A storm of emotions flashes across her face — a mixture of hurt, anger, and a relentless refusal to be diminished.
Smack.
It wasn’t as if I didn’t deserve it.
The sting burns on my face, and it isn’t because of Eden's strong hand but because it came directly from her.
The flush of anger is evident on her face, her brows furrow into a sharp V of indignation. The lines around her eyes deepen, and her nostrils flare, releasing rapid breaths as if trying to harness the surging fury within.
“Leave us,” I order Rick even though he signed an NDA. I sure as shite don’t need him listening to what I have to say right now.
“That’s not possible, Sir,” he replies, and Eden shoves Storm's leash into his chest.
“It’s an order from me. Shits about to go down, and I don’t need witnesses,” she scowls. Her eyes ablaze with a fiery intensity, and her lips curl with disdain.
Rick reluctantly takes the leash, and his eyes lock on her.
“Are you carrying the panic device?”
She pulls a keychain from her denim jacket and dangles it at him.
Taking one last look at her and a dismissive one at me, he turns to leave with the dog.
Chapter 36
“You think I’m awhore?”
Eden wastes no time as her chin tilts upward defiantly. Despite her musical persona and the portrait of a beautiful, delicate woman, she’s someone who refuses to be silenced or insulted. She’s told us enough times how she had to fight her way to survive from where she comes from. Her current angry face etches with the strength that rises from within her is proof enough.
She fit in our group like the missing piece we never knew we needed. We all fancied the socks off Eden Rivers from the Sugar Vixens, but joining our all male boyband wasn’t exactly something we welcomed.
But fuckin ’ell, she proved all of us wrong because she’s definitely a girl who, like all of us, came from the wrong side of the tracks. That wholesome, sweet persona we all thought she had was just a show she and Oliver created for the TV folk.
“I never said you were a whore, darling,” I say, watching Rick walk Storm in the distance as they make their way back to the trailer park. “That’s something you came up with. Not me.”
I take out my trusted metal box and crouch to the ground to prep my fag, putting the bottle down beside me. I could just walk back and ignore Eden, but something tells me she wants to have this out of the bag.
I roll my fag and put everything away and I see a pair of black vintage biker boots stand next to where I’m crouched down. Just as I think she’s about to crouch down and join me for whatever reason, she snatches the whiskey bottle.
Rather than react, I continue doing my thing and stand up, putting the box back in my pocket and lighting up my fag before glancing her way.
“What’s your intention, siren?” My eyes casually look up at her, now standing at a distance.
“Was this how you intended to spend your night?” she says, waving the bottle at me.
Rolling my eyes, I take a drag and inhale deep.
“Why do you care?” I say, turning my head away to exhale the smoke.
“Maybe you want to play that troubled asshole, but I know you, Callum Evans. I’ve known you since we were practically kids. And this,” she holds up once more, “this isn’t you.”
I smirk at her.
“You think you know me, siren?”
“Dammit, Callum, drinking isn’t the way. Why can’t you talk to me?”
“Because a bottle won’t talk back like a woman will,” I grin with amusement, which only fuels her with more frustration.