“She’s family,” I repeat, softer this time. “And she’s not the stalker.”
He doesn’t argue, but his hand brushes the small of my back—warm and steady. A silent promise: he’s got me. Even if he doesn’t like the variables.
I exhale, square my shoulders, and head back to the runway. Showtime’s coming. And so is whatever’s next.
EIGHT
MACK
I watch from the wings as Indigo glides down the runway one last time during the final rehearsal, her body a symphony of grace and confidence in that barely-there crimson lingerie set. The lights catch every curve, making her skin glow like she's lit from within. Damn, she's stunning. Not just the supermodel facade—the real her, the one who taunts me with that wicked smile and pushes all my buttons. A couple of days ago, I would've called it a distraction. Now? It's everything. I'm falling hard, and it's terrifying. But I can't look away.
The director, a wiry guy named Enzo with a clipboard and a perpetual scowl, claps his hands. "Perfect, Indigo! That's the strut—sexy, empowering, with just enough heart for Cupid City. Everyone, take five. Show starts in an hour. Wardrobe, double-check seams. Lights, sync the pyros. No screw-ups tonight!"
Indigo hops off the stage, robe slung over her shoulders but not tied, giving me a teasing flash of skin as she approaches. Her eyes sparkle with that mix of adrenaline and mischief. "How'd I look, bodyguard? Ready to steal the show?"
I step closer, my hand instinctively brushing her arm—protective, but also because I need the contact. "You look like trouble. The good kind." My voice comes out rougher than intended, laced with the heat from this morning. That shower... her moans echoing off the tiles, the way she begged. Fuck, I'm hooked.
She laughs, low and throaty, leaning into me just enough to make my pulse spike. "Flattery? From you? Careful, Mack, I might think you're going soft."
"Soft's the last thing I am around you," I mutter, glancing around to ensure no one's too close. The crew's bustling—hair stylists fluffing, makeup artists touching up—but eyes are on us. Optics. Fake couple. Except it's not fake anymore. Not after last night, when the dam broke and I couldn't keep my hands off her.
She bites her lip, eyes darkening. "Prove it later. After the show."
"Count on it." I pull her robe closed, fingers lingering. "But first, focus. Stay sharp."
Enzo rushes over, clipboard flapping. "Indigo, darling! One more thing—the finale pyro cue. We added a confetti burst at the end. Harmless, but timed to your pose. Mack, security's cleared it?"
I nod, though my gut twists at "confetti." After the bouquet, anything explosive sets me on edge. "Cleared. But I'll be right here if it goes sideways."
"Good man," Enzo says, patting my arm like I'm part of the team. "Heartline's got the perimeter locked. No creeps getting in tonight."
He scurries off, leaving us in a pocket of relative quiet amid the chaos. Indigo turns to me, her expression softening. "You okay? You look... intense."
I run a hand through my hair. "Just doing my job. But yeah, something feels off. Like the calm before a storm."
She squeezes my hand. "Hey, we've got this. You, me, your team. And after? You head off to that family mission. Your brothers are waiting."
The reminder hits like a punch. Nash's lead on Dad—after this, I'm out. But leaving her? The thought gnaws at me. "Yeah. About that..."
Before I can say more—tell her I want her to come with, or at least wait—her phone buzzes. She glances at it. "Vi. She's in her seat. Wired her the money earlier. Thanks for not freaking out too much about her showing up."
"Family's family," I say, but unease lingers. Viola's arrival was too random, too unvetted. I step away, pulling out my secure phone. "Gonna check in with Cass. Stay in sight."
She rolls her eyes but smiles. "Yes, sir."
I dial Cass as I move to a quieter corner backstage, eyes never leaving Indigo. She chats with a fellow model, laughing, but glances my way every few seconds.
Cass answers on the first ring. "Hawthorne. Showtime soon? Everything locked?"
"Rehearsals smooth. Last checks good—pyros vetted, perimeter secure. But Indigo's sister showed up unannounced today. Viola Lyric. Run a background?"
Cass types rapidly—I hear the keys. "On it. Give me a sec... Okay, pulling records. Twenty-five, no priors. Some minor stuff—traffic tickets, a disorderly from a bar fight three years back, but nothing red-flag. Lives nomadic, band life. Finances shaky, but clean. No ties to Derek Voss or Lila. Why the flag?"
"Gut feeling. She asked for money—band van broke down. Timing's off with the threats." I watch Indigo slip behind a screen to change, her silhouette teasing me. Falling for her means protecting everything around her. "Check her band members too. Names: She's with a group called Echo Riot. Drummer's Jay something, guitarist Lena Torres, bassist Rico Hale. Run them all."
Cass whistles low. "Thorough as ever. Alright, I'll dig. Could take a bit—deep dives on associates. Anything pops, I'll text you mid-show if needed. But Mack... you sound invested. More than the job."
I pause, glancing at the stage where techs test lights. "She's... different. Gets under my skin."
