Page 53 of Never Sleep with the Enemy

He turns his phone horizontally and shows me the screen. A video plays, taken from the back of the crowd at tonight’s show at the Sin and Sand. Me. Goldie. Tesla.

And Katrina.

My heart stills as our music blares from the speakers. Our voices spin together, effortlessly. Her smile, brilliant as she gazes at me.

“You seem awfully tight with little Katrina nowadays,” Monroe muses as he flips the phone back around to take a peek at it himself.

“No, I’m not,” I say, my voice shaking with rage.

“You are starting now.”

I detect the threat, the less than subtle hint hidden in the words. “No,” I say.

“Yes,” he says. “Handsome rockstar like you. I’m sure you can figure out some way of... getting under one of those adorable sundresses she loves so much. Can’t imagine big brother would be okay with that. Would he, Romeo?”

“No,” I say again. “I won’t do it. Find someone else.”

Monroe pauses, his face sinking with disappointment. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Too bad.” He puts his phone away and stands up. “In that case, I’ll just have to slide into the DMs of Atlanta’s district attorney. I’m sure they’d love to know where they can find?—”

“Okay.”I hold up a hand and sigh, his words threatening to unravel me. “I’ll do whatever you want. Please, just...” I drop my hand down, hating this. “Leave Tesla alone. Please.”

Monroe stares for a long moment, his expression hard and threatening until he sparks a smile. “That’s the spirit!” he says, laughing as he walks toward me. “You’re a real team player, Logan. Always liked that about you.”

He reaches out, slapping the side of my neck twice with his palm, and it takes all my control to keep my fists at my sides.

“We’ll talk soon,” he says. “You have my number. I expect updates!”

I don’t say a word.

I stand still, waiting as he walks off, the door opening and closing with his happy, victorious strides.

Destroy Criminal Records.

Destroy Katrina.

“Fuck,”I say through my teeth, wanting to run up to the roof and scream it, too.

15

KATRINA

Isit down at my piano, the old bench creaking slightly beneath me as I settle in the center. Setting my morning coffee down on top, I touch my fingers to the keys, letting their coldness blend with the warmth in my fingertips.

“Good morning, Freddie,” I whisper. “You miss me?”

I listen for his reply, then I play with a smile. No real songs. Just scales. Years upon years of lessons and practice flow through my stiff fingers, waking them up, the early morning Las Vegas sun bleeding in through the east-facing windows surrounding my music room.

That’s another reason I bought this place. I set one foot in this room, and I knew what it was meant for.

A hand brushes against the edge of my left hand, making me flinch. I pull my fingers from the keys, my eyes snapping open. But there’s no one there.

Just a memory from last night at The Sin and Sand. The hot spotlights above my head. The screaming crowd in front of me.

And Logan Shock by my side, playing the keyboard with me.

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