“Because,” he starts with an unsettling calmness in his voice, “if you don’t, I can guarantee your career will suffer consequences.”
This isn’t the first time he’s threatened to ruin me, but this time I have my family to back me up. I have a team that will go to battle for me. And I have fans that are loyal beyond measure.
Something in me snaps at his thinly veiled threat. Years of bending to his will and bearing the brunt of his persistent bullying rages inside me like a torrential storm. My eyes meet Keaton’s across the room. His quiet strength radiates reassuringly towards me, fueling me with courage.
“Is that a threat?” I retort sharply, maintaining my gaze on him. “You know what? Save it! I’m done playing your games.”
I watch as shock ripples over his face, quickly replaced by twisted rage. He didn’t expect resistance from me—a foolish miscalculation on his part.
“Oh, aren’t we brave today?” he sneers, stepping closer. But Nash and Darius stand in unison, flanking me in a protective stance.
“You don’t get to intimidate her anymore,” Nash states flatly, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a fierce protectiveness.
“You have stolen enough from me through the years. This time you walked into my home and pilfered my very personal lyrics from my notebook without permission. I won’t be backing down. So if that’s all you came here for, then you have your answer.” I practically spit every word at him, my body vibrating with the fury and anguish I’ve kept hidden for five years.
“We have a contract and you still owe me one more album. Those songs belong to the label,” he tries to argue, but I hold my hand up to stop him. There’s no doubt in my mind he fed Carmen those lines, and I don’t need to hear them again.
“I suggest you reevaluate things,Uncle. Because I’d hate to have to expand my lawsuit to involveotherthings you’ve stolenfrom me.“ This time it’s my turn to flip the tables and threaten him. My fear of him fully chased off, knowing I’m not alone.
“You don’t know who you’re dealing with, little girl. I created the phenomenon behind the name Raina, and I can end you just as easily.”
“No,” I interrupt him, rising to my feet. “You didn’t create Raina. You manipulated a scared teenager, isolated her from everything she loved, drugged her, controlled her every move and thought you could keep doing it forever. But guess what? That teenager grew up. She found her strength and voice. She survivedyou.”
He scoffs. “Do you really believe you can make it in this industry without me?” A laugh spills out of him like he thinks it’s the funniest thing he’s heard in a long time.
“I survived you,” I repeat, my voice steadying with the resolve I find with every second that ticks by. “Everything else will be a cakewalk.”
“And let me tell you something you clearly don’t understand,” I continue, my tone venomous as it cuts through the tense silence in the room. “Just because you stick a label on something doesn’t make it yours. Those songs? They’re mine. This band? It’s ours. You might have forged my name into a brand, but Raina is more than your industry puppet.”
“Angel…” his voice carries an eerie softness now, “Don’t burn your bridges.”
“I’m not burning bridges,Uncle,“ I reply sharply. “I’m severing ties.”
He scoffs as he takes in my adamant face and the stony expressions of the men standing behind me. “You’re making a big mistake.”
Dickless storms out of the bus, his aura leaving a frigid chill in its wake.
“That was intense,” Nash whistles, running a hand through his hair.
“Understatement of the century,” Blake mumbles as I exhale a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.
Keaton crosses the space and kneels in front of me. He reaches out to catch my gaze. The raw appreciation, the proud glint in his eyes, turns my insides to mush. “Raina,” he murmurs quietly so only I can hear him, “that was brave.”
I give him a small smile and nod appreciatively. “You helped me find that bravery.”
It’s felt like we’ve had to wait an eternity for this show, much longer than the two days it actually was. I made a video for Tristan—looked like an idiot too—letting him know we’re waiting for him, but I’m still nervous that he might not have seen it.
Fans went wild over it, tagging him over and over to get his attention. I practically drove Darius crazy asking him to check for a response from Tris, but he never commented or messaged the account.
If I wasn’t on stage singing right now, I’d bite my fingernail and pace incessantly. And obviously ask Darius to check again.
Why didn’t Tris show up to the meet and greet? We left him backstage passes. Did something happen to keep him from showing up? Did he run into some trouble and they wouldn’t let him through?
Thank goodness I’m able to do this by muscle memory, because I’d be screwed otherwise. And not in the fun way.
Dare steps next to me, smiling and shaking his shoulders in a flirty way. I strut away from him, giving a playful smile over my shoulder. He does that sexy move of sliding his guitar onto his back with the strap, freeing his arms to chase after me and guide me into a spin.
Our fans love this bit. The enticing dance, the playful banter, the fluid rhythms—it keeps them hooked, their screams hitting a fever pitch.
