by Kacey Shea
“If this wraps quickly I’ll take your place, but I’d feel better with a backup plan.” I may also like the idea of an out. I won’t shirk my duties intentionally, but I’m not naïve enough to think spending time with Austin anytime soon will be comfortable.
“Sounds good, boss,” Brian says. “Holler if you need anything else.”
“You know I will.”
I don’t know what kind of idiot thinks it’s okay to park his bag outside the public restroom during a concert while he works his shift in concessions. Probably the same type to yell bomb on a plane as a joke. I’m starting to think there’s a full moon or something.
The concession employee whose backpack we recovered once we deduced there were no bombs or weapons inside is back to filling popcorn buckets and souvenir soda cups. Thanks to the photo ID tucked next to his house keys, Oliver Han wasn’t too hard to track down. I swear, I don’t understand how some people survive in this world.
I walk back through the venue and past the secure checkpoint now that another proverbial fire is put out. If I hurry, I can probably catch the band before they go on. My body hums with anxiety as a war of two differing emotions battles inside my mind. There’s a part of me that wants another hit of Austin Jones—his smile, his laughter, and yes, even his kiss—which is so wrong. At least, that’s what the other part of me says. She’s the piece that guards my heart and is ready to spin on my heel, file my resignation, and fly back home, never to look back.
“Miss Miller?”
“Yeah?” I lift my gaze to find a pimple-faced, wide-eyed young man jogging toward me. He’s dressed in the standard concession uniform, and while I don’t recognize his face from the staff list, it’s been days since I reviewed the employee files for this stop.
“There’s an emergency,” he demands, his voice urgent. “Someone told me to come find you.”
“Slow down,” I say. “What’s going on? And who sent you?”
“Everyone was yelling. There’s blood. It was Austin I think, or maybe Trent. I’m not a big Three Ugly Guys fan.” His words fly from his mouth in a rush. “There’s something wrong with the baby.”
Opal. No! My feet move before my mind fully processes the words, and I turn to meet the kid’s face. “Where?”
“The green room,” the young man yells after me. “Should I call 9-1-1?”
“No. Go back to work,” I shout and wave him off so I can run in earnest. The cheers and chants from inside the arena press heavily through the thick, cemented walls. It’s time for the band to head backstage. They’re on in minutes. Or rather, they should be. Had I not been dealing with that stupid backpack, I would have been escorting them along with the rest of the team.
Guilt creeps along my spine because I should have been there. I can’t believe this is happening. Opal looked fine this morning. Hell, she hasn’t shown any signs of distress.
As I push my legs to move faster, I offer a prayer that she and the baby are fine. Please, Lord. Keep them safe.
I round the corner expecting a commotion or one of the security staff to be guarding the door, but when I yank open the green room door I realize why.
Oh. Shit.
“You’re a hard woman to catch alone,” says a man I’ve never met in person, but whose photos and record I memorized long ago. Coy Wright. His hair’s a little longer and he’s grown a short beard, but it’s him. I’d stare longer to be sure, but I’m distracted by the Glock he aims at my head.
“Excuse me,” I say and take a step back toward the now shut door.
“Nope,” he says, the gun firm in his hand. “You and I are going to have little chat.” He stares at my body. “Drop the pack.”
It’s the small bag I carry during all of my shifts. Inside are supplies, and a gun of my own, but he probably knows that. I want to kick myself for not having that holstered, but because I was out working in the public area tonight, I chose to store it unloaded and inside my bag. I regret the decision now.
I inhale slowly to calm my pulse, and slide the straps off my shoulders. “Here?” I ask, leaving his stare to glance at the floor.
He nods, his eyes glued to my presence.
I lower my arm, not making any sudden movement. If I can catch him off-guard or get close enough, I’m certain I can get the gun from his hands. He’s a big guy, but I’ve practiced these scenarios a thousand times. It’s possible to use his strength to my advantage, or talk him out of whatever it is he came here to accomplish. But before I set the bag on the floor, he rushes forward and yanks it from my hands. He backs up again before I have the opportunity to make a move.
Damn it.
“Your cell. Bluetooth. Radio.” He’s done his homework. “Drop them right there.”
I raise my hands slowly and remove each item from my body. Each device lands on the concrete floor with a resounding thud. Under his watchful stare I’m not able to signal for help; I’ll risk his temper if I do. I know way more about Coy than he does about me and I plan to use that to my advantage. I have the training and skillset to take him down, but first I have to make him think he’s in control.
“Away from the door,” he commands, motioning to the opposite side of the room.
I take measured steps, never giving him my back.
He does the same, keeping the space between us wide, and leaves me no opportunity to go for the gun. Not unless I want to get shot. He approaches my equipment and crushes my in-ear piece with the weight of his boot, then kicks it and the rest of my stuff across the room. The door is at his back, but even if someone were to enter, he’d be able to accost them before they realized any danger.
“Sit,” he demands, and points to the same chair Austin sat in only hours ago.
I don’t move and instead try to get Coy talking. “What do you want?”
His somber stare lifts with the raise of his brow. His lips twist with a sinister smile. “Don’t you want to get to know each other better before we get down to business?”
“I know exactly who you are.” I do a poor job of keeping the disdain from my tone.
“Did that piece of shit boy toy of yours tell you how he fucked up my hand?” His chuckle is filled with malice, but that’s not what prickles my skin. It’s his implication that Austin and I are together. How would he know that? Unless he’s guessing because of our videos. His eyes narrow and again he points that damn gun in my direction. “He tell you how he pretended to be my friend? How his buddy fucked my girl behind my back? How they all ruined my life?”
I hold my hands up with my fingers spread wide. “Give me the gun, Coy.”
“Right.” The vein on his forehead pops as he huffs out a laugh. “You must think I’m stupid.”
I do, but I don’t trust he’s not completely off his rocker. Stress and desperation push rational thought from anyone’s mind, let alone this asshole. I keep my voice even, my tone reassuring. “Tell me what you want so we can figure it out together. This doesn’t have to be a lose-lose.”
“No. It doesn’t.” His lips form a thin line, his chest puffing as he takes two steps forward. His eyes darken as his pupils dilate. “Not for me anyway. Because those ugly fuckers are gonna pay for everything they took.”
I swallow as I’m hit with the very real fear that Coy might be crazy enough to hurt me. No one has reason to come to this green room. Not until the show is over, and that’s hours away. Getting out of here alive is up to me, and I better come up with a plan soon.
“Sit,” Coy barks. “Now!”
“I’m sitting. I’m sitting.” I lower myself into the chair, not willing to spook him any further. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but he can’t pull a gun on me and expect to walk away, which only means one thing. He doesn’t. This man has nothing to lose, and that not only makes him dangerous, it makes me screwed.
Sitting on the chair, I force myself to breathe and not fidget under the stress.
For minutes he paces almost manically, cursing under his breath as he takes in the
room with wild eyes. “Fuck. This is all wrong.” He scrubs a hand over his beard and looks from me to the door, and then back again. “I wanted him to be here,” he mutters, and his gaze narrows. He takes a few long strides, closing the space between us.
I consider charging forward off the chair, but I’m not certain I can get to his gun fast enough. Not from this position, and not when he’s so much bigger than me. If he would only come a little closer.
“Get comfortable.” He grabs a chair from across the table and drags it back against the wall. Positioning it to face both me and the door, he finally takes a seat. He sets my bag at his feet and leans back, his arms crossed over his chest. Unfortunately, he doesn’t set down his gun. “We’re gonna be here a few hours.”
My body tenses and my senses prickle with fear. Maybe I should stay quiet, but I can’t help myself from asking, “What happens in a few hours?
He catches my stare and there’s no doubt I’m looking directly into the eyes of a man unhinged. One who is capable of ending my life, right here and now. He plays with the clip, locking and releasing it a few times before he lifts his hand and points the gun between my eyes. “I get my revenge.”
My pulse beats so loudly I swear I hear it in my own ears. Is this it? Is this how I leave the world? I’m not ready. I don’t want to leave my family. Or my friends. Austin. My heart aches at the thought of never seeing him again, which is all sorts of fucked up given where things stand.
Move! Scream! Fight! The impulse to do all these things bang around in my brain, but rational thought and years of training keep me in my seat. This isn’t the time to freak out, or do something stupid. I need to appeal to this crazy man’s better judgment. To keep him talking. To build some semblance of rapport so he hesitates before he attempts to kill me. But right now, all I see is the barrel of his gun, pointing straight at me.
141
Austin
God, I really fucked up this time. It’s almost time to take the stage and Jayla’s not here. She never showed up in the green room to escort us as she’s done for every single show, and now I’m worried she won’t talk to me ever again. Where the hell is she?
“Come on, man.” Sean clasps me on the back. He’s been listening to me whine about Jayla’s lack of presence all evening. “The fans wait for no one, especially not a lovesick rock star.”
The sound crew hands over my in-ear equipment, and I look over to find Opal and Lexi hanging off to the side. I don’t know, this all just feels off. Is Jayla really so pissed? I mean, I take full accountability for ruining the good vibe we had going this afternoon. But Jay isn’t petty, and I can’t see her skirting her work just to avoid me. That’s something I’d do, but not her. She’s a bigger person. Professional. She takes pride in her role as director of security for this tour. No way in hell she’d bow out for the night because of some stupid shit I said. My spine prickles with actual worry and I march over to her right-hand man to find out what the hell is going on.
“Yo, Terrance, where’s Jayla?”
His frown and glance at his cell do nothing to alleviate my concern. But before I open my mouth to ask him where I can find her, he’s pulling out his radio and muttering into it. I can’t hear what he says, but his reaction turns my worry into fear.
The crowd chants from beyond the stage. The audio and lighting crews have cut the interim music and dimmed the overhead lamps, and like Pavlov’s dogs, our fans are conditioned for what comes next.
“What?” I ask, stepping away from the entrance to the stage and closer to Terrance. Trent, Lipshitz, and a few others shout for me to come back, but my body is buzzing. Something’s wrong. I just know it.
Terrance glances up and meets my gaze.
“Where is she?” I ask again.
“I don’t know,” he admits, and by the apprehension on his features, he’s not happy about it.
“You don’t know?”
“She should be back by now. She’s not picking up.” He holds up his radio and says something again. His cell is ringing and when I glance at the screen I see it’s an outbound call to Jayla. It goes straight to voicemail.
“Where was she?”
“There was an altercation in Section 328 near the restrooms, but it’s been handled. She should be here, or at the very least, picking up her phone.”
I glance around, hoping to catch sight of her, but it’s only the roadies and crew. Maybe she’s mad at me, but that doesn’t explain why she’s ignoring her team. I can’t go on stage and perform when she’s unaccounted for. Fuck this. Jogging back to the guys, I rip out my in-ears and hand them to one of the techs.
“What the hell are you doing?” Leighton’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Jayla,” I say, my knee bouncing with anxiousness. “I’m gonna go find her.”
“Dude.” Trent draws out the word, and the chanting from off stage seems to grow even louder. “We’re up. Like now.”
“So, stall.” I shake my head. “Something’s not right. She should be here.”
“You two had a fight,” he says. “I’m sure she just doesn’t want to see you right now.”
“Maybe give her space?” Lexi adds.
“No. Jayla wouldn’t do that. I won’t go on until I know where she is.”
Sean removes his audio equipment with a nod. “We’ll help you look.”
“Lipshitz,” Trent yells. “Cover for us.”
“Cover?” His eyes go wide and his brow scrunches as we start walking away. “Wait. What?”
We don’t stay to explain. There’s no time.
Without asking or giving us a hard time, Terrance falls into line as we make our way back to the golf carts he drove us over in just a few minutes ago.
“Got any ideas?” Sean asks.
“None,” I say and bite the inside of my cheek. Something doesn’t sit right, and it’s not the weed I smoked earlier or the plate of wings I destroyed afterward. “I’ll check the green room. Maybe we missed her. Trent, you search the VIP area. Take the girls. Talk to everyone. Maybe someone’s seen her backstage. Sean and Leighton, do a sweep of the halls.”
“Take the cart.” Terrance throws a set of keys my way and hands the second set to Trent. He nods to Sean and Leighton. “I’ll help you cover the halls.”
“Keep your phones on. Call when you find her!” I say and shove the key into the cart. Without another glance back, I shift into drive and race back the way we just came.
This is the most rebellious thing I’ve done in years. I don’t bail on shows. Ever. But I can’t shake the feeling something is wrong.
Jayla doesn’t disappear. Ever. And that only causes my pulse to race as I gun the cart for what little juice it’s capable of.
The green room door comes into view and I stomp on the brake, pulling to a sliding stop. My phone buzzes with a few texts and I check the screen to see a group chat’s been started as I walk to the door.
Trent: No sign of her. Updates?
Lexi: She isn’t in VIP.
I move my cell to my left hand and reach for the door to yank it open. I step inside the room, intending to type out a reply as soon as I check, but instead I’m met with a scene that stops me in my tracks. Shit. The door slams shut at my back, bumping my body forward with its force.
“Jayla.” Her name flies from my lips in a prayer. Right before dread overshadows my relief in finding her. Fucking Coy is here. With a gun pointed at her head. I want to lunge forward, take him out, scream. But I can’t risk her welfare. I lower my hands and take a few tentative steps forward. Working by touch alone, I tap on my cell and hope I’m sending off a warning flare to my friends. We need time and backup, to get out of this situation safely. It’s two against one, but Jayla and I could take him if it weren’t for that gun.
I think back to the videos we made and a stroke of brilliance hits me. We need a distraction. Enough to catch Coy off guard. Without another glance in Jayla’s direction, I step closer to Coy and do what I do be
st: I bullshit. “Having a party without me?” I force a lightheartedness to my tone and look to the man I once considered a friend. “Not cool, dude.”
“On the contrary. We were waiting on you.” The smug lift to his lips sparks outrage in my mind. I’d like to knock that look right off his fucking face. But I can’t do that without putting Jayla’s safety at risk.
I shuffle forward a few more inches. “Aww . . . you miss me?”
“Not at all.” He laughs, and there’s an edge to the sound that scatters literal goosebumps across my skin. “But it’s only fair you’re here for this. You did foot the bill for my trip, after all. This gun too.” He’s still pointing the damn thing at Jay. I need him to move it around, preferably away from her.
“Should’ve saved your money and stayed home.” I tisk and shake my head.
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Well, you’ve got to be breaking a few laws. I’m pretty sure guns aren’t allowed in this venue. You know, someone could go to jail for that.”
“Good thing we’re not going anywhere.” With that sure as shit smile and wide crazed eyes, it hits me. Coy Wright is here to kill us all. Which means if I was lucky enough to blindly shoot off a string of random texts, then I just led everyone I love straight to the slaughter.
There’s a sound at my back, a lot like the door handle being jostled, but I don’t turn to see who it is. I don’t have to. Coy’s eyes widen with excitement and his smile grows.
Oh, fuck.
142
Jayla
Trent bursts through the door. “What the f—?” His footsteps falter with his words and it takes a moment for him to fully process what’s at play. It’s not until Leighton and Sean follow that Trent steps back, his eyes wide and fearful.
Through the open door I catch Terrence’s gaze. There’s a flash of red hair beyond—Opal—and Lexi’s platinum blonde too. Oh, God. This situation is complicated enough. The last thing we need are more potential victims if Coy decides to hold shooting practice. Terrence can’t see Coy, or the gun he’s got trained on me, but I hope to God he reads lips because I mouth “run” before the door slams shut. I breathe a sigh of relief when the door doesn’t open again.