Page 2 of Killer Notes

Ron’s been Warrior Black’s manager for a while now, so I know how Ron can get overly dramatic, but his drama seems real this time.

“This one is the worst,” Ron says as he smooths down his jacket. Even though, we are in his condo, he’s still dressed in his usual black Armani suit and tailored dress shirt. He glances at his assistant with impatience. “Ms. Walters?”

Jennifer meekly peers over her red-rimmed glasses and smiles at her boss. Ron frowns, and her eyes go wide in quick understanding.

She nods and explains. “Laney’s attack was terrible—worse than yours, Mr. Wells, and the LC Record higher-ups are worried. So they called in a favor and they’re bringing in a full-time security team,” she says in a rush.

“Ventura Security?” I ask, the heavy tension easing out of me. I pull out my gloss, lightly coat my lips and stash the tube to my back pocket.Hmm. Raspberry. My favorite.

Ron and Jennifer shake their heads in unison, causing the worry about the situation and the knot in the back of my throat to double in size.

“No. But they recommended another security team, who is just as good. Dean Harper and his agency come highly recommended,” Ron says decisively.

“When are they coming?” Connor jumps in. His face is pinched with concern. He’s flipping a single drumstick in the air with his left hand and drumming his right hand against his thigh. A nervous habit he’s had since we were kids.

“Two men will arrive sometime today. One will cover Danny; the other is for the band,” Ron explains.

“Only two? I thought you said a team,” Connor gripes, nearly missing the drumstick.

“Two for now, unless a more serious situation arises. They will stick with you until that son of a bitch is found and behind bars.” Ron’s cheeks redden with frustration.

“Even through Rocktoberfest?” I ask, already knowing, and dreading the answer.

“Even after. However long it takes.” He turns to Jennifer and orders, “Call Harper and find out when his men are arriving at the studio.”

“On it,” the petite woman says, as she rushes out of the living room in her three-inch black heels.

I never thought I’d gain a stalker, especially now, when our band is fairly new to the scene and we only have three singles out. But as much as I hate seeing those notes, I have to face the facts and prepare myself for a twenty-four hour guard watching over me.

That might sound petulant, but I value my privacy and my time alone. Particularly after what I went through with my ex.

I learned a valuable lesson from that fucker, too. Siles Barrett never left me alone in the five years we were together.Never. He was physically and mentally abusive in so many ways. I got good at hiding the black and blues on my body. Or Connor and the guys would have killed him.

I thought I loved him so much that I did what I could. All because I didn’t want to be alone. But now I see the truth behind all his cutting remarks and the times he hit me.

I learned, in those years with Siles, that bruises heal pretty quickly, but the verbal damage takes a hell of lot longer to mend. And I’m still on the healing path.

I shiver at those dark memories.

Yet, if I have to make a choice, I’d rather face my stalker with a twenty-four seven bodyguard than to deal with my ex.

Connor grabs my shoulders and squeezes, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I don’t have any options, do I?” I grouse, as I take a breath to ease the tension from my body.

Ron leans in, his dark eyes on me. “I won’t take any chances with your life, Danny. Especially after what happened to Laney two days ago.” He looks at the rest of my band. “Or any of yours,” he says vehemently.

“We know that, Ron,” Connor says. “And we appreciate it.”

The Wildman. Always the protector. Even when I don’t want it.

“All this, because of those damn notes,” Callum grinds out. He sits back against the chair, his jawline tense and neck corded.

“Maybe the attack on Laney was random and not connected to the notes being sent to Danny,” Bobby suggests, while he peels off the bright blue polish off his fingernails and flicks away the pieces. The neon color is a cool contrast to his smooth ebony skin, but not all over Ron’s dark gray carpeting.

“Seriously, Hicks? Do you want to chance Danny’s life? Yours? And what did I tell you about leaving dried polish all over my floor?” Ron clips out. He points down at the messy pile of blue and demands, “Pick that shit up.”

There’s no doubt in any of our minds that Laney’s attack and the note left on her chest was done by the same person who’s sending me notes.