Sloane
That was strange.
It was as enjoyable as you would expect listening to a number one rock band would be, butodd. Yet, there was something so familiar about it. His voice, I could have sworn I’d heard it before. I struggle to find the right words for what I experienced when Lydia breaks my chain of thought.
“Wow, that was the most orgasmic thing my ears and eyes have ever witnessed. I think I’m in love.” I look at her and then double-take, because her eyes are glossy. Did she drink that much? No, we only had a few seltzers. She did all of the drink runs because she’s the one with the ‘get the fuck out of my way’ attitude, and I’m the one who’d rather not confront a few hundred crazy Reverb fans. I’ve never seen her eyes like this before. I can’t pinpoint exactly what I see in them, but it’s almost like she’s hypnotized. That’s ridiculous, though, right?
“Lyd,” I say, snapping my fingers in front of her face rapidly, “are you okay?”
“What?” she asks, still looking longingly at the stage with that weird-ass dazed expression on her face.
“I said, are you oka—
“Yes, of course, I’m fine. Why?” she answers, matter-of-factly. Suddenly, her eyes appear clear, like she’s back in the present with me. Except, IknowI saw something in them just a second ago. DidIhave too much to drink?
Something isn’t right. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it. I cansenseit. Something is going on here, and it’s not just the anonymity of a band. I feel even more driven to get to the bottom of this now. I’m practically buzzing with anticipation and with something else. Those pesky floodgates are threatening to barge open at any second.
“I’m gonna go to the restroom before we head out,” I say to Lydia, as I’m doing that bouncy thing people do when they can’t hold it a second longer.
She laughs. “Yeah, go ahead. I’m gonna meet you at the doors. I went when I grabbed our last round.”
I walk off through the now dwindling crowd, stepping around the empty cans, discarded arm bands, and a …used condom? Now that’s a mental picture worth a thousand words. I pass by the bar, make a left, and enter the long hallway to the restrooms. It’s soempty. Where is everyone? I’m speed walking down the hallway when a door opens to my left and a tall figure steps out. The person grabs my forearm and yanks me into a room, shutting the door with me inside. Before I can formulate a single thought, I’m pinned against the door by onelargehand wrapped around my throat and the other planted firmly against the door above my head.
“What the hell?” I grit out through clenched teeth before coming face-to-face with my assailant.
It’s him. It’sVan.
He’s still wearing his mask. This close, I can see all the fine details of it. The black color is so dark that it suffocates all of the hues surrounding it. I guess that’s the reason the fan base named him Vantros. The etched golden wings and the white crack through the middle of his right eye are so beautifully detailed, so intricate from this vantage point. My eyes trail down to the mouthpiece that is all black. My eyes linger, suddenly wondering what lies beneath it. I bring my gaze down a little further to see that he’s still wearing his black cloak that’s open to the front, exposing his perfectly sculpted chest. My cheeks heat as I stare up at hisverytoned abs sitting above averyperfect V. His faintly ripped black skinny jeans hang low on his waist.
I swallow. He feels it. His hand around my throat tenses ever so slightly. I berate myself for the temporary distraction when I should be in fight mode right now. Even flight mode would be better than my inability to stop eye fucking him. It’s nothim, I convince myself. It’s just the mask thing. So, what? I read a lot of dark romance, and I might have a bit of a mask kink.
I avert my gaze back to that mask, shoving at his chest to get away from him. He’s justsodamn big, though, and he barely budges. I blow air out through my nose and punch at his chest like an angry child. There’s a flicker of a low sound from his throat, almost like a laugh. Is heenjoyingthis? His breathing deepens as he tilts his mask to the right like he’s studying me. He removes his hand from the door and brings it down toward my hip, pausing. I think he might touch me, and I berate myself once more for kind of wanting him to.Ugh, stupid mask kink.
Then, all at once, he releases me and reaches around to open the door,walking out. I’m left standing there in the small room with nothing but my spiraling thoughts and a faintly familiar scent that tugs at my memory.
I storm out after him, ready to give him a piece of my mind and ask him what the hell his problem is. When I step into the hallway, it’s empty, apart from the darkness that seems to have swallowed him whole.
5
Riven
I only meant to frighten her a little. Maybe get her to second-guess whatever little work project led her to my show. I don’t know what I planned to do once I got her in that room, but what I didn’t plan for was how getting that close to her would make my skin crawl. The creeping sensation remains under my skin now, the sweet smell of jasmine and amber still consuming my senses. It’s an itch that suddenly needs to be scratchedreallyhard, maybe until the skin is raw and bleeding.
I haven’t felt this kind of need in a long time. It’s the kind of need that goes deeper than the bloodlust, deeper than the music. I know she felt it too. I saw it in the way she wasclearlychecking me out. I saw it in the way her full lips parted on a sharp inhale when my hand was near her skin. So close. I shake my head because that’s a road Icannotafford to go down. I send thosethoughts right back where they came from, right along with the sweat droplets that were traveling down her … nope.
Maybe my reckless thoughts can start a club together in the ‘do not open’ filing cabinet tucked into the far corner of my brain. Perhaps they can all sit around and snicker about how delusional I am. I’m almost certain that Sloane’s main purpose is to take me down, take Reverb down. I cannot,will not, let that happen. There’s also the whole frequency issue, and how she doesn’t seem to be affected by it like everyone else. I need to get to the bottom of that fast.
After every show, the guys and I have a debriefing with Sonus and the “boss lady,” also known as Sabel Matthews. Sabel is the CEO of Sonus Corp. More importantly, she’s a real pain in my ass. Every second that I have to spend in her presence is a second that I can never recover from. She has a way of sucking the very soul from a person. But, like I said, I don’t want to go to prison. So, Sabel it is.
I manage to get my shit together and let our driver know we’re ready to head out. I swing by our dressing room and walk in to let the guys know.
“Ready to head out?” I say to the guys.
“Yeah. Where were you?” Callum asks, walking out of the bathroom. He’s towel-drying his shoulder-length light brown hair, still damp from a shower.
“Needed a breather,” I lie.
He slaps me on the shoulder and grunts, “Gotcha,” before heading out the door. Cal is my childhood best friend. He’s a man of few words. All business, no play. He’s been like that since we were kids. Anytime I try to analyze him, dig into his past to figure out what made him this way, he shuts me down. I’ve since given that up. Cal is there when I need him, and he’s never let me down. So if he wants to brood for the rest of his life, I’ll let him.
