Page 62 of Fallen Princess: Shadow Stalker

“Why are you even here, Eden?” Jagger looks at me; he’s more frustrated than annoyed. “How serious are you about this band?”

“I’m serious about the music.”

“Bullshite!” he exclaims, and both brothers step forward and are one pace away from getting between me and Jagger.

“Mate, take it down a notch,” one says. “It was just a bad note.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jagger insists. “Are you trying to sabotage us? Make sure we fail? Try and play with our feelings?”

“Is that what you think last night was about? You weren’t even there!” I scowl.

“She has a point, Jagger,” Asher gets up from his stool. “Let it go, and we’ll try the new notes again.”

“I’m here. I don’t have to be,” I explain, even though I damn well don’t feel he deserves an explanation. “You asked me to be here. I don’t even want to be here. I’m risking everything to be here!”

Jagger furrows his brows.

“You’re right. I did ask you. For the music Eden. That’s all.”

“You think I’m after something else? For fucks sake Jagger, it was ten years ago!”

“Not how I saw it last night.”

“He’s not wrong there,” Haze pushes himself into the conversation. “What are your plans, princess?”

I feel like I’m being backed into a corner, and I’m not liking it.

“Let it go,” Ash steps in front of Haze as a warning.

“Mate. I took your hit last night, but today is another day, and I won’t be taking your shite again.”

“Something else, huh?” I butt in referring directly to Jagger since he started this shit. “All I ever wanted to do was play music. Did I want to leave the Vixens? You know the answer to that. I never had a choice. I entered Sonics with one thing in mind: to focus on the music. But your sixteen-year-old dicks saw pussy. All four of you were relentlessly trying to get in my pants for one year. You think I dumped you and fled because of a sex video I released, but it wasn’t me that took that video nor released it.”

“You fled, Eden. You never even waited to hear from us. That was your guilt, and you couldn’t face the backlash.”

I roll my eyes with irritation, “Your repetition borders on annoyance, Jagger. Get over yourself. I know I have.”

“You talk like an idiot, Eden. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Name-calling is childish, Jagger,” Asher calls out in my defense, but I don’t need anyone fighting my battles.

“Of course, I talk like an idiot. How else could you understand me?”

Jagger is not one to take my sarcasm lightly. He crosses his arms and wears a tight frown that creases his forehead. His patience is wearing thin right now, and he’s one minute from bursting a blood vessel.

I’m so close to telling them the truth. I bite my tongue because I’m not sure I can trust them with this information.

“When the news broke, I was hounded by the media. They stood outside my gates, and my phone went off the hook with reporters wanting exclusive interviews. I only wanted to get in touch with one of you to reassure me that you had nothing to do with the video. I left you a ton of messages because my heart couldn’t believe any of you could betray me like that. But you all went awol, complete radio silence. The media was beginning to talk about the band breaking up and that you were going to part ways with me. But I deserved an explanation, and I got nothing. I was alone in my big assed home, Catalina was in New York, and then Oliver Jones phoned to see how I was and said all of you were in England recording the new album. He was going on about how I was going to be fired by the record label. It hurt that none of you were there, unreachable. It destroyed me.”

A tear falls from my eye, and I quickly wipe it away because they don’t deserve any tears from me. There’s so much more that happened, but they can never know.

He’ll find and kill me if I talk about what happened.

“Eden—”

“Stop!” I say, interrupting Haze. “All of you want to know, so I’ll tell you everything, and then I’m gone. Forever. I’ll be packing up my stuff and heading home.”

I take a breather because even now, after all these years, recalling that night still affects me in more ways than one. My hand automatically goes to the thick vertical scar on my chest; it’s a reminder of what stress does to me. The guys' eyes quietly travel to where my hand is, and it’s a solid cue for them to calm the fuck down.

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