Page 21 of Just Wait

I make it to the fence, or as close to it as I’m going to get.

It already has a row of massive bodies.

I lean between two men and search for Leon. He’s about twenty feet down the barrier, pushing back a couple of fans who are leaning over the metal bars.

My eyes widen as I realize most of the security guys that I recognize, or that would recognize me, are doing the same.

I’ve got a VIP badge on, but that won’t mean much if I can’t get anyone’s attention.

Are all Liminal fans this rabid?

An elbow lands against my ribs hard, and my head whips to the side just in time to get clipped in the cheek by an elbow as the guy next to me cheers.

Stumbling to the left, I try to put some distance between myself and that man, but someone else shoves in front of me to get as close to the railing as possible.

“Damn, you’re standing on my new shoes,” the guy at my left says, pushing me back to the right.

I’m a solid hundred and sixty pounds, but he shoves me like I weigh nothing. My side collides with one of the guys on the right’s elbow, and he connects hard enough that I lose my breath.

I’m pushed once again, and I end up between the guy who’s worried about his shoes and the fence.

I’ve seen rowdy crowds over the years when I went with my dad to some of his shadier shows, but I’ve never been trapped in the middle of one.

“Whoa, what the hell are you doing?” Kincaid asks. It’s an abrupt change from the lyrics he was singing. “All of you need to take a few steps back.”

“Come on, dickheads,” the bassist growls into his microphone. “There are women getting slammed around down there, and they don’t look happy about it.”

I think his name is Tennyson. He’s the one who took over bass when Drew left the band.

I twist a little and spot several other women mixed throughout the crowd, but at least one of them seems to be surrounded by her guys. Hopefully the others are with someone they trust. They’re all back pretty far compared to me so that should help ensure they’re okay. Anyone not in the VIP section would be fine, but this is a different level of chaos.

“Everyone up by the railing needs to chill.” Kincaid’s mask tilts as he addresses the crowd. It has no effect. “Do we need to come down there and teach you fuckers some common courtesy?”

“You must not want to hear the rest of our set.” Malcolm pulls off his guitar, tossing it to Tennyson.

He moves to the front of the stage and jumps down, landing on his booted feet in the cordoned-off area behind the blockade.

“Jesus, Mal,” Kincaid says before pulling off his guitar.

The crowd goes crazy.

It gets so loud, I pull my hands up to block my ears.

The shoving gets even more intense, and I breathe through the anxiety that I’m slammed with as everyone tries to get close enough to touch Malcolm and Kincaid.

Did they really think hopping off the stage was going to help?

Malcolm pulls his mask off, resting it on top of his head. He scans the crowd, like he’s getting his bearings now that he’s on the same level as the rest of us.

His blue eyes meet mine, and he rolls his shoulders back, stomping directly toward me.

“Back the fuck up,” Kincaid growls, coming to a stop a few feet down from where I am. I don’t know when he lost his mask, but his septum piercing glints in the light, and his blond beard is on full display. “Everyone, chill out, and we’ll do a few autographs before we jump back on stage.”

His instructions don’t help.

I’m slammed forward with even more force, and the metal bar squishes my tits while my hip bone bumps the lower level.

Malcolm ends up directly in front of me, but he looks over my shoulder, focusing on the pushy guy, who is now behind me.