Jaded Hearts Read online

  "Wren is here now, Dix. Tell us what you need since you apparently couldn't do it before." Wes sounds more pissed than I can ever remember him sounding.

  "Brighthouse wanted me to remind you all that until the next six weeks is up, you still have a responsibility to them, and I'm here on behalf of them to make sure you hold up each and every commitment." He turns to me. "It has been requested by Howard himself that you please stop talking about that problem of yours. Brighthouse doesn't want to be painted in the same light as someone who behaved in such a manner that would allow herself to become vulnerable to such a problem. No matter if the engagement has now turned into a marriage, everyone already knows what you created in sin."

  "The fuck did he just say?" Wes bellows, trying to rush from his spot, only for a mammoth body to stop him when Jamison steps in front of him. His arms crossed and a lethal look painting his features.

  I have just a second to notice that Luke is standing behind Wes, ready to hold him back if he tries to get past Jami. I should have worried less about my brother because my distraction meant that Chance left my side completely. By the time I'm looking back at Dix, Chance is backing him into a wall. He never touches him, just moves Dix back with the fury vibrating off him.

  "If you ever talk about Wrenlee like that again, you will find out what it's like to be vulnerable to a fucking problem. No matter what you or that piece of shit label you work for thinks about her, me, or anything that's come from our love for each other, I suggest you keep those thoughts to yourself unless it's to wish us congratulations, motherfucker. Now, get the hell out of here before I forget that I'm a gentleman."

  Dix, still pushing his own body as close to the wall as possible to avoid Chance's rage, penguin walks the wall length until he's blindly grabbing for the door and rushing out. Silence roars in my ears as I watch Chance's shoulders heave in anger. I can't look away, the raw power of his body holding me captive, much like Dix just was. Only mine is being held in awe and Dix was about to piss himself in fear.

  "Did he just say love?" Dyllan gasps in a squeal, not fazed by the heaviness around her. She jumps from the stool, claps her hands, and does a tiny victory dance.

  Oh, wow. I think back to what he told Dix, and even though he had been defending me and our very real relationship--it had been in reaction to Dix insulting our nonexistent child and the marriage rumor that we've just been playing along with for laughs. Never once did he say anything about it being fabricated; he only threatened with the parts of our relationship that were true.

  When he turns, his breathing still erratic with his anger, I can see it in his eyes--the truth. He wasn't just saying that for Dix's benefit.

  Nope, he sure wasn't.

  Chance Nash, my not husband, has just proclaimed his love for me in a way that leaves no room for argument from anyone.

  And I can't wait to let him tie me up and show me just how much love he has for me.

  The first hour of our show went off without a hitch, but only because the crowd doesn't know my guys like I do. The mood that Dix had put them in was something they couldn't shake until they realized it didn't affect me. Once they saw how much fun I was having with the sold-out Vegas crowd, they lightened up and enjoyed themselves as much as I was.

  Everything that I had started to hate about this life in the last few years started to drain away from me with each song that I performed on stage. I felt every last ounce of disquiet still clinging to me vanish completely. We still have things that we're figuring out for our future, but when it comes down to it, we'll get to that together.

  I rocked that stage like I hadn't rocked one in a long time. Playing up the sexy image that Brighthouse had always exploited, I danced with seductive rolls of my hips, flashed my bows while I belted out the lyrics over my shoulder, and had more fun than I've had in years. It's funny how now that I see things in a new light, how I always thought this part of me wasn't real--an act that had been created by the demands of Brighthouse to give the fans a part of me. Now, I finally see that the Wrenlee the public has always craved is really married to the Wren I've always been. I know now that I'm the one who holds the power to my life. I'm the one who decides the person I am in the public eye. I get to pick how much and how little they get from me--no one else has that authority.

  I have no doubt in my mind that feeling has everything to do with the man standing to the left of the stage, just out of view, with a primal hunger on his face the whole time I put my all into the music. He's made no secret that Wren's--me--his, but that he still wants the Wrenlee put on display for the world. He is fiercely protective of the person I am when I'm not performing, but he opens his arms and lets me fly when it's time to rock. He doesn't discriminate when it comes to his desire for me. He wants me with no makeup and leggings. He wants me with a face a drag queen would love and my body on display. He holds me close when I'm not performing--a shield to guard my privacy--yet he lets me go long enough to be a fantasy for others--standing back to shield and guard me from the shadows. To him, I'm just me, and that me belongs to him.

  His lips start to twitch when I blow him a kiss, something the crowd doesn't miss, and their screams grow in volume at my move. I toss my head back when he lifts his hand and returns the gesture, something so unlike the stoic man he becomes when he's 'working.'

  The song ends, and Wes continues a few heavy riffs from his bass guitar, while I give the masses a sassy smile. "I gotta say, Vegas, you sure do look hot tonight! What do you say we cool off and get a little ... 'Drunk Before Dawn'?" When I finish speaking, I hold my arm out with the mic pointed out toward them and wait for the crowd to go nuts at the mention of one of our biggest hits.

  They don't disappoint, and I'm thankful I pulled out my earplugs a while ago, so I'm able to feel the full power of their unadulterated excitement slap me in the face. "Well, then! I think you guys are thirsty! Let's go, boys! Let's show the good people of Las Vegas how to get Loaded!"

  Jamison starts to pound out a voracious beat, each one vibrating through my body with pure and beautiful power. The complex time signatures of one of my favorite songs of all time rolls through me until I feel like I'm alive with the power of it. I glance over my shoulder while the boys create their magic, waiting for my intro, and see Jamison. The playful enthusiasm on his face is like a virus to your soul. I smile over my shoulder at Luke and Wes, my excitement buzzing even more intensely as their hands move quickly and their eyes smile back at me.

  Then it's my turn. That magic spot in the music that marks 'go time.' I toss my hair back, look up high into the rafters of the arena, and give this song everything I feel. As soon as I start rasping out the lyrics to one of my favorite songs, the crowd is already screaming the words along with me, high on the same feeling I am.

  At this moment, we're one.

  I continue to sway my hips, singing with a smile, as I glance at where I last saw Chance standing. He's stepped forward only minutely, but enough that his face is no longer completely masked by the shadows around him. The new position no longer mutes his handsome face but leaves him illuminated by the stage lights, showing me just how much he's enjoying watching me perform. His plump lips--lips I know can turn me into a puddle of goo--are silently mouthing the words along with me. I knew he was no stranger to us, but I had no idea he was this familiar with our music. I don't know how to explain it, but knowing that he clearly enjoys our music enough to know the words makes me feel like a superwoman. The normal rush I get from being on stage turns into a powerful intoxication coupled with his affections.

  It hits me in the middle of the chorus, and if I wasn't such a seasoned vet to holding my cool on stage, I would have stumbled terribly. Outside, you would never know that I'm on the cusp of a life-altering discovery. But inside, I'm a mess of feelings. I know, in this second, that the something I had been searching blindly for has finally been found.

  I had been so lost that I couldn't even see that I could find most of those answers inside myself. Ch
ance taught me, in such a small amount of time, to see the good in people. When he gave me the gift of his affection, he made sure to leave no room for arguments and that I understood why he wanted me to have his. He has helped me to stop thinking there was no hope. I no longer see people and jump to the conclusion that they are automatically going to use me.

  Standing here, I no longer see the rabidly hungry fans as I once would. I see people who feel the music we're creating for them. Music that I thought had been dying in its power to make others disconnect from their worries and just ... be. Memories are being made with each heart-pounding second that they stomp their feet and belt out the words with me. They crave the feelings that we as artists pray they'll sense within our music. And it's because of all that, in the sixteen acres of the sold-out T-Mobile Arena, twenty thousand people unify, becoming one and proving that as long as you have the dominance of music, you are never alone.

  My eyes grow wet when I realize just how far I've come since we left New York. Nothing was different, in hindsight, except the contentment that I now feel within myself--allowing me to see the beauty in my life without the jade-covered lens of my fears.

  This right here is what makes every one of the seconds my jaded little heart felt a disconnect in my life worth it.

  The crowd before me, my guys at my back, the music that makes us all one, and most importantly--the man at my side. Because without him, I'm not sure I would have ever been able to find this again.

  I recognize the change inside Wren the moment that it happens. I have no idea what brought it on, but one second, she was just performing, and in the next, she was living that performance like it was an extension of her. I felt something shift inside me at that moment, something I hoped I never lost. It was almost as if she was seeing the world around her with new eyes. It was a change that I don't think anyone else would have even noticed, but because of our connection, it's a change that I feel snap within me as well.

  Even the way in which she's holding that tight, sinful body on stage is oozing with a newfound air of confidence. She's never had trouble with working the stage in my opinion. Their fans love her because she's a master at owning the stage during their shows, but at this moment, she is no longer playing an act created to drive them nuts with pleasure; she's figuratively jumping right off the stage and joining the insanity right along with them.

  Every male instinct wants to steal her away and never let her outside again until every single person alive knows she's off-limits. I want her body, the petite beauty that is on display in next to nothing, under my own so I can remind her who she belongs to. I think a little part of me worried that I wouldn't be able to handle this part of her world. That the struggle to share her would become a challenge that even my feelings for her couldn't soothe.

  But seeing this side of her is what solidifies my knowledge that I can not only handle her world, but I'm also honored to be at her side while I live in it. Witnessing the wonderment of her coming into her full potential and finding herself again, while in front of thousands, makes it easy to push all those natural-born instincts aside and support her with unwavering devotion. This is who she is, who she was born to be, and it would be an injustice to deny the world the beautiful insanity she and the guys create.

  Fuck me.

  I wasn't kidding earlier when I put that asshole Dix in his place--anything that comes out of the love I feel for this woman is something I will protect with my last breath. It didn't even matter to my rational brain that I was about to kill a man over a media-made pregnancy lie and the rumored engagement and marriage seed I planted while I was playing the fake boyfriend. It might have started out as a lie--our relationship--but I will never allow someone to take what we have and try to make it wrong.

  Coming out of my thoughts, I hear the shift in the music that begins Jamison's solo time to go nuts. Wren gives the crowd her back, arms stretched out beside her body, and she undulates to the rhythm he is masterfully creating. Her skirt, already doing a shitty job of actually covering her sweetness, pops up wickedly each time she shifts her hips. I can just see the side loop and end piece of one of her tattooed bows on the back of her thigh, inked so lifelike with a delicate lace pattern that my fingers twitch to reach out and touch them.

  I feel a need for her, which I haven't felt before as I watch her, and that's saying a whole hell of a lot since I already crave her to the point of insanity. I've memorized their set list, so I know "Drunk Before Dawn" is the song before they come off, faking the end of their show before going back out to give them the final rush. I know from the shows in New York that they have a habit of deviating from the plan--adding in some surprise songs on top of the three they always end their shows with. With how they're feeling right now, I have a feeling it will be one of those nights, even though I'm hoping it isn't for my own selfish reasons.

  The song ends, and right on cue, the lights go completely dark on the stage, leaving them just enough illumination to come off the stage safely. Wren's body hits mine a second later, making me step back in order to support her, and her legs wrap around my waist. I place my hands on her naked thighs and hold her close--pressing my cock against the heat of her.

  "Hi," she breathes through her smile.

  "Hi, back." I feel my own happiness growing, taking over the mask that I held in place for the last two-and-a-half hours while I watched her out there.

  The bright red lipstick, dark eye makeup, and shine across her skin from her exertion only add to the intensive drive growing inside me to claim her as mine for all to see.

  "I like knowing you're watching me," she says honestly, her eyes bright even in the darkness.

  "I can tell, baby."

  Her face gets soft, but before she can speak, I hear Jamison bang out a steady rhythm. The thumps slow and even but nonetheless powerful.

  The signal.

  Just like clockwork.

  I tag Wes and Luke moving back onto the stage without looking away from Wren. I know she has forty-six seconds from that moment to get back out there, mic in hand, ready to sing a voice of raspy sex.

  "You wearing that magic lipstick that doesn't come off for fuck all?" I ask, Wes' bass mixing with Jamison as the tempo picking up speed.

  "Yeah." She nods, squirming in my hold.

  "Then give me a deep one. Make it hard and rough, so when you get back out there, everyone knows exactly what you just did with that wicked mouth. I want you puffy and swollen in more places than one for me."

  She presses closer, and I have no doubt that if I pushed those panties to the side, I would indeed find her puffy, swollen, and soaking fucking wet with her need. Her kiss is just as I demanded, our tongues picking up the same cadence of Luke's guitar as he enters into the tune crafted by the three men. Knowing her time is up, she breaks away with a heaving chest, and I drop her gently to her feet. She looks like she wants to say something, but with no time left, she spins and is singing the lyrics before she's even left the shadows.

  I don't even bother hiding the thickness growing behind my jean zipper. There's no use, not when she's standing out there in front of thousands looking just fucked from a kiss alone.

  Soon.

  The silent promise doesn't do much to douse my desire. I try to get a hold of my body, but it's a losing battle. I hope she's feeling it as badly as I am because there will be nothing slow and soft when I finally get her to myself. It's going to be raw, hard, and animalistic. It's also going to love her so fucking good that she will know mind, body, and fucking soul who she belongs to.

  "You look like you're about to go apeshit," Dyllan contemplates out loud as she saddles up to my side when they start playing the fifth song of their encore. I knew she was there. I felt her move an hour ago, coming out from her spot further down on the side closer to Jamison.

  I don't speak. I'm not even sure if I could. Not to be rude--especially not to Wren's best friend--but it's taking everything I have in me to just be able to stay alert to my surrounding
s while the vixen on stage makes me insane with desire.

  "You're good for her, you know," she continues, not even fazed by my silence. "And I hope you know how lucky you are to have earned her heart."

  I turn, my gaze leaving Wren for the first time in over three hours. "I know exactly how lucky I am to have been given that gift."

  "Don't hurt her," she unnecessarily warns.

  I harden my expression, showing her without words how much her words piss me off, but I don't speak my frustration because I know she's coming from a good place.

  "It's my job to warn you, so ... consider it a warning that I'll do all sorts of painful things to you if you make her feel pain from even a paper cut."

  "If the day ever comes that I allow that to happen, you have my permission to do just that. I'll even provide you with the tools for the job."

  Her eyes widen. "Well ... okay then."

  I nod, hold her gaze for a second, and then look back at the woman I would rather die for than hurt.

  "You've been amazing, Las Vegas! Thank you for coming out. Have a kickass night and go make Sin City your bitch! We love you all!"

  With a wave, not even waiting for the three musketeers' normal after-show antics, she rushes off the stage. Dix is standing in the same spot he had been scowling from all night, but he steps to the side when the crew starts moving around. Wren hands her mic off to one of the male technicians, Curtis, before stepping over to the woman named Kellie, who helps her remove her earpieces. Both of them are efficient and quick, something I'm thankful for a second later when she is back in my arms.

  "I don't think I'm going to make it all the way down the corridor to your dressing room," I say against the salty skin of her neck.

  "Me either. At this point, I wouldn't care if you took me in the middle of everyone backstage."

  "That won't happen," I grunt, biting at the smooth skin. "They already get to see you looking like a pure fucking wet dream; I won't give them more than that."