Fight, Jamiee - Ellie R. Hunter Page 0,20

sitting at number one for the last nine weeks. I think we’re good for a while.”

I agree. Everyone agrees.

Gus interjects, “And if Fred ends up in prison? You aren’t going to want to replace him. Think of this as a foreplan.”

“Where do you plan on sending us?” River inquires on our behalf. Always the calm one.

Baz stays unnaturally quiet, choosing to scowl at the management instead.

“I have a ranch out west. It’s equipped with everything you’ll need: privacy, and a recording studio. I’ll have your own instruments shipped out to you. Anything you want, it’s yours.”

Money, money, money.

I kicked ass, and they’re still trying to keep us happy, all because we’re at the top right now, making them even richer than they already are.

“Is Fred even allowed to leave the state?” Alice questions, making me smile.

“I went to the judge this morning, and he agreed that Freddie can go as long as he signs in at the local sheriff’s office every day,” the lawyer informs her.

Of course. I wonder how much he got paid for that little favor.

“The label will hire anyone we must to get this to go away, and to keep the publicity minimal. Hence, you leaving the state,” Gus adds.

“You just have to keep yourself out of trouble,” the lawyer pipes in.

Slate gives me a look. “He can do that, right, Fred?”

“No problem,” I mutter, leaning my head on the back of the chair and closing my eyes. Stay out of the public eye. Stay out of trouble. Don’t fuck up. I get it.

We’re interrupted by a knock at the door, and Slate is quick on his feet to answer it. At least he’s making himself useful.

“Where have you been?”

This comes from Damon. My eyes shoot open and watch as Jamiee walks in. Strolling past her brother, she takes a seat in the armchair nearest Slate as he takes his seat.

“Jamiee, where have you been? I’ve called over a hundred times,” Damon demands, walking around and perching himself on the coffee table to get in her face.

“Yes. I saw all the missed calls.”

“And yet, you didn’t call me back,” he argues.

River steps in, and I sit forward, listening to him ask, “You good, Coleman?”

She nods, offering him a small smile. “I am now. I’ve been to the police station, and reported Deacon for every time he hurt me.”

Every time? As in, this wasn’t the first and only time? I stand, and she finally looks at me. I can’t speak, not a word. I grind my teeth together, trying my fucking best not to lose my shit.

“You should’ve told me what you were doing. I would have gone with you,” Damon tells her, and she looks away from me.

“If I was aware I needed you to hold my hand, you would’ve been. Besides, I wasn’t alone.”

“No? Who was you with?”

She tells us about her trip to the mall, and trust her to jump into a situation that could’ve put her in harm’s way. Anything could’ve happened to her.

“Okay. So, what’s happening as far as Deacon’s concerned?” River asks her, sitting on the arm of her chair. I hate how close he gets to sit next to her, but it’s not the time for jealously.

“They’re issuing a warrant for his arrest.”

“Is this the same Deacon Lockheart you assaulted?” the lawyer asks me, and I nod. “Is Ms. Coleman’s predicament the reason behind the assault?”

I nod again and sit back down, dropping my head in my hands.

“Does this change anything?” Baz asks, speaking for the first time in hours.

“Maybe not. Freddie purposefully went out of his way to attack Mr. Lockheart. It can show Mr. Lockheart isn’t fully the victim, but it doesn’t excuse Freddie’s actions. He took the law into his own hands, and surprisingly, the law doesn’t like that.”

“He could drop the charges now Jamiee’s gone to the police. Maybe he can cut some sort of deal?” Damon offers, but I already know it’s not going to help.

Deacon will be loving the prospect of me going to jail. He’s an asshole, and he won’t drop shit if it will help me. Hell, I wouldn’t want him to. I want him to pay for what he did to Jamiee. I’m not understanding why Damon doesn’t want the same.

“He could, but don’t pin all your hopes on it.”

Just like I thought—no fucking help.

“Just keep out of trouble. That goes for all of you, and focus on new music,” Gus says, standing. The lawyer is quick to join him. Slate stands