Kiss the Stars (Falling Stars #1)(18)

My head shook. “I took care of it.”

“And how did you do that?” Lyrik looked like he was going to completely come out of his skin. What really terrified me was what peeling that back might actually reveal.

“I fought him off. Spit in his face and kneed him in the dick. I didn’t wait around to see how pissed he was, but from his yelping and crying, I’m sure he was plenty offended.”

“God damn it, Mia.”

There was almost the hint of a smile on his mouth.

Like he was proud.

Proud and so very pissed.

“Asshole is lucky he only got kneed in the balls, and I wasn’t there to cut them off. In front of everyone. Might finally teach the prick a lesson. I bet I know exactly who you’re talking about.”

“Which is exactly the reason I didn’t come looking for you. I wanted time between what happened and when I told you so we could report him. I had every intention of it, Lyrik. I was just waiting for you to wake up. But this is something that needs to be reported to the cops, and not for you to go hunting him down to make him pay for it. You know that’s not going to do either of us any good.”

“Bet I know exactly who it is, too. Dick is always sloshed, touching things he shouldn’t, thinking he’s the shit.” He rambled the words, grunting and ranting.

I didn’t even have to describe the guy.

Apparently, his reputation preceded him.

What a creep.

“It had to be him,” I said, nodding, doing my best to convince myself.

Because something didn’t sit right.

Because my car . . . how would he have known? The guy didn’t know a thing about me. And if I had a million bucks to bet, I would put it on my car being the crappiest out there. Unnoticeable among all the rest.

Like Brendon had said, it wasn’t gambling when you knew you were going to win.

All the fancy sports cars and over-the-top luxury sedans that had pulled up to the valet stand last night. The cars the rest of the band and their families kept for when they were in the city.

And there was my five-year-old Accord sitting in the middle of them.

I wondered if Lyrik was thinking the exact same thing because his focus had drifted out over the city, the man working his jaw hard and his vision narrowed at the nothingness.

I jumped about fifteen feet in the air when his phone suddenly rang from his pocket, the shrill tone slicing into the silence.

He dug it out, glanced at the ID, quick to accept the call when he saw whoever it was. “What do you have?” he demanded the second he put it to his ear.

He watched me as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line. His expression morphed and churned and darkened.

I could feel it.

That shattering of energy that flared and pulsed.

The way his entire being morphed with his own fear.

A buzz of horror.

Teeth gritted, he pulled his phone away to look at something on the screen.

It was a video his security team had sent through. He watched it twice, his muscles twitching as he did, violence growing stronger with each pass.

While I stood there trying to pretend like this wasn’t another moment in my life that was going to change everything.

Finally, he held it out for me to watch it, like he hated to do it but had no other choice because there was no protecting me from the reality of this.

Warily, I watched the scene play out on the screen.

Fifteen seconds of horror.

That was all the time it took for nausea to hit me, full force, so fast and fierce that I didn’t make it all the way to the edge of the patio before I threw up in a planter.

Retching in terror and sickness and cutting grief.

On the video was a man, dressed in all black and wearing a ski mask, waving a knife at the camera like he wanted it to capture everything.

Like he was issuing a threat.

I was one-hundred percent sure he was the same man that had been in my gallery that night.

The same man the detective was certain had been a random.

The same man who had found a way into my brother’s compound.

The very same man who had murdered my best friend.





*



“What the hell, Mia?” Nixon hissed at me from under his breath where I stood outside the doorway of his shop, hugging my arms over my chest in an attempt to hold myself together. “You can’t just up and leave to Savannah. Are you crazy?”

Disbelief pulsed through his being, his surprise injected with a shot of anger, his eyes hard and filled with the cruelness I knew he could mete with the flick of his wrist. His hair was close to white and cut short, his face all blunt lines and harsh expressions.

Even though he’d cleaned up his life, he still looked every bit as menacing as he had since the day I’d met him.

Trouble.

Apparently, I had a type.

His harsh gaze went for a hostile ride over his shoulder, searching the street as if he were wondering if I’d been followed. If he was going to have to beat someone down right there.

Just the thought of it made me want to puke.

The idea that someone was after me.

Every question of why coming at me at warp speed.

Ill-at-ease, I shifted on my feet, no longer comfortable in my skin or in my world or in my city. “I would be crazy to stay here, Nix. You have to understand that. After everything?”