Consumed(74)

“Lucas,” I whisper. He doesn’t budge, so I touch his back, running my fingers over the array of tattoos covering his skin. More than six months ago, I had decided that the stopwatch and queen of hearts tattoo was my favorite, but now I can’t look at it without my stomach pitching.

It stands for Sam, for her disgusting hold over him, and I hate that he’s had to go through her shit alone for so many years.

“Lucas,” I say again, shaking his shoulder. He rolls his head to the side, opening his hazel eyes to stare up at me. I slide off the bed and stand over him.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

I wring my hands together, rubbing each finger vigorously. “You must not know me very well.”

He presses his palms to his eyes and lets out a giant breath. “Come here, Red.”

I’m hesitant at first, but then he holds my waist on both sides and urges me to him. I climb on the bed, one knee at a time, sliding my body against his as I rest the side of my face on the pillow beside of him. He glides his knuckles across the bruise on my jaw that I’ve hidden with makeup. “I’m so f*cking sorry, Si.”

“I know you are.”

“No matter what happens to me, I’m going to make sure that nobody ever touches you again,” he promises, his eyes hard.

I move my head from side to side. “You make it seem like she’s tried to turn you in.” When he doesn’t say anything, I sit up abruptly and glare down at him. “Lucas? Is she?”

He lifts his shoulders. “And at this point, do you think I give a f*ck anymore? I looked out for me and only me for years, and then you came along. You made me feel things. And when I laid here after I came back from seeing you beat up and broken because of me, I realized that I stopped caring what happens to me.”

Hearing him say things like this causes my stomach to harden. Because it makes me feel like this is the beginning of the end.

“Well, I care,” I say. “I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t.”

“I killed someone,” he growls. “And then, I threw money at his family like it would fix things.”

“He was stalking someone you cared about.” I think of Cilla. No matter what kind of conflict is between us, I would never want anyone to have to go through what Lucas said Bryce was about to do to her. “If Sam goes to the cops, your story has to count for something.”

He pushes himself up into a sitting position next to me. “My story is four years too late, Red.”

“Then we’ll figure this shit out together.”

His expression softens. “You’re sticking around?”

“On this tour? No,” I say, and he grins. “But with you? Always. Didn’t Kylie give you my message?”

“Yes, but I was convinced it was the pain pills talking.”





I spend most of the morning locked in Lucas’s arms. There’s very little talking, and no lovemaking, but this almost feels like the most intimate we’ve been since our relationship began two and a half years ago. After he falls asleep, I untangle myself from his body and go out into the bus lounge so that I can call Gram and let her know that I’m okay. By now she’s probably awake, and given the events of the last several days, she must be freaking out.

As I dial her number, another call comes through that I accidentally accept. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone other than Gram right now, and I look down at the screen, wanting to just hang up and ignore the caller if they try again. But then again, they might not stop trying to get in touch with me. I put the phone up to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Is this Sienna?” The voice is soft, female. “Hello?”

I clear my throat. “Yes?”

“This is Sam. The woman who’s ex-husband you’ve been f*cking.”

Like she needed that introduction. I know her well, and I grind my teeth together.

Clawing my phone, I whisper harshly, “Why the hell are you calling me? Haven’t you done enough? And how the f*ck did you get my phone number?”

She takes a moment to process all of my questions before she speaks. “You’re easy to find. And you haven’t answered me back. I wanted to hear your voice before—” She stops herself. The little laugh that follows manages to evoke every fear, every amount of desperation, inside of me.

“Before what?”

She answers me after a long pause, and each word is emphasized. “Before I put an end to all of this.”