Page 52 of Wicked Truths

Sullivan shrugs. “The reporter started asking about his last band and he shut down.”

I frown as Hawk slides a glass of orange juice in front of me. “Yeah, he seemed really off when he came in,” I admit.

Hawk gently bumps my foot under the table as he nods toward the door to my room.

Liam staggers out looking terribly hungover. “Don’t everyone go quiet when I enter the room, or I’ll be forced to think you were talking about me.”

“Come soak up some carbs,” Sullivan says, shoving a bite of eggs into his mouth.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Liam chuckles, scratching his bare chest. He saunters over with a boyish smile on his face. I lick my lips, watching all those lines of lithe muscle move and flex. He’s definitely on the slender side, but he’s got incredible definition.

He slides into the seat at Hawk’s side. I wait for him to say something about last night, or for Hawk and Sullivan to ask why he slept with me and Marcus, but Liam brings up the venue and how nice it is to be in the same city for a few days.

Marcus swaggers out a few minutes later, but there are only four chairs.

Sullivan is nearly done. He wipes his mouth and moves to stand, but Marcus shakes his head, scooping me up and bringing me to sit in his lap. I wiggle back against his chest and try not to focus too much on how much I love having the five of us in one place.

If I were an alpha I would definitely be purring. I glance around as they talk among themselves and my stomach flip-flops with butterflies. I really like it when they get along.

ChapterSeventeen

Marcus

The day passes with more practice sessions than I can count.

I have another busy-as-fuck show. I’m still filling in for Tyler from Mourning Glory and doing our normal set immediately after theirs.

It’s fine. I’m more than capable of doing two thirty-minute shows back-to-back. The entire goal of making it is to be the headliner of our own tour, and the main act usually performs for ninety minutes.

I’m looking at it as good practice for our future.

After our set, we barely get the chance to change out of our stage attire before the venue staff pops in, letting us know it’s time for our meet and greet.

“I think Sullivan is in the bathroom,” Hawk says. “I’ll wait for him and walk him down to you guys.”

“Thank you,” Oakley singsongs, coming up to my side. She bumps her hip against my thigh. “Ready?”

I chuckle. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

“I can think of several things I’d rather be doing.” Liam laughs, tossing an arm around Oakley’s lower back. “But I suppose I’ll settle for helping you claw the harpies off Marcus.”

I snort, shaking my head. It’s weird as fuck. Women have never thrown themselves at me. Fortunately, I got lucky locking Oakley down before the tour ever started because I’ve never been about casual hook ups.

Maybe it was the borderline religious abuse I endured growing up, but I’ve always gravitated toward relationships. And not just because they literally beat it into me that I’d be an upstanding member of society. I don’t think packs are anti-religion. My adopted parents and their church staunchly disagree. I guess I’m just not interested in faceless bodies.

Not that I don’t resent the hell out of Wayne and Susan for the bullshit they put me through in an attempt to ensure I didn’t end up like Damian. He was their pride and joy and simultaneously their biggest failure. With enough prayer, church, and strict discipline, they were convinced they could do better the second time around.

Shockingly enough, despite not sharing DNA with Damian, I still gravitated toward the same shit he did. Maybe I can thank Angel for her contribution to my physical make up.

Realizing that they always knew Angel was my mother, it makes a lot more sense why it felt like they loved and hated me in equal measure. The only thing they hated more than losing Damian to the industry was Angel.

It’s also strange recognizing I grew up with Lyric’s biological grandparents. Other than a quick five-minute meeting at Damian’s funeral, I don’t think she’s spent any time with them. If she’s interested in a possible relationship, I can assure her that she’s not missing much.

The cuffs on my wrists slide around, covering the multitude of scars. Oakley has seen them, or I assume she has, but she hasn’t pushed for an explanation, and I wholeheartedly appreciate that. I was never suicidal, but a couple are particularly gruesome from when my rage was a little too intense.

I snort, holding Oakley even more tightly. It’s better to have taken it out on myself than to have snapped and beat my adopted father to death, which was a real possibility on a few occasions.

We follow the two venue guys that have been our coordinators the last two nights.

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