Then there is the small issue: I don’t date. I’ve never had a boyfriend, or a girlfriend for that matter. The idea of giving my everything, letting another person into my deepest crevices, my darkest corners, and allowing them to see it all terrifies me.
I’ve seen what that kind of love can do. I watched my mother sell her body for drugs to feel the tiniest bit of affection from men. It was me who picked up the fractured pieces of my best friend’s heart and helped rearrange it into a semblance of what it used to be when a man broke her.
I keep my connections physical, soft kisses and hard fucks. I keep them hidden in a place veiled by shadows, somewhere so deep that only I know where to look or have the ability to peer into the depths.
All I have to do is ask.
That’s much easier said than done.
Seth
RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL
“What time are y’all switching shifts tonight?” Sin has a hand braced on the bathroom countertop as she leans forward in the mirror, swiping shiny gloss across her lips. She rubs her lips together before parting them with a loud pop. “You should come out with us. It’ll be good times.” She hobbles past me, almost falling in the foyer as she pulls on yet another pair of custom Converse tennis shoes.
“What makes you think I want to spend my downtime with you jokers?”
Her eyes snap up to mine in the mirror that hangs over the entry table, brows knitted together in a frown. Aiden summed this girl up beautifully; she’s certainly the little sister I never knew I wanted and opposite of everything I anticipated. I expected self-absorbed. I expected rude. I anticipated dealing with a woman who had unattainable demands. Sin is definitely not those things.
She’s not exactly shy. If I had to use a word it’d have to be introverted but when she gets on stage, my God, I’ve never seen anything like it. The quiet girl who would rather sit in a hotel room with three overgrown men, not including me or Aiden, having what equates to a slumber party where she and her bandmates watch gory action flicks and eat shit that makes my stomach curl—that girl isn’t the same person who gets on that stage night after night and dazzles an arena of thousands.
I’ve had to severely adjust my expectations since arriving here. We’ve all heard the crazy stories about bands on the road. The drug-fueled parties that last for days, and the groupies milling around backstage or traveling with the band. I anticipated Sodom and Gomorrah; what I got is a John Hughes movie. There have been no drug binges or drunken depravity, with the exception of Dan. I found him getting a blow job in a stairwell, fucking on his drum kit, and having a threesome in the dressing room, all in the course of a week. That was interesting, but shocking and over the top? Hardly. I was in the Marine Corps. Take a bunch of testosterone-filled, twentysomething-year-old men, who have been cooped up on a ship or isolated in the desert for months and see what happens when you set them loose in a city. I’d bet big money that servicemen’s activities would give any rock band a run for their money.
Sin City’s schedule isn’t just hectic, it’s ambitious. It looks something like this: wake up, head to the venue, sound check, eat at a restaurant, go to the hotel, head back to the arena, maybe eat the catered food at the venue, do all the PR meet-n-greet shit for the sponsors and fans, concert, and finally go back to the hotel. Throw in an interview here or there, traveling to get to the next destination, and you might have an idea. I’ve been with them for a little over a month, and I’ve only spent fifteen of those days asleep in a bed. Granted if I’m working, I’m not sleeping, but their schedule is like worse than the hours I kept while deployed to a war zone. So, I completely understand why they’re not partying every night, even if it is unexpected.
Instead, they bicker like siblings and hang out like preteens. Miles, the bassist, is the serious one. From what I can gather he’s been with the same girl for a while, and the only time tension lifts off his narrow shoulders is when he sees Kisha’s face on Skype. Then you have Dan, the drummer, the class clown, and comic relief. The one who always gets the eyes rolling and laughter started. He’s hands down the most entertaining one on this tour. Sin is the lead singer, songwriter, and rhythm guitarist. She is their heartbeat. The person whom they gather around. The reason they feel like family. Then there’s Adam, the lead guitarist and Sin’s songwriting partner. Their leader. The one they look toward to make everything right.
“What’s the plans for tonight?” I relax my stance, letting my arms fall from their normal crossed position as I watch Sin pull an overly large, old-school MTV sweatshirt over her head. The thing immediately falls down, exposing her shoulder. Aiden mentioned in last night’s briefing that Sin and the boys had plans to hit the town tonight.
“Bowling.”
“Like some rock star edition or like normal bowling? You know, like senior citizens in matching shirts and rented shoes, with multicolored chipped balls, and warped lanes?”
“I think it’s probably somewhere in the middle.” She laughs. “Our friend Indigo took us to O Golpe de Sorte the first time we came to Brazil during our first international tour, and it’s been a tradition ever since. The VIP lanes are super chill. There’s normally a kickass DJ, a premium stocked bar, and the lanes are secluded in a private area where no one gives a good goddamn who we are,” Sin states matter of fact.
“Not a good goddamn,” I say, laughing.
“You coming or not?” She gives me a nonchalant shoulder lift, but her eyes are intent on my face. This is what I’ve been waiting for with her. An invitation to the inner circle. I don’t need her trust to do my job, but it would make things a whole hell of a lot easier.
On our last day in Japan, Sin left her room in the middle of the night to hit the vending machine. She noticed a man whom she said just didn’t feel right. He was on a private floor only accessible by keycard, but he wasn’t wearing a uniform. So, she hightailed it back to her room and called Adam—not me, not Aiden, but Adam. The one member of the band who looks at security like a nuisance because it forces him to redefine the role he’s played for the last several years.
He, of course, ran out of his room like Captain Save-a-Sin with his cape flowing behind him, but came up with nothing. However, a present wrapped in white paper and a red bow was left outside her door. By the time they looped us in, the guy was long gone, and we were left playing catch-up.
On the hotel security cameras, it was clear Ian Foster, Sin’s very real, very sadistic stalker, not only managed to find out what hotel we were staying in, but also finagled his way onto our floor. If that motherfucker had gotten his hands on her there’s no telling what he would’ve done.
From what I’ve been able to find out, Ian Foster is an only child born to parents who were well past their prime when he was born. He was a pedestal child and given everything he wanted, when he wanted it. When he hit the college campus, one of the things he wanted was Sin. He’s been fixated on her since they both attended UNLV. If you line up their transcripts, they look identical. Every class, every elective shared for four years. To Sin he was nothing more than a face passing in the hall, but she was and still is his focus.
When the band started to tour, he left his job as a front desk manager for a mid-size hotel on the Strip. We can’t prove it, but we think he may have facilitated the premature death of his roommate to collect insurance money which he used to pay for nonstop travel to follow the band around. The first time he got arrested was at a Sin City concert when club security refused to let him backstage. It was the first of many, many arrests. About eight months ago his behavior started to escalate. Rumors that Adam and Sin were getting married finally pushed him over the edge, but this fucker is nuttier than squirrel turds.
After exhausting every possible lead, we finally get back to my room at three, maybe four in the morning to deal with that fucking box, which had started leaking dark, crimson fluid. It was spilling all over the desk in the suite. The bow had lost some of its volume and the white wrapping paper was dyed bright red by
the liquid oozing from the box.
“Is that goddamn box bleeding on the table?” Aiden snaps.
“That would be my guess,” I reply, getting closer to the table.
“Get Adam’s ass in here,” Aiden barks. “He needs to see this. Maybe he’ll pull his head out of ass and realize this isn’t amateur hour. He can either get on board with security or I swear I will roll this motherfuckin bus square over is stubborn ass. This is the last time, the last fucking time, we are the last people to find some shit out.”
“Let me talk to him, A. Right now, I don’t trust you not to choke him out. Take a breath, mellow out. Call the fucking police so they can document the evidence and maybe request a hazmat team before we get a disease just from breathing the same air as whatever is in that box,” I say, walking toward the door, slipping the cell phone out of my pocket, and hitting the quick dial button for Adam.
He answers on the first ring. “Did you find him?”
“Nah, we didn’t but let me holla at you for a minute,” I say in a calm voice that belies my irritation.
“Of course. Where?”
“Just step out of your room.”
His door immediately opens, and he steps into the hallway, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and hair tousled.
“What happened?”
“We didn’t get him. That’s what fucking happened. We’ve been hired to do a job. Our job is to protect Sin and, by default, that means we have to protect all of you. To do our jobs successfully we need you to stay out of our way.” I’m yelling by the time I finish. He doesn’t even bat an eyelash.
“I’ve been taking care of Sin since we were kids. I can . . .”
“No, Adam, you can’t. This shit is way beyond dealing with a playground bully. If you knew even half the shit Ian Foster has tried over the last year,” I practically growl.
“I know enough to know . . .”
I shake my head because he doesn’t know shit. Aiden’s been keeping it from him, from all of them.
“Come with me,” I snap, turning down the hallway, stopping at my hotel room door. The whole problem with Adam is he doesn’t believe fat meat is greasy. He needs to see proof and, lucky for me, I have it in the form of a bloody box in my room. When we enter, Aiden is standing at the table, the big bow crushed in his hand and the paper torn from the box. The lid wrapped in duct tape and plastic sits on the floor. The package looks like some of the improvised explosive devices I saw during combat in Afghanistan.
I told Aiden to wait until the cops got here. I should have known better.
Adam and I approach Aiden, who seems to be fixated on the contents and, when we get close, I find out why. Inside the box is a mangled heart. After closer inspection I realize it’s actually two different animal hearts that have been crudely sewn together. A note scrawled in sloppy writing that reads i’ll fix what he broke is nailed to the disgusting Frankenstein heart with a straight pin through the center.
I turn my head to look at Adam and he’s gone pale.
“Get a good look, Adam. Shit like this is why we all need to be on the same page. Understand?” He turns his haunted eyes to me, slowly nodding.
“How the fuck did he get up here?” Aiden says in a low growl. Almost to himself. “And on that note, how in the ever-loving fuck did he know where we were staying? We’re all under aliases. We didn’t check in until right before we got here.” Aiden’s questions are rhetorical, but the incident makes it clear we need to tighten our shit up if we are going to keep the band and especially Sin safe.
When I was in the military, I had to train my men to trust their guts, to listen to the primitive instinct that activates the fight-or-flight response. Sin has no problem reading a situation and trusting her feelings. If there was anything good that came from her upbringing it’s that. She’s seen bad things happen to good people and knows that a predator doesn’t have to have horns and a tail to create a hell on earth.
As savvy as Sin may be at reading people and situations, the only person she turns to when shit gets hairy is Adam. I need her to turn to me, and to tell me all the things she reserves for him. If going bowling with her and boys will facilitate that then I’ll be the Dude from The Big Lebowski.
“I gotta makes some calls and take care of a couple things.” Like trying to figure out how the creepy motherfucker figured out where we were staying. “But I’ll slide through later.”
The smile that splits her face is big and bright, and her signature dimples dent her cheeks in twin locations. “It’ll be fun. You’ll see,” she says with a wink, slipping the key card for the hotel room into her back pocket.
O Golpe de Sorte is way more nightclub than bowling alley. It’s nothing like nondescript, often dilapidated buildings my mom and dad frequent for the senior tournaments on Saturday mornings. It’s ten minutes past midnight, and there is still a line wrapped around the building. If this is what a bowling alley looks like on a Saturday night, I’d hate to see a nightclub.
I skip the line, shooting Aiden a text as I approach the entrance. Heads turn my way as Aiden’s broad shoulders appear in the doorway and he escorts me inside.
“You find it okay?”
“Yeah. But I drove one of the cars. The wait for a taxi this late was almost an hour. They good?”
“Miles left a little while ago with the youngest security guard, Joey. Kisha’s flying in tomorrow morning. And the others are in there attempting to bowl.”
“Finally. I’m not a fan of pussy and even I know his level of whipped can’t be healthy.”
“True that. But it is what it is. Nah what I mean?”
“Yeah . . . no.” I shake my head, laughing.
Inside, the interior is a lot bigger than it appears from the outside. A live DJ spins on a lifted platform in the corner, two bars sit parallel on separate walls at either end of the enormous room, and people mill around the highboy tables and booths that dot the space by the actual bowling lanes.
I follow Aiden down a darkened corridor. We stop at a door guarded by two men who look like pro MMA fighters; mean mugs and ripped muscles in stretched T-shirts included. Aiden flashes something and they both nod, parting heavy black curtains to reveal a glass door. The door slides open as Aiden and I walk through.
The members of Sin City are easily recognizable. They have the far two lanes, at the far end of the room. A glass wall separates this room from the other. I can see swaying bodies moving together on a dance floor and bowlers approaching the line to throw the ball. Preoccupied, I don’t notice Sin until she’s right in front of me waving her hand in my face.
“Earth to Seth. You in there?”
“What?” I blink a couple of times.
“There he is.”
Her gaze follows mine to the people on the other side of the glass wall, and she tilts her head toward a couple making out against the see-through surface, oblivious to the audience.
“It’s one way,” she says. “They can’t see us.”
I release a relieved breath. The idea of so many people having access to Sin City is just . . . I don’t like it.
I take in the space. There’s a small bar tucked in the corner, a dance floor with lighted panels, music piped in from the DJ, and the other lanes are filled with people I recognize as famous, but I don’t know from where or what profession. Sin links her arm through mine, pulling me toward our group.
“You ready to play?” she asks on a giggle.
I see someone is feeling good. I look at Sin for a second, noting her glassy eyes, dilated pupils, and giddy smile. She’s feeling real good right about now. For the last month or so she’s been on edge. It’s good to see her so relaxed and enjoying herself.
“I need to get shoes.”
She shakes her head. “The concierge will come by the table, get your size, and have them dropped off. Are you any good at bowling? My team is getting spanked.”
“I can hold my own.” I look at the scoreboard. “Are you the sandbagge
r?”
“I have no idea what that even means.”
“It’s the person who purposely keeps their score low to get a higher handicap.”
“You can have a handicap in bowling? Tell me more. Will it help me beat Adam?”
At the mention of his name I look up to find his laughing eyes on Sin. They flit briefly to mine before turning away, but that glance, short and sweet, charged with the energy from a hundred looks before it, singes the air between us.
“C’mon, Seth. Let’s go kick their asses. You’re my secret weapon. These fools won’t know what hit ’em.”
An hour later Sin has a W solidly under her belt. And our group has dispersed to various corners of the room and parts unknown. It makes me antsy not to know immediately where each member of the band is located.
I’m not on duty, and I trust the men on my team to guard them the same way I would.
Sin is on the dance floor, arms twined around Rivaldo Silva, one of Brazil’s biggest soccer stars. They apparently know each other from a photo shoot they did a while ago. It’s hard not to stare at the two of them. They are a study in opposites, one soft, the other hard. One all straight lines, long and lean, the other all curves. His skin is a gold that comes from hours spent in the sun and is a direct contrast to her burnished, deep sable hue. They move together seamlessly, his hips rocking with hers, his hands touching her with a familiarity only found under the sheets between lovers.
Which is an interesting development, considering Sin told me she’d given up on dick since before the band recorded Exquisitely Broken. So why is she all booed up on the dance floor? Basically, dry humping this dude like she’s trying to get hers in the middle of a crowded dance floor. I can’t put a finger on it, but something about him makes me wary.
I look at Aiden standing just off the dance floor from my perch at the bar. I’m seventy percent sure he has a crush on her, and if his squinted eyes and clenched jaw aren’t enough of an indication, his getting ready to walk into the middle of all those swaying bodies and pull them apart definitely is. My muscles tighten, ready to grab him if need be, but he walks past the couple. Purposeful strides, not stopping until Sin is no longer in his line of sight. He stops in front of her companion’s bodyguard.
Exquisitely Hidden: A Sin City Tale Page 4
