The place has been cleared of adoring fans, and the music is finally shut off. The yard is fucking trashed and not one asshole sticks around to offer to clean this shit up. Who needs enemies when you have friends who destroy your place and air your discrepancies online?
“Why do you make me come over here when I should be in bed right now?” I growl, snatching the cigarette from Xavi’s mouth, dropping it to the ground, and crushing it under my boot.
He’s glares at me with balls of steel. Xavi’s a lot smaller than me, lean and natural. Where I lift and bulk up, his muscles are subtle and slender. Like a typical drugged-up rock star living his “best” life.
“I’m not stopping you from going to bed, Grandpa.” He crosses his arms over his chest and grins, showing off a perfect set of white teeth stained from a cut on his lip. This kid needs discipline, and I crave to dish it out. My eyes focus on the crimson spilt in his bottom lip. I ache to bite him there—to push the burn and see if he breaks.
“Get in the fucking house before I lose my shit and they have to take me away in the squad car,” I warn, pointing to the open door.
“We were fucking around,” he gripes. “Some prick called the cops. It’s a misunderstanding.”
“You were being live-streamed acting like a fucking idiot. You’re supposed to be a family, a band bonded through friendship. That’s not the way best friends act. Do you even like each other?”
His features darken with fury.
“We love each other. We’re brothers,” he snaps as soon as we’re inside, picking up a bottle of beer from a table and throwing it against the wall beside me. It shatters with a crash, and the shards rebound on contact, littering the room. His deep brown eyes widen as my face hardens.
I march toward him, grabbing him around the throat and pushing his back against a wall. I close in, drowning him with my size. He doesn’t resist or attempt to release my grip. His Adam’s apple bobs beneath my palm. Color tints his cheeks. This turns him on. Heat roars through me, demanding attention. Pushing my thumb against the spilt on his lip, I smirk when he gasps and his pupils dilate. Blood blooms and coats the pad of my thumb. Delicious.
“I think you just want me to put you in my cuffs,” I taunt, pushing into him until we’re flush against the other.
“Fuck you,” he mumbles past the pressure I’m applying there with my thumb.
“I do the fucking, boy. Keep giving me this lip, and I’ll fuck that pretty mouth of yours just to shut you up.”
His body goes rigid—even his cock. A storm rages in his eyes, and then the spell is broken when a girl in pink tights with tits spilling from her top that’s too small for her build comes through the front door, distracting us both. “Oh, I’m sorry, officer.” She startles when she sees us. “I just wanted to give Xavi his cell phone. It got knocked from his pocket when the whole fight thing started.” She shrugs.
I take it from her, releasing Xavi. “Thanks, darling.” I wink, and a crimson blush blooms on her cheeks.
“I put my number in there, Xavi. Call me?” She bites her lip and waves before leaving.
Swiping the screen, I’m granted access. I shake my head in astonishment. “You don’t lock your phone?”
“Why would I?” he argues in a petulant way that’s going to earn him punishment one day—from me. “It’s usually only me who has it.”
“Until you do stupid shit like lose it while hitting your fucking bandmates because you have a chip on your shoulder and won’t admit you need help,” I growl, fury rippling through me.
How fucking stupid can he be?
These people just want to use and abuse him.
He’s entertainment to them. Not a person. A fucking show—a shitshow at that.
“I don’t need help. I’m twenty years old. Rich and famous. Being a fuck-up is exactly what I’m supposed to be doing.”
Laughing, I pin him with a narrowed stare. “You think getting everything you want in life entitles you to be a dick?”
“Who said this is everything I want?” he snaps, swiping the cell from my hands. “You shouldn’t assume shit, Detective.”
I take a calming breath, pinning him in place with my intense stare. Beneath the angry exterior is a very broken boy. He needs someone to put him back together.
“Go make peace with your band. Ronan’s going to have to make miracles happen to fix this mess.”
“Are you just going to show up every time I fuck up?” He smirks, folding his arms over his chest. Wet strands of curled hair hang down over his face. I want to fist it in my hands.