Cal and Kai are arguing about maintaining professional boundaries, and I can’t say I didn’t see that one coming.
“Dude, she’s into me, okay? I can tell,” Kai says, clearly referring to histherapist.
“You cannot go there, Kai,” Cal says. “She’s your therapist, for fuck’s sake.”
Cal palms his face and lets out a heavy sigh, continuing, “She’s probably just a nice person. Don’t mistake her kindness for something it isn’t, and ruin what you have. You’re in a good place, man. I’ve never seen you better. Don’t fuck this up because you wanna get your dick wet.” Cal always takes the role of a leader, and he does it well. I admire him, always.
“Curtains in five,” Erick says, peeking his head into the room. He scans us, making sure we’re all dressed and ready before making his way to the side stage. Ashley comes in next to snap various pictures and videos before following after Erick.
“Alright, hands in and everyone say ‘Reverb’ on three,” Raithe says, grinning like an idiot, nodding for all of us to join him.
“We never do that. What are you doing?” Cal grunts, never leaving his position on the sofa.
“I don’t know, man, thought it’d be fun to change it up a little.” Raithe looks around, noting that none of us move to join him.
“No? You guys are no fun,” Raithe whines, frowning with his arms folded across his chest like the child that he is.
I laugh. “Come on, guys, time’s up. Let’s go.” We make our way to the side stage as music starts playing. It’s a frequency that I’ve never heard them start a show with. From this vantage point, I can see some of the crowd. I scan the many faces. No one looks dazed or high,yet.The lights shut off, and we walk out and take our places on stage. The music for the first song starts to play, and as I wrap my hands around the microphone stand, I can’t help but picture myself wrapping them around something else.
The music continues, and I’m about to sing the first words. When I look up, I’m staring right into the haunting eyes that I’ve come to know so well. Sloane is sitting in a private booth with Lydia. I’m suddenly panicking about the new frequency and my false data, before it dawns on me that today, the guests weren’t given vital trackers. It eases some of the tension that I’m feeling, but not completely. The way that Sloane is looking at me, atVan, is absolutely vexing. Maybe tonight is about revenge, then? Revenge for the wrongdoings of a certain professor.
I start to sing the opening verse. We kick off the set with the same song that we did for the meet and greet. It’s quite the enigma. The music makes you want to dance to the rhythm, while the lyrics are meant to speak to the heart. This one was written for a particular subset of the fan base. I don’t need to name them, as they did me. The music will speak for itself, and their guilt will act as judge, jury, and executioner.
As I sing the words, I reflect on the way that I found a home behind this mask. I found a place where I can hide from my demons, a place where I’m uncompromised, and all that matters is the music. But fame has a price, and hiding in the public eye is nearly impossible. The guys and I started this band as an escape, and for a while, it worked. It was everything to all of us. But after signing that contract with Sonus, every time I step on this stage, it feels more like a cage. It might be beautiful, but it’s barbed wire dressed in pretty stage lights.
My line of sight never leaves Sloane’s face as I sing the chorus. And much like the progression of the music, the crowd is shifting. They go from sitting around, casually sipping champagne and swaying to the beat, to standing and moving toward the center of the room. I recognize the look on several of their faces, and I know that something is up with the frequency. Whateveritis, it’s working.
My gaze shifts back to Sloane and Lydia, and I’m relieved to see that they’re both still sitting in the booth, drinking champagne. Lydia’s expression is starting to shift into something more mindless, and as always, Sloane’s remains the same. I pause. Sloane is looking a little … tipsy. I make a mental note not to let her out of my sight as I continue through the song, and the next one, and the next one. Right before starting the fourth song, I hear Sabel’s voice in my earpiece requesting us to change it to a song from a previous album. Sabel knows I’ll obey her order, because from up here in my fucking cage, I can’t sayor do anything else. I quickly relay the info to the guys, and we start the song.
This particular song has been coined as one of our more “sexy” anthems. I guess the fans aren’t exactly wrong. The song isn’t only about intimacy, but of the darker parts of it. It’s about the parts that are wholly intoxicating in a way that bleeds into obsession. I can’t help my thoughts from going straight to the redhead in my direct line of sight. I could have written this particular one just for her, my little nightmare. The message is clear as day, and that’s why I have to let her go now. Otherwise, I’llneverlet her go.
I shake the thoughts as my focus reorients to the crowd. The crowd is nowveryinto the music. I think that the correct word for what my eyes are seeing isorgy. My gaze shifts to a couple on the dance floor who are dry humping, to a guy sucking on his girl’s exposed tit. At least, I assume it’s his girl, because now she has her tongue down the throat of another guy behind her. Everyone is sweaty, half-naked, and …
I rapidly shift my attention back to Sloane, only to see an empty booth. The immediate panic inside of me is nearly unbearable. I mask it, literally and figuratively, as I search the dance floor and spot her among the crowd. So much for masking the panic, because there’s a guy with his hands all over her. He looks like a total douche with a name that’s probably Chad or Brad. What’s even more strange is that Sloane isn’t fighting him off. She isn’t pushing him away, yelling, or anything that sheshouldbe doing right now. I look at her face and notice that she doesn’t appear dazed, but it doesverylittle to ease the anger risingveryquickly inside of me. I do nothing but watch as he stands behind her and moves to the rhythm with her. Her ass is moving against him, and his hands are trailing to places that he better not touch if he enjoys those particular body parts of his. I can’t jump off the stage mid-song, so I reluctantly finish this one.This is why Sabel wanted us to play it. What the fuck are they testing, the ability to influence sexual desire? That’s exactly it, I think.
Missionfuckingaccomplished.
We complete the song, and I call an intermission. I tell the guys that I need a second, and they don’t question it. Right now, I don’t care what Sabel questions. She can fuckright off. I spot Sloane and Mr. Soon-to-be No-hands as he’s leading her off the floor and into a hallway. I run in the opposite direction to intercept whatever the fuck he thinks he’s doing. I fist my hands at my sides and run toward the back hallway, spotting them within seconds. Chad, or Brad, has his arm aroundmygirl. She’s leaning into him, laughing at something that I’m sure is notthatfunny. How much did she have to drink? It suddenly dawns on me that he could have drugged her. She looks up as her laughter comes to a halt.
“What are you—” I don’t allow her to finish whatever dumb as fuck question she was about to ask me. My hands are immediately around the guy’s throat, pulling him away from her and slamming him into the nearby wall. I lift him until his feet dangle off the ground, and he reacts by clawing at my hands. The panic in his tear-filled eyes sets my blood on fucking fire, and I know in this moment that Icannotallow him to keep breathing. It feels toogood.
I nearly forgot that Sloane is still standing there when she yells, “Van! Let him go! Please!” Her voice cracks, and I don’t have to look her way to know that she’s crying. Doesn’t she realize that I’m trying toprotecther? Why the fuck is she crying overhim?!
I growl in response, but never take my eyes off my primary objective. I’m shaking, holding the guy up against the wall, debating with myself on whether I should listen to her. I don’t pause to analyze why I’m even considering it.
“Please.” Her voice shakes. “Please, just let him go. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let him touch me.” She’s moving closer to me now, and it causes me to flinch.
“Stay back, Sloane,” I snap, still shaking. Perhaps Professor Riven would be a better man, but I amnotProfessor Riven tonight. The guy in my hands is close to passing out now, his clawing and kicking growing weaker.
Sloane doesn’t budge. No. Instead, my little nightmare inches closer and closer, until her hand is resting on my arm. She speaks softly, “Van, it’s okay. Let him go. It’s okay. You’re … okay. I’m here.”
I feel my breathing and pulse start to slow at her words. The strangest sense of peace and hope finds me as a light in the darkness seeps into my mind. I choose to let him go. I squeeze a little harder until he’s fully out, letting him fall to the ground as I release him. I recoil into myself. My hands come up to my mask on reflex to run them through my hair, only to find the hood of my cloak instead. I pace the small hallway a couple of times in an attempt to understand what the fuck happened. I stop, leaning against the opposite wall of a now passed-out Chad or Brad, and let myself slide down it. To my surprise, Sloane moves to kneel in front of me with her hands on either of my knees.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay,” she assures me. I look up at her, expecting to see pity in thosefuckingeyes. All I see instead is … understanding. She moves beside me and sits back against the wall, bringing her knees to her chest as she rests her head on my shoulder.
I don’t know how long we’ll stay like this. All I know is that letting her go is going to bemuchharder than I thought.
22
