“Can I get your autograph?”
“Can I have a selfie?”
Most people don’t even ask permission for photos anymore, so I pause and smile next to the young alpha, who looks close to fainting. My face feels like a wax sculpture as I scribble a few signatures onto items that are thrust into my direction. Ordinarily, I’d stroll right past, but I don’t want to jeopardize my place as a student here, needing to make sure Dean Rivers is happy with my performance.
“Time to go.” Nash’s strong hand grips my shoulder. “Come on.”
“No!” Desperate, clawing hands lunge for me as he hauls me inside. “Come back!”
“Enjoy the show!” I wave goodbye, a wave of calm washing over me as me, Nash, and two other security guards enter the safety of Club Knotty.
Although the door slamming behind us blocks out most of the noise, Nash rubs his ear and winces. “I should have worn earplugs.”
The club manager and sound guy come up to greet us, going over the plans for the show. I snuck in to do a soundcheck yesterday, and everything is already set up. This is the first show I’ve done without Brad and Drew in years, so naturally, there’s a lot of interest. It also means that things are going to have to be a little different than the usual theatrics that’ve become synonymous withPack Fire’sperformances. Instead of a full band, cringe-worthy dance routines, and thousands of dollars of special effects—from fire to fog to the time we had a flying jet ski—it’s going to be stripped back. Raw. Just me, a single spotlight, and my acoustic guitar.
“I could do with a drink,” I say.
“Coming right up!” an assistant chirps, hurrying away and returning seconds later with a beer.
I wave it away. “Do you have anything stronger?”
I run my thumb over my worn guitar pick as Nash’s gaze burns into me. I’ve sung at the largest venues in the world in front of thousands of fans, yet a small club performance feels more paralyzing. I need something to take the edge off.
When the assistant returns with a bottle of whiskey and a glass, I take the bottle from her and take a swig.
“What?” Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I spin to see Nash shaking his head. I shouldn’t take my anger out on him, but I can’t help it. “If you have something to say, say it.”
He raises his hands in defeat. “You do you, Jagger.”
The whiskey burns my throat like liquid fire, hitting my empty stomach and searing away the hollow knot in my gut to dampen my nerves. Tonight’s performance is going to be all about my voice and the guitar. I’m bearing my soul for her, so I hope she’s listening.
“Jagger.” A guy who looks like a pirate joins us, flanked by another security guard. “I’m Rook, and this is Damon.” Rook gestures to the alpha by his side with shaggy, brown shoulder-length hair and a sulky expression. “We’re responsible for keeping everyone safe tonight and making sure no one gets too crazy.”
Nash snorts. “With Jagger, everything is crazy.”
Rook points out the entrances and exits, explaining the plans for getting me out in an emergency, but I tune him out, taking another swig from the bottle.
When Damon checks his ringing phone, an image flashes over the screen of a pretty, smiling girl who looks vaguely familiar. “I’ll be right back. It’s Faye. I asked her to call when they’re about to arrive.”
While he steps away to answer the call, I rack my brain, trying to recall where I recognize her from. Then it hits me, my pulse skyrocketing.
After our chat atThe Valley Voice, I might have stalked Kady’s social media profile for any hints of Delilah. Although I can’t access Delilah’s profile directly—presumably because she blocked me—I did see her in a few of Kady’s photos, smiling while baking or posing with friends. And that girl was in one of them.
“Faye!” I blurt when Damon returns, making his eyes narrow in suspicion. “She’s your omega, right?”
Damon crosses his muscled arms. From his expression, it’s clear that he’s not my number-one fan. “And?” His voice comes out in a rumble.
“She’s coming here, right?” While hope builds in my chest, I see Nash’s shoulders straighten, wondering where I’m going with this. “Is Delilah with her?”
“That’s none of your business.” Damon huffs noncommittally. “My job is to make sure that no one hurts you. Nothing more.”
“Is she coming?” I grab Damon’s arm. “Please, tell me! I need to know.”
Damon’s nostrils flare in a silent warning. Grabbing an alpha is a no-fucking-go unless you want your face re-arranged, but I’m desperate. His alpha scent intensifies, becoming heavy, letting me know I’m crossing the line. When his forearms tense, I quickly release him before he can wrench my arm straight out of my shoulder socket.
Rook laughs nervously. “Why don’t you go outside to wait for Faye, pussycat? I’ve got things covered here for now.”
Damon gives me one more menacing look before stomping away.
