Page 22 of Fallen Princess: Shadow Stalker

“Because she’s the link to our music,” Jagger says. “Fuck it. She was eighteen and thrust into the media wolves alone. Our publicists tainted her as the black sheep to save the band. She was fired from the record label. We were her boyfriends, fucking swore that we’d never leave her if our relationship came out. So where the fuck were we when all this came crashing on her?”

“We were recording our new album. How the fuck did we know she wouldn’t turn up? This isn’t on us,” I say sternly. No fucking way am I taking any responsibility for what she did.

“But did she know that?” Asher asks. “According to the tabloids, she left her property two days after the media cried a scandal and never returned. By the time we realized what was happening and flew back to LA, her locks were changed, and asalebanner was already up on her property. The Vixens claimed to not know anything about her whereabouts and were fucking livid with us. They believed we were the ones who leaked the video.”

“But we didn’t, so that only leads to her,” I firmly conclude.

“Okay, we all agreed that maybe she leaked a video because you know how desperate she was to lose that image which the record label and Oliver insisted she keep. She was under contract to maintain her look. She couldn’t even gain or lose a fucking kilo,” Asher explains. “Maybe she thought an illicit video like that would elevate her to a less rosy kind of image, a dark one perhaps, but regardless, it backfired, and she went running. She was probably scared of the backlash it caused and maybe of us too.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jagger says sternly. “This isn’t about rekindling any past emotions. That’s dead and buried. We want Eden Rivers as our lead vocals and lyrics co-writer. That’s all.”

I observe Jagger; he always had trust issues before Eden. He was the first to admit his crush on her and the last to enter our menage with her. Her final betrayal pushed him to disappear to the Middle East and Africa for five years to try and get rid of her memory.

Probably worked, too, because I can’t trace an ounce of longing for her lingering on him.

Asher was always quietest between us four, but he’s also the most sensitive and prone to heartbreak. He’s locked up his emotions well, but like Jagger, he seems to have moved on.

My brother’s the weakest link. I’ve seen the fury in his eyes at the mention of her name. If anyone still holds emotions, it’s him. He’s volatile. He might be in remission, but I don’t trust anything he says.

Eden Rivers may have broken me, but my brother is responsible for the stone heart I’ve adopted. I had to. Otherwise, he would have dragged me down that spiraling, never-ending black hole with him.

“What if we don’t find her?” I ask Jagger. “What if we do, and she wants nothing to do with us?” Because I’m pretty sure the latter will ring true. She disappeared for a reason, and I doubt she wants to launch a career she’s hidden from for ten years.

“Then we continue making music,” Jagger replies, confident this could work.

“Are we involving Oliver?”

“If he wants to be on board this venture, we will let him manage us. But on our terms. We only need his contacts to the labels.”

“Even if he agrees to manage us,” I look at Jagger and Asher. “We need a sponsor to finance the sample tracks. I doubt he’d be willing to invest in us this time round. The four of us are closing in on 30.”

“Speak for yourself,” Callum adds. “I’m 27. You’re the oldest in the group.”

I snigger at him. “When was the last time you used a gym?”

“I don’t need some posh arse gym to keep fit,” he replies with a kind of casual confidence that grates on my nerves. “Nor am I some vain wanker who needs the approval of millions of onlinelikesto feel good about their physique.”

“Tut-tut,” I dismiss him without wanting to elaborate further.

“If Oliver won’t fund us, then we’ll find a sponsor,” Jagger interjects to the obvious blood boiling between me and my younger idiot sibling.

“Hayes Evans Fitness could be the sponsor,” I suggest. Then again, do I want to associate the business I worked my arse off to support this mad venture?

“Scratch that,” I say, rethinking my previous statement. “I’ll finance this venture without my brand’s name or image. But I’ll own fifty percent of the band’s revenue.”

“No, f’ing way,” Jagger draws his lips to a straight, firm line.

I push my chair back.

“Then I’ll show you fellas to the door.”

“Bullocks!” Callum blurts out, and I roll my eyes. What in the blazing hell has he got to say that’s of any worth?

“You wouldn’t have offered to finance if you weren’t even the slightest bit interested. Please don’t make it out like this is some savvy business deal. You’re eager to play again just like the other two are, and there’s that lingering curiosity about what’s become of her.”

“What a load of tosh,” I say, this time avoiding the eye roll as I refuse to acknowledge my wanker brother might be a little correct.

“I want fifty percent of the band’s revenue.”

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