Okay, so we had a lot of opinions about the POV's but in the end I had to do what I think serves the story best. This is Leed and Ashlynn's story, so I don't want to get lost in the POV's of TOO many supporting characters, chapter after chapter...
Important note: I may have added some material to Chapter 24: Front Men Start A Fire after many of you read it. I don't usually add prose after the initial posting, but I realized that I had neglected to fully explore Leed's immediate reaction to seeing Ashlynn's scar. So I added four paragraphs of his thoughts, nearly a full day after the original posting. I actually sent out a notification, but I may have simply posted the message to my board without pushing the notification to my followers. I'm not sure, but no one commented on it and that's kind of unusual. So in any case you , if you didn't get my notification about this, or you aren't one of my followers, this is your heads up. You can read the new material by returning to chapter 24, scrolling down to the part where Leed sees the word "WHORE" on the painting--which is pretty easy to find because the word is capitalized and in italics, and the four paragraphs of Leed's thoughts immediately follow. You may want to check that out before his POV chapter here...
The song for this chapter is for Dev, because as always, he sort of...steals the show. The song is Pop Out by Polo G, feat. Lil TJay. It's pretty appropriate..."we pop out at your party/I'm with the gang..."
Leed
I'm sitting, elbows on knees, head down, tapping my phone against my hand.
Every time I try to stand, a big-ass security dude pushes me down and says, "Sorry, Mr. Lawson. I'll lose my job if you put Mr. Morrigan in the hospital."
That's why I'm keeping my head down, eyes on the floor. When I look across the room to where that Morrigan fucker is sitting, I try to stand up. But I don't want to put him in the hospital. I could have done that already, before Riley arrived and put security on me.
I could have broken his arm, when I had it twisted behind him, making him explain the hundreds of proof sheets of Ashlynn I found in his dark room and the photos on his phone of the painted porn that looks mostly like her, a little like Kat.
But I didn't actually damage him, because he was telling me everything.
Almost everything.
He admitted he finished more than three dozen photos of her for an anonymous buyer within two weeks of her returning to LA. Then, the guy wanted him to paint her. Seb claimed he refused to use Ashlynn as an exact model in the scenes, but the hybrid of Ash and Kat is pretty damn close. He claims he doesn't know who the buyer is. He claims he was assured that the buyer doesn't know Ashlynn personally, that he merely saw her on Kat's Instragram and thinks she's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. Supposedly this buyer wanted the photographs of Ashlynn while he considered commissioning Seb to paint for him. And supposedly, the buyer wanted Ashlynn as the subject merely to admire artwork of her.
I can see in his eyes, Morrigan doesn't believe that.
No, Morrigan knows what he was doing. Painting dark desires in blood, for a sick fuck that's stalking her.
I can feel it in my bones. Whoever this guy is, he's the one that carved her up, or somehow made her cut herself.
So now, I am much less concerned with this Morrigan asshole. Now, I'm only interested in what he hasn't told me.
All I need from him now is three more words.
A name and a city.
I know these three words have to come from the piece of shit across the room. I will demand the whole truth from Ashlynn, and she might tell me parts of it, but I know she will never give me the three words I really need. It's why she's so reluctant to reveal her scars. She doesn't want to tell the story. She doesn't want to name the guy.
Even though we are new, I think deep down she already knows me.
If I ever come face to face with this psychopath that is obsessed with her, I won't put him in the hospital.
I'll put him in the ground.
Exactly like I should have done with Cain Gannonâthat sick fuck who tried to kill my sister, because all he got was eighteen months for assault. He's getting out of jail in a few months, and all of us try not to think about it, but it's true. Mac will never not look over her shoulder at a stranger who moves too close, because she'll know. A crazy person that tried to kill her will be walking around with the freedom to try again, if he likes.
Suddenly, I feel like I have to do...something. Anything.
I text John, our head of security: We need to reassess our security needs. Things are changing.
His reply is immediate: Already running cost projections for a protection detail for Ashlynn and a surveillance detail for Gannon. Full-time for the three months after his release, possibly tapering down depending on his observable behaviors. I'll send them to Riley for the next Soundcrush budget meeting.
John's always on top of everything. That's why we pay him like a rock star to handle Mac's personal security at events, in addition to running our whole security team.
I hit him back: I don't care what it costs. I'll pay. I need Ashlynn's detail to start as soon as we get back from Nashville.
John: Ok. She knows?
Me: She will.
I glance at my other texts.
Trace just texted. He said Matt has assembled a rock star version of the Avengers and they are hauling ass here ahead of the rest of the entourage to "talk" to Seb.
For some reason, Dev Blue is with them.
That's good. Between Dev and I, we'll get the last of what I need from Seb Morrigan.
Ashlynn has also texted. A total of seven times since I last spoke to her this morning, asking if everything is all good. I didn't text her back at first because Kat and I were hard at work. I haven't texted her back in the last two hours because what can I say?
All is not good.
I'm kind of pissed at her.
I see so many things plainly now.
I glance over at Kat. She's pissed too, but only at Seb. She doesn't have the experience, or the intuition that I do.
I get it now. Ashlynn wasn't running from Trace last year. She was running from this guy who is obsessed with her.
It must have gone down something like this: we went to Portland to write and Trace hurt her feelings, and she started using again. She ran up on this guy somehow. Maybe he was her dealer, or maybe he was just somebody she got mixed up with while she was high. Maybe she even liked him at first. Maybe she was with him, trying to forget about the weirdness that had gone down between her and Trace. But he did something to her, while we were all kicking it, getting stoned and writing songs in Portland. Maybe he cut her then, or maybe that was later, I don't know. But he did...something then. Something that made her run...and keep running.
Stupid, reckless, running girl. She should have run straight to Portland. Straight to Trace. Straight to me.
But she didn't. She ran from this guy instead of letting us deal with him. And now she's come back around to LA and caught his attention again. And he's stalking her, through Seb.
Kat isn't putting the pieces together, like me. All her anger is focused on Seb right now. She's giving him a batshit crazy stare-down. Her head is cocked, her eyes are dark with anger and she has a snarl on her face.
Goddamn, right now Kat is about ten times scarier than Mac on her best Maneater hunt. Honestly, she looks about as crazy as Harley Quinn in Suicide Squad.
The thought eases my anger a little. I smile at her crazy, I can't help it.
I look around with a wistful hope that there might be a baseball bat stowed in a corner. I could flip backwards over the chair, grab it, throw it to her, cause a ruckus with the guards, while she roughs up that fucker, HellKat style.
Nope. No bat. No golf club. No tennis racquet.
Just as well, Trace would kill me if I incited Kat to assault.
Her phone buzzes and she looks down and smiles wickedly.
"They're here," she whispers to Seb with all the evil she can muster. "You are so fucked, asshole."
I see Seb's Adam's apple bob convulsively.
The back door swings open and the acrid odors of paint thinner, burnt pigment and smoke rush in.
Five angry men roll in with it.
Matt stalks in first, flanked by Street and Trace. They are all wearing the same damn Rock Star face. It's creepy. Matt and Trace always have it, but now, something has hardened in Street's face to match them.
Riley and Dev stroll in almost casually. Riley drags a chair across the floor, leaving it empty in front of Seb. Dev skirts the room, picking up various items from the sketch tables and work benches.
Seb doesn't have the balls to meet Matt's eyes, or apparently Trace's or Street's either. He latches onto Dev, following his movements. "Nice suit," Seb sneers at Dev, who is in fact wearing a bespoke tux that looks like it's probably a Kiton. I guess that's why it caught Seb's attention because that's a fifty thousand dollar suit. I wonder if he met the Queen in the damn thing.
"Who the fuck are you?" Seb sneers at Dev.
"Don't mind me, I'm just the hired help," Dev says nonchalantly, picking up a putty knife, assessing the sharpness of its edge.
After a moment in which Kat and I admire the apprehension these five are inspiring, Kat jumps up and runs to Trace, laying a brutal, brief kiss on his lips while he squeezes her waist. She pulls back with a dramatic smack of her lips. "I was wrong. I know that."
"We're good, then?" he whispers.
She nods. "We are good." She points to Seb. "He is bad. I know you don't like violence, baby, but if you don't fuck him up, I am going to."
"No, that's my privilege," I growl, rising with clenched fists.
I dare the security guard to sit me back down now. Riley waves him off, and he raises his hands and backs away.
Before I get two feet across the floor, Matt del Marco is bracing my shoulders with his hands. "Leed, Leed, you get in the shit and you don't call me, you don't text. What am I gonna do with you?"
His words catch me off guard. "What?"
Matt jerks his head toward Seb. "Morrigan rides my bus. You gotta problem with my bus, you call me. You can't throw him off. That's my job."
I shake my head. Is Matt defending this fucker? "Do you understand what he's done? To Street and Trace? To Kat? Worst of all...to Ashlynn?"
"Not fully, and neither do you. But we will, before this night is over. Pounding may not be necessary," his eyes cut to Trace and then back to me. Yeah, I get it. Matt was no stranger to bar fights and fight clubs in his younger days, but he doesn't want to commit violence in front of Trace. Trace deserves one father that doesn't lead with fists.
"How about you do the talking and I'll do the hurting?" I propose.
Matt's styled gray hair bounces light from above as he shakes his head solemnly and taps my chest with his fist. "Listen to me. I know what you're feeling, man."
"No, you don't."
"Yeah I do. You're feeling...like a stranger to yourself. Like a dangerous stranger."
I'm kind of surprised, but when Matt says that, I realize, that's exactly how I feel. "Yeah," I say hoarsely. "How do you know that?"
"Cause you and I are the same kind of beast. But it's not your time yet, Lion. It's still my pride, for a little while. We do it my way. You feel me?" His face is calm, open, yet his words are commanding.
All of the sudden I understand what Trace and Adam and Mac already figured out.
Matt deserves all the respect they give him. He's the real deal in every role he takes on.
"Shit." I step back a little from his stiff armed hold of me, raking my fingers through my hair. "I feel ya."
Matt slaps my jaw gently with a fatherly smile. "Good man. Your girl will be here any minute, and you should be the one to tell her about all this, without bloody fists." He swings away, toward Kat.
"Sweetheart, why don't you take your dress up to Seb's place and get ready?"
Kat's eyes are hard as she glares at Seb. "What are you going to do?" she asks.
Matt shrugs. "Depends on Seb."
"I want to stay."
"Kat, go upstairs," Trace is uncharacteristically demanding.
"No."
He stares down at her with the Rock Star Face. "I'm.Not.Fucking.Kidding," he says quietly.
"I'm.Not.Fucking.Going," she says in the exact same tone.
Dev chuckles. "Little Sister is ride or die. I like that. Let her stay. Let her learn what men like us are about. This is just a friendly chat, right?" He smiles crookedly around the room.
"Right," Matt growls. He turns to Street. "Why don't you chat first, Son?"
I blink. Giving Street the reigns in this situation is not what I had in mind. He's friends with the fucker.
Trace's younger brother sits backwards in the chair in front of Morrigan. "I'm done making excuses for the truly awful things you do, just because we know each other's pettiness and weaknesses. I'm done being petty. I'm done feeling weak. I'm done listening to you, Seb. You filled my brain with so much shit. I'm not stupid. I knew what you were doing all this time, but I let you, because I am so fucking insecure that I would rather have the worst kind of friendâthe devil I know, the devil that makes me feel slightly less evil by comparison, the devil that just keeps drawing me further and further into his hell. Do you know how fucking ashamed I am right nowâthat it didn't even occur to me to tell my brother about the pictures you were taking of his ex-wife and selling to who-the-fuck knows? Do you know how ashamed I am that I didn't tell Kat what you were doing to her sister? Cause, now...standing in the light of decent people..." Street waves his hand behind him at us... "Now I see clearly how wrong I was. Do you see, Seb? How wrong you were?"
Seb's cool blonde features don't show the slightest sign of shame. "I guess Daddy has finally broken you."
Street has the same tight laugh that Trace makes when he's pissed off. "No, I finally decided I'd much rather walk in the shadow of a good man than dance in your fires. All you are is a demon that whispers corruption."
Seb smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "So dramatic, Street. If you put half that feeling on the canvas, you would be...slightly less of a mediocre painter."
"I'm done listening to that bullshit, too. You are one teacher, one artist, one critic. One opinion. Maybe I don't have any genius for painting, but I have the love for it. I would rather paint and have the world call me mediocre, than quit and wonder the rest of my life if I let you control my destiny."
Seb leans forward, purses his lips and claps dramatically. "Bravo," he intones sarcastically. "I can't wait for your first show...to say I told you so."
Something in his tone must have set Dev off, because he surges forward, pushing Seb-still-in-chair against the wall. He bangs Seb's head and shoves a paint-marked cloth in his shit-talking mouth. In a flash, he's wrapped another cloth around the lower half of Seb's face, gathering it at the back. Dev twists the covering cloth in his fist, forcing the wad farther into Seb's mouth.
The fucker starts to struggle for air.
Dev leans down to Seb's ear.
"I don't know you, but I've listened to your brand of shite served cold on a silver platter my whole fucking life. I'm not in the mood to hear it tonight. So either you use your breath to speak the words we want to hear, or you don't breathe." Dev looks around the room. "What exactly is it we want to know, again?"
I stride over, putting my hands on the wall, leaning down into Seb's rapidly reddening face. "A name. A city."
"Right then. You can clap, when you are ready to talkâyou're so fucking good at a grand gesture, aren't you?" Dev hisses in his ear.
Seb is grabbing at the gag. I slap his hands away and get right in his face, so close I can smell the sweat breaking out on him. "Dev is fucking crazy, but do you understand how serious I am about this shit? Serious enough to do much worse than this. No more lies. The name."
Dev twists the gag harder. "Go on then. Clap, motherfucker."
Seb's eyes are bulging out of their sockets and he's kicking against the chair.
"Matt," I hear Trace warn.
"It's all good." Matt's voice is stern.
"Shit," Kat whispers.
Seb grabs at my collar, nodding, then clapping weakly. "Let him breathe," Matt says at once, and I pull the gag as Dev releases his hold on it. Seb gasps, leans over, and vomits. It splatters on my jeans and Dev's pants. "Fuck," Dev pronounces the word without much heat. "Lucky for you I have a spare pair of trousers." He slaps Seb hard on the back of the head and strides away to wipe off his pants.
I don't care about the vomit. I'm still all up on this fucker. "Tell me," I snarl.
"I don't know. I swear. There's a broker. Payment is made through a shell company. You can...you can check..." he gestures at the computer.
"Fucking liar!" I jerk him to his feet. "Dev..."
Dev sighs and takes off his jacket, while I hold Seb against the wall. Dev leisurally fingers tools on the work bench. He picks up a pair of pliers. "Sorry, I'm not feeling creative tonight. But old-fashioned methods work quite nicely."
"Perhaps we should check the computer before we resort to pulling fingernails," Riley says dryly.
"I was thinking teeth," Dev snaps back.
Seb snorts in disbelief.
"This is not a joke, Morrigan. Losing a tooth won't even effect your ability to schmooze tonight, but it will hurt like fuck for a minute, and it might make you less fucking arrogant and a little more cooperative," Matt says dryly.
Dev twirls the pliers, striding forward. "I do this for you, and I don't want to hear anymore nonsense about me not being good enough for your daughter. To borrow a phrase my fellow countrymen over there used in his defense earlier...you and I, we are the same."
"Fuck," Matt says, but it's a syllable of his wavering opposition.
Dev nods encouragingly. "Yeah?"
Matt looks at the floor, his hands tucked up under his armpits. "Okay. Yeah."
"Excellent!" Dev beams and snaps the pliers experimentally as he leans in close to me and Seb. "A little help, Leed?"
I'm pretty sure we are bluffing about this tooth-pulling business, but fuck it. I don't really care if we aren't. I thrust my weight against Seb, pinning him to the wall even harder. I pry his jaws apart while he makes strangled gasps of protest.
"Matt, Jesus," Trace says under his breath.
"Ma...Ma!!!!" Seb hold out a hand toward Matt. "I...swahhhh..."
"What? Fuck, Leed, get your hands out of his mouth, I can't understand him."
I let go. He coughs, gags, spits, then hisses. "I fucking swear. I really don't know who bought the pictures. Maybe you can backtrack through the broker company, I don't know. Jesus, you're not going to actuallyâ"
Matt strides forward, taking my place, shoving Seb against the wall. "You don't have any idea what I'm going to do, Seb. You poisoned my relationship with Street for nearly a decade. Now, you're fucking with Trace's family. This is your last chance to save yourself, and I'm not talking about your fucking teeth or your fingernails. I'm talking about your gallery. You are behaving like I don't fucking own you. Like you aren't subsidized through MdM Philanthropies. I see your financials every quarter. I know this place isn't anywhere near being in the black. You live off the generous grants MdM Philanthropies writes you."
Seb's good looks turn from bitter to fearful, but he's still trying to balls through this.
"Marianne is the executive director of MdM Philanthropies, not you. You think she would cut me off, after this? This is assault. I could put every one of you in jail."
"And we'd bounce out. How easy it will it be for you to bounce out of bankruptcy?"
Seb looks really scared now. His hands are shaking as he wipes sweat from his upper lip."Matt, I'm not lying. I don't fucking know who the buyer is."
Matt growls and flings Seb away, just as the door opens from the gallery. Every one in the room is watching Seb's limbs fly akimbo as he catches himself on the floor, and everyone of us is following Seb's gaze as he lifts his head to take in the four-inch Balonicks, the slim tan legs, and the fitted purple cocktail dress.
Marianne looks perfectly composed, like she's used to witnessing Matt throw people around rooms. She ignores Seb, sprawled at her feet. Instead, she turns, quickly locking the door and stepping around him, walking calmly toward Matt.
They stare at each other.
She makes a quick irritated gesture, then slows her hand, brushing her hair back, composing herself. "I know you don't like Seb, but Jesus, Matt. Tonight? Of all damn nights?"
"Baby, I can explain."
"That's good to know, because it's been a long damn time since I walked into a room and had to wonder if you were coked up." She grabs his face and draws it down so she can see his eyes.
He takes her hand off his face, holds it in his. "Nothing like that. I swear to you."
"Okay," she says easily. "Start talking. It better be good."
"Not good, Annie. Not good at all," he says darkly, as he kisses her hand.
I don't hear anymore, because I'm already out the door, on my way to find Ashlynn.
I'm pissed and I'm scared for her and I'm done with her evasions.
Seb is not the only one I'm prepared to push to the wall for the truth.
Thoughts? Are these guys crazy or what? Do you believe Seb or not?
What about Leed's speculations? Do you think he's on track about what happened to Ashlynn or not? Is his anger at her expected or unexpected? Understandable or not?
Marianne next! Then Ashlynn! Or maybe Ashlynn, then Marianne, I'm still plotting....