“Do I look like I can’t take care of myself?” I lifted my chin in defiance and let out a little bit of Red. So what if I liked it a little too much that this intimidating boy looked as if he wanted to scoop me up and hide me away.
Protective.
Defensive.
Possessive.
“I just don’t get why you’d want to be down there on the floor when you could be back here with Shea, standing at the side of the stage. Best view in the house, baby.”
I scoffed. “Watching a video on my computer screen is a pretty good view, too, but you and I both know it’s not the same.”
“It’s a madhouse out there tonight,” he warned, as if that bit of information would sway me. “No doubt the pit’s gonna be crazy tonight.”
“Even better.”
He edged in closer. I sucked in a breath, as if I could inhale all the elements of this powerful man. Or maybe as if I could defend myself against them.
Because they were overwhelming.
Consuming.
I pressed back closer to the wall.
His voice was a grumble where he ran his mouth up and down my jaw. “Last thing I need to worry about while I’m on stage is my girl down there, getting trampled underfoot by a bunch of kids who just want to let go.”
My girl. My girl. My girl.
Could it be?
It felt so close.
Attainable.
This untouchable boy right within my reach.
My head rocked back against the wall, granting him better access as he started kissing a path up and down the sensitive flesh of my neck. He dug his fingers into my hips and pressed his already straining cock against my belly.
Well then.
“Are you trying to distract me?” I rasped toward the low ceiling, waffling between caving to whatever he asked of me and begging him to take me back to the dressing room.
“Whatever it takes,” he muttered against my skin. “Terrible, terrible sacrifice I have to make.”
“Right,” I drew out. Laughter that hinted at the giddiness his actions stirred within me tumbled up my throat. Finally, I managed to nudge him back, meeting those charcoal eyes. “I’ll be careful. I promise. I just…”
I chewed at my lower lip, wondering if he got it.
Mouth pressing into a thin line, he seemed to make a decision. With a resigned sigh, he gathered me into a hug. “I hear you, too,” he murmured.
Affection wound in my chest, my emotions all over the place as I looked up into the face of this man. This stunning, foreboding man who’d come to mean everything. Staring up at him was the girl who looked at the world with wide eyes and an anticipating, eager spirit.
One who felt as if she was at the verge of experiencing the good things that world had to give.
The thrill and the excitement and the steady hum.
All the while, those hard, hard lessons learned along the way flickered in the distance. In the recesses of my mind that weren’t all that rusty. They only fueled the rising flames.
“Lyrik,” Ash suddenly called from the end of the hall. “Get your ass over here, man. About time to go on.”
Lyrik shot me a menacing grin. “Don’t make me have to jump off that stage to kill anyone.” He pecked his mouth once against mine. “You know I will.”
Butterflies scattered and lifted and flew.
God.
“I’ll be sure to stay out of the line of fire.” I pushed up onto my toes, kissing him a little longer than he’d kissed me. “I’ll see you afterward.”
I followed Lyrik down the short hall of the music theater, gave a small wave to Shea who looked at me as if I were crazy as I passed by and headed to the entrance at the side.
So yeah.
Maybe I was a little crazy.
I was totally okay with that.
The bouncer stepped aside to let me through, and I bounded down the five stairs until I became just another indistinguishable face in the unruly crowd.
It was standing room only—everyone crammed together as they vied to get closer to the stage.
Excitement flared. I filled my lungs with it, making myself one with the living, thriving ring of energy spinning through the room.
Bright lights flashed from above the stage.
Anxious, the crowd surged.
Undaunted, I pushed and weaved, making my way through the mass of bodies trying to hold me back until I made it almost all the way to the front.
I took a spot just off to the side where I knew Lyrik would stand. Where his old black, much-loved guitar was propped on a stand in between two others.
Colored lights danced across the faces of the fans. Inciting and stirring.
With a thrust of his drumsticks in the air, Zee burst out onto the stage.
Shouts and yells lifted from the crowd.
Ash appeared next, and that energy sizzled. I felt it build around me, as bright and shimmery as the blue stage lights that twirled and throbbed.
It nearly exploded when Lyrik stepped out from behind the dark maroon curtains.
And that was all it took.
My breath was gone.
Knees weak.
Heart manic.
Pound.
Pound.
Pound.
He was smiling my favorite smile when he strode across the stage. The deadly kind. That arrogant, cocky boy who I’d run from for months was back in full force as he slung the strap of his guitar over his neck.
So powerful and bold.
Stunning.
A beautiful predator who with merely a flick of his finger summoned a flock of willing prey.
God, was I a fool, because I knew right then I adored that part of him, too.
Adored everything about him.
The danger and the dark.
The threat of those big hands.
The soft security of them when he held me in the night.
This convoluted, confusing man who amounted to something brilliant.
The crowd just about lost it when Sebastian stepped out, bringing the whole of Sunder standing before them.
No wonder Shea had lost herself to him.
For the briefest flash, the lights completely went dim. The sudden silence only added to the furor.
Energy held fast.
Baited.
Bottled.
Before blinding white spotlights blazed to life.
In that very second, Lyrik slammed into the first erratic chord.
The crowd broke into a riot. As if the ball of energy centered at the foot of the stage burst and rippled out, consuming everything in its path.
Bodies thrashed, bouncing together to the wild, harsh beat and the growling, aggressive lyrics Sebastian screamed into the mic.
I felt a partner to it. Yet elevated above it all as I watched the boy in front of me get lost in the words, in the melody he fed into his own mic, a rugged, razor-sharp edge added to the mayhem.
A dusky haze filtered through the space, and lights strobed as bodies flailed and writhed.
And Lyrik.
Lyrik somehow met my unfaltering gaze.
Dark, piercing eyes.
Penetrating.
Provoking.
As if I were the only thing he could see.
Drawn.
And I wondered if he, too, had felt it all along.
When Sunder finally exited the stage, I worked through the maze of bodies to the side entrance leading backstage. Some people stood around chatting as the bouncers tried to herd them toward the front doors. Others lingered, obviously hoping to get that highly coveted invite backstage.
I felt a twig of panic when wondering if the bouncer would recognize me.
That would just be awesome.
Me standing around out back like some kind of wannabe groupie, waiting for Lyrik to realize I wasn’t there. My phone was in my purse where I’d left it with his things in the dressing room. I didn’t even have a way to call him.
But I should have kn
own better. Lyrik was already there, greedy gaze meeting mine where he waited for me shadowed by the burly bouncer.
With a smile, I offered a couple “excuse me’s” as I shouldered through, not caring a bit that I was met with a slew of grumbles and hisses.
All I wanted was to get to my man.
My man.
Could he be? Could he be more than the two months he’d promised? More than this weekend that neither of us could define? Because after the weight of my realization at his parents’ earlier today, there was a piece of me that was imploring with myself to pin him down. To make him say the words I could so clearly read in his eyes.
With every step closer to him, emotion pulsed through my veins. But it was a new need unlike anything I’d felt before. As if all the fears and reservations and concerns I’d built up for years had suddenly been loosed and freed. Now they bounded forth like the spill of a waterfall, pouring, meshing, and uniting with the faith he’d created, breeding a flood of devotion that quickly rose to fill every crevice and hole.
Love. Love. Love.
“There you are,” he whispered as his big hand came out to grip me from behind my neck, to pull me forward and to kiss me as if he felt the magnitude of what swirled and tumbled through me.
“What’d you think?” he asked when he pulled away.
I clutched his sweaty shirt. “I think you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
He laughed a cocky laugh, grin sly as his hand skidded down my arm to my hand where he weaved his tatted fingers through mine, like maybe we were writing our own story. “Know I’m all kinds of irresistible, but I meant about the show.”
A playful grin flitted around my mouth. “I do believe you’ve been hanging out with Ash too much. I think he might be a bad influence.”
Lyrik laughed, this deep, melodic sound. He lifted a dark, incredulous brow. “You think it’s Ash who’s the bad influence?”
His smile softened as my expression drifted into something tender. It was impossible to keep it out.
“You already know what I think about the music,” I told him.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah…about your voice. About the way you wrap me up when you play. The way I don’t feel so alone when I’m surrounded by the words that feel almost like you wrote them just for me.”
I lifted a self-deprecating smile, Red so far gone I no longer remembered who she was or who I’d been so frantically trying to be.
“Pretty sad, huh, being that girl sitting all alone in her apartment, pressing play again and again to the same song, pretending this untouchable rock star was there and everything didn’t seem so bad anymore.”
He brushed his fingers through my hair, making my head tilt back as he looked down at me. “Not alone, Blue. Not anymore. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”
Didn’t I? I wanted to beg him as that flood whooshed into a white-capped wave of insecurity.
“Come on,” he said. “Four of us have a little tradition after each show. Want you there.”
“And what kind of tradition would that be?”
“Shots.”
“Surprise, surprise,” I mumbled, tone dry.
A smirk played at that delicious mouth, and he turned on his heel and started zigzagging us through the backstage crowd. I clasped my free hand around his wrist, refusing to let him go as I tried to keep up with his long, purposed stride. He gave my hand a squeeze, a silent reassurance that he had me, that he knew where I was.
That maybe he knew who I was.
I hear you.
His voice trembled through my spirit.
People clapped him on the back as we passed, and I took in the whole scene with wide-eyed exuberance.
Balancing on the ledge.
Ready to take that last step over the edge.
To jump.
Straight into a free fall.
Would he be there to catch me at the bottom?
“Great show, man,” one of the guys from the opening band said to Lyrik, slowing our progression as he blocked our path in the cramped hallway.
Heat permeated the space, the air dank and dim and thick. In amused appraisal, the guy’s brown eyes slithered down to where Lyrik’s and my hands were clasped.
“Where’s the twin?” he asked with a suggestive twist of his brow.
I cringed.
Wow.
That hurt worse than I thought it would.
But it was no secret or surprise. That was Lyrik’s style. In almost every picture I’d seen of Lyrik with a girl, there was never any girl about it. It was a pattern in the images captured by the paparazzi, in those snapped by fans.
Lyrik West was always draped in multiple women.
In them, his posture almost suggested he didn’t register they were there except for the fact he was getting ready to ravage and annihilate.
Spoil and loot and desolate.
Once he used them up, I was sure there was nothing left behind.
All except for the one I’d found in that picture.
“Fuck off, Brinks.” That was Lyrik’s only response as he jerked me back into movement. My gaze turned in time to follow the guy’s shocked expression staring back at us as Lyrik wound me deeper into the darkened maze.
I guess I was a little shocked too.
And a whole lot relieved.
Lyrik said a few hellos as he walked into one of the reception rooms backstage that had been close to empty when we’d walked through it earlier this afternoon.
Tonight it was packed, overflowing with a crush of people plastered against every wall, some voices loud and raucous, the center of attention, others obviously ill at ease and having no clue what to do with themselves.
Heavy metal blared from the speakers, only adding to the chaotic vibe that vibrated the floors and climbed the walls.
For the most part, Lyrik barely lifted his chin in acknowledgment of someone calling his name, those competing for his attention, this dangerous, volatile man seemingly unaffected and aloof.
He led us to the very back where a bar was set up.
Here, most of the people in the room held back, giving us space.
Anthony appeared off to the side with a grin on his face. He clapped Lyrik on the shoulder. “Lyrik, it’s good to see your face. Feel good to be back in town?”
“Sure thing,” Lyrik said with a little less enthusiasm than someone might anticipate.
Anthony turned his gaze on me, appraising again, but where the asshole back in the hall had been exactly that…an asshole…Anthony’s assessment was soft and without judgment. Just…curious.
“Nice to see you again, Tamar.”
“Nice to see you, too.”
Ash squeezed through, bounding onto the scene, always larger than life, cutting off any further conversation. “Anthony, how’s it going, man? You outdid yourself this time. Sold out. Guess we can’t ask for better than that, now can we?”
“Hell yeah,” Sebastian agreed as he sidled up to the bar, his hand wrapped up in Shea’s, refusing to let her go.
She eyed me with a knowing smile.
Crazy, huh?
I shook my head with a smile, thinking it truly was crazy, that Lyrik had me wrapped up kind of the way Sebastian had Shea.
Staunch and resolute.
That I was here, and for the moment I was his.
That whole feeling fluttered through me again. The promise of something good.
Stupid, stupid girl.
Because that thrill trembled with the consequences of leaving myself susceptible and weak.
Right then, I wasn’t sure I could much make myself care anymore. Wasn’t sure I could conjure the fight.
I squeezed Lyrik’s hand, turned my nose to his arm so I could breathe him in.
Maybe it was better to hurt and bleed and cry than to be vacant and alone.
Maybe fear wasn’t such a horrible thing, after all.
Ash leaned over the bar and helped himself to a bottle of Jack, l
ined up a long row of shot glasses, and set to pouring the amber liquid across them.
I felt the curve lifting at the corner of my mouth. “You’re making me feel like a slacker, you pouring the drinks while I stand over here pretending like I don’t have a thing in the world to do. You sure you don’t want a professional to handle that?”
Ash cracked up with a shake of his head, his blue eyes sly as they cut across to me. “Ah now, my Tam Tam…I do appreciate the gesture…”
His attention kept sliding until it landed on the side of Lyrik’s profile, Lyrik’s head inclined so he could hear whatever Anthony was saying, clearly paying us no mind.
Ash flicked his attention right back to me. “Think you have plenty to keep you busy. My boy there is a handful. Wouldn’t want to leave you at a disadvantage.”
He said it like a tease, but I didn’t miss the undercurrent of warning that made its way into his words.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, accepting the glass he passed my way.
“I know you will.”
Ash nudged Lyrik’s arm, and Lyrik turned from his conversation and took the shot glass Ash offered. Everyone seemed to know their routine, each taking a step back or closer, huddling until they’d made a small circle of friends.
These boys who’d always seemed so bad.
The ones who’d shaken my axis the second they’d invaded Charlie’s bar, because they’d ushered in this black-haired, broken boy who would steal my world.
A beautiful storm.
Still holding my hand, Lyrik slanted me one of his deadly grins and a wink.
My insides went haywire.
A sizzle and a snap.
Ash lifted his glass. “To the future of Sunder. May all our roads be paved in gold and may badass songs continue to pour from our souls. Oh yes, and may there always be lots and lots of girls.”
He grinned like the Cheshire and tossed back his shot.
Shea smacked him on the chest. “Hey.”
He deflected, jumping back and trapping her hand against him. “Don’t worry, Beautiful Shea. We know Baz Boy here is locked down tight. No worries. Just leaves more for the rest of us.”
Tugging her hand away, she pointed at him. “I still have two hundred bucks saying you’re going to be filling up that house with a herd of little Ashes. I’ve got your card, buddy. This girl needs a new pair of shoes.”
Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3) Page 27
