Consumed (Devoured, #2)(56)

“I’m ready for this shit to be over,” I say, dropping my head back against the couch.

“The tour?”

The tour. This lie I let myself crawl deeper inside. “Yeah.” I release a bitter laugh. “The tour.”

“Ugh. There are so many things I want to say to you—”

“Have I heard them before?”

Kylie is quiet, and I lift my head to challenge her eyes. She lifts her shoulders and then drops them. “Some of it, yes.”

“Then I’m not f*cking interested. I get it. I know where I f*cked up.”

“Lucas—”

I nod at Wyatt who’s talking to two female reporters and ignore the way the quick movement gives me a headache. “You flew here to see your husband, not to babysit me.”

Her cheeks are sucked in as she slides off of the couch, and her brown eyes are hard as she stares me down. “Trust me, babysitting your stubborn ass is the last thing that was on my schedule for tonight.” She stalks off, and when she reaches Wyatt, he glances over her head at me, his expression grim. He places his mouth against the top of her hair for a few moments, and when he looks back up again, he mouths something. A threat.

So I do the only thing that makes sense.

I grab another drink.





For the first time during this tour, I’m not up at seven f*cking AM. I stay in my compartment, in my bed, letting what’s left of Sienna’s sweet scent torture my dreams. She’s everywhere and nowhere, and I know how much I’ve messed up.

I should have just told her.

It would have made everything a hell of a lot easier, and maybe—maybe I’d be able to move on.

My phone vibrating from beneath the pillow is what finally drags my ass out of bed. I swing my legs over the side of the mattress and study the unfamiliar Nashville number on the screen for a few seconds before answering. I’ve heard the voice on the other line before—Sienna’s brother—and it’s not something I want to wake up to at 10AM. I’ve gotten into it with this little shit before, and I’m prepared to do it again, but then I stop and listen to what he’s saying.

That Sienna has been hurt. Badly.

Attacked.

Beaten in a parking lot.

And by one of my fans.

When the call ends, I’m numb. The feeling comes back a little at a time, and once it’s all there, I finally realize that the broken noise resonating through the bus belongs to me.





It takes twenty minutes to charter a helicopter, which Kylie steps in to handle because I’ve started to lash out at everyone. When she hands me my phone back, she gives me a determined look. “I’m coming with you to Nashville.”

I don’t refuse her. I can’t. My mind is in one place, and one place only, and until I get to Sienna, I won’t be able to think clearly.

But in the end, I’m grateful for my sister. It’s Kylie who thinks ahead and makes sure there’s a rental car waiting for us when we get to Nashville three hours later, and it’s my sister who drives to the hospital, ignoring me by turning up the radio to blast an Aranda song when I tell her to hurry the f*ck up.

As we go inside of the hospital, I look up the room number that Sienna’s younger brother had texted me earlier. There’s an agonizing dullness in the center of my chest while Kylie and I take the elevator up to the third floor. When the doors spread, I follow my sister slowly as she rushes down the hallway. I was in such a hurry to get to Nashville, and now, standing here with the scent of bleach and medicine hitting me in the face, all I feel is dread.

So I wait outside of Sienna’s door, pulling my shit together, while Kylie goes inside. I hear my sister gasp and a moment later, she murmurs, “Oh god, babe.”

Taking a deep breath, I shove the door open and step through the doorway. Even though Sienna makes an attempt to shield her face, I see everything. I go through a mix of emotions: fear, anger, rage, and guilt. For the time being, I settle on guilt. Guilt and rage. I walk over to the hospital bed, each step making the ringing in my ears grow louder. When I get to her, she opens her mouth to say something. At first, I convince myself that she’s talking, and I can’t hear anything because of the deafening blare in my ears, but then I realize that she’s speechless.

And that she’s sobbing. Shoulder-racking, chest-heaving sobs. From the corner of the room, my sister’s crying, too.

I feel like the worst f*cking thing that’s ever lived.

And I want to kill the motherf*cker who did this to her.

I’m scared to touch her—scared to hurt her—but she reaches out to me. I slide her fingers through mine.

As soon as she’s calm enough to speak, she drags in a long breath. “My brother is friends with a girl who works for the police department.” Her gaze falls down to her lap, and she tightens her grip on my hand. “That . . . guy has been in and out of jail. Aggravated assault. Robbery. He told the cops he got my address from somebody he met on a YTS message board. Followed me out.”

I release a harsh sound, but she continues. “Your ex-wife sent me a message this morning. Wanted to know how I was feeling.”

Before I can say anything, my sister stalks across the room, her hair flying wildly behind her. “This is all you,” she hisses, jabbing me hard in the chest with her fingertips. “This is you. Fix it.”