Page 40 of Darcy
He’s threatening the people who get close to them, and somehow he’s figured out that includes me.
Behave.
Such an ambiguous message,but clearly aimed at one person. Dodger stormed off today and missed the interview and the photoshoot. The cartel chose me because I was the last person he was seen with. I thought we were alone, but no one is ever really alone back stage at a concert. Miguel could even have their phones bugged. I would have in his position.
“Darcy?” Arlo is in front of me, taking my case from my hand with gentle fingers. “Hey, you’ve spaced.”
I grimace. “Sorry. Did Slate—?”
“He explained.” The guitarist takes my hand in his and pulls me out of the elevator. “Come on, you’ve had a shock. We can get you something to drink, and I won’t drop the mug this time.”
“What the—?”
“Notnow, Prophet,” Arlo growls. “Do me a favour and get Dodger to come back. He’s the reason this happened. He can fucking well fix it.”
“All my new stuff,” I grumble. “How fucking dare they? I was committed to blending, damn it!”
Arlo hushes me, guiding me over to the sofa and gently tugging me down. Prophet doesn’t do what he asks. Instead, the drummer hovers behind me like a dark cloud.
“She was targeted?” he guesses.
“Fucking assholes!” I snarl, making both of them jerk upright.
“I was expecting more tears.” Arlo rubs the back of his neck. “But anger works too. We got you, Dark. You just… do whatever.”
His phone rings, and he snaps it up, answering without looking at the screen.
“Yeah, we’ve got her. You need to come up?”
Slate’s voice is so quiet it’s inaudible, as Arlo moves away with a last warning look at Prophet.
“Make her some coffee or something,” he mouths at the bigger man before he disappears.
I’m so, so tempted to just grab my laptop and dump a whole load of viruses onto Gabrielle’s computer as payback, but that won’t help matters. My head falls forward into my hands, and my glasses dig painfully into the bridge of my nose.
Shit, my contacts were in my bathroom.
I take a huge, heaving breath, then freeze as two large thumbs rub across the sides of my neck and down to my shoulders. Long fingers join in, rubbing the tension out with gentle sweeps.
“I was trying to keep you out of this,” Prophet grouches. “You should’ve stayed far away from us, angel.”
My head snaps up, and I pin him in place with a glare. “You’re not going to make some bullshit excuse about being an asshole to protect me, are you? Because I’m not in the mood.”
He shrugs, as if to say,fine, I won’t say it, and continues rubbing along my shoulders until the elevator pings again.
Slate and Arlo stride into the room with their heads pressed together. Prophet drops his hands like he’s been burned, and a glance back shows he’s folded his arms over his impressive chest.
“What’s going on?” he demands.
“Usual shit,” Slate growls. “Where’s Dodger? He should be here.”
“He hasn’t returned yet,” Prophet mutters. “I messaged him. He said not to wait up.”
“Ring him,” Slate orders. “We have to sort this out.”
Arlo is already on his phone. “He won’t answer.”
My gut sinks, reading around what they’re not saying. After I rejected him, he searched out someone who wasn’t so picky.
