NINE
INDIGO
The world explodes into pandemonium—screams ripping through the air, lights strobing wildly, confetti swirling like a blizzard mixed with something sharper, deadlier. One second I'm on the runway, striking my finale pose in the spotlight, feeling invincible with Mack's eyes on me from the wings. The next, his massive body slams into mine, tackling me off the stage like a human shield. We hit the ground hard, his arms caging me protectively, his breath hot against my ear, "I got you."
But then chaos swallows us whole. People surge everywhere. Models scramble backstage. The crew shouts as audience members bolt for the exits. Alarms blare, piercing and relentless. Mack's weight lifts off me as he rolls to his feet, gun drawn, scanning the frenzy. "Indigo, stay down!" he bellows, but a stampede of panicked VIPs crashes between us, shoving me sideways. I reach for him, fingers grazing his sleeve, but bodies flood the gap, and suddenly he's gone, swallowed by the madness.
"Mack!" I yell, heart slamming against my ribs. What the hell is happening? Was that real shrapnel in the confetti? My mindraces but it's all a blur. I scramble up, robe half-off, lingerie exposed, but who cares? Fear claws at my throat, cold and sharp. I need to find him. He's my anchor in this nightmare, the grump who's become my everything in such a short amount of time. God, I'm falling so hard—his dirty whispers this morning, his rare smiles, the way he protects me like I'm his world. I can't lose him now.
Pushing through the crowd, I dodge a toppling light rig, my bare feet slipping on scattered petals and glitter. "Viola!" I shout instinctively—my sister's out there somewhere. Front row. If this is targeted at me, she could be in danger too.
A hand grabs my arm. I whirl, ready to fight, but it's Viola, her face pale, eyes wide with panic. "Indie! Come on, we gotta get out!"
"Vi!" Relief floods me, but it's short-lived. I clutch her hand, pulling her toward what I think is a side exit. "Where's Mack? Did you see him?"
"Who? Your bodyguard guy? No—everything went to shit!" She's shaking, her leather jacket askew, but she tugs me along. The crowd thins as we veer into a service corridor, away from the main hall. It's dimmer here, emergency lights flickering. My pulse thunders—something's wrong. It’s too quiet. "This way. There's a door!"
We burst through, into a loading dock alley behind the venue. Cool night air hits my skin, but before I can gasp in relief, shadows detach from the walls. Men—three of them, hooded, moving fast. One's familiar… Rico, Vi's bassist from the band. Tall, tattooed arms, that sleazy grin I've seen in her tour photos. What the?—?
"Grab 'em!" Rico snarls, voice low and vicious. His goons lunge, and one clamps a hand over Viola's mouth, hauling her backward. The other seizes me by the waist, lifting me like I'm nothing. I kick wildly, nails raking his arm. "Get off me! Help!"
"Shut her up," Rico growls, zip-tying Vi's wrists as she struggles. "He wants 'em both."
He?Derek? Someone working with Lila? My mind spins, terror icing my veins. This is it—the stalker. And Rico's in on it? Betraying my sister? Anger boils over the fear—how dare he? I elbow my captor hard, hearing him grunt, but he's too strong. They drag us toward a black van idling at the curb, doors yawning open like a mouth.
"No!" I scream, trying my best to twist out of his grip. Viola's muffled cries break my heart. She's terrified, eyes pleading with me. I hold her gaze, squeezing her hand one last time before they wrench us apart. "Vi, it's okay… hold on!"
As they shove me toward the van, my hair ribbon loosens—a red satin thing from wardrobe. I yank it free discreetly, letting it flutter to the ground behind me. A breadcrumb. Mack's smart. He'll find it. He has to. Tears sting my eyes. I’m scared, so damn scared, but I cling to hope. He's coming. My protector, my lover. I've fallen in love with him—the way he growls my name, and how he holds me like I'm precious. I need to see him again, feel his arms, hear him promise it'll be okay.
They toss us into the van's back—hard metal floor, no seats, zip ties biting into my wrists. The doors slam shut as the engine roars to life. Darkness engulfs us as we peel out. I scoot to Viola, wrapping my bound arms around her as best I can. She's sobbing quietly. "Shh, Vi. Mack'll find us. He will."
But inside, fear whispers: What if he doesn't? What if this is it? I hold her tighter, praying for the man who's stolen my heart. Come find me, Mack. Please.
The van lurches forward,tires screeching as we peel out of the loading dock alley. Every bump jars my body against the cold metal floor, the zip ties cutting deeper into my wrists with each jolt. Darkness presses in thick and suffocating—no windows, no light except the faint red glow from the dashboard bleeding through the partition. My heart hammers so violently I can taste it in my throat.
Viola’s curled against me, her face buried in my shoulder, silent sobs shaking her small frame. She’s trembling harder than I’ve ever felt her, even when Mom used to scream at us after a lost pageant crown. I pull her closer until our foreheads touch. Her tears soak through the thin lace still clinging to my skin.
“Shh, Vi,” I whisper, voice cracking. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
But inside, I’m screaming.
Fear isn’t quiet anymore—it’s a roaring, clawing thing tearing through my chest. Every breath feels stolen, every second stretches into eternity. What if they kill us? What if they hurt her? My little sister—the one who used to steal my lip gloss and cry when I yelled at her for it—is shaking in my arms because of me. Because someone wants to hurt me and she got caught in the crossfire.
Rico’s voice drifts back from the front, low and smug, talking to the driver. “Told you she’d come running for the kid sister. Easy pickings.”
Rage surges so hot it burns away some of the terror. I want to lunge at the partition, claw through it, rip his throat out with my teeth. But I can’t. I’m helpless—half-naked in lingerie and a robe, wrists bound, no phone, no weapon. Just me and Viola and the sickening certainty that this is real. This is happening.
Tears spill over before I can stop them. Hot, furious, terrified. I press my lips to Viola’s hair, breathing her in—cigarette smoke, cheap shampoo, the faint strawberry from the Misfit gum she always chews. She’s still here. She’s still breathing. That’s what matters.
“Mack’s coming,” I murmur against her temple, more to convince myself than her. “He’ll find us.”
The words feel like a prayer and a promise at the same time.
God, Mack.
His name alone cracks something open inside me, raw and aching. I see him in flashes: the way his jaw clenched when he first tackled me off that stage, shielding my body with his own like it was instinct. The rare, crooked smile he gave me this morning in the shower when I teased him about being soft. The rough timbre of his voice when he growled my name while he was inside me, claiming every inch like I belonged to him. The way he kissed me backstage right before the show—like he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into that single moment.
I’m in love with him.
