Having Sin as his bark is a gift I will ever tire of. He says my name as often as he can. Or he writes it, texts it, or prints it on the back of t-shirts. He constantly drives home the message—possession, when done right, is another form of loving a person.
His hand is warm as he leads me over the sea of chords, duct tape and sound boxes. The stage lights are blazing like the blistering summer sun, but he shines brighter still.
“My muse, y’all.” He spins me once before he walks me off the other side of the stage, right to where Dale waits.
Ryder presses his forehead to mine and despite the thin plastic separating us, I feel his touch.
I doubt there’s anything on earth that could keep us apart.
“You go back to the bus when you’re ready. I’ll be fifteen.”
“I’ll wait.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Shut up. Go sing me a song,” I tease, shoving him away.
Then, I’m struck by the realization that I’m actually here, in Koded’s world. Odd, considering I just paraded in front of the crowd at his latest sell out gig, but the feeling sticks. And I run with it, because it’s an incredible feeling.
He finishes with a selection of his newest songs. Each ofthem a glimpse into Ryder’s real life from Koded’s point of view. Honestly, it’s like being in love with another person hearing Koded’s lyrics. Either way, my heart beats for both sides of the one person.
I leave Koded to do the meet and greet after the concert. And that’s for his guests’ sake not mine. Having people that up close and personal with him unleashes a fury inside me which I’m a hundred percent sure is not something his VIPs paid money to see. I refuse to be a hindrance to his career. Returning to the tour bus is the most sensible option.
Nigel and Dale get into formation. One of them on either side, close enough to react but not so near we accidentally touch.
We don’t talk much as we leave the venue and walk out into the back area of the auditorium. The fencing and security remind me of the perimeter of a prison but there’s no complaints from me. The stories I’ve heard from the roadies and the stage manager about the extremes fans will go to is enough to make my head spin. Each venue is slightly different but ultimately very similar too. The reasons don’t change—protecting the artists is what it’s all about.
Once the bus has been thoroughly checked top to bottom, inside and out, they let me in. I can finally slip the mask off and start swiping the thick white makeup off my neck and throat.
My phone buzzes, and Dominic and Hendrix both appear as soon as I answer. “He was so good.”
“He was not the star of the show tonight.”
I laugh at Hendrix. “That’s not fair at all. You need to…”
“I’m not stroking his ego any more than I already have. I know he’s all the things his fans say. I tell him all the time. But I’m calling you, wanting to hearyourvoice.”
I smile at Hen before looking at Dominic. They both look anxious, tired. I don’t need to ask why; they alwayslook like that if we’re not together. “We’ll be home before morning.”
“Thank fuck,” Hendrix barks.
“How’s Noire? I didn’t think you were going in tonight.” Hendrix’s office at Noire is one of my favourite places. And it’s easy to see that both of them are calling me from there.
“Not here for long. Just long enough to throw our weight around, remind everyone who’s in charge,” Hendrix deadpans, making me laugh.
“Liar. Tell me why you’re there.”
Hendrix’s mouth falls open, and he looks at Dominic for answers.
Dom ignores him. “Amore Mio, you’re okay though?”
“Yes. I really am. Why should I be worried? Anything I need to know about?”
“Nothing important.” Dominic insists, his voice and mannerisms soft and quiet.
It’s been a balance of finding out what we each call important. Dom and I don’t always agree on the importance of some of the things he thinks are vital for me to know. My pack are excellent communicators, better listeners, and we’re finding a balance as we find our way. I’m in a good place.
“Nothing else?” I prompt.
