Page 25 of Darcy
The terms are very clear. One woman for all of us, or none of us date seriously. I wrote them in myself, which is how I know it’s all legally ironclad.
“We included that clause because we didn’t want a Yoko coming along to break up the band,” Arlo mumbles. “Now, thanks to the contract we signed with Miguel, wecan’tbreak up, even if we want to, so it’s pointless.”
“It doesn’t matter, because we won’t be putting her in danger like that,” Dodger adds.
Prophet grunts in agreement.
“She would never be in danger,” I reply. “Because, between the four of us, we’ll make sure that Miguel never gets a whiff of who she is.”
Because sheissomething to us. Now that Fate, or God, or maybe plain fucking luck, has landed her in our laps, I have no intention of walking away.
“She’s our friend,” Arlo replies. “You don’t think this will wreck that?”
I roll my eyes. “She’s been more than a friend for a long time, Lo. How long have we known her?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Ten years.”
“And how many of those have you had a crush on her?”
“Boyshave crushes,” he retorts.
“So what do you call it?” I tease.
He pinches the bridge of his nose again. “An obsession,” he mutters, guiltily. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t risk her. Miguel has enough people to threaten if we step out of line. I won’t give him her.”
Dodger nods. “Agreed.”
I raise my brows at him. I honestly thought he’d be the first one to jump on board with my plan, given the sounds I’ve heard coming from his room after the rest of us hang up.
Does he really think I’m that stupid?
Prophet lets out a long, slow sigh. Without looking at any of us, he stands and heads for one of the bedrooms, slamming the door behind him. I’m not surprised by his response. The label contract is the only thing keeping him in the band, and he’s made sure the rest of us know it.
Dodger meets my eyes and shakes his head. “Drop this one,” he warns. “I know what you’re like, and I get what you’re thinking, but no. Leave her alone.”
He leaves as well, but not before giving Arlo’s phone one last look.
That leaves the two of us.
Arlo yawns. “He’s right, Slate. I know you love the band, and you think this will fix things… but not even she can fix this.”
I shrug, refusing to answer him directly. Instead, I head for my own room, ignoring my suitcase as I head straight for the shower.
It doesn’t matter what any of them say. As far as I’m concerned, Darcy being here is a gift from God. Maybe he’s gotten bored of pissing on us and has finally decided to throw me a bone.
I’ve lost count of how many Sundays I’ve spent on my knees, begging for a way to stop the rifts between us getting any wider. For the last few years, gaming with her has been the only time I’ve been able to feel even a fleeting reminder of the genuine friendship we used to have.
This band is all I have—all any of us really have—and if Darcy is the way to save it, then I’ll do whatever I have to to ensure she ends up between us.
And if Miguel lays a finger on her…
Well, I went to juvie for a reason. I’ll happily serve more time if it takes the bastard out of the equation.
I turn the dial to cold, trying to freeze out those thoughts.
Killing Miguel will accomplish nothing. His brothers would just come down on all of us harder for it. My death, I could live with—but Prophet’s nieces and nephews? Arlo’s sister? No fucking way. The cartels don’t make empty threats, and after they finished destroying everything we care about, we’d still be no closer to freedom.
Getting out from under their thumbs and persuading Darcy to give us a chance will take work, but it’ll be easier if we’re all working together. Only one problem with that: we’re barely able to collaborate long enough to make music.
