Smith Two’s cold eyes follow our movements. “Make all the veiled threats you want, Mr. Scott. But we will have order. No more running off the rails, or there will be repercussions.”

“Those two are a pain in my ass,” I grumble as we walk back to my suite.

“They’re right, you know.” Scottie’s laser gaze slashes my way. “What you did was stupid. On all counts.”

“What the hell?” I glare at him. “You’re actually taking their side?”

He stops short, turning to face me. We’re of a similar height and stand eye to eye. “You are under contract. They can make your life difficult, and they most certainly can blackball Liberty from gaining a foothold in this industry, if they so choose. They were interested in signing her. But now they have concerns over PR issues created by your blowup.”

My heart skips a beat, cold flooding my veins. I’m as untouchable as I’m going to get. But I cringe with regret at the thought of putting Liberty’s future in jeopardy.

“Setting that aside,” he continues, “you’ve managed to bring Kill John back into the limelight, though not as a band united, but as the butt of a sad joke where Killian James flies into a jealous rage because Marlow, the new hot—younger—rising star, got handsy with some tart.”

“Hey.” I step closer. “Don’t call Libby that.”

“I’m not calling her that. They are.”

“You think I should have just let that shithead off?”

“No. If it were me, I’d have done the same. I’d like to rip the tosser’s tiny balls off and cram them down his throat. But it doesn’t change the fact that we have to fix this. And quickly.”

“Shit.” Hands on hips, I duck my head and try to calm my breathing. “How?”

Scottie doesn’t miss a beat. “Take her off the tour.”

“No.” My loud reply echoes in the hall. “She’ll think we’re punishing her.”

“That’s merely a matter of your fear and her ego at risk. The reality is she’ll be miserable with all this added speculation, the two of you constantly under the microscope. However, if she were on her own…”

“On her own?”

“People already love her. Brenna’s staff is fielding hundreds of requests a day for more Liberty. It’s her moment to break out. So let me break her out while she’s hot.”

I don’t want to agree. Everything in me screams in protest. If she goes, I’ll lose her. My fear is that simple. But it isn’t my call to make. It isn’t even Scottie’s; it’s Libby’s.

I know this, and yet the idea of sending her out to the wolves suddenly chills me. I want her to shine, and I want to wrap her up and tuck her into my side.

“This morning, she sought me out to talk,” Scottie says. “She agreed to let me manage her. She also asked me what I thought she could do to make things easier for you.”

It shouldn’t feel like a betrayal, but it does. Not that she wants to try or that she was looking out for me, but that she discussed these things with Scottie first, not me. I don’t have any experience in relationships, but I’m fairly certain confiding in the other about life-altering decisions is a key component.

My head aches something fierce; my guts are rolling like I’m hungover. I want more time alone with Libby, away from the world. But that’s not going to happen. I want to do right by her, but I’m bumbling my way through. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her to get off the tour.”

“Jesus, be a dick, why don’t you?”

“I’m being realistic. And I think she understands that.”

My jaw aches from grinding my teeth. “If she wants to do this, I’m not going to hold her back. I’ve already told you that.”

“Yes, I know. The problem is, mate, she doesn’t want to leave you.”

I’d be happy about that, except I have a bad feeling she’s holding on out of misplaced loyalty. The whole situation is a shit cracker on top of a shit day. And it isn’t even noon. “She’s tough, Scottie. But not hardened. I don’t want her crushed before she has a chance to bloom.”

“I’m planning to stick with her, if that makes you more comfortable.” Scottie’s gaze is level, calm. “Jules can manage the day-to-day tour details here.”

Jules, Scottie’s assistant, is great. But I really don’t give a fuck about the tour at this moment. Clearing the thickness out of my throat, I search for words. “Protect her.” I press my hand to my eyes to ease the hot throb of pain behind them. “That’s all I care about.”

Silence follows. For once, the ice man is gone. In his place is the Scottie I met years ago as a young punk hungry for fame, the one who looked after Jax when he tried to take his life. This Scottie is the man you’ll follow anywhere because you know he’ll have your back.

Those eerie blue eyes of his seem to burn with determination. “There are no guarantees in life. I cannot promise you the world won’t try to chew Liberty up and spit her out. But the woman gives me shit on a continuous basis. And I’ve made grown men cry.”

Despite my crap mood, I feel a smile forming. “My favorite was when the owner of The Lime House blubbered.”

Scottie’s eyes narrow with remembered glee. “Complete tosser.” His expression evens out. “As you say, she is tough. And she’ll have me on her side.”

Which in Scottie terms is to say she’ll have the best in the business at all points. It still sits heavy in my gut that she won’t have me. Not if I do what needs to be done to get her to go.

My headache threatens to crush my skull. I’m going to have to let Libby go. Set her free.

I swallow hard and nod. “I’ll talk to her.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Libby

I’m curled up on the couch in our suite, playing the guitar, when Killian finally returns. He leans against the door for a long minute, head tilted back, gaze on some distant point. The lines of his body are tight with tension, making him appear almost gaunt. I want to go to him, hold him close. But he pushes off and heads my way.

“Everything all right?” I ask, setting the guitar aside as he hunkers down before me, sitting on the low coffee table. Bluish smudges mar the skin beneath his eyes. There’s a scrape along his jaw, presumably where Marlow punched him, and his hand is splinted. Guilt is a punch in the heart.