The line disconnected, and I wiped at my damn eyes again.
Hearing my boys say they loved me would never get old.
Now I just had to save our girl.
And so, I did what I always did.
I got back to work.
25
ROSALIE
Iyawned, so exhausted that I wasn’t sure how I was still awake. We’d made up for the canceled show because of the tour bus, but it meant no break, as we would be going from Phoenix to Santa Fe for a back-to-back show. We’d originally had a two-day break, but that was now gone.
And everything was hell.
Everywhere we went, we were followed by paparazzi. Anson got us another bus, but my heart wasn’t in it, especially now that I knew they could burn quickly. Luckily, we hadn’t been in it when it caught fire. We’d gone into a diner and had dinner, only to come out to find everything up in flames.
That meant that whoever was following me was close.
Too close.
Or a copycat, as the police said, but why would anyone want to be leaving severed body parts behind and setting fires?
I asked Dante that, and he shrugged, said people do crazy things, then told me he was on his way.
Now he sat beside me with his tablet, grumbling about the bumpy ride every few minutes while Anson, Ryder, and Trent went over more security stuff.
“You should be home with your family,” I said as he cursed again.
“I am with my family,” he mumbled, scrolling through news articles. If I had to guess, he was looking up anything that might give us information on who could be following me.
“Dante.” I placed my hand over his, and he looked at me, his green eyes flashing. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing. I’m protecting my sister.” He made to look away from me again, but I placed my hand on his cheek and brought his attention back to me.
“Tell me.”
He sighed and looked around. “It’s nothing.”
“Liar. Tell me, or I’ll scream the word moist on repeat.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
“Because I know you hate the word. Moist. Moist. Mmmmoist.” My voice got louder with each word.
“Rosalie, stop.”
“Moist. Moist. Moist?—”
“Rosalie…”
“Moist. Mmmmmoist. So mmmooooissstttt?—”
“I-I can’t get Sirena pregnant,” he said, his voice cracking.
“What?” I crinkled my brows at him.
