Sing to Me (Rock Me Book 3) Read online

  I love it.

  When we’re finally sated, we stumble to my bed. The linen sheets tangle around our exhausted limbs as we interweave ourselves. Drake rolls to his side, resting his head in the palm of his hand, watching me. With gentle fingers, he pushes hair from my face. “Like seeing you like this.”

  Facing him, I take in his soft expression. “Like what?”

  “Content.”

  Pausing, I realize he’s right. I am content. My soul feels lighter, like it’s been exonerated or something. It’s as though all my past sins have been cleansed, and I’m ready to face a new day with a clean slate, tabula rasa style.

  However, there’s no way I’m ready to admit this truth aloud. I mean, it’s one thing to give my body to the guy but another thing entirely to confess out loud that he already owns the rest of me. So, choosing not to dive headfirst down that rabbit hole, I shrug instead.

  A strong hand clamps onto my hip, the grip bound to leave bruises. Strangely, I’m okay with that. “Princess,” Drake growls.

  “What?”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t downplay what just happened. It was fucking epic, and you know it.”

  “You’re reading too much into it.”

  With a feral growl, he bites the juncture of my collarbone and neck. “Goddamn, woman. Could you be any more stubborn?”

  Squealing, I push him away. His massive body won’t budge. Stupid muscles. “Probably. If I try hard enough. Might even rival you if I practice every day.”

  With a deep chuckle, he nips his way up the column of my neck. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “I can think of a few possibilities.” I sigh, each nibble sending sparks of need shooting from my core.

  Rising to his elbows, Drake gazes at me. His eyes darting between my eyes before dropping to my mouth.

  Bang.

  We both spin in the direction of the sound. The threadbare curtains covering the windows of my van billow from the impact.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  But Drake doesn’t answer. He’s too busy climbing down the ladder and slipping into his jeans to respond. Following him, I traverse the stairs in record time and, when I reach the bottom, throw on my oversized T-shirt that’s hanging on the edge of the couch.

  Drake slams open the front door and rushes outside. A cool breeze picks up and surges through the entrance, bringing with it the salty tang of the ocean. Discarded papers with my messy scrawl swirl about my RV, the innocent victims of a mini cyclone.

  Shivering, I wrap my arms around myself and step into the night.

  Nothing.

  It’s like I’ve stepped into an Edgar Allen Poe poem. There is literally nothing but darkness surrounding me. Drake must be around the other side of my vehicle because he’s nowhere in sight. There is the crunch of footsteps on gravel nearby, but that’s it.

  When I glance in the direction of the after-party, there’s no noise or light. It must have finished a while ago. Aside from the tour bus, Ray’s RV, and security, the parking lot is empty.

  Security.

  I make a mental note to check in with them to see if they witnessed anything. Despite trepidation doing its best to rob me of logic and common sense, I tip my shoulders back and stride to the window. After all, it’s where the noise originated from. If I want to figure out what the hell is going on, then this is my best bet.

  When I face the smeared glass, I narrow my gaze and stare. Weird. An envelope is stuck to the grimy surface. It’s nondescript; white paper with no inscription, stamp, or return address. Unsealed too, which is strange. The flap opens and closes like a marionette’s mouth on a silent scream.

  Okay, that’s kinda creepy. Way to scare yourself, Har.

  Surely, if someone wanted to give me a letter, they’d post it? And yeah, being on the road means I don’t actually have a fixed address, but they could have left it at the next music venue and told me to pick it up from there? Why didn’t they do that?

  Knots form in my stomach.

  More importantly, who would want to post me anything, anyway? Aside from the guys on tour, I don’t know anyone. Except….

  The knots tighten, snarl, and twist with every shallow breath.

  Calm down. No point in stressing over what you don’t know. Sadly, my pep talk does little to placate the pounding of my heart, because the longer I stare at the offending stationary, the quicker it beats.

  Licking dry lips, I consider the envelope for a long moment. I come to two conclusions.

  One: it has no business whatsoever being on my window.

  And two: if it contains what I think it does, I’m in serious trouble.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I rip the envelope from the smeared glass and turn it over in my hands. It appears innocent enough. The white paper is firm in my hold, proving it’s of good quality. Bringing it to my nose, I sniff, wondering if the scent will give anything away.

  Nope.

  Smells like paper. And the grime from my window. I really need to clean my RV.

  “Did you just smell an envelope?”

  Spinning on my heel, I shove the offending stationery behind my back. “No,” I scoff. “Why would I do that?”

  Drake crosses his arms and levels me with a flat stare. As though with a mind of its own, my gaze takes in the defined muscles of his forearms, biceps, and shoulders. They pause at the scratch marks on his neck, and peering closer, I notice teeth marks too. The corners of my mouth twitch.

  “Princess,” his deep voice warns. “Looking at me like that makes me wanna spin you around, pin you to the side of this piece-of-shit van, and fill you with my cock from behind.” He tips his head. “Since you know my thoughts on public fucking, I’m more than happy to oblige. But first, I wanna know why you were sniffing a goddamn envelope.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Hand it over.” He holds out a large palm and gestures with his fingers for me to pass it to him. Sighing, I do. After a wink in my direction, Drake turns serious. Lifting it to his line of sight, he carefully looks over the stationary, inspecting it every which way. “Where’d you find it?”

  “On the window.” I point behind me where the small rectangular imprint is still smeared on the glass.

  Ice-blue eyes flit between me and the grimy smudge. “You need to wash your RV.”

  “You need to keep your opinions to yourself.”

  Drake smirks, but other than that, he ignores my comment. Focusing on the envelope, he opens it and looks inside. “The fuck?” Raising a dark eyebrow, he pulls out a small tarot card. “What the hell is this?”

  But I don’t answer. I don’t need to. I know exactly what it is and what it means. I’ve heard about the warnings enough times to understand the shallow grave I’ve dug myself. So, rather than voice the obvious—that I’m well and truly screwed—I slump against the vehicle, uncaring of the inch-thick layer of dirt, and stare at the night sky. It’s cloudy, so finding Polaris is difficult. I hate not being able to see the star that the entire northern sky wheels around. Despite Polaris not being overly bright, it’s imperative in celestial navigation. It’s the point from which everything else revolves. And it’s odd, but something tells me if I find it, it’ll help guide me out of this mess.

  “Hang on.” Drake’s silent for a minute, probably turning the card over.

  I keep searching heavenward, praying for the clouds to part.

  “Is this…?”

  The breeze picks up, blowing tendrils of hair into my face. They tickle my nose, and I brush them away again with impatient fingers.

  “Harper, this is from The Collector, isn’t it?”

  Blinking, I scan the gray murkiness above. Come on. Where are you?

  “It’s his calling card.”

  There you are.

  “He’s threatening you.”

  The tension in my chest eases when I find what I’m searching for.

  Drake begins pac
ing, the crunch of his feet on the gravel a hypnotic rhythm.

  What am I going to do, Polaris?

  “Wil’s mom read my tarot once. This card was in the reading. She said….” He pauses, probably running tense fingers through his hair. “Fuck, what did she say?” A moment later, he continues walking again. “Something about the Magician not being a bad omen if it’s upright.” He stops. Swears. Probably glares at me. “It wasn’t upright in the envelope.”

  I stare at Polaris for so long my vision blurs.

  “God-fucking-dammit, Harper! Say something! Do something! Don’t just fucking stand there!”

  Then, piece by piece, a plan forms. It’s not an overly good one. If I’m honest, the chances of it working are slim to none. However, it’s better than assuming this issue will go away on its own. Clearly, living in denial is a waste of time. It’s brought me nothing but worry and a dramatic warning in the form of a freaking tarot card.

  I need to take ownership of the situation, face the problem, and fix it. I need to start now.

  The Collector won’t be my puppeteer anymore.

  Uncle Ray won’t sabotage my future.

  No one will stand in the way of my dreams.

  I. Will. Succeed.

  Drake’s large form looms over me, blocking my view of the constellation. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  Feeling more in control than I have in a long time, I throw up a quick thank-you to one of my favorite luminaries and face the man in front of me. “Yep.”

  “He’s going to kill you.”

  “He’s going to try.”

  “Unless you find the cash from somewhere.” He tugs on the end of his hair. “How long did he say you have to pay up?”

  “Four weeks.”

  “The guy’s not gonna stick to his deadline. He’s gonna mess with your head, keep you guessing. You’re probably looking at two and a half weeks, max.”

  I nod.

  “Want me to spot you the cash?”

  I pause. It would be so easy to say yes. With one word the problem would be solved. The fear, the anxiety, the uncertainty, all of them would cease to exist. Like a handful of ash in the wind, they would disappear like a distant memory. But could I hold my head up high? I mean, I’d be relying on Drake to drag me out of this mess. I wouldn’t be asserting my determination, ingenuity, or strength. I’d be taking the easy road. The quick fix. I’d never know my full potential because I’d never test my limits.

  It’s time I test them. “Fuck no.” I shake my head.

  “Why not? I’ve got more than enough to spare. We could sort it out right now.” He holds out his hand. “Give me your bank details and—”

  “I said no.”

  Dropping his arm, he gets all up in my space. As much as I love it, it pisses me off too. “Swear to fucking God, woman. I’m giving you an out here. Take the goddamn cash.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I don’t need a hero. I’m doing this on my own.”

  With a long sigh, he shakes his head. “Knew you’d be like this.” After inhaling a fortifying breath, his eyes lock on mine, jaw tight. “The offer still stands. Don’t care how long you wanna fight it, if you want to pay him off, I’ll do it. You feel me?”

  I roll my eyes.

  Long fingers delve into my tangled hair, clench, and tip my head back. “That sass is gonna get you in trouble, princess.”

  Shifting on my feet, I ignore the throbbing in my core. “Bring it, ace.”

  But instead of leaning forward and claiming my mouth as I expect, he takes in the tilt of my chin, the hard line of my lips, and the way my gaze is unswerving in the wake of his penetrating stare. Finally, Drake lets go of me and steps back. He clears his throat. “What are we gonna do?”

  Blinking, I shake my head. “We are doing nothing. I am going to sort this out, and you are going back to the tour bus.” Even though it physically hurts to get the words out, I murmur, “We should probably keep our distance until this all blows over. Don’t want you involved more than you already are.”

  Drake stills. His body tenses, his eyes narrow, and his hands curl into fists. “You’re out of your motherfucking mind if you think I’m gonna walk away from this.”

  Scrubbing my forehead with my good hand, I try again. “Drake—”

  “I said no damn way.” He steps in close, his warm breath washing over me. “I’m not leaving you on your own; we’re in this together. Deal with it already.”

  Poking him in the chest and almost breaking my finger in the process, I counter, “No, I won’t. Find someone else to get pissed at, because I’m not arguing with you on this. I’m not putting you in danger, and that’s the end of it.”

  He snorts. The man actually snorts. “It’s cute you think I need looking after, but I can take care of myself.”

  Planting fists on my hips, I glare. “Well, so can I.”

  “Harper.”

  “Drake.”

  “Fuck, you’re a pain in the ass.”

  “And you make me want to junk punch you.”

  Clenching his eyes shut, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make me do it.”

  “Do what?”

  Pinning me with a smoldering glare, he repeats, “Don’t. Make. Me. Do. It.”

  Now, a normal girl would probably back the hell down at a time like this. She’d flick silky hair over one shoulder and play the dark threat off as a joke. I, however, am not a normal girl. I don’t cower from threats, especially when they’re delivered by fallen angels with sinful bodies. So, straightening my shoulders, I pop a hip and level Drake with a glowering stare of my own. “Notice how I’m not shaking in my nonexistent boots right now?”

  The pulse at the base of his neck jumps. “Right. You fucking asked for it.”

  Excitement teases my stomach when I notice the dangerous glint in his light blue irises. However, I don’t have long to admire the way sparks rocket from their black epicenters, because I’m spun in a half-circle and pushed against my van.

  Oomph.

  A tall, heavy body barricades me against the cold metal. Goose bumps break out, and pulsing electric currents shoot under my skin. Two large hands rest on either side of my head. The fingers are long and pressed so tightly against the vehicle the tips appear ghost white. “Need a reminder of who you belong to? Of who’s in control?” Soft breath flutters across my cheek. Closing my eyes, I bask in his deep tenor as it washes over me. “Is your memory so fucking shot to pieces you’ve already forgotten whose cock owned your pussy?” Dipping his head, Drake skims his mouth along the column of my neck. “You’re mine,” he rumbles against my heated flesh. “Every last inch of this gorgeous-as-fuck body is mine. Don’t forget it.”

  I moan. Then hate myself for it. I arch my back. Then berate myself for it.

  Drake thrusts his hips forward, his erection hardening against my ass. “Say it.”

  Biting my lip, I try to stay silent. Which is really freaking difficult when a dexterous tongue teases the juncture of my neck and collarbone. Damn, he’s talented.

  “I said, say it.”

  “No,” I breathe, gazing at the long fingers that scored my body, that branded every part of me with their masterful touch. “Don’t you get it? The second I admit I belong to you is the second you die alongside me.”

  Drake stills.

  Needing to get the words out before I lose courage, I continue. “I won’t risk your safety because of a stupid decision I made before we even met. Not gonna happen. Not now, not ever.” Then, throwing his own words back at him, I grit out, “Deal with it.”

  He inhales a deep breath.

  “I need to fix this problem on my own. So quit with the macho bullshit, give me some space, and let me sort it out.”

  He slowly releases it.

  The air shifts; it completely changes direction. The salt from the ocean combined with the remnants of salt on Drake’s skin is a heady combination that makes my head spin. It reminds me of our chemistry, ou
r insatiable need for one another. It reminds me of how much I want to be his, how much I want to shout it into a microphone in front of a packed audience so everyone can hear it.

  Giving in to temptation, I lean back and take comfort in his muscular frame. The irony of trying to maintain distance yet wanting him closer isn’t lost on me.

  As though sensing my inner struggle, Drake murmurs low in my ear. His voice is slow, deliberate, as though he’s calling on every ounce of patience in his arsenal. “Look, I get you need to own your shit. And I’m all for you fixing your problems. That’s not what I have issue with.”

  I swallow. “It’s not?”

  “No.” I can sense his jaw tightening. “What I have issue with is you pushing me away the first chance you get. You told me—” His naked chest presses against my back. I can literally feel his heartbeat pounding against my shoulder blade. Dropping his head, he bites my shoulder. I gasp. “You fucking told me you wouldn’t do it anymore.”

  Oh. I guess he’s got me there.

  “I don’t have time for lies. Not even from you.”

  “I don’t lie.”

  He snorts.

  “Much.”

  A hand grips my hip, the fingers digging into my flesh. With a quick jerk, he yanks me back, grinding his cock into my ass. “Whatever plan you’re concocting in that crazy mind of yours needs to factor me into it. Understand?”

  Biting the inside of my cheek until I draw blood, I remain quiet. Then, I consider the situation from Drake’s perspective. I get why he’s pissed. I mean, I did tell him I wouldn’t run away when things got difficult. And yeah, I might have said it only to turn back on my promise a couple of hours later. So, fair enough he’s annoyed.

  I guess, on the surface, the concept of us facing challenges together is great. It’s wonderful. Let’s hug it out already. I’ll stay by his side and we’ll confront the world together, just us two. Heck, indie songs have been written about this shit for decades. However, as soon as The Collector left his freaky-as-fuck calling card, everything changed. We’re no longer subscribing to a romantic ideal. There’s danger, risk, the very real chance of getting our asses killed.