FLOWERS and CAGES Read online

  FLOWERS and CAGES

  ♥♥♥ ♫ ♥♥♥

  Hart of Rock and Roll Book Two

  Mary J. Williams

  Copyright © 2016 Mary J. Williams

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  MORE BOOKS BY MARY J. WILLIAMS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  COMING SOON

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Writing isn't easy. But I love every second. A blank screen isn't the enemy. It is the opportunity to create new friends and take them on amazing adventures and life-changing journeys. I feel blessed to spend my days weaving tales that are unique—because I made them.

  Billionaires. Songwriters. Artists. Actors. Directors. Stuntmen. Football players. They fill the pages and become dear friends I hope you will want to revisit again and again.

  Thank you for jumping into my books and coming along for the journey.

  HOW TO GET IN TOUCH

  Please visit me at these sites, sign up for my newsletter or leave a message.

  http://www.maryjwilliams.net/

  https://www.facebook.com/maryjwilliamsauthor/?ref=hl

  https://twitter.com/maryjwilliams05

  https://www.pinterest.com/maryj0675/

  https://www.instagram.com/2015romance/

  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5648619.Mary_J_Williams

  MORE BOOKS BY MARY J. WILLIAMS

  Harper Falls Series

  If I Loved You

  If Tomorrow Never Comes

  If You Only Knew

  If I Had You (Christmas in Harper Falls)

  Hollywood Legends Series

  Dreaming with a Broken Heart

  Dreaming with My Eyes Wide Open

  Dreaming of Your Love

  Dreaming Again

  Dreaming of a White Christmas (Coming in December)

  (Caleb and Callie's story)

  One Pass Away Series

  After the Rain

  After All These Years

  After the Fire

  Hart of Rock and Roll

  Flowers on the Wall

  Flowers are Red (Coming in October)

  Flowers for Zoe (Coming in November)

  PROLOGUE

  TRIED, CONVICTED, SENTENCED, and on his way to the state penitentiary, Dalton Shaw had learned two things. He wasn't as tough as he thought. And behind bars, there was no such thing as a guilty man.

  The black eye and split lip Dalton sported proved that a cocky attitude didn't impress anyone behind bars. Especially a bruiser who had used up his last strike and was going away for life. It could have been worse. The guard could have broken up the fight after Wiley Malone had done permanent damage.

  "I wanted to smash that pretty face into a pulp," Wiley growled as he was dragged away. "Next time, Shaw. There will be one. Count on it."

  The odds that Dalton would wind up in the same prison as Wiley were better than even money. The judge who sentenced him made it a sure bet. Three years—less than one if he kept his nose clean. But it was a long time to watch his back.

  "There are rules," Ryder Hart told him during their last visit before Dalton was relocated.

  "What do you know beyond what you've seen on television?"

  "I've done some research. So has Ashe. Zoe was the one who found you a tutor."

  Ryder, Ashe, and Zoe. Dalton's bandmates. Friends. Family—a bond stronger than any blood relation. They were his lifeline and the only thing that had kept him sane. None of them had believed Dalton would do any significant amount of time. He didn't have a record as an adult and only minor scuffles as a minor. Beating the shit out of someone—no matter how well deserved—was serious. But hard time? It didn't make sense. Unless one added in the fact that Dalton's victim lived in a small town where his daddy's influence ruled. Dalton's lawyer had tried to get the trial moved out of the county, but the judge refused.

  "I need a tutor to go to prison?"

  Ryder nodded. Dalton knew his friend was trying to keep a positive outlook, but his dark eyes were shadowed with worry. "Jock Lowe. It isn't exactly Miss Manners, but there is a definite way to do things."

  "Fuck that, Ryder. It's prison."

  "And like you said, all we know is what we've seen on TV or in the movies. Forearmed is forewarned, Dalton. Listen to what the man has to say."

  Dalton knew Ryder was right. But it seemed so final. Like a movie, he hoped for a last-minute reprieve. The sentence had been passed. Tomorrow the bus would take him to his new home.

  How the hell had this happened? Dalton was twenty-two years old. The future had seemed so bright. The Ryder Hart Band had its first album coming out next month. The buzz was good—better than good. After years of barely scraping by, they were about to hit it big, and Dalton wasn't going to be there to share the moment.

  "You need to hire a permanent replacement."

  "Why? Are you planning on becoming a career criminal?"

  "No, but—"

  "Nobody can play the drums like you. It won't be the same, but we'll get by until you're out. Eight months—tops."

  "What if it's longer?" The thought made Dalton sick, but it had to be said. "Things happen. The gray jumpsuit I'm wearing is proof of that."

  "That's why we hired the tutor. He'll tell you how to avoid trouble." Ryder gripped his arm. "I'll never forgive you if you don't come back to us, Dalton."

  "Time's up," the guard called out.

  "I'm scared, Ryder." It was the first time Dalton had admitted it to anyone—even himself.

  "We'll visit every week. Ashe, Zoe, and me." Ryder hugged him. "Stay strong, brother. More important, stay smart."

  The next morning, the bus to the prison was filled to capacity. Wiley Malone sat near the front, glaring at Dalton as he walked past. The tutor Ryder hired had given Dalton a plan—a course of action—beyond watching his back and cowering in his cell. It wasn't foolproof, but it was something.

  Ankles manacled, Dalton shuffled to his seat. The man he was chained to tripped, sending Dalton crashing into the side of the bus. His shoulder took most of the impact.

  "Sorry."

  Dalton shrugged it off. Thanks to Wiley, his body was already covered in bruises. What was one more?

  "Don Fitzgerald." The man held out his cuffed hand.

  "Dalton Shaw."

  "I shouldn't be here."

  Closing his eyes, Dalton sighed. Here it comes, he thought. Since his arrest, he hadn't met a single person who took responsibility for his incarceration. If he believed every story he heard, the criminal justice system got it wrong one hundred percent of the time.

  Railroaded. Screwed over. Framed. Pick your term. When those doors locked them in their cages each night, the prisoners slept the slumber of the unjustly incarcerated. Some were tormented by the knowledge. Others accepted their fate. But go ahead and ask. Not one of them was there because they had done the crime.

  "I'm telling you, man, I blame that bitch I married. Sure, the drugs were mine, but the police never would have found them if I hadn't been provoked into knocking the shit out of her. A man can only take so much lip, right? She m
ade such a racket the neighbors called the police."

  Dalton closed his eyes, picturing himself smashing Don's face into the bus window. He wondered if a broken nose would shut the asshole up. Probably not. There was one good thought. At least Don's wife was rid of her abusive husband for the next three to five years.

  "What did they jack you up for?"

  "They didn't."

  Don frowned. "I mean what shit did they trump up on you, man?"

  "I put a man in the hospital because he liked to use his wife as a punching bag."

  "Huh?" Don looked more confused than before. "You ain't saying you did it?"

  Don's exclamation of disbelief got the attention of half the bus. Dalton felt like an exotic animal on display. A rare species that the prisoners had heard whispered about but never observed in person.

  "That's exactly what I'm saying. I did it." Dalton looked around. "And given the chance, I wouldn't hesitate to do it again."

  CHAPTER ONE

  "WHERE WOULD YOU be without me?"

  "Are you serious?"

  "As a heart attack."

  There was a pause followed by a drawn-out sigh.

  "Fine. You are a god on the drums, Dalton Shaw. Without you, the band would be shit. Sound like shit. Play like shit. And you, my friend, can eat shit. Happy?"

  Grinning, Dalton spun his drumsticks like an old-time gunslinger, blew an imaginary puff of smoke from the ends, then holstered them in the loop of his jeans.

  "Now I ask you, was that so hard?"

  Ryder Hart shook his head. He wore his dark hair a little longer than usual these days because his fiancée had mentioned how sexy it looked. These days, if Quinn Abernathy liked something, Ryder was completely on board. Luckily for his friends and bandmates, Quinn was no Yoko. There was no danger of The Ryder Hart Band imploding. The group was as tight as ever—tighter. Quinn wasn't musically inclined, but she made Ryder happy. Which translated to his music—and his friends. The circle wasn't broken. It had expanded. Stronger. Unbreakable.

  "Asshole." Ashe Mathison tossed a sweaty towel in Dalton's face.

  "Jealousy is an ugly thing, Ashe. I'm a god. Remember that and act accordingly. Bowing would not be inappropriate."

  "It's rock and roll, dipshit. We're all gods."

  "Zoe!" In mock shock, Dalton put a hand over his heart. "Love of my life. What kind of language is that?"

  "The kind I hear from your mouth. Every day."

  "But I'm a man. Women—especially ones that look like blond angels—shouldn't use such language."

  The only thing that saved Dalton from a kick in the balls was the fact that Zoe Hart knew he was joking. They played together for seven years, known each other for over ten. Ryder was Zoe's brother by blood. Dalton and Ashe, her brothers by choice.

  The years struggling to make it. Living on little more than dreams and determination. Crappy food, rotten hotel rooms. A bus that rattled along on its last legs. Personal triumphs and tragedies. Those things either brought them closer or broke them apart. The Ryder Hart Band had found their success. The records topped the charts. They played to sold-out stadiums. There was always someone trying to chip away at them. But it came from the outside. When they fought—which was inevitable—they kept it in-house. They never aired their dirty laundry.

  The press weren't the enemy. However, as they had recently been reminded, stories about them sold tabloids. The band was notoriously close-mouthed about their personal lives. It wasn't that they harbored a ton of dirty little secrets. They simply preferred letting their music speak for them.

  Dalton's past was a matter of public record. But the sordid details weren't. Last month a story claiming to break the silence caused a minor media frenzy. Ashe called it a forty-eight-hour wonder. It broke the internet, then was forgotten by the general public. Scandals were a dime a dozen and a story that happened seven years ago wasn't exactly breaking news. Especially when the inside story turned out to be nothing but rehashed gossip

  Happily, the world moved on. Dalton, on the other hand, still dealt with the fallout. The source for the story turned out to be his brother-in-law. He had never liked his sister's husband, but Dalton had believed Norris Mayhue to be honorable. Finding out he was wrong had been a blow. Trust was an issue he and his friends took seriously. They had each other's backs—no matter what.

  Before the tabloid hullabaloo, Dalton would have included his sister on his short list of trusted confidants. Now, he wasn't sure. True, she had no control over what her husband did. But the ammunition Norris had accumulated—however ineffectual it turned out to be—had come from Maggie. Until Dalton spoke with his sister face to face, he couldn't be certain what had happened—and how much Maggie had known before the fact.

  "When do you leave?"

  Leave it to Zoe. She put on a tough, I don't give a shit, persona to the rest of the world. She would tease and bicker and throw as much crap as she took. But when it came to her brothers, she was as sensitive and caring as they came.

  "Maggie isn't returning my calls."

  "Is there a problem?" Frowning, Ryder set aside his guitar. "You spoke with your sister the day after the rags ran the story. Why go silent now?"

  "I smell a rat," Dalton said. "Namely Norris. He's taken Maggie to visit his parents. I keep getting a message saying she'll call me as soon as they get back. Since we finished recording the new album, I thought I would take a few days and fly out to see her. What I have to say will go over better in person."

  "There's no phone service in…? Where do his parents live?"

  Reluctantly, Dalton met Ryder's gaze. "Arizona. Midas, to be exact."

  "Hell, no." Ryder crossed his arms over his chest.

  "Are you crazy?" Mid-drink, Ashe almost spit the mouthful of water across the room.

  "Absolutely not."

  Zoe stood in solidarity with Ryder. Even in heels, she was at least four inches shorter. Her hair was blond, Ryder's almost black. But there was no doubt they shared the same gene pool. The strong, stubborn chin. The set of their mouths. The shape of their eyes. And the way they barreled over any opposition with the sheer force of their will. That determination had kept Dalton going through the darkest months of his life.

  "It's only a place," he reminded his friends. Then singled out Ryder. "Like Chicago."

  Ryder's eyes narrowed. Not too long ago, referencing Ryder's hell on Earth would have gotten Dalton a punch in the face. Change can take a lifetime—or it can happen in a blink of an eye. In Ryder's case, it was a little of both. He had always been strong. Loving Quinn made him stronger. His demons hadn't disappeared. But, according to the man himself, they were no longer lurking around every shadowed corner, waiting to pop out without warning. Quinn was the light. Dalton wondered what it was like to feel that way about someone. He wondered if he would ever know.

  "I will admit that I may have given one city more power than it deserved," Ryder said calmly, though there was a tell-tale tightening of his jaw. "Arizona is bad enough, Dalton. But Midas? Is that an unhappy coincidence or is Norris trying to fuck with your head?"

  "Maggie met Norris there while I stood trial."

  Ryder and Ashe exchanged surprised looks. "You never told us that."

  "I just found out." Dalton ran a hand over his head, tugging at his hair. "I don't know why we get so hung up on this crap. Like I said, it is only a place. It's not as though I'm planning on a return trip to the state pen."

  Dalton had been arrested and stood trial in Midas. Not too far away, he did his time in Goodyear. The irony of the name was never lost on him. Goodyear? The fucked-up year was more like it. He had learned a lot. Had more than a few sleepless nights. Took his share of lumps. And wouldn't wish the experience on any but his worst enemy. Hell, for his worst enemy, Dalton's wishes were much darker than eleven months behind bars.

  Now, he was pushing thirty. He could look back without breaking into a sweat. Dalton had served his time. Worke
d off his parole. He was an upstanding citizen. He voted on Election Day and paid his taxes. The only visible proof of his time in prison was the tattoo located on his back—just below his right shoulder blade. The image of a chained tiger breaking free of its bonds had seemed symbolic at the time. Now, Dalton thought it a bit pretentious. But it was part of him. A reminder that no matter how good his intentions, bad shit happened.

  Time—and good friends—had settled Dalton but he hadn't lost his edge. It was there in the way he played his drums. Controlled chaos, as one critic put it. That chaos was born in frustration. Fueled by anger. Pushed by fear and ambition. None of those factors were relevant to the man he was today. But the passion for the music? That would never die. It kept the songs he wrote fresh. It made his performances focused. It gave his life purpose.

  It was a good life. Damn good. However, until this crap with his sister and her husband, Dalton hadn't realized that he had some unfinished business.

  "Why do you need to do this?"

  It didn't take any thought to answer Zoe's question. Dalton looked at Ryder.

  "I have a few demons to chase out of the shadows."

  A half smile formed on Ryder's lips. Without a word, he shook his head.

  Zoe stepped forward. "I'm going with you."

  "No, you aren't."

  "Yes, I am."

  "Do you want to add fuel to the rumors that we're sleeping together?"

  The rumors ebbed and flowed. Sometimes it was Dalton and Zoe. Sometimes Zoe and Ashe. Occasionally, it was all three of them.

  "When have I ever cared what people think?"

  "Don't worry. I have this."

  "Jesus, Ashe," Dalton laughed. "If I'm not fucking Zoe, I'm fucking you. I love you, man. Let the rumor mill grind someone else's ass for a little while."

  "I'm hurt," Ashe pantomimed wiping away a tear. "Am I not good enough to be your imaginary lover?"

  "If I flew that way, you would be at the top of my list."

  "Thanks a lot," Ryder snorted. "What am I, chopped liver?"