Consumed (Devoured, #2)(53)

“To your hometown.” And Samantha’s, but I don’t mention that as I face him.

The grin he’s wearing falters. “You said you needed to talk to me,” he says. “So let me in, Red.”

I release a shuddering sigh. “Lucas . . . Sam’s been in touch with me.”

At least a dozen emotions pass over his features—everything from confusion, to shock, to rage. “Today?” His voice is cold and flat, and when I shake my head, he growls, “When?”

“Since we started this tour.”

“And what the hell did she say?”

“Nothing that makes any sense. All I know is that ever since she’s gotten in touch with me, I’m the Yoko of f*cking Your Toxic Sequel, one of my clients has given me the boot, and my mother has called me flipping out about a letter she received that I never wrote. And she contacted my grandmother.” The last word is shouted. I get off of the bed, dragging my hands through my hair. “I can take anything she has to throw at me, but to send a letter to Gram?”

Lucas stops my pacing, grabbing my wrist. “You never told me any of this.” His tone is soft and dangerous, but I shake my head.

“Why would I?” I shout. “I ask you over and over again what she has on you, and you shoot me down because she’s bad for your music. So why the hell would I just tell you?”

Letting go of me, Lucas scrubs his hands roughly over his face. When he stops, he’s breathing in short, forceful bursts. “I’m going to see her tomorrow.”

“And then what? You decide to leave me because she clicks her fingers and holds something over your head?”

He’s on his feet, hovering above me before I have time to react. “No. Never again.” He shakes his head hard. “I can’t let you go, don’t you understand that? I used to laugh when I would hear that bullshit about someone being like air, but f*ck, that’s what you are to me. You are everything I’ve ever needed.” Letting out a low, animalistic noise he throws his head back. “God, I was going to ask you to—”

“Ask me to what?”

“That’s why I left earlier.” He pulls something out of his pocket, and I squeeze my eyes closed, shaking my head as he presses it into my hand. Easing back down on the edge of the bed, I grip the tiny box until the square corners are jabbing into my skin. “After Sam, I told myself never again. I never wanted to do that to myself, but with you it’s all I can think about. I want you to marry me, Sienna.”

My chest tightens, like someone is pulling a drawstring taut, and I cross my arms over myself. “Lucas, tell me what she has on you.” I open my eyes, staring up at him. “Please. Just. Tell. Me.”

He’s trembling as he shakes his head. “I won’t have you looking at me like I’m a monster.”


Taking a deep breath, I stare down at my lap as the flood begins. The tears are warm and feel bitter against my dry skin. They land on the box in my lap, darkening the blue cardboard, drowning what could have been. “Then I can’t,” I whisper.





I’m by myself in the full-size bed Lucas and me have been sharing when I open my eyes the next morning. I roll over onto my back, staring up at the recessed lighting in the bus ceiling and wonder if the night before was nothing but a dream. No, correction: I pray that it was all a dream. But then my gaze lands on my Gibson guitar, which is standing upright beside of the nightstand. And sitting on top of that stand rests the little blue box Lucas had tried to give to me last night.

He had asked me to marry him.

And I had said no.

I curl up on my side, bringing my knees to my chest. Closing my eyes to hold in the moisture threatening to spill out. I press the heel of my palm against my chest, but it doesn’t help the tight, painful churning going on inside of my ribcage, or the way I can’t seem to breathe just right.

I said no.

I stay like this—with hundreds of thoughts spiraling through my brain—until I feel the bus lurch to a stop, and I know that we’ve finally arrived in Atlanta. There are voices filtering in from the front of the bus—Lucas and Sin and what sounds like Wyatt—and I know that eventually I’ll have to get up and face them all. Today is the day that I fly back home. And after I’m done with the job that I’ve been lucky enough to secure in Nashville, I have no idea what will happen.

Because I had told him no.

Finally, I climb out of bed and force myself to get dressed. My hands and legs are trembling violently as I smooth down the flouncy, vintage-looking halter dress I had bought because, at the time, wearing it had made me feel happy and vibrant. Today, none of those feelings hit me. Now, there’s an empty coldness circling around the pit of my stomach.

Instead of making me come to him, Lucas comes to the back of the bus as I finish packing my belongings. He stands in the doorway, looking beautiful in jeans and one of his signature black tee shirts. He gives me a nod, his dark hair falling into his eyes. I let the magnetism between us draw me to him, and when I push his hair back with the side of my hand, I feel like I’m dying.

His hazel eyes are tortured. Haunted. Tortured and haunted and so full of regret.

“I’m going to make sure she leaves you alone,” he promises in a low voice.

I step backward. Bending my head, I stare down at a chip in my pale pink nail polish. “I just want her to stay away from my family. And from you.” Clenching my teeth, I pull in a rough inhale before looking up at him. “I’m worried about what she’s going to do to you.”