TANTRIC (Book 3 of the Soundcrush Series)

Chapter 57: Front Men Give Ultimatums

Leed

God, I'm an asshole.

I'm roaring at this woman that I love. The bigger part of me wants only to hold her, protect her, keep her safe, but the denser part of me is so furious that she's putting herself at risk.

And fucking lying to me.

What even is this, that I'm doing with her?

I could have lied to her so many times. I could let her think marriage and more babies is an eventual given, instead of a big pit of uncertainty. I could let her think Ollie and co-parenting with Tam is just an insignificant side-project. I could have kept my diabetes from her like I keep it from everyone else.

I've given her my heart and soul. I've bared it all—especially all the really hard shit that makes me scared she might decide I'm not worth all the challenges that come with loving me.

I've been honest as fuck.

And she lies to me, when her fucking life could be on the line.

Why did I throw that hundred dollar bottle of tequila? I really need it now.

Thinking of how bad I'm feeling, and how needy I am for a fix to calm my feelings, that flips my switch. If there is anybody on this plane desperate for a little chemical help right now, it's Ashlynn.

My heart deflates as I check her over, like I've done thousands of times since that day months ago when Cam jacked her nerves up and she asked me for weed.

She sat down calmly when I commanded, but that's probably the submissive part of her nature that I don't relish ruling. Her face is pale when it should be red with emotion, and she's destroying her nails.

The nails. That self-destructive habit of ripping off her nails—it's my always my biggest clue that she's jonesin'.

Fuck. I did that.

I stride over to the bar cart. I find what I'm looking for in the back of the left drawer. I strike the top of the cigarette pack against my hand. You don't really need to pack cigarettes, but the motion is comforting, just like I know the cigarette will be for Ashlynn.

I light two at once and offer her one.

"You can't smoke on an airplane," she says dully, not looking at me.

Sweet Jesus. This girl and her rules. It hurts my heart to think about how desperate she must have been when she turned to a psychopath to rule her world.

"This is a private jet. If they stock cigarettes in the bar cart, you can smoke them, Sunshine."

Her eyes jerk to mine, like she's surprised I would call her by her nickname right now. "Yes, you're still my Sunshine," I sigh. "I'm pissed, but only because I love you so fucking much," I assure her. "And anyways, I'm trying to calm the fuck down," I gesture to her with the two cigarettes and shove one between my lips.

I hold the other to her, and she takes it, drawing greedily, exhaling slowly.

I pace, but she sits as we smoke. Finally, she lights a second one, and she speaks.

"I don't think Varrick is a killer."

I turn to look at her. She's sitting on the edge of her seat, legs crossed, cigarette poised, staring into space. She's not meeting my eyes, her chest is not flushed, and she's using contractions. I honestly can't tell if she's lying.

"The evidence suggests otherwise," I say bitterly.

"Not really. Just your feelings," She takes a long draw. "The truth is he may have been her boyfriend, but police nor her mother nor you nor I have any idea if he had anything to do with Megan Davis' disappearance. What I do know is, I've spent a lot of time with Varrick and I've never seen anything that made me think he was a killer."