Page 19 of Anthem of Love and Loathing

“That was intense.” I release the death grip I have on the seat once the car pulls away from the bus stop. I massage the stiffness from my knuckles. “I forgot what it was like.”

“It’s worse.” He grins at me, his huge hand covering my whole knee. “They’re like this everywhere we go. Wait until you see our fans around Riot. Sometimes I think they might carry him away and we’ll never see him again.”

“A girl can wish,” I mutter under my breath. Perhaps one of his more unstable fans could lock him up in their basement never to be seen or heard from again. That would be nice.

Except now I’m committed to the idea of keeping him out of trouble while he tours, his kidnapping wouldn’t bode well for me. “It will be harder for Marco to get to me if he works out where I am then.”

That won’t stop him shooting me to keep his secret safe. But that’s only a problem if he finds me. And can get close enough.

“Our girl found her silver lining,” he says.

Our girl. They all used to call me that when they’d talk about me with the others. Our girl got us a meeting with the label. Our girl got Carmine to agree to let us headline for Stone Cold Voodoo. Keep our girl close so the crowd doesn’t bother her.

It’s old and familiar. As cozy as my favorite pair of motorcycle boots—the ones I really wish I had on my feet right now. But that was another life. If I’m going to make it through the next few months with them, I can’t spend it reminiscing about the past. And I can’t spend it with Bronx thinking last night could lead to something.

“We need to iron out the details of our agreement.” My stomach growls loud enough to fill the space between us.

He chuckles. “In-N-Out? Or Zankou?”

“In-N-Out.”

“Hey, man,” he calls out to the driver. “We’re going to need In-N-Out.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver says.

Ten minutes later we have two Double-Double Animal Style, plus well-done fries, and Lemon Up. I tear another juicy bite from my burger and gulp it down while Bronx watches me.

“Stop staring at me like that.”

“I’m in awe actually,” he says. “I’ve never seen you, or any girl for that matter, unhinge her whole jaw like that. You might want to slow down. You don’t want to puke.”

“I’m starving.” I groan at the sugary, lemonade-Seven Up explosion as I suck the icy drink through the straw to wash down the food. “The only meals I’ve had in the last four days are ones you’ve provided.”

“Fucking really?” His brow grows stormy. “I figured shit wasn’t good last night, but—”

“But it doesn’t matter since you’ve promised me meals and somewhere to sleep while I work out what comes next, right?” I stare him down.

Eventually he nods.

“I’m going to need enough money to make a fresh start. Somewhere that isn’t here. Where Marco won’t find me. Enough to keep me going until I can get properly back on my feet.”

“I’m good for it,” he says. “You could tell me you don’t want to take the job, and you still want the money and—”

“I’m not a charity case.” I hold my hand up. When his lips quirk up, I can only imagine the smart-ass comment building behind it. “And like I said last night I am not a prostitute. No matter what happened in your bed last night.”

“I believe that would make me the prostitute.” He wraps his lips around his straw and slurps his shake. “Since I was the one committing the sexual favor. But with no reward—”

“You asked for hugs. I gave them to you.”

“Okay. That counts. Hardly, but—”

I elbow him in the ribs.

“Ouch.” He rubs his fist over the spot. “Keep your pointy elbows to yourself.”

“We’ve gotten off track.” And we’re only blocks from the hotel. I can’t walk in that suite and face Riot again without some certainty. I can’t be worried about Bronx having expectations. He said he didn’t, but he also said he took his shot because he knew it wouldn’t come again. “I need us to be on the same page. What happened last night... won’t happen again.”

He opens his mouth and I clamp my hand over it before he can speak.