Fuck.
My hand clamped down on the inner door handle of my truck. God knew I was about to come loose.
“You won’t touch her,” I warned. “Even think about it and you can consider the little party we had the last time I showed up at your house a prelude to what’s coming for you.”
Punks kids like your brother aren’t ever going to make it, anyway.
I’d never forget what he’d said.
Like Austin hadn’t mattered. His life worthless. I’d lost all sanity, all restraint, just like he seemed to be begging me to do now.
Jennings laughed, twisted mirth in his eyes. “Did you forget who I am, Sebastian Stone?”
Money.
Power.
Greed.
Pretension.
He busied himself by adjusting the cuffs on his suit jacket, head tipped down to watch the action while he slanted an eye up at me like the cocky bitch he was.
“I will take whatever I want. Shea is mine…she was the second her mother came groveling at my feet, willing to sell her soul and her daughter’s for a little taste of stardom.”
Shea was right. He was a sociopath. A psychopath. He got off on power. Off on exerting whatever morbid control he held over the people around him.
I felt sick—mad with the need to show him who I was.
“You’re wrong. She’s mine.”
Never had I spoken anything truer in my life.
“We’ll see about that.”
I held my ground, throwing daggers I wished were real at the fucker as he gave me one last glance over his shoulder before disappearing around a big SUV.
I climbed into my truck, both hands shaking as I clung to the steering wheel and tried to steady my breaths. They came hard and fast, fueled by pure, unmitigated hate. Asshole knew my hands were tied, bound up by all this court bullshit. Both of us knew if I gave into the urge to wipe him out, my ass would be back behind bars faster than I could kiss Shea goodbye one last time.
My gut told me that’s exactly what he wanted.
I turned over the ignition. The engine rumbled deep, almost as deep as the questions and anger that rattled me to the core.
Twilight was already taking hold of the smoggy Los Angeles sky as I pulled onto the congested street. What seemed like an unending train of cars fought to make their way home, me right in the middle of it, wondering just where home was.
By the time I was driving up the road to the place I shared with the guys, the sun was dipping below the horizon. The massive house in the Hills was tucked and hidden away behind tall, dense trees and lush vegetation, Hollywood stretched out below. Cars lined the street and filled up our drive.
Shit.
Last thing I needed was a houseful of people I didn’t want to see. All I wanted was to talk to my baby brother then crawl through a phone to get to Shea.
But today was our last day in L.A. before we hit the road tomorrow, the guys taking one last day to relax and unwind, one last day of freedom before it was constant road, city, and stage for the next four weeks.
None of my crew had gone to my court hearing because it was supposed to be routine. But nothin’ about what transpired this afternoon felt routine. I felt agitated and disturbed.
Hatin’ Jennings.
Hatin’ the fact he was again spouting shit about Mark and Austin.
Hatin’ that my girls were alone in Savannah and vulnerable.
I squeezed my truck into the drive and parked where I could, killed the engine, hurried up the walk. I threw open the double-doors.
Inside, the house was jammed full of people. A lot of the faces I knew. Others were strangers, no doubt a slew of friends of friends of friends. Ash and Lyrik always took it upon themselves to welcome in every dirt bag in the city.
They loved this shit—people packed wall to wall—the two of them always out looking for a good time, the faked-out chicks all too eager to give it to them.