FLOWERS and CAGES
Authors: Mary J. Williams
FLOWERS and CAGES
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Hart of Rock and Roll Book Two
Mary J. Williams
Copyright © 2016 Mary J. Williams
All rights reserved.
Table of Contents
MORE BOOKS BY MARY J. WILLIAMS
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.
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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)
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 made 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."
"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.