Page 6 of Wicked Rockstar

As we moved down the next aisle, Judd lowered his voice. “Saturday on your yacht. I’m assuming I’ll be your plus one?”

I nodded, absently picking up a stuffed polar bear. Its fur was oddly soothing against my calloused guitarist’s fingers. “Yup.”

Judd’s green-eyed gaze didn’t leave my face. We both knew we had to be careful. With my fame, there was only so much I could get away with under people’s watchful eyes.

It was like he could see into my soul. He was like this when we were kids, too. It was likely why I avoided him so much back then. It wasn’t until we were older and reconnected that we’d become friends.

I discreetly checked the aisle. It was strange not to have fans clamoring around me asking for selfies and autographs. Although, at 10:00 am in a baby store, it shouldn’t be too surprising.

My foster brother smiled. “Great. Can you hand me a few packs of pacifiers?”

I rolled my eyes. “I swear, Judd, one of these days … ” I threw a bunch of whichever was closest.

“Love you, too.” He winked, continuing to push the carriage towards the checkout. “Just so you know, you’re paying for all this. Consider it payback for making me sit through your last concert.”

I raised an eyebrow. “The concert where you had front-row seats, VIP passes, a private limo, and penthouse accommodations? Fuck you.”

Judd just fired off his trademark cocky grin.

“What the hell will you do with all this baby stuff?” I asked just before we got to the register.

Judd shrugged. “A local battered women’s shelter mentioned they needed more baby stuff.”

Hence our meeting here.

Judd was built like a linebacker but beneath his tough exterior beat the heart of a gentleman.

Before the cashier could ring anything up, I grabbed my wallet from my back pocket and peeled off ten one-hundred-dollar bills. “I’ll see you when I see you. Next time, we’re meeting in a biker bar.”

Judd grabbed the cash and grinned. “I’ll be in touch.”

I hurried out of the store, ready to be done with the music and baby stuff. I saw the same young mother loading packages into her car, parked two over from mine. She stared me down as I unlocked and opened the door of my McLaren. I was grateful I’d at least driven myself. Although my license plates were distinct. I had chosen the shortened name of my band, Wcked1. And I had a feeling she’d put two and two together pretty quickly.

I slid into the car that waited for me outside my penthouse. Max, my driver, didn’t need to ask where we were headed. It was the same destination every third Wednesday of the month—a ritual as regular as clockwork.

As we wove through the city streets, my mind drifted to the meeting that awaited me. My childhood friends and I, now all self-made billionaires, had appointed ourselves judges and executioners of the corrupt. Our illegal activities soothed a darker part of me—a need to inflict pain that I couldn’t quite shake.

I didn’t need a psychologist to tell me it traced back to my childhood. The abuse I faced from my father worsened when my mother died, as I was his only remaining option as a punching bag.

The exterior of Luminosity came into view, its façade a harmonious blend of rustic charm and refined elegance. Constructed of weathered New England fieldstone, it created a sense of timeless sophistication. Tall, narrow windows flankedthe grand entryway, their panes gleaming in the low light, offering tantalizing glimpses of the refined ambiance within.

I stepped out to the warm evening air caressing my face. The scent of jasmine from nearby planters mingled with the aroma of grilled steak wafting from the restaurant.

The low hum of conversation and the gentle clink of cutlery reached me as I entered the front door. I waved off the hostess and strode straight to the bar. The polished wood gleamed under the soft lighting, and I settled onto a plush stool.

“Scotch, neat,” I told the bartender, a young man with kind eyes and a ready smile.

He nodded, reaching for a crystal tumbler. “Certainly, Mr. Hook. The usual?”

I nodded, surprised he remembered. “You’ve got a good memory. And Killian is fine.”

He grinned, pouring the expensive amber liquid.

“You’re hard to forget. Good night so far?”

“So far,” I agreed, my eyes instinctively scanning the room for threats. Old habits die hard.

A flash of green caught my attention as I shifted in my seat. My full gaze was immediately drawn to the woman who’d walked through the doorway. She stood, her profile all I could see, while waiting for the hostess to finish with the guest before her.

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