Page 82 of Freeing Savannah

Voodoo’s grip tightened. He didn’t even realize how close he was to crushing the man’s windpipe.

“Whoa, Voodoo. Easy,” came Hoot’s voice.

“I-I didn’t want to hurt her,” Brian rasped. “It wasn’t supposed to go that far. I just . . . I thought the scare would be enough. Just enough for her to see that I was the one who really cared. Not you.”

“You planted a bomb in her piano. And when that wasn’t enough, you put another one under her seat,” Voodoo said coldly, not loosening his hold.

Brian flinched. “That was . . . I just wanted her scared. Wanted her to need me.”

“You thinkthat’slove?” Voodoo’s voice was quiet now, but deadlier than ever. “You tried to terrorize her. To break her down so you could swoop in and play savior.”

“Not what I’d call love,” Eggs mumbled.

Brian looked up, and in his eyes was something twisted—pain, longing, and the most chilling, obsession. “She was slipping away,” Brian said, tears brimming in his eyes now. “Every time I saw her look at you, I knew she’d never look at me like that. I waited years. Years! This tour was supposed to be my chance.”

“You planned the sabotage,” Hoot said, voice tight with realization. “You locked her in the bathroom. The poisoned water. Was the text message with the video of Voodoo from you, too? You used all of it to make her more dependent on you. And then when she turned to Voodoo instead?—”

“I had to do something,” Brian said, his voice cracking. “You don’t know what it’s like. Watching her smile at you. Knowing she’ll never look at me like that. Not after everything I did for her.”

“You mean spying on her? Setting her up?” Voodoo snapped. “You were going to make her a martyr just because she didn’t love you back?”

Brian’s expression shifted, shame, fury, heartbreak twisting across his face in rapid succession. “I wasn’t going to let her die,” he whispered. “It wasn’t gonna go that far. I just . . . I thought the scare would be enough. Just enough for her to see that I was the one who really cared. Not him. She deserves better.”

Voodoo stared at him for a long moment, then took a slow step back. “You don’t get to decide what she deserves.”

Brian looked up, eyes wild. “Neither do you.”

“And I wouldn’t even try. She’s her own person. She can decide for herself who she wants by her side,” Voodoo started. “Here’s what you don’t understand. She did choose you. She chose you to be her friend. She chose to trust you to take care of her instruments. She brought you along on this tour when shedidn’t have to. That’s how much she trusted you. Now, you’ve lost all of that.”

The impact of Voodoo’s words was immediate; Brian slumped, his face streaked with tears that flowed uncontrollably. Eggs gave Voodoo a sharp nod. “We’ve got him. Go back to your girl.”

Voodoo finally pulled back, shaking with fury, forcing himself to step away before he did something permanent. “You’re lucky she’s still breathing. You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you the second I opened that door.”

“We’ve got enough to bury him,” Eggs muttered. “The messages, the tablet, the confession. All of it.”

Brian didn’t fight. He just stood there, shoulders slumped, eyes still tracking Voodoo.

“You’ll never be what she needs,” he said bitterly. “She’ll see that eventually.”

Voodoo didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to. Because he knew down to his bones, he was exactly what she needed. Just as she was the same for him.

He turned his back on the man who claimed to love her and walked up the ramp into the fresh air and toward the flashing lights where Savannah waited.

He’d stood between her and chaos, time and time again, and with each near-miss, his resolve hardened, and he vowed to always be her shield.

And now, no matter what came next, Voodoo wasn’t going anywhere.

CHAPTER 36

Savannah sat curledon the ivory leather couch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders like armor, though it offered little warmth. The vast windows of her D.C. apartment overlooked the city skyline, but the view did nothing for her. It never had.

The apartment was beautiful, objectively so. Modern, sleek, and filled with designer furnishings and curated art pieces chosen by someone else. The Senator. He’d gifted her the place years ago when her career began to skyrocket, calling it a token of support for her “art.” But she now realized it had always been a cage dressed up in elegance.

She hated it. All of it.

All of it except for the baby grand piano tucked into the far corner near the window, the one thing she’d chosen for herself. She’d played it late into the night before her tour began. It had been the only real comfort in the echoing hollowness of this life she’d built.

---