop for the volleyball that's rolled away, but before I can toss it back over the giant speaker, Darius lopes into view.

"Hey," he says with a smirk. "A little help?"

I grimly toss him the ball.

"I was creeping at the window, I admit it," Marley blurts. "I just wanted to see you having a good time in the party without being invasive."

"Except we came outside like five minutes ago." He grins, but a splash and a feminine laugh draws his attention back to the pool.

"Carry on," he says to us with distracted arrogance, just like Leed would sound if he were on a mission to capture Sunshine.

"Hey." The sharp tone I use catches his attention. He blinks at me. "So Gwen? She's a good girl and she's Adam's niece. That makes her SCIC—Soundcrush Inner Circle. Your mom, and you by extension, are obviously also Inner Circle, since she works for us. We have a no frat rule. We don't hook up within the family. You understand what I'm sayin'?"

I've seen Darius give his mom the I-kinda-hate-you-look, but this is the first time I've seen it directed at me.

He spins the ball in his hands and says, "Well, first of all, she seems really nice so I doubt she's the kind of girl to hook up with a guy she doesn't know. And secondly, you're wearing my mother's lip gloss, which I was cool with until you just acted like a big hypocrite. But now that I think about it, it's pretty crappy that you're hitting on my mom and you're gonna be giving photo-ops with your fake girlfriend in five minutes."

"Darius!" Marley hisses.

"Yep, I know. Let me save you the lecture." He glares at me. "Sorry, Bodie for being disrespectful. A lot of that going around, I guess." He lopes off to the pool, tossing the ball in and waving off the call for him to join. He grabs a soda and throws himself into a lounge with his phone.

Marley moves at once to go to him, but I hold her back as I wipe her lip gloss from my mouth. "Let him cool down a second. He's right, you know. I'm..." I clear my throat of the string of frustrated profanity I want to utter. "I'm sorry for this. It's not right to mess with your feelings..." I edge her own blurred lipliner, and try to smile at her, "or your mouth, like that. Not now. Not with Arabella in the mix."

"I'm not sorry. I liked it," she says quietly.

"I liked it too. So fucking much. But how are you gonna feel when I've got hands on Arabella for the cameras in a little while?" I sigh.

She looks away to the twilight skyline, drawing down to darkness. "Pretty fucking pissed, I imagine."

I stand there, hands in the pockets of my skinny jeans, watching the night fall with her. We don't say anything else. There's nothing to say. We both know the reasons why we shouldn't give reign to our feelings right now.

The biggest reason of all is sulking by the pool. We can make him understand this, and therefore we can't ask him to accept this imperfect situation.

Finally, Marley collects herself and wanders off, murmuring that she barely got to speak to Stephanie, who was working like the rest of the press as guests arrived.

Before heading inside, I cop a squat on the lounge beside Darius. He ignores me, looking at his phone.

"I told you from the start, Darius, I care about your mama. What you saw back there? It's not the first time I ever kissed her. But you're right...the situation is not fair to her. So that's the last time I'll kiss her, until I get my shit straight. Until I can make her...and you...the clear priority. Until I don't have to worry about the label being on my back to promote Arabella, or my sobriety, or...anything else."

"By anything else you mean my father?" he says without looking up.

"I'm not worried about him," I scoff.

"You should be. TJ is."

"Why do you say that?"

He keeps thumbing his phone.

"Darius."

More stone-walling.

I snatch his phone from his hand. "Answer my damn question."

He sighs heavily. "TJ told me Daemon has a lawyer. He's going to take Marley to court for his parental rights. He told me I should stop acting so hostile to Daemon, because it's making Daemon believe that Marley is trying to turn me against him. He said if I go along with visiting with Daemon sometimes, he might not take her to court." He pauses, then he says, "Or worse, he said. Or worse, Bodie."

There's a long moment where we don't say anything. Where he's trying to pull something from me: an answer. He wants to know, without asking, what I think or worse might mean. Darius always seems older than his age, but he's not ready for that answer.

I push down my worry and my anger. I hand his phone back and say calmly, "TJ loves you and he's caught in the middle of this thing between your mom and Daemon. But he shouldn't put that on you. You don't have to see Daemon, okay? He does not have any parental rights, first of all. Secondly, you're not some little kid and this isn't some simple custody battle between bickering parents. You are thirteen years old and Daemon has never functioned as your father. More than that, he is not a good guy, and we all know it. You have every right to choose whether or not you see him. Even if he took your mom to family court, you would have a say. A judge would hear what you want and listen, okay?"

He shakes his head. "You don't know that for sure."

"I know I would get the best damn lawyers to make sure." I growl.

His eyes cut quickly to me in response to my growl.

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why would you do that?"

It takes everything in me to quell the possession in my voice when I say, "I already told you. I care about your mother. I care about you. And yeah, I won't lie. Daemon ain't my favorite. Your mother and I both went to jail because of him."

For now, he seems satisfied with the response. He looks past me, "Your girlfriend is coming over."

Bells stalks up, her dissatisfied look as sharp as her stilettos.

"Where the hell have you been? Playing with children? We're supposed to be working the room, Bodie."

"Bells, this is Darius, Marley's son," I say, trying to gloss over her hostility.

"So?" she says blankly. He laughs coldly and snaps a picture of her.

When she ignores him, I lose my temper a little and say, "Goddammit Bells, can you try to be nice? Teenage boys are your fan demographic, remember?"

That only makes her more pissed off, because she hates being associated with Disney anymore.

Hate to tell you, Princess, but that Disney legacy is about all you got right now. There ain't a single track laid down with your vocals on it anywhere.

"Fine," she spits at me. "Hi," she gives him a fake smile. "Hope you're having fun! I need to borrow my boyfriend. The grown-ups have to work now," she condescends and grabs me by the collar. I only rise because I don't want my shirt ripped. She lets me go and stalks into the house, expecting I will follow.

"Are you coming?" she spits when she turns around.

I glare at her and make a show of fixing the collar she disrupted. I look down to see Darius thumbing an Instagram caption to the picture he just took of Arabella.

Hey, @arabellaburns: you're rude AF.

@bodiejamison: Soundcrush should cover that old song Fifty Ways To Leave Your Lover

"Don't post that," I warn.

He glares at me and makes a show of holding his thumb over the Share button.

"I am not joking, Darius."

"You need to get your fake girlfriend in line, before she ruins your rep," he says.

"You need to get your Instagram in line with my PR priorities, before I take that phone and throw it in the pool," I warn him.

He sighs wearily and deletes his post before sharing.

"Darius," I say with tolerance. "What we were talking about before? Don't worry about it, okay? I got you. You and your mom. Now go have some fun."

He shrugs and goes back to his phone. I walk behind him, tip his lounge chair, dumping him out.

"It's like that old man?" He grins at me and fakes a punch at me.

"I said—" I lunge at him, shoving him into the pool. When he emerges, spluttering, I finish with, "Go.Have.Some.Fun."

The girls, especially Gwen, giggle.

He turns to her, holding his hands out. "You see that? What did I do to deserve that?" he swims toward the group.

"Not too much fun!" I yell at him, as I dutifully follow Arabella inside.

The rest of the night is not too much fun for me. I spend most of my time being uber-aware of where Marley is. When she's in my sphere, I try to focus my attention on anyone but Arabella. When Marley has her back turned, I bust my ass trying to hustle Bells in front of a camera. Ironically, the official press does not seem at all interested in photo ops of Bells and I, although the unofficial bloggers and influencers eat us up.

That is sketch. They used to love her, especially showing this much skin and hair extensions.

After mulling it over, I ask Trace if Marcy is already putting the word out to scale Bells and I back in the legitimate press, in anticipation of the break-up she doesn't know is coming.

"Yeah, about that..." Then he gets weird and grabs two shots from a server's tray. He offers me one, then when I give him a look, he hastily dumps them in a potted plant. "Shit. Sorry man, I forgot. Let's have a cigarette and talk about the whole Arabella thing, yeah? Anybody got any cigarettes? Let me find some..." He plunges away into the party.

He never returns with the cigarettes or a straight answer.

Despite the indifference of the few photographers with press passes, Bells stays plenty busy positioning us in sexy poses and gushing about our wonderful trip to Thailand.

"It was like a honeymoon, without the pesky wedding!" she exclaims.

I keep my nose in my club soda to avoid laughing out loud at that one.

All the while I'm trying not to strangle Bells, my phone keeps blowing up with texts. From the same person. All saying the same thing.

Preston, the token white sixer.

His texts are all on the same theme:

Dude, yous whereabouts are blowing up on social. Call me.

Shit, I almost forgot about him, but I can guess what he wants. North Atlanta is his corner, he has a shit ton of product to unload. He's seeing this party all over twitter, and he's hoping I'll grant him access to be the hook-up.

It chafes a tiny bit, his urgent familiarity. It ain't that kind of party, and it's not like we are dawgs, so I ignore his texts and his request for a return call.

Honestly, I forget all about Preston and mostly about Bells when I see Atlanta Hawks point guard Ike Howard close-talking Marley. I disentangle myself from Bells mid-camera flash to bust that up.

"Dawg, thanks for the invite," he claps it out with me. "I thought you forgot all about your Hawks, in favor of the Lakers."

"Naw man, the Lakers is just...a when-in-Rome thing. You know I got that hometown love. Always. So. I see you've met Dr. Watkins," I say. "She's a serious girl. What the hell could y'all have to talk about?"

"Sports psychology," she beams at me.

"Right," I scoff. "Dude is an all-star nine years running. I think his head's in the game."

Ike rubs his very attractive head. "Yeah, my head still feels clear, but it's my knees that are giving out. I'm thinking of what happens next, when I retire. I was thinking of putting together a sports management firm. Marley has given me some great tips for how sports psychology might fit into the package of services. You're right, she's a seriously smart woman," he laughs. "And fine as hell. And single, I hope?" he picks up her left hand making a show of checking for a ring.

Marley blushes. "Yes, but I'm not really dating right now. Just taking some me time."

"Girl, you can have me time and fun time," he grins. "I'm out of town a lot, obviously. I like an independent woman who can do her own thing."

"She can't date right now," I say bluntly. "Her contract as my sobriety companion doesn't allow for it."

"Oh," Ike says.

"Actually it does allow for my personal life," she objects.

"How's that, since you're supposed to be with me virtually all the time?"

"He's exaggerating. My contract actually provides me with Sundays and Mondays off, plus two negotiated nights a week," Marley seethes.

"Oh," Ike says, more hopeful.

"It does?" I say.

"Yes, I just haven't been exercising my time off."

"Well, who the hell is supposed to be holding me accountable to sobriety while you're off galivanting with the likes of Ike?" I exclaim.

"Ariadne."

"Awwww, hell no!"

While I glare at Marley, Ike laughs a little uncomfortably. "Well, it sounds like you guys have some employment issues to hash out. I heard some talk about hitting the club after this?"

I am barely able to be civil with Ike as we clap it out. "Yeah, bring your boys," I gesture to Ike's teammate and their small entourage. "Should be fun."

Ike nods. "Yeah. Marley, are you going?"

"Yes, of course."

"Great," he grins. "I'll see you in the VIP."

As he walks away, I hiss at Marley, "He's not your type, you know."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well he's not...me."

She scoffs at me. "You are so full of yourself, you know that?"

"Oh come on, girl. He's a basketball player."

"So? He's a very handsome and very well-spoken basketball player, with interests beyond the game," she muses, watching him shoot the shit with Trace.

"Okay, I see what you're doing here. This is a little revenge-flirtation. I get it. But I can't help my situation with Arabella," I nearly growl at her.

"And I can't help wanting to claw your eyes out every time I see you grab her ass," she growls back, turning on her heel and marching away to join Ashlynn.

Things don't improve at the club. Arabella is pissed because the club handler gushes over Madam and rushes us on the media wall in favor of Leed and Ashlynn, who admittedly, look more gorgeous together than usual.

Love suits them, but that's no consolation for Arabella. Once we are inside, she decides to garnish as much Instagram traffic as possible by practically pouring herself all over me on the dance floor. It's like she's trying to get a hashtag on the social of every clubber here.

While I'm working up a sweat half-heartedly grinding on Bells for more than an hour, I'm watching Ike Howard snuggle up to Marley in the VIP. When he finally coaxes her to the dance floor, that's when I call it a night.

"Let's go," I tell Arabella, pushing her ahead of me off the dance floor.

"What? It's early."

"It's one am, and I'm fucking tired, Bells. Sobriety among a bunch of drunks is exhausting," I gesture around.

"Well, have a pick-me-up." She turns in my arms, kissing me and then putting her fingers in my mouth.

I feel the hard, tiny slick of a capsule on my tongue. She doesn't have to tell me what it is—I know from the shape and size that it's Adderall. For one tiny second, I curl my tongue.

It would be so easy to swallow. I could really use a high to shake lose my irritation right now.

Then I look to Marley. She's doing her best to keep Ike at arm's length as he tries to move in closer.

I turn my head and spit the capsule on the dance floor, where it is immediately crushed under foot.

Only then does my reason return. Methadone blocks highs. Even if I had swallowed, the pill would have done little for me. So what the hell is Arabella even doing with ampthetamines, if they don't work on a methadone patient?

I hold her away from me, by the shoulders, looking at her eyes. It's hard to tell if she's high in this dark, strobing place. "Did you stop your methadone treatment?"

She rolls her eyes and starts to turn away. I grab her by the arm. "Answer me!"

She jerks back dramatically. "Get your fucking hands off me! What's wrong with you?"

We've got a circle of spectators now, and I'm sure video is being taken.

"Let's go," I mutter, trying to push her ahead of me.

She pushes me back hard. "Why are you being this way? I thought you loved me!" she starts to cry. "Now all you want to do is control me!"

She's like a fucking child. She wants this fight, because negative attention is better than no attention at all.

"I just want you to be happy, Bells." I pull her tight to me. "And being not-dead from drugs is sort of...a prerequisite to that," I hiss in her ear as I hustle her off the dance floor and back to the VIP.

"Get your shit. We're going," I tell her bluntly, as Leed rises at once, sensing my agitation.

"You cool, brother?" he says mildly.

"I'm cool; she's amped," I mutter.

His jaw pops in irritation. "Leave her here. You don't need to be around that shit. We'll get her home."

"Fuck you, Leed, I am definitely giving up the two-shot with Bodie on the way out," Arabella says. "It's in our appearance contract. I don't get paid if we don't fulfill the photo-ops."

"What does it matter, Arabella? No legit press wants to take your picture anyway." Mac calls from Adam's lap.

"Not helping," Adam says mildly, kissing his wife before she can make more trouble for me.

My phone is alerting in my pocket again. Like incessantly. I'm definitely going to have a word with Nate. I never should have given that kid my real number.

Marley, who was keeping just as close of an eye on me as I was on her, is looking like some kind of hot warrior chic as she pushes through the crowd, making a beeline back to the VIP. She grabs me by the arm.

"What did you take?"

"Nothing."

"I saw her give you something!" Marley yells at me.

"It was Adderall. I spit it out. But thanks for the vote of confidence." My words are nearly as venomous as hers. "Say good-night, Ike," I yell at him. "We're going!" I circle my hand at my two angry women. "All three of us! Now!"

I grab Marley by the hand and Arabella by the crook of the elbow. Our security guy is on his phone and in my ear, something about two much traffic out front to get the limo to the door, but I ignore him as I continue shouldering my women through the crowd. They are yelling at me and each other as we go.

"You are never allowed to be along with her again! She is so bad for you, Bodie. Can't you see that?" Marley yells.

"Yes," I say tolerantly.

"He's just saying that so you will shut the hell up, you know." Bells bellows back. "Just stop trying to seduce him. He is never going to want you like he wanted me! You are never going to be as hot, as wild—"

Marley jerks her hand free of mine and rounds on Bells, getting right up in her personal space. Face to face, chest to chest. Bells backs up as Marley yells in her face, "Bitch, you are nothing! You have no idea what the man needs!"

Wow. For one brief moment, my rock star flares, and I feel supremely satisfied that these two hotties are fighting over me. But then Bells pushes Marley and I see Marley's arm cock back. All my ego deflates in the concern that Marley might go to jail. I grab her arm.

"We don't hit obnoxious children, Jasmine," I say in her ear.

"No, but we hit stupid bitches!" she tries to push around me.

"Come on then, you twat!" Arabella screams, even as she's backing up. "You'll probably break your hand, your bones are so damn old!"

Marley tries to crawl through me, and I laugh as I hold her back.

"Bodie, let me go! Imma show her old! Old-school beat-down, is what she's about to get!"

"Why don't you save this wild woman stuff for the bedroom, baby?" I tease Marley as I grapple to secure both her hands in one of mine.

"Shut-up!" she yells.

"Let her go! Let's do this!" Arabella is yelling but she's standing four feet away, because she knows I'm not gonna let Marley at her.

"Why do you hate Marley so much?" I yell over my shoulder at the girl I'm protecting. "You don't even like me!"

"But you're still mine!" Bells grabs my dreads and yanks hard.

"Jesus Christ, Bells," I grab her wrist, squeezing hard until she lets go. And I still have Marley locked against me with my other arm. Camera's are flashing everywhere. My phone is buzzing like mad in my pocket.

I look to the security guy...his name is Mason. Of all our guys, he's the one I like the least. Adam won't have him on Mac's detail at all. "Dude! Will you fucking help me?" I bellow at him as I struggle with these two firecrackers.

He comes alive, like he was waiting for orders, and grabs Marley, hoisting her over his shoulder as she screams at him.

Christ, this guy.

"Put her down, or you are gonna give the goddamn paps a shot of stuff no one should see!" I yell as I yank Bells along toward the door. I know from my hands all over Marley earlier, she's not wearing any underwear with that skin tight dress. No pantylines.

At my words, Marley comes to her senses and stops fighting him. He puts her down and she quickly adjust her dress and smooths her hair. She nods at Mason and he opens the door for her.

My phone rings again. I jerk it from my pocket in irritation. "Prez, I thought you were cool, but don't ever fucking blow my phone up again like this. I ain't your access to A-list clients..."

"Is Daemon's Dime with you?" His voice is low and urgent.

"She ain't his Dimepiece," I growl.

"Ex-Dime. Whatever. Is she with you in that club?"

"Why?" I ask suspiciously.

"Don't come out the front door."

"What?"

"Don't come out the front door of that club! Take her out the back!" he hisses.

The line goes dead.

I stare at my phone for one brief second as I watch Marley shielding her eyes and stumbling slightly outside the club, trying to discern which way to our ride. She's standing alone, apart from the queue on the rope.

A black van jumps the curb and the door slides open.

I've been on the inside of a van like that once, in the back—a newbie not expected to draw. But I'll never forget what happened that night, and that's how I know without a doubt what's about to happen here now.

"DRIVE BY! GET DOWN!" I yell to the crowd as I burst through the door. I tackle Marley at a full run. I hear the sharp crack of gunfire as we fall.

Screams—terrified screams.

And shots—more deafening shots.

They seem far away as blood pounds in my head and I tense, waiting for the pain of bullets tearing through me, and the agony of Marley's screams as they hit her.

The pain doesn't come, and Marley is quietly panting in fear, not screaming in agony.

It takes me a minute to realize Marley and I are whole, and the second wave of gunfire is Mason and club security returning fire from the street, trying to hit tires as the van speeds away.

Marley is shaking. I sit up and pull her to me, checking her all over.

She's banged up but not shot.

"You're okay," I whisper. "You're okay. They're gone."

"Who?"

"I dunno. Just senseless gang fuckery," I lie. "An initiation night, probably. Fuckers needing a body count, that's all. Sssssh, it's okay," I tell her as she starts to cry.

"Where's the fucking car!?!?!" I yell at Mason, and suddenly he and club security are there, trying to force us back into the club.

"You tell the police where to find me, if they need a statement. We're fucking out of here," I tell security. I clutch Marley to me and hustle her to the limo. I've nearly closed the door when I remember Arabella.

"Shit. Stay in the car, baby," I tell Marley, who is sitting with her legs straight out on the edge of the seat, in a state of shock.

"If you see that van swing around, you fucking haul ass," I tell the driver. "Don't wait on me."

It takes me minutes to force my way through the chaos and retrieve Bells. She's scared and now utterly compliant with all my requests.

Marley has stopped crying when I get back in the car, but she's shaking again. I pour her a bourbon and rummage the bar for cigarettes. Bells gestures silently for one, and I light two.

"I think I sprained my ankle." Marley sounds numb, looking down at her left foot, already swelling profusely over the ankle strap of her sandal.

Bells sits across from us. "You are so lucky that's all the damage you took," she says quietly to Marley. "You were wide open. If Bodie weren't so observant, and so brave, you would have been shot in a completely random drive by."

I say nothing as I grip my cigarette between lips and kneel to take off Marley's shoe.

It wasn't random at all.

Preston's tip-off screams the truth to me.

Tonight, Daemon ordered Marley's execution.

Oh, shizz. Anybody care to predict what happens next?