“You go find Tyler now, and it's over Lola. He could kill you, or worse.” Ronnie touches a hand to his chest and looks her straight in the face. “And trust me, there are things worse than death. Please, let's just think about this for a second.”
“What's there to think about? I don't go, my sister dies. Tyler is ruthless; they all are. You saw what happened to Marta, to … ” Lola pauses, face red, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Once again, I'm lost, but it doesn't look like Milo is. Understanding is dawning on his face.
“Come on, Lola. You don't even know if she's alive. I mean, fuck, man. Look at this shit!” Turner flings his hand out to indicate the nearly empty halls. “Where are our guards, huh? Wasn't that bald dude standing near the entrance just before Tyler appeared? Where is he now? This shit is huge. We'll be lucky if any of us get out alive.”
“Keep your voice down, Mr. Campbell,” Milo says, glancing around at the thinning employees. There seemed to be a whole lot more of them a minute ago. I adjust my tits, make sure they're as tucked in as they're gonna be. Last thing I need if shit goes down are my boobs flopping around all over the place. The implants are nice, but damn if they don't get in the way sometimes. Rumor has it that I can use them as a floating device though. Good stuff. “If there's something we need to discuss, I'd much prefer if we kept it to ourselves. Not all press is good press.”
“Bullshit,” Turner growls under his breath. “If we all died in here today, we'd be the most popular fucking band the world had ever seen. Fuck The Beatles; it'd be Indecency memorial concerts galore.”
“Nobody's dying in here,” Ronnie snaps back at him, keeping Lola upright, but just barely. Hey, I can relate. My brother's in the hospital, shot through the frigging chest by a sniper. I get it. “There's no reason for that. Secrets are secrets, but if it comes to choosing life or death, then I'm not taking them to the grave.” Turner gives Ronnie a look that could kill, but he doesn't say anything. He knows better than to argue with McGuire. “Let's find Trey, lock the door, and call Brayden.”
“That won't be necessary,” a voice says from behind us. I don't jump, but Josh nearly leaps out of his skin, spinning on the redheaded Irish stud fuckin' muffin behind us. He's smiling, but he doesn't look happy, not really. I can't remember his name, but his pecs sure do look familiar. I try not to lick my lips, wouldn't be appropriate anyway.
“What are you, a fucking ninja or some shit?” Turner growls, running a hand through his hair and strutting up to the beefy bodyguard like he's not at all intimidated. Liar. I hold back my smirk, doubt that would be considered appropriate either. At this statement, the redhead actually does smile.
“A ninja?” he asks with a small chuckle, one that's quickly stifled when another man appears by his side, dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a red tee. No suits or shades on these guys, hidden in plain sight, the best kind of security. So, where were they a few minutes ago? “I just pay attention to what's goin' on around me, Mr. Campbell. Dax McCann told me I might find you in a pinch of trouble.”
“Dax?” Turner asks, looking taken aback. His face squinches up, and I have to resist the urge to flick him in the nuts. He's always so cynical about things. Drives me crazy. Especially because Trey imitates everything Turner does. You know that whole if your friends jumped off of a bridge, would you crap? Well, Trey would. He'd follow Turner to the ends of the universe. “How the fuck did Dax know what was happening here, five friggin' hours away?” Turner pauses for a moment and his brown eyes go wide, the color draining from his face. “Naomi? Is Naomi okay?”
“Naomi's fine,” the man says, his Irish accent wetting the shores of paradise down below, if you know what I mean. I adjust my stance and lean back, checking out his dark jeans, his dirty work boots, his tight black T-shirt. If I had time for men, I'd make room on my schedule for this guy. As things stand, I'm here for Trey and that's it. As soon as I figure out this shit my baby brother's managed to step into, I'm gone. I have my photo shoot in two weeks, and I won't compromise that for anything. “My concern right now is for you, not her. Tell me what happened.”
“Poppet,” Lola says, drawing the attention back to her. She's standing straight now, and there's a cigarette in her mouth. Guess she could give a fuck about the hospital's no smoking policy. “I'm tired of holding things in. I'm sick and fucking tired … ” We all watch as she throws her cig to the floor and crushes it with her red and black zebra heels. “Of keeping secrets and pretending like me and my band members are bloody good mates.” She marches up to Brayden in her short shorts and her halter top, glaring daggers, demanding prisoners. “I want my fucking sister back. You're the expert here, right? You tell me what that crazy bastard's done with her, ya got it?”