It took all my control not to react. As far as Bellerose was concerned, I’d willingly returned to Angelo. But that wasn’t what had happened. I had been abducted that night, stolen away and tortured by Ricci men until Angelo saved me. And now I was finding out that Florence was the one responsible.
Holy shit. I would kill her. I’d fucking kill her.
Angelo must have read my mind again because he placed a hand on my knee and gave me a little squeeze, grounding me and reminding me of the act we had to maintain. Happy couple.
Brenda was still talking, so I swallowed my rage and focused on what she was saying. “…and Rhett is one overdose away from being involuntarily admitted into rehab. That boy is all kinds of messed up, and I have no idea what to do to help him. Actually, that’s not true; I had an idea but now… not so much.” Another pointed look at my belly.
I wet my lips, grasping onto what she was saying. “Rhett… why is he so bad? I didn’t… I mean, we were together but not serious. And not for long. Surely, I didn’t…” Was I to blame?
Brenda shook her head. “It’s not on you, Billie. It’s on him and his long-term refusal to seek professional help. I read the blog post about how you two met, so you already know about his white-knight impulses. That’s all baggage from his childhood, and something recently has triggered a spiral.”
“If I was to speculate,” Angelo murmured, rocking James as the little dude’s eyes drifted shut, “I’d say that Billie leaving him to return to, in his opinion, an abusive relationship has triggered his memory of his own mother choosing to stay with her abuser rather than escape with her son.”
My jaw dropped, and Brenda sighed. “Really, Angelo?”
The tattoo-covered mafia heir just shrugged. “I also read the blogs, Brenda. I know what’s going on.”
She made an irritated sound, her brows drawn tight. “Well, regardless. My job is to fix the band and ensure they produce their contractually bound album. Which they can’t do if Rhett is locked up in rehab, or worse.”
Dead. She meant dead. Was he that bad? Fuck me, I felt awful for my part in that.
“Wait, what blogs? You both mentioned blogs. What am I missing here?” I frowned, glancing between them both.
Brenda just arched a brow at Angelo, who sighed. “It’s a gossip blog,” he told me. “They’ve been causing a bit of drama for the entertainment industry for the past year or so, but recently the full focus seems to be on Bellerose. And you.”
“Me?” I squeaked, panic flooding through me. “Why? Wait, just show me.”
I didn’t have a phone of my own—prisoner, remember? So I needed Angelo’s. He exchanged a long look with Brenda, then reluctantly handed it over.
“It’s called The Dirty Truths,” Brenda helpfully informed me, and I navigated to the blog site in question.
The first article was about Bellerose going into hiding to work on their overdue album and speculation that they were in shit for both canceling the international leg of their tour and for excessive partying lately. It hurt to read, seeing these boys I cared for being discussed with such insensitivity, but this was the life they chose. It couldn’t be easy to be famous.
I paused on a post that led with a full-page photo of me. Me and Angelo. It’d been taken some weeks ago when we were leaving the country club luncheon where that bitch whose name I’d already forgotten dumped wine on me.
I had a coat on when they’d taken the photo, so my bump was hidden entirely, but the blogger was quick to comment that Billie Bellerose has gained plenty of pounds since leaving the band in disarray, looking festively plump ahead of Thanksgiving.
“Seriously?” I spluttered. “How do people write this shit?”
At least the author had commented that I looked good with the extra weight.
The next article was much more confrontational, and my palms sweat as I read all about how I’d torn the band apart by sleeping around. Fucking hell.
I scrolled down, skim-reading posts about Flo and Tom’s breakup and speculations about him taking all her money. Good. Bitch deserved it. I’d have been happier if it was Tom getting his just desserts, but I had faith that karma was coming for him.
Then countless posts about Rhett’s drug use and Jace’s womanizing. There were even several uncensored photos of him fucking girls publicly, which made me shift uncomfortably in my seat.
After a few more posts, some of which focused on my history with Angelo and Jace—facts totally skewed to favor Jace—I had to stop reading. They’d touched on my parents’ deaths, and I just couldn’t face that right now.
“Okay, so they’re in the media. That’s nothing new for Bellerose. What do you need from me?”
Brenda rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “Well, shit. I came here to ask if you’d be open to visiting with them. I thought if you and Rhett could talk, maybe it’d help him heal. But this…” She waved a hand at my belly. “This would be like throwing a can of gasoline on a campfire.”
“Maybe that’s what they need,” Angelo mused.
Brenda’s look of shock probably mirrored my own. “I don’t think—”
“I do,” he countered, smiling an evil smile. “All their best music came from pain and anger, not reconciliations. You want good songs? Let’s blow shit up.”
My jaw dropped. “What? No. Angelo, I can’t meet with them like this.” I flapped my hands in distress. Had he just had a stroke? In no world was this a good idea.
“Meet them? No, we can’t just do that. For one thing, this Dirty Truths prick seems to have eyes everywhere, and for another, they’re locked away on a writing retreat. We’ll have to go and stay, of course.”
I nearly fainted. “We?”
Angelo’s grin spread wide. “I can’t let my pregnant mistress stay with a bunch of rock stars alone. It’d be unseemly. Besides, Brenda, you know all Jace’s best shit wasn’t only about Billie.”
I had nothing to say. Speechless. I was fucking speechless.
Wait. No, I wasn’t. “Why? This makes zero sense, Angelo. I’m sorry but you’re fucking up to something and don’t for a second try to pretend you want to help Bellerose finish their album because you’re a fan of their music. What gives?”
Angelo and Brenda exchanged a glance, then his don’t give a fuck stare returned to me. He shrugged. “Maybe I do have ulterior motives, but last I checked, I don’t have to explain myself. You want to see your boy toy Rhett again, don’t you?” I nodded before I could catch myself. “So just go along with it, Bella. My reasons are my own, and Brenda can’t afford to question them any more than you can.”
Brenda winced, but also nodded slowly and thoughtfully. “You might have a point there, Angelo. Christ, this will either produce some amazing music or end in a bloodbath. Let’s do it.” They’d both lost their fucking minds.
twelve
GRAYSON
I’d been closely following The Dirty Truths as part of my investigation. Their information was only a few steps behind mine, and on the rare times Johnson or I missed something in our surveillance, they tended to find it. I managed to avoid any question from my bandmates about my lack of surprise when Brenda brought it up, and after another couple of days had passed, we were all too focused on the music to worry about the outside world.