Free Resisting Velocity by Trinity Evans, Xoe Xanders Page B

keep from making plans for me from now on. I’m the boss, remember?”
    Tongue in cheek, “Yes of course.”
    He leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed. “I have some shit to do, so don’t bother showing up to my trailer until later. Don’t look at me like that; I’m going to stay in, but I need some downtime before I have you cramping my style.”
    “I don’t know what’s up with you right now, but believe me. I’ll take my time so you can take yours to cool down. I don’t know what you’re complaining about. You’ve gotten all of your wishes, as far as I can tell.”
    “No, I really haven’t, but with you beside me every hour of every damn day, you’re soon going to see what exactly it is that I’ve been wishing for.”
    Charlie watched as he turned and stomped, shirtless, out of her trailer. After double-checking that there was a guard following closely behind him, she shut the door and released the breath she had been holding.

    ***

    Zane lounged on the plush leather couch, his thumbs mashing button after button on his PS3 controller. On the flat screen TV, the picture showed a skinny white guy with a purple mohawk—Zane’s character—beating the shit out of another guy with a guitar. The speakers let out grunts, groans, and the occasional curse word as their fists flew. Then the guy got up off the ground and ran away. Zane’s character cracked his knuckles and swung the guitar over his shoulder like a club.
    He felt a riptide of emotions swirl through him, a mix of anger and impatience and a little bit of guilt. This was what he’d wanted. A big mess that would draw him and Charlie together, for better or worse. And he’d won, in a way. Charlie was, as of eight o’clock tonight, his official bodyguard. She’d be staying with him, 24/7, until the offender was caught.
    And what would happen if she realized this was all an elaborate plan? That he and the guys had tricked her, tricked the entire crew, into believing someone was out to get him. He sucked in a deep breath and made his character sprint across the street and hotwire a red Mustang that was just sitting in a parking lot. With the radio blaring, he drove across the city, looking for his next objective.
    Chill, Alexander. So far, so good. It’ll be fine. Rubbing his jaw, which felt bruised from the punch he’d received, he kicked up his feet on the coffee table just as a rhythmic knocking sounded on his front door. He glanced sidelong to the clock—four-fifteen—and let out a curse. Setting aside his controller, he unlocked the door. Micah stood on the steps, Parker strutting around behind him, and another wave of annoyance hit him like a sack of bricks.
    “What?”
    “Hello to you too,” Micah said, shouldering past him into the trailer. Zane angled himself to let both guys in. Parker snagged a beer out of the fridge and popped the tab. Micah sat down on the couch, glancing between his band mates. “So, how’s it going?”
    “How’s your face?” Parker said around a smirk.
    “You want something to smirk about?” Zane growled, shoving Parker roughly out of the way. When the younger man pushed up against him in rebuttal, Zane gathered two fistfuls of T-shirt and dragged Parker closer, shaking him a little for good measure. Parker’s eyes widened just a fraction, but the smile never slid away.
    “Zane—” Micah stood, but not before Zane wound up and punched the little bastard. Parker gave a yelp, toppling backwards to land on his ass, both hands flying up to staunch the flow of blood from his now-broken nose. Zane stepped forward, ready to do battle, but Micah grabbed him around the waist and slammed him back onto the couch. “Fuck, man. Stop it, both of you. You’re bigger than that.”
    “You hit like a girl,” Parker grumbled.
    “Why’re you bitching then?”
    Parker winced as he touched his nose. Micah crouched down beside him, grabbed his nose, and quickly set it. His yelp was muffled by the drummer’s