CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
GEMMA
I ama bundle of unresolved rage and pent-up sexual tension ready to slice something in half.
The band is in the theater room, three hours into their livestream, and they’ve already switched games three times. I’m pacing the kitchen, Liam is hanging out at the theater room door, and Kade is monitoring things on two laptops over on the sectional.
Thenewsectional.
I had to keep my amusement to myself upon seeing it this morning. The puddle Bonnie had left was fucking glorious. I didn’t get to see on the cameras what happened when she woke up—whether she told Zeb she’d gotten carried away with solo play or decided to try and take care of the mess herself.
I wish I felt that same amusement now.
It’s taking all of my patience to keep my cool while waiting for Kade to announce Rad’s arrival on the stream’s chat.
“Are you sure we can’t block him?” I ask Kade for the third time.
“Again, I can block him from the chat and the live, but there’s nothing that says he has to be logged in to watch,” Kade replies.
“Let it go, boss,” Liam says from the door.
I pause to press the heels of my palms into the counter and close my eyes. The mention of Rad being back and anywhere in Bonnie’s vicinity has me itching for my suit, for the darkness and shadows so I can take care of him once and for all.
I have my own reasons for hating the bastard, and now that I know about Mads’ past with him, about the other girls he drugged, I’m all butbegginghim to come near the band so I can finally meet him face-to-face.
His name is at the top of my list, yet I haven’t had a valid alibi or excuse to cover my own ass when it comes to getting rid of him—and that’sifwe can find him. We haven’t been able to find any new home address after his last lease ran out two years ago.
A commotion sounds from the theater room, and I glance at the live feed I have pulled up on my computer. Bonnie is high-fiving Zeb about something with the biggest smiles on their faces. I lean over the counter and squint at the chatroom. It’s mostly fans telling them ‘hi’ from different countries, though a few are trying to chat with them about the album or where they’re touring next.
Right now, the band has a system: two or three of them play a game while the other tries to answer questions, and Mads is currently in control of the chatroom.
“—estimating maybe the beginning of the year or the spring for the new album,” he’s answering someone. “Everyone is going to fucking flip at the vibes—”
“Horror shit,” Bonnie chimes in.
Mads laughs. “Hell yeah. We have some creepy ass violins on the tracks. Reed is back on the piano for a couple of them—”
“Vocals are insane—Move out of my lane!” Bonnie says, shoving Reed as he flies into her lane on the racing game.
Reed shoves her back, hysterical, victorious laughter leaving him when he thinks he’s wrecked her.
I go back to pacing, arms hugged around my chest. Every second that we wait on Rad to try and join seems to get longer and longer, to the point that I wish I had something besides my hands to crush.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the rug,” Zeb says to me when he pads into the kitchen to get a drink.
My eyes simply shift his way, though I don’t stop walking. “Looks like the place is getting a makeover anyway,” I say, jerking my chin to the sectional. “What’s a new rug going to hurt?”
Zeb’s brows lift, and I realize how bitchy that sounded.
“Shit. Sorry,” I tell him. I brace my hands on the counter again and blow out a long breath in hopes it’ll get my blood pressure down.
“Do you count?” Zeb asks.
I peer at him again, head tilting in confusion.
“Counting. Like counting back from ten. Some people do three belly breaths. You know, for… anger,” he says as his gaze drags over me.
A smile dares to reach my eyes. “You think I’m angry?”
