Tattoos & Tears (Complete Collection)

by Amiee Louise

  You can do this, Newbolt.

  We have performed the first half of our gig, and after the shaky start, I found my stride. I channelled my inner showman and gave the performance of my life, even though my heart and my head were somewhere else. I fly off stage, removing my earpiece and throwing it in the direction of the nearest stagehand.

  “Sam, I don’t know what happened, we don’t know where she is. She forgot her phone and her bag.”

  Cole keeps up with my stride.

  “Where’s my girl, Cole? Where the fuck is she? She sent me a fucking text saying she would definitely meet us here,” I growl at Cole. “You were supposed to be watching her, for fuck’s sake!” I shout. “How hard is it to keep your fucking eyes on her, Cole? Find her!”

  A passing stagehand hands me a towel and a bottle of water.

  Right now, I could do with something a lot stronger than water.

  “Mate, you need to calm down. I’ve got my best men on it. They’re looking for her as we speak, and I’ve sent Jace back to Lucas’ house to look for her, just in case something happened.”

  He talks into the headset. How the fuck can I keep calm?

  “Try and calm down, Sam, please, we’ll find her, you have my word,” he repeats and strides off. I walk down the corridor and J.D runs to catch up with me.

  “Sam, Sam, slow down, mate, bloody hell.”

  I fling the dressing room door open and flop down on the sofa.

  “Sam, there’s been a delivery for you.”

  I look up at him.

  “I haven’t ordered anything, J.D, what the fuck?”

  He hands me a folded piece of paper with a DVD disc tucked inside it.

  “It was hand-delivered.”

  He shrugs. I take it from him and unfold the note. My blood runs cold from what I see in front of me. On the note in large black lettering is ‘Play this during An Angel’s Kiss, or Peyton dies’. I put my hand to my mouth to stop myself from throwing up at the words.

  “What the fuck? Who gave this to you, J.D?”

  He looks at me.

  “It was hand-delivered to me outside the venue, by a man on a motorbike wearing a motorcycle helmet, I couldn’t see his face. I’m sorry, Sam, that’s all I can tell you.”

  My eyes widen, and I feel the sudden need to vomit. I can’t bear the thought of someone hurting Peyton. I fly off the sofa and storm out of the dressing room.

  “Cole! Where the fuck is Cole?” I bellow as Jax and the boys stop me in the corridor.

  “Whoa! Where’s the emergency, dude?”

  I push the DVD and the note into Brody’s chest.

  “This is the fucking emergency. Someone has my girl!” I shout. This is not happening; this can’t be happening. FUCK!

  “What the fuck?” all the boys say in unison and I run my hands frantically through my hair.

  “Fuck!” I roar, and Jax puts his hand on my arm in a gesture of reassurance.

  “She is going to be fine, mate, I promise. We’ll get her back, you need to try and keep calm.”

  If I hear that fucking phrase once more, I swear to God I am going to kick someone’s arse. Someone has my girl; she must be terrified. Why didn’t I keep a closer eye on her? I should have gone back for her. Christ, this is all my fault. I worry my lip between my teeth and the look that crosses Jax, Lucas and Brody’s face mirrors how I feel.

  “Are you going to play the DVD during ‘An Angel’s Kiss’ like the note says?” Lucas enquires, and my heart constricts at the title of the song I wrote for her.

  The person doing this obviously wants me to suffer and knows the only way to get to me is through Peyton. This is fucked up.

  “What the fuck else can I do? It’s not like I have a choice, what if the person who has her is here watching us? What if I don’t play it and they kill her? I have to do this.” My voice shakes as I say those words and I try to push that thought to the back of my mind.

  “Come on, dude, she is going to be fine. She is going to be back celebrating with us by the end of the gig; it’s probably one of the crew playing some sick joke,” Brody says, and I smile weakly at his optimism. I wish I shared his glass-half-full theory. A voice comes through the P.A system.

  “Five minutes to show time, five minutes to show time.”

  We all crowd around each other in a circle.

  “Come on, boys; let’s do this, let’s fucking rock,” Brody shouts enthusiastically, and we have a group hug, part of our show ritual. It has bought us luck over the past ten years; I just hope it works now.

  It is almost the end of the second half and the finale of the gig. We have all given the performance of our lives. We have played our hearts out, bantered, and interacted with the crowd. I am sweating profusely from leaping around the stage giving the fans a show. Up on stage in front of the fans I am a true showman, I have perfected my craft over ten years in the music industry. Even through the toughest times in my life, I have managed to get up on stage and act like nothing at all is wrong, this is one of those moments.

  I move to the microphone, place it on the microphone stand and wrap my trembling hands around it. I turn to Jax, Lucas, and Brody to signal the intro of “An Angels Kiss”.

  “This next song is called ‘An Angel’s Kiss’, it’s on our new album, and I wrote it for the angel in my life, my fiancée Peyton Harper; wherever you are baby this one’s for you.”

  The crowd roar, with a rapturous applause. Jax starts his guitar solo, and I turn my gaze to Cole, who speaks into his headset signalling for them to play the DVD. Jax’s fingers move up and down his fretboard, I close my eyes and take a breath ready for the song to start when I am interrupted by a sinister sounding voice, which almost sounds robotic.

  “Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam.”

  The eerie voice sends shivers down my spine, and I start to sing. The music is flowing through my veins, consuming every part of my body.

  “You broke down my guard, shattered my defences. You’re my mistress of destiny; I am a master of my own universe. You’re my diamond in the rough, a heartbeat in my perpetual darkness. I was the boy who tried to heal a broken heart with a shattered mind and a shattered mind with a broken promise. Like a hurricane, you cure my soul of pain; I’ve never felt like this, there’s no end to this bliss. Our worlds collide with an angel’s kiss.”

  That's when I hear it, the blood-curdling scream of terror coming from the woman I love with everything I am filling the venue. I stop singing, despite the twelve thousand fans in front of us. My throat closes up, and my heart clenches at the sound.

  "Sam, Sam, please baby, help me, help me," she sobs.

  I slowly turn to look up at the large screen that adorns the stage, my knees buckle, and I drop to my knees at the sight that graces me. My girl, my beautiful Peyton tied to a chair, bloody and tear-stained, pleading for her life.

  "Baby, please, you have to help me, Sam, please. Oh God, baby, please," she pleads.

  I clench my fists at my sides, and a tortured sob is ripped from my throat. The boys step away from their instruments, and all three of them are at my side in seconds.

  "Fuck," Brody mutters quietly, and they all place their hands reassuringly on my shoulders.

  "Sam, please, baby, I love you," she whispers, and the big blue eyes that I love so much look so wide with fear it tears me open inside. From the corner of my eye, I see Cole talking rapidly and frantically into his headset.

  "Sam, he is going to kill us, baby. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

  She sobs hysterically and a shadowy figure steps slowly behind her. I notice that the figure is hooded and is unrecognisable. The figure lifts up an arm, and the large glistening blade of the combat knife he is brandishing is pressed against her delicate throat.

  "No! No! No!" I shout. The camera focuses on her eyes now, wide and full of tears.

  "Sam, I love you," she sobs, and a blood-curdling scream is torn from her as the figure grabs her hair roughly, so she is staring str
aight at the camera lens. It feels like she is staring straight into my soul, as I hear myself whimper.

  “Dear God, please no.”

  In one swift movement, the figure reverses the blade and plunges it into her chest. Then the screen goes black, and the entire audience goes from silent to a loud audible gasp. That's when I break. I wail and sob hysterically, the love of my life killed on a large screen for everyone to see. A loud voice fills the P.A system.

  "If you could all remain calm and make your way to the exits in an orderly fashion, thank you."

  I am not aware of what is going on around me, just the image on the screen playing on a loop inside my head. The tears are flowing freely now, and I feel like my heart has been ripped clean from my chest. My whole world has crashed down around me. I can't breathe, my brain is foggy, tears blur my vision, and my lungs are refusing to cooperate.

  "Sam?" Cole's deep rumbling voice interrupts my inner turmoil. "Sam, come on, mate, let us get you backstage."

  The boys help me to my feet, and I am grateful for their support. Somehow, I manage to make my way backstage, and I am in total shock.

  “Sam? Sam? Sam?” Brody’s voice breaks through my foggy thoughts. “Sit down, man; I’ll get you a drink.”

  In those few seconds, I go from total shock and disbelief, to boiling rage. A white-hot rage surfaces and consumes every part of me.

  “You should have been watching her! All this is your fucking fault! My Peyton is dead because of you!” I bellow, and my fist connects with Cole’s jaw. He holds his hands up to stop me, but a look of guilt crosses his face. “This is all your fault! How fucking hard was it for you to keep your god damn eyes on her! I fucking trusted you to protect her!” I shout, not registering my actions, and I am trembling with rage.

  Cole is a couple of inches taller than I am, he did two tours of Iraq while he was in the military and he is an ex-cop. He also works out like a beast, so he knows a thing or two about fighting and how to handle himself. I cock my fist back to hit him again, but this time he restrains me by twisting my arms around my back and pinning me face forward to the wall.

  “Calm the fuck down, Sam,” Cole says in his deep baritone voice. I lean my head on the wall and take a few calming breaths, even though deep down I feel anything but calm.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, and Cole releases me from his grip.

  “For fuck’s sake, Sam, none of this is Cole’s fault! Now isn’t the time to start placing blame,” Jax says sharply. I sit down on the sofa, running my hands frantically through my hair and wondering what the fuck I am going to do now.

  18

  Sam

  The next few weeks pass by in a blur. Peyton’s body hasn’t been found, and there are no suspects, so the FBI investigation has ground to a halt. After the gig at the Mandalay Bay Events Centre, the FBI questioned me and the other band members for hours. Those hours seemed like fucking days. The days after her death I fell into a deep, dark, depression, and my mood swings were giving me whiplash. I experienced pain, sadness, anger, guilt, and denial. I suffered constant nightmares and flashbacks of the moment she died. J.D has been hovering around a lot more than usual, and his presence has been a huge comfort to me.

  In her memory, I got a memorial tattoo for Peyton, which was done by Seb. The words ‘My Angel’ in gothic script spanning from one collarbone to the other in a curved shape. It seemed fitting for her and my feelings for her. I feel empty and have a huge Peyton-shaped hole in my chest. It wasn’t just the love of my life that was taken away that night it was the life of our unborn child, and I’ll never be able to forget that.

  The press constantly hounded us in the days that followed our return from Las Vegas, and I took refuge in vodka and my apartment. I refused to leave and locked myself away, throwing myself a huge pity party. Everywhere in the apartment was a constant reminder of her, everywhere I looked I saw her. She was like a ghost haunting every room I stepped into. I cried a lot and would pass out in a vodka-induced sleep. Everyone around me was worried for my health and my sanity, including the boys, J.D, our entourage, Peyton’s family, Seb, Cole, Amy, and Ruby.

  Peyton’s family and I decide that she deserves some kind of farewell. Seb has insisted that we have the memorial for Peyton at Saint Sinner Ink, the place where she was truly happy. The place where we met, the place where she loved life and created art. Seb has closed down the shop for the day and has placed rows of chairs for the expected guests. He has framed some of her best work and displayed it artistically around the shop with a large black and white photograph of her looking as beautiful as I remember her.

  “Sam, sugar? Amy’s soft voice interrupts my thoughts, and I look up. “Do you need help with your tie, honey?”

  She smiles warmly, and I nod. Peyton loved to see me in suit, so today I am wearing black skinny jeans, a white shirt, a skinny purple tie, biker boots, and a black blazer with the sleeves rolled up. Amy steps closer to me wearing a deep-purple dress and she lifts the collar of my shirt up, putting the tie around my neck. She knots the tie perfectly and brushes her hands over my shoulders.

  “There you go, sugar” She winks.

  “Thanks, babe,” I say softly, and I hear tiny footsteps run through the apartment.

  “Uncle Sammy!” Addison squeals and runs towards me. This beautiful little girl never fails to cheer me up and put a smile on my face. She holds her arms out to me, and I lift her up in my arms. She plants a wet sloppy kiss on my cheek.

  “What was that for, princess?”

  She looks at me as if I am stupid.

  “Because you’re sad, Uncle Sammy, I don’t want you to be sad anymore, it makes me sad.”

  My heart melts at her words, and even though she is only four years old, she is wise beyond her years.

  “I’ll be fine. I promise, princess. Uncle Sammy is big and strong like Superman.”

  She grins and then her bottom lip sticks out.

  “Uncle Sammy, where’s Aunty Peyton?”

  This was the question I have been dreading, and Amy brushes my arm.

  “Come on, Addison, Uncle Sammy needs to finish getting dressed.”

  She holds onto my neck tighter.

  “No, Mummy, I want Aunty Peyton, she had pretty hair and pretty drawings on her body like Uncle Sammy’s.”

  My heart clenches.

  “Aunty Peyton … She is … she is with the angels now, princess, the angels are looking after her.”

  My voice shakes, my eyes glaze over, and I try to swallow the lump that is forming in my throat.

  “Come on, Addison, let’s leave Uncle Sammy to it, baby.”

  Addison kisses my cheek, and Amy takes her from me.

  “I’m sorry,” Amy mouths and I shake my head.

  “It’s fine, babe, honestly,” I mouth back and smile as she strides across the apartment with Addison in her arms.

  The boys are all here along with J.D and Cole; I know my parents have told them to keep a close eye on me. I walk into the kitchen and Brody pushes a glass of amber liquid towards me.

  “Drink this, dude; you look like you need it.”

  I smile, and even though it is still barely ten in the morning, I down it in one, relishing the warm burn as it slides smoothly down my throat. As I lower the glass from my mouth, my mum walks in.

  “Jesus Christ, Sam, it’s not even lunchtime yet,” my mum snaps and I slam my glass down on the worktop signalling for Brody to refill my glass. He refills my glass, and a look passes between my mum and the rest of the boys.

  “Spare me the lecture, Mum, please.”

  She narrows her eyes on me. “Is it really a good idea to be drinking at ten AM in the morning?”

  “It’s five o’ clock somewhere in the world, Mum.”

  I roll my eyes as I knock back my second glass. I turn and stride out of the kitchen, practically colliding with Ruby.

  “Whoa, careful, babe.”

  That’s when the tears I have been holding back finally come, and
I break down in Ruby’s arms.

  “I can’t fucking do this, Ruby, I can’t,” I sob, and she cups my face in her hands.

  “Look at me, babe, yes you can, and you know why? Because every single one of the people at this memorial all feel your pain. We have all lost her too, I know it’s hard because it’s hard for me too, she was my best friend, and she was like a sister to me, I loved her. We dragged each other through the good times and the bad times, I know that she would have fought for you right up until the end.” She moves her hands from my face and takes my hands in hers. “Now, chin up, tits out, that’s what me and Peyton used to say. Head up, shoulders back and go make her proud.”