Chapter 2

LAS VEGAS, NV.

PRESENT DAY

SUNDAY, JULY 28, 2024, 9:54 PM

The pounding music dominates my mind. The mix of the beat with the alcohol in my system is making me lose my senses.

It's my damn birthday, and for the first time, I feel far from having a real celebration. Jared's constant scolding over the last few weeks has made me feel like my head’s been beaten repeatedly for hours.

Booking a flight from New York to Las Vegas is far from being the problem it used to be almost two years ago. One call to Kimberly, our personal assistant—also known as my biggest supporter and defender—and she quickly arranged a private jet to bring me to the best city I’ve ever known.

The best part is that I didn’t even have to try for Kim to love me. She just thinks I’m amazing—though I’m sure I don’t need to list the reasons why; it’s pretty obvious.

The press, on the other hand, doesn’t love me like Kim does. No, they hate me. Every step I take seems to be under the watchful eyes of journalists, paparazzi, and the entire sick music industry.

We’ve barely started, and I’m already being labeled as "the guy who will break up The Reckless." Screw all of them. Those arrogant pricks. No one in this group loves, dedicates, or does more for The Reckless than I do.

I’m literally being vilified for wanting to enjoy my life like I used to. The big difference now is that everything I do becomes news, controversy, or some enraged person throwing a massive lawsuit our way, like Isabella Wren—because she doesn’t just want to sue us for emotional damages; she wants to destroy our reputation. More specifically, my reputation. Taking the guys down with me is just a bonus.

Ravennah Hollow has an incredible love-hate relationship with me.

I look up at the two huge guys towering over me like shadows. Wade, our head of security, only let me board the jet to Las Vegas if I agreed to have two of his best men come along. Max and Lucca. Because I refuse to spend my birthday night with two bodyguards whose names I don’t even know. I’m waiting for the moment they’ll get tired and head back to the hotel, leaving me alone to celebrate the way I deserve.

So much stress—talks with lawyers to handle the lawsuit, scheduling meetings, and all this crap... Bella isn’t just angry about being fired; she’s out for revenge for the breakup she couldn’t accept. If it was even a breakup. I never tried to fool her with promises of a relationship.

My bad reputation goes way back. I never promised flowers and chocolates on Valentine’s Day. I didn’t promise an engagement ring by next Christmas. I didn’t do anything to suggest we had a future together.

That’s why I love Harper. She doesn’t care if I’ll call her, or if what we’re doing is serious. Honestly, sometimes I feel used because she doesn’t give a damn if she hurts my feelings or how I feel when she talks to me about her other non-relationships.

Yeah, because somehow, she thinks we have that level of intimacy.

Harper dates more women than men. According to her, I’m the first guy in a long time. She even manages to fool me a little when she says that. I feel ridiculous when I get jealous of her because I clearly don’t want a relationship, but knowing Harper has a hell of a time in my absence drives me even crazier.

My first bottle of whiskey is more than halfway gone, and as I lean over to pour some more, I offer it to Max and Lucca. They both quickly shake their heads without saying a word.

I try to contain my frustration at being alone tonight, but I can’t stop my eyes from rolling, which only draws more attention from my security to me.

Because of me, the VIP area is empty. Kimberly called the club owner beforehand, explained who was coming to enjoy the night, and the owner guaranteed—after a generous deposit, of course—that this space would be reserved just for me. But I don’t know where the fun is supposed to be if I have to make it happen on my own.

Bryan and Aidan went back to Humperville and will stay there until Wednesday when we’ll have a meeting with the new styling team. Chase, being the whipped man he is, must be at home with Theresa—not bored, because those two know how to have fun and are loud without fear—and Finnick is a selfish bastard. He’d rather stay home with a joint than go out with me.

According to Finn, because of me, that day at Swing’s house, he ended up on Ravennah’s radar and wants to be with me as little as possible—in public—because, apparently, I’m a magnet for trouble.

“You don’t have to stand here. I don’t need babysitters,” I mock, downing the warm whiskey, which burns as it hits my throat. “You can wait for me at the hotel.”

“Clearly, you do need babysitters,” Max ridicules, his dark brown eyes fixed on me. “The latest headlines are proof of that.”

“Hey, I’m your boss. I could fire you for that.”

Max’s jaw tightens at the threat, but he doesn’t argue. I imagine the muscle in his face is an effort to keep from giving me a well-deserved comeback for being an ego-driven jerk.

“Sorry, I wouldn’t actually fire you,” I try to amend, but Max doesn’t seem interested in talking anymore, keeping his eyes raised and fixed on some distant point. “Can I at least go downstairs?” I gesture with my chin toward the dance floor, where sweaty bodies are savoring each other.

"Absolutely not," Lucca decides. "You’d better finish your drink so we can leave as soon as possible. You know we have to be in New York by morning." My babysitter checks his wristwatch.

I cross my arms, pouting like a child who just got a "no" from their mom.

I have everything I’ve always wanted with the band: money, fan adoration, and, again, money. But it feels like I haven’t reached the finish line. On the contrary, the more success The Reckless achieves, the farther away the finish line seems.

I don’t feel completely alone because I have the guys, but even so, the sensation of being swallowed by everything we’ve built doesn’t leave me. It relentlessly forces me to run faster than my legs and lungs can handle.

The women are temporary distractions—I admit I like being worshiped when I’m with someone who admires me.

I’ve spent my life being rejected by my father, trying to impress him, and my efforts were never validated. In some of my therapy sessions with Erin—sessions Jared forces me to attend—I’ve come to realize that being with many women might be a way to cover up this childhood trauma.

When I’m with them, I know I’m good at something: sex. Wild sex, tender sex, threesomes... I’m generally good. But when it comes to emotional involvement, damn, I shut down.

My past with Nicola plays a big part, and I know it. That woman ruined me for anyone else. She used me to become the face of my father’s jewelry business, and even though it was a betrayal too painful to bear, I can’t bring myself to hate her.

On the other hand, now more than ever, I feel insecure about any new relationship. Especially because I’m no longer just an heir.

I’m Ashton Baker, bassist of The Reckless.

I never know if women are with me for who I am or for what I have to offer.

Traumas, traumas, and more traumas.

I haven’t touched my phone all night, but when the screen lights up with a message notification, I pick it up from the table to see who it’s from.

It’s from Gravity. Not unusual, and to be honest, I’m not the least bit surprised. Even though I’m sure she hates me with every fiber of her being, there hasn’t been a single birthday where Gravity hasn’t wished me a happy one.

When I unlock the screen and open her chat, there it is:

Gravity:

"Happy birthday!"

And that’s it. Dry, indifferent, just like every other message she’s ever sent me. It even makes me think she only chose to wish me well because Theresa convinced her to.

I lock the screen again and place the phone back on the table.