Shattered Dreams (Boys of Bellerose, #3)(72)
“Got shot,” he said shortly, before he appeared to shake off the pain and pushed himself up straighter, gaze meeting mine. “We need to talk, Jace.”
No fucking shit. “You got shot?” I scanned his chest but couldn’t see the origin of the wound. The dark material of his shirt hid a lot. “Where? Do you need a hospital?”
“These baggies of coke have been circulating the last two shows,” he said, ignoring my questions. “I did some snooping tonight because that emblem on the baggies looked familiar, and I figured out why when I saw the matching tattoo on Angelo. It’s part of the Ricci family assets, and I’m fairly sure that’s why this international tour was pushed through.”
“Where. The. Fuck. Were. You. Shot?” I bit out between clenched teeth, ready to rip his fucking shirt off and bear the consequences of touching Grayson without his permission. Stupid fucker was going to bleed out on the hotel couch if he wasn’t careful.
He stood—at this point I could only assume he’d been shot in the head if his behavior was any indication—shrugged off his jacket, and then stripped the Bellerose shirt away as well. He took a second to examine the few areas he was clearly hurting. “Got me in the lateral abdomen,” he said shortly when his assessment was done. “Nothing to worry about.”
He went to pull the shirt back on, but I reached out and grabbed his arm. “Is the bullet still in you? Do you need a doctor?”
“It’s a flesh wound, went straight through the muscle. Going to hurt like a fucker when I’m drumming but otherwise nothing to worry about.”
There was a fuck ton to worry about, but sure, bro. “Okay, tell me about what you saw tonight, then.”
He didn’t bother to put his shirt on, instead using it to press against the exit wound on his side, leaning into it. The entry point didn’t look too bad, thankfully, only oozing a little blood. “I found a Bellerose truck that had a dozen or more equipment cases in it, and when I opened the first few, they were filled with drugs and cash. Giovanni is clearly taking advantage of our shows to mass sell his drugs to an international audience.”
This didn’t surprise me at all; Angelo’s father was an evil piece of shit. “Explains why he didn’t make a scene about Angel stepping in for bass. He clearly just wanted this leg of the tour to go ahead no matter what.”
Grayson nodded, sweat beading on his brow. I hurried across to the minibar and snatched up a couple of bottles of water. Opening one on the way, I thrust it at him. “Drink this; you look like shit.”
He grimaced but took the bottle. “Feel like shit too. Been too long since I got shot. I’m getting rusty.”
Fucking hell. “You should always be rusty at getting shot, bro. That’s how getting shot works.”
Unless you had nine damn lives like Grayson apparently did.
“So, what do we do about this now?” I asked, frustrated that once again my life was out of my control, my future in the hands of another corrupt asshole only interested in using and abusing my band. “Giovanni won’t hesitate to kill us if we make waves about this,” I reminded Grayson. “He doesn’t care, and he won’t sweat the bad publicity. Big Noise is only a stepping stone for him. Not an end game.”
Grayson nodded, and I was reminded that he’d been part of this life, similar to Angelo. “First thing, we need to tell the rest of the band. Billie and Rhett.”
“What about Angelo?” I asked. “Surely, he’d have the best idea of how to deal with Ricci business.”
Grayson nodded, readjusting his position as pain crossed his face briefly. “Yes, he would, but he’s also in deep with his family. It’s not that I don’t trust him, because to my fucking astonishment, I actually do, but I’m not sure what side he might take here. Drugs are a big part of their business, and I think his suggestion will be to just let it run and ignore it.”
He was probably right. “I agree. We should talk to Billie and Rhett first, and then we’ll decide together what we want to happen and how we involve Angelo and Vee. They’re the ones with the mafia knowledge, and we’ll need that if we decide that we won’t allow ourselves to be used to sell drugs.”
We were no fucking saints, but this pissed me right the fuck off. Even more so that these assholes had shot Grayson without warning. At my fucking show.
Speaking of… “What happened to the guys who shot you?”
Grayson let out a humorless chuckle. “They met The Maker. We’ll need to double back and clean that up, along with the evidence in the truck, before tonight is done.”
Great. So we had two dead bodies alongside concerts full of Ricci drugs to deal with.
I really should have fucked Billie tonight because the way my luck was going, I might not make it to the end of this tour alive.
None of us might.
thirty-two
BILLIE
My screams were muffled by the pillow that I bit down on, trying desperately to control my volume as Rhett pounded my pussy from behind. He whispered praise as he gripped my hip tighter with one hand, his other busy with two fingers in my ass, pumping in sync with his cock. I was on cloud freaking nine, and it was all I could do not to wake the entire fucking suite up with my moans and screams.
“Let it out, babe,” Rhett teased, his pierced dick stimulating my G-spot with every thrust. “They’re probably tucked up in their beds right now, dicks in hands, jerking off to the sound of you getting fucked.”