Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)(80)

Under the blue California sky, grayed at the distant horizon with smog, we headed in the direction of the Sunder house.

It was surreal, to say the least.

The number of times I’d listened to their songs, the number of times I’d escaped into the sanctuary of Lyrik’s voice as it played from my speakers, while I’d listened and dreamed he were the one person in the world with the ability to understand me.

Crazy how it turned out he was.

Fate.

God.

I was such a fool. A complete, utter fool. Because that’s what I wanted it to be.

The city flashed by in a blur of freeways and buildings and stop-and-go traffic, dotted with landmarks that became more and more familiar the closer we came to The Hills. The driver finally exited the freeway and drove us through West Hollywood.

My face was nearly plastered to the side window to take in the scenery.

I cringed. I probably looked like some kind of fangirl, overeager to catch one glimpse of the glitter and limelight that went hand in hand with this city.

But this was me. The old me. The little girl who’d watched the world with wide, innocent eyes. In anticipation and wonder before she found so much of it was actually filled with horror.

I felt his warmth close over me, and from behind, Lyrik slid his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder. He spoke so low, no one else in the car could hear. “Seems to me, for someone coming home, you’re awfully awed by your surroundings.”

A soft gasp fell from me, and I turned to look at him, at the intuition glinting in the gold flecks of his eyes.

This boy who knew me like no one else.

Slowly, I shook my head.

No.

I wasn’t home.

But I could be.

He exhaled as if releasing some of his reservations, or maybe in acceptance. Then he slung his arm around my shoulder and pulled me against his solid chest and the steady beat of his heart.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

I’d once thought it a stampede of destruction.

But no.

It was a chant of safety and security and perfection.

The driver took the winding road leading up into The Hills. It was a place only familiar in movies and in pictures conjured in my mind.

I could only imagine who and what was stowed away behind the rock walls and iron gates, nestled behind the garage faces that seemed so innocuous where they’d been constructed close to the road, camouflaging the homes built on the other side.

The SUV turned left into a driveway tucked away near the top. It led to a massive two-story house sheltered by soaring trees and lush gardens.

We stopped on the cobblestone drive in front of the expansive double doors, the stucco of the exterior walls warm and welcoming. This was where this hard, threatening man sought reprieve from the hustle of his glittering lifestyle within the city below. It was a world apart from the place I expected.

For all of them, really.

I guess the outside could truly be misleading.

Lyrik nudged his nose at my ear. “We’re home.”




“Favorite grade in school?”

“Um…” Memories thumbed through my mind like snapshots in an album. It didn’t take me long to land on the correct one. “Sixth.”

“Why?” Lyrik asked, stealing a glance at me before he looked back to the road.

Redness swept my cheeks.

Shit.

Now I was blushing? Lyrik really had busted down all the barriers.

“Because that was my first year of middle school. They had a photography club that met twice a week after school. I could barely sit still during class on those days, I was so anxious to get in that darkroom where I could develop the pictures I’d taken that week.”

At a red light, he brought his big, rumbling truck to a stop, one he’d left waiting for him in L.A.

Reaching across the middle console, he grabbed my hand and brushed his lips across my knuckles. “It’s always been your dream, yeah? Pictures?”

Joy filtered through me like a soft breeze. “Yeah…at least since I understood what dreams were.”

I turned the question on him. “What was yours?”

He’d returned to gripping the steering wheel, those tattooed hands wrapped around the leather, the words stamped on his knuckles bold against the other swirling designs.

Sing my soul.

And it was my soul that sang when a lock of that black hair flopped to the side as he gazed across at me, that menacing, beautiful boy looking so powerful behind the wheel of his truck, before he pressed on the gas when the light turned green.

Damn, he was doing crazy things to me.

Crazy, lovely, beautiful things.

By the way he looked at me, there was no question both of us were on uneven ground.

Walking a rope that was tight. High and harrowing.

While our feet felt agile enough to take us at a sprint.

“Ninth grade.” He quirked a brow. Those red lips spread like seduction. “Finally got the girl.”

A twinge of possessiveness hit me, and his grin only widened as it turned teasing and coy. “Been packing her around with me ever since. My constant companion. She comes with me to every city, is at my side through every show. She’s getting a little old and worn, but I love her all the same.”

His meaning dawned on me. With playful laughter, I smacked his arm. “Are you trying to make me jealous of your guitar?”