Revolt (Legends and Love)

I’ve painted my nails, colored my hair, changed my piercings, and I even dressed, and now I’m fiddling with the buckles on my knee-high boots. When that’s done, I look around my room for something else to do to keep me in here. I’m not avoiding seeing them—it’s my house, after all—I just want some time alone. That’s all. I am totally not hiding to avoid seeing my bodyguards after I crossed a very hard line with them. I haven’t fucked someone after playing around, and for some reason, what we did felt more intimate, never mind the fact that I usually slip out of the door and can avoid them. This time, I can’t.

I realize I’m hiding.

I’m such a pussy.

Closing my eyes, I blow out a breath and get it together. This is my house. I’m Reign fucking Harrow. I do not hide. I own that shit. I own my mistakes. I own my nature and my sexuality. So what if I let them touch me? They wanted it, I wanted it, and we are adults. Nothing else matters.

It’s also just a job for them.

No, we can’t go there again. They are bodyguards; they can’t be anything else. I remind myself of that as I head downstairs, but then I get a look at a sweaty Cillian coming from the gym, running a towel across his sweaty, bare, perfect abs. His red hair glistens with sweat and sunlight, sticking up, and my mouth goes dry, and I forget every reason I shouldn’t play with these men.

Hey, I’m only a woman after all, and they are damn good-looking, not to mention they give some of the best head I’ve ever had, not that I’ll tell that cocky fucker that. Shit, it’s already embarrassing and far too intimate that he carried me to bed and tucked me in.

No, behave, Harrow, just this once.

“Morning,” I call, and he stops, tilting his head as he grins at me.

“Morning, Reign—Miss Harrow,” he amends. “There’s breakfast in the oven if you’re hungry. Raff is out on a run, Dal is on the perimeter, and Astro is still asleep.”

I like that he gives me a report out of habit, or maybe it’s because I look ready to bolt. “Thanks,” I say as I head past him, trying not to sway when his sweaty, masculine scent reaches me. Fuck, I’m practically begging for him to fuck me and he knows it. He chuckles as he heads upstairs, and damn me, I watch him go, my eyes locked on that perfect, tight ass until he’s out of sight.

So much for that.

Heading to the kitchen, I plate the food and pull my phone out as I start to nibble on the full breakfast one of them made for me. How sweet—no, stop. I focus on the phone, using it to distract me from my turbulent thoughts, and I open a thread of spam messages from a number I don’t recognize. All the others have people’s names, but not this one.

I change my number a lot, usually when it gets leaked, but I’ve had this one for a while now and I haven’t really given it out. One of the guys maybe? I quickly realize it’s definitely not when I get a glimpse of the messages.

Unknown: You looked beautiful tonight.

Unknown: I can’t take my eyes off you.

Unknown: But you didn’t even notice me, did you? So lost, but I’ll find you.

Unknown: I missed you.

Unknown: I’ll see you soon.

Ew, it’s probably someone I hooked up with. I instantly block it and drop my phone, reminding myself this is why I don’t look at it. There are some downsides to being a celebrity, and privacy is one, but so are the types of messages you get—creepy ones, threatening ones, I see them all. I learned to ignore them after a while, otherwise it would get to be too much, but sometimes they cross a line.

Not often, but sometimes.

A knock on the door makes me drop my fork. I expect one of the guys to get it, but when no one does, I shrug and head to the door. I told them not to let anyone else in, so it has to be someone they approved.

As soon as I open the door, I have regrets. She tries to sweep past me as if I’m beneath her, but I put my boot in the door and block her entry. She stumbles back, her perfect, fake nose wrinkling before she smooths it out. Her sunglasses block her bright blue eyes, and she’s dressed to the nines in a perfect designer dress and heels. Her makeup is perfectly done, and her blonde hair is immaculately styled. She looks cool and collected.

Serena was one of my old best friends before she decided not to give a shit when I disappeared. “Reign.” She leans in and kisses my cheek. “So sorry for not visiting sooner. I’ve been so busy. First Paris, then Milan, you know how it is . . .” She trails off when I still don’t let her in. “Oh, do you have company?” She slides her shades down, wiggling her eyebrows. “Tell me everything.”

Ah, there it is. She wants gossip to sell since she’s a failing model. She was once a supermodel, but as she aged, she has been looked over time and time again for younger models. It’s sad really, because she’s truly beautiful on the outside. It’s the inside that’s the problem. She aligned herself with me for my status and to get more jobs. I didn’t believe it back then, but she used and discarded me when there was nothing I could offer her rep but bad publicity by association.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice cold.

“Darling, are you going to let me in? Surely we aren’t to talk out here.” When I raise my eyebrow, she sighs and rolls her eyes. “Always with the dramatics. I’m sorry, Reign. You know how this world is. I would have been by sooner, but—”

“You didn’t want the bad press that I got, only the good. Am I right? That’s the only time we’re friends, like now.”

Her mouth drops at my curt barb. I let her walk all over me before, humbled someone like her was my friend, and I told her everything only for her to use it against me. I’m pretty sure she was the one who sold a story about me as soon as the media started attacking.

It wouldn’t surprise me.

“Reign, I have my image to protect, you know that. You did the same thing. It’s very rude not to let friends into your house so we can reconnect.” She’s good, I’ll give her that. She has the truly worried look down to a T. She should have been an actress. All she needs is a tear and it would be convincing.

“Oh, I’m sorry I gave you the impression I wanted your opinion on who I let in my house, which I bought with the money I earned from singing songs you called trite and childish. I don’t give a flying fuck what you think about me.”

“You’re being loud,” she hisses embarrassingly, looking around as if people might overhear us.

I glance around dramatically and cup my mouth. “How about now?” I yell before dropping my hands. “It’s my fucking house. I can be as loud as I fucking want.”

“I see I won’t be getting anything out of you today but anger.” She slides her shades back up her face. “Call me when you are ready to apologize. It’s a very lonely life without friends, Reign, you know that.”

Nice, a threat, and then a perfume cloud of flipped hair as she strolls back to the gate. She gets in her car, pulling out her phone before driving away. I’m positive she’s telling everyone about me being crazy, brash, and rude.

Let her.

Slamming the door, I turn to see all four of them there, and all my anger comes back.

“Do not let anyone else into my house ever again,” I tell them. “Is that clear? I informed you of my wants. Make sure someone is at the gate at all times.” I storm off, knowing I’m being a bitch, but I’m still irritated about her visit and need to take it out on someone and unfortunately, they are the closest.

I might regret it later, but what good do regrets do?

None, in my experience, so fuck it.

Do what you want and make no apology.

You want respect? Earn it. You want money? Work hard and make it. This world is made for the strong and it crushes the weak. I know that all too well. So fuck apologies, this is who I am. If you don’t like it, then get the fuck out of my life.

I spend hours in the studio, but I’m in a foul mood. I can’t even look at the guys. I’m annoyed about my reaction to them and how easily I gave in and fucked them despite my protests, and then add seeing Serena on top of that. Jack eventually tells me to go get this mood out of my system.

It’s not a bad idea.

I’ll get this anger and the guys out of my system all at once.

It will be a palate cleanser, just like with Tucker, only they will have to come with me. I’m not theirs in any shape or form. I’m Reign, and I do whatever I want. Just because they touched me and made me come doesn’t mean anything.

Nothing.

“Where to?” Raff asks carefully, sensing my mood as I stomp toward the car, leaving them no choice but to follow. They scramble to open the door, but I ignore them as I climb in.

Better to end this now.

Pulling out my phone, I shoot off a text and wait for the response before answering. “Downtown, Mycroft Hotel.”

His eyes narrow and search mine, but I give him nothing, and eventually, they begin to drive. I don’t tell them whom I’m meeting there. I don’t tell them I plan to go screw the brains out of the bass player who’s good with his fingers—good but not as good as them—all to forget the way I felt when they touched me.

The true reason I’m angry.

They don’t seem bothered by what we did, yet I feel different. I can’t even breathe around them without being filled with desire, and they are calm and collected. There are knowing looks, but they haven’t tried to touch me once.

So like the brat I am, I’m going to push them.

I’m going to make them pay because fuck them. They don’t want me, then fine. There are plenty who do.

I don’t need them for anything. I don’t need anyone.

As soon as we stop at the back entrance to the hotel, I slide out, ignoring their calls, and head through the familiar back labyrinth. I met Tucker here more than once when we were both on tour, a little rendezvous that felt private and loving but now makes me think he just didn’t want to be seen with me.

I know my way.

Trav waits in the lobby, leaning against the wall near the elevators with his phone in his hand. Wearing black jeans and a band shirt, he looks every bit the rock star he is. He’s good-looking, tall, and lanky but with some muscle. He gets a lot of women and men, but he’s like me, never wanting to settle down again after he got his heart broken, something I found out while Trav was supporting me on tour with his band.

He’s great in bed, and that’s all that matters, and he won’t tell. I trust him.

We might not be besties, but I consider him a friend. He’s probably one of the only ones. He and his band defended me after I disappeared and still support me now.

“Reign.” He grins warmly when he sees me, putting the phone away and wrapping me in a familiar, warm hug.

I relax into it. “Hey, sweetie.” I lean up and kiss his cheek. “You got a room?”

Nodding, Trav tucks me under his arm, and when the elevator opens, I look back to see all four of my guards glaring at the arm around me.

“I’ll be down later. You can watch me from here.” The door shuts, cutting off whatever angry words Raff was about to say. It was probably something about protecting me, but it’s bullshit.

I saw the jealousy, anger, and hurt in their eyes.

Shit, I can’t think about it. I push him against the elevator wall and kiss him, fisting his shirt. Laughing, he kisses me back before pulling away. “Almost there. Eager tonight, aren’t we?”

“Yup.” Real sexy, Reign.

Arm in arm, we head to the suite where he lets us in, and before the door is even kicked shut, we tumble into bed, tugging at each other’s clothes in that familiar way only people who have fucked before can. We kiss hard and fast, but I barely feel or see him, trying to lose myself in his taste so I don’t think about whom I wish it were instead, but he pulls back.

“Reign, stop,” he demands, frowning. “Are you okay?” Fuck.

Rolling over, I cover my face. “Not into it tonight.”

“Me either,” he admits as I start to spew an apology.

We both laugh as we look at each other. “Trying to forget someone?” I ask, realizing he had been just as hard and heavy, as if chasing the taste of someone else away.

Sighing, he closes his eyes. “Maybe. You?”

“Maybe,” I admit, and we share a knowing smile.

“Want to order room service, eat our weight in food, talk, and then go home?”

God, that sounds amazing. He’s a great man and sexy as hell, yet all I see when I look at him is a friend.

His touch even felt wrong. How fucked is that?

“Sounds good to me.”

He nods, looking relieved. It’s clear neither of us felt right doing this. Usually, it’s electric between us, but after Astro and Raff, it felt pale, like a cheap imitation, and knowing they are out there right now, protecting me while knowing exactly what I’m doing, I feel a little bad.

I also feel dirty and guilty, but not enough to walk out for a while. Let them sweat over it a little.

After eating, we end up sprawling on the living room sofas, comparing new music. I laugh at his jokes, genuinely happy. I forgot how well we get along. He is such a good guy, which is hard to find in this world. Like me, he is in it for the music, not the money or the fame.

“I think you better go before your guards come up here and drag you out.” He smirks when I look at the door once more. I’m always expecting that.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I tease.

“Sure thing, Reign.” He winks. “Your secrets are always safe with me. Just be careful, okay? Don’t get hurt again. You’re a good woman. You deserve better.”

“Thank you.” I kiss his cheek. “And whoever this woman is you’re pining after, man up and tell her. You’re a good man, Trav, and you deserve to be happy.”

“It’s complicated,” he mutters.

“Isn’t it always? That’s when it’s the most fun,” I say and stand, slipping on my boots once more. I wrap my jacket around me and wish him a final goodbye before I head down to face my guards and the music.

Excitement and nerves flow through me at what they might do.

What I hope they will do . . .