by Gia Riley
He doesn’t spot me right away, but Easton does. The moment he turns around and nods toward where I’m standing, Lane’s eyes follow, eventually landing right on me.
He looks up at the box where I’m supposed to be and back down, silently asking me what the hell I’m doing down here. I give him a big smile as I twirl in a circle, my hands in the air and my body keeping time with the music. Clearly, this is the only way to experience Midnight Fate, but so he doesn’t worry, I point to Reed a couple feet away, giving him the thumbs-up that I’m safe.
That’s enough to ease his mind, and his eyes close again as he gets lost in a new song. Each time he opens them, it’s not the crowd he’s looking at anymore—it’s me. We dance with each other, the show becoming our own personal conversation of how much I want him and how much he wants me.
The only thing powerful enough to interrupt our connection is the sound of fire alarms going off all around us. The band plays a few more seconds before they stop, looking toward security for answers. When they tell them to clear the stage, pushing them out the back, Lane tries to turn around and get to me, but they won’t let him.
Reed moves toward the door, opening the three that were closed just as shrill screams light up the space around me. The mad rush toward the exit sends two girls standing on the other side of the barrier to the floor, their shrieks becoming muffled as they’re trampled.
I try to help them, yanking on the cold metal fencing separating us, but it won’t budge. It’s only when the crowd starts jumping over the barrier into the safe space where I’m standing that I realize I’m about to be in the same situation. With all my might, I latch onto the metal bars, praying they don’t knock me down, too.
Screaming for Reed, I look for his towering frame, but he’s fighting against the masses to get to me. I can either let go and risk falling or stay where I am, hoping he gets to me before it’s too late.
I’m scared to death but I choose to hang on, scraping my nails against the metal to the point they’re breaking off. Just as a drop of blood trickles down my wrist, I’m jolted from behind, my ribs screaming as loud as the voices in my head. Even though my brain’s in full panic mode, my body won’t move from where I am.
Lyrics from the song they were playing before they left the stage swirl around in my mind, and I force myself to focus on them. By the time I get through them, Reed will come and get me and this nightmare will all be over.
You’re all I need in this life.
I will love you.
But I’m fading so fast.
Tell me that wasn’t our last hello before good-bye.
Breathe with me.
I’m fading. Fading so fast.
I say them once more but Reed still hasn’t come, and just like the song says, I can’t hold on much longer. In a split-second decision, and with numb fingertips, I let go, prepared to either fall to the floor or fade into the sea of colors around me.
All the bodies and equipment around me disappears into a meaningless blur. My eyes are so watery all I can see is the flashing red and white exit sign—my finish line.
Breathe with me.
I’m not fading. I won’t fade so fast.
Two steps toward freedom and steel arms wrap around me, hoisting me up and over a strong shoulder. My sore ribs bounce against bone and muscle as my savior runs up some stairs, across a dark floor and through a dimly lit corridor.
A minute later, we bust through a door. The only indication that we’re outside are the black patches of gum left behind on the cement and the glowing yellow lines leading us away from the building.
When the yellow brick road finally ends, I’m thrown into the back of an SUV with so much force I hit the leather seat and roll off onto the floor, landing on a floor mat below. Tiny rocks dig into my legs, but I’m so stunned I curl into a ball, praying whoever has me will take me back to Lane.
Seconds later, the driver steps on the gas pedal so hard my body’s jolted against the back of his seat. I latch onto the pocket of the front seat, knocking a magazine to the floor as I try to sit up, but I don’t get far on my own.
Even though I raise my head and see a shadow in front of me, I can’t see who it is. His face is so blurred by my tears, but until now I didn’t even realize I was crying. The only place I’ve existed is in my head, song lyrics getting me through chaos.
His voice stops floating around me and his words begin to make sense. “Noelle, talk to me.”
His voice is the sweetest victory. “Lane,” I whisper around a strangled sob.
Once he realizes I’m out of the fog, he pulls me off the floor and into his lap. With his arms around me, and his kisses, he slowly brings me back to reality. It’s the first breath I can remember taking where I wasn’t slowly suffocating.
“Noelle, baby, talk to me.”
My shaky hands with broken nails on each finger reach for his torn shirt. Pulling the fabric apart a little farther, I try to look at his skin. “Are you hurt?”
He glances at his side to see what I’m looking at, the adrenaline still so strong he doesn’t even realize he’s cut. “I’m fine, but your hands . . .” he says, softly. “They’re bloody.”
Even though it hurts, I make a fist and clench my fingers, the jagged edges of my nails digging into my palm. Most of the little cuts I have are from other people trying to lunge for the same piece of metal I was holding, only coming up empty when they couldn’t hang on long enough to stay on their feet.
I don’t want to even think what happened to the faces I saw—the way their twisted expressions morphed from jubilation to tortured terror. Whatever’s on my body isn’t an ounce of what they’ve gone through being stuck in the middle of the pack.
“I’m fine, Lane. It’s nothing.”
“What were you doing down there? I told you to stay in the box.”
He’s not yelling at me, but he’s still frustrated enough that his voice is laced with anger, and probably a little fear, too. It doesn’t stop me from being a little scared when I tell him, “I was bored in the box because I’m used to watching the shows up front. I didn’t feel like I was connected with you or your music the way I could have been, so I left.”
“You were bored?” He shakes his head and runs his hands over his face. “You could have been killed because you were fucking bored.”
“Not bored.” Now that I’ve said the words twice, I realize how stupid they sound. “I just felt like it could have been even better. That’s all.”
“We put our girls up there because it’s safe, Noelle. I can’t protect you when I’m on stage. Same way Easton and Dom can’t do a damn thing for Lark and Gina.”
“I had Reed. He saved me.” Reed coughs from the front passenger seat, where he must have sat after he threw me inside the car and we got the hell out of the way.
“You shouldn’t have put him in that position.”
“Please, don’t be mad at him. He didn’t want to do it, but I convinced him it would be okay and that you’d be fine with it.” I wasn’t expecting all hell to break loose during the half hour I escaped from the box.
“Noelle, my only instructions to Reed were to watch you and make sure you didn’t leave the box.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, a little louder than I should. I hate being made to feel like a child for doing what I want to do. I’m not used to having someone control me or keep me from where I want to be. But looking back, now I see why Lane set boundaries—to keep me safe, not to be a controlling asshole.
“You could have been killed, Noelle. I jumped off the damn platform when I saw you, but then there were so many damn people I couldn’t get to you. If Reed had taken a minute longer to reach you, or if you had let go, it might have been too late.”
“He got to me. I’m safe, Lane.”
“I don’t even know who the hell I punched trying to get back in the place after they practically dragged me out the damn door. I’m sure that’ll make front page news.”
“I’m so
rry you got hurt trying to get to me.”
“I don’t care about a scratch. I care about you, Noelle.”
His words are enough to calm me down and make me feel like shit at the same time. Just as I lean against him and lay my head on his shoulder, his phone rings in his pocket. He shifts me forward while he digs it out. “Who is it?”
“Apparently you. Did you lose your phone?”
“Shit.” I snatch the phone from his hand, holding it up to my ear as fast as I can. “Lark? Are you okay?”
As soon as she hears my voice, she breaks down into a hysterical fit on the other end of the line. If I didn’t hear her breathing, I’d think she dropped the phone on the ground. But as her muffled sobs threaten to blow my eardrum, I’m relieved she’s alive and safe to get it out of her system.
“She’s so upset. She’s not saying anything,” I whisper to Lane, who takes his phone back, asking for Easton when Lark doesn’t slow down enough to speak.
I listen as they exchange a few questions and answers, neither of them saying much besides the obvious. As soon as he hangs up, I cuddle against his chest where I always feel the safest. “Where are they?”
“They just left the arena.”
“Everyone’s okay?”
“They’re fine. Easton was losing his shit until he found Lark. She’s crying, but you already heard that. Dom and Gina are in the SUV with them.”
I sigh with relief, thankful the people I consider my family all made it out safely. I’m afraid to hear the details, but I ask Lane, “What happened in there?”
“I don’t know, baby. Could have been a fire or maybe someone set off the alarms for another reason. Our security team is still there—well, other than Reed and the two drivers. They’ll get it all figured out.”
“Has this happened before?”
“Nothing in a space that big, but we’ve had fire alarms go off on us. Sprinkler system and all. Considering how damn hot we were, I didn’t mind so much after we found out it was a false alarm.”
“Do you think this was a false alarm, too?”
He sighs loudly, rubbing his hand over his face. “I’d be guessing either way, but I don’t want you to worry about it. You’re safe, and that’s all that really matters to me right now.”
For the first time since I was introduced to Midnight Fate, I fear their job. What always seemed fun, glamorous, and the biggest rush of adrenaline comes with risks I’ve never even thought about. And considering all the people that are probably still trying to get out of the arena, I pray this was a false alarm, too.
“We’re good?” I ask Reed before opening my door to get out of the car. The parking garage is quiet, but with Noelle in my arms, I’m not taking any chances.
“Yeah, you’re good, boss.”
Noelle’s eyes are closed and her breathing’s evened out. I make the mistake of glancing at her hand lying across my chest; her broken acrylic nails are still jagged and look painfully sore.
I brush her cheek with the back of my hand, making her lashes flutter. “We’re home, baby.”
She opens her eyes, the rims of the gorgeous blue orbs still reddened from her tears. “Okay,” she whispers as she sits up and turns toward the door.
I help her out, and once her feet are on the concrete I take her hand in mine, leading her toward the elevators. She stays quiet, but I catch her looking over her shoulder, no doubt wondering if we’re still in danger.
After I press the button for our floor, I take her other hand, kissing the back of it. “You’re safe me with. I promise.”
She doesn’t respond with words, but her timid body language and cautious expression are both trying their hardest to believe me.
Once we’re inside the condo, she walks right to the TV, grabs the remote off the stand and turns up the volume to the first news station she comes across. Media vans are lined up as close as they can get to the arena, reporters littering the edge of the parking lot with breaking news stories.
There’s no footage from inside the concert, other than a shaky phone-camera video from a dark corner of the room. It doesn’t show the widespread panic, but it’s enough that you can hear the screams and feel the desperation.
It’s not something I want her seeing again. Living it once was enough, so I take the remote from her hand, turning the TV off before she starts to shake again. “Do you want to shower first?”
Shaking her head, she asks, “What if someone died in there tonight? Did you see all those people crowded around the ambulances, lying helplessly on the ground? That could have been me.”
“But it wasn’t. Reed got you out. He wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.”
“I didn’t even thank him. He probably saved my life, and I was so cold to him.”
“You don’t have to thank him for doing his job, Noelle.”
She hears what I’m saying, but I can tell she doesn’t agree. “No, he deserves a thank you and so much more. I need to shower, but I want his phone number, or I want him to come here so I can talk to him.”
Taking her hand, I lead her through my bedroom and into the bathroom, where I make sure I have plenty of clean towels for her. She stands next to the shower, staring at the tiles on the wall but not moving. I hate that our night was ruined—and I hate that she’s not the only one dealing with these feelings tonight. Everyone who was inside watching us is going to be affected for a long time.
Finally, she kicks her Chucks off and reaches for my shirt. I let her pull it up and over my head. Her eyes search for the skin that was peeking through the hole a second ago. “Will you let me clean this?”
“It’s just a scratch.”
“It could get infected,” she says, not even worrying about her own cuts and bruises.
“I’ll shower with you. It’ll be fine.”
It’s enough for her because she unbuttons her jeans and steps out of them, tossing them on top of my shirt. Her shirt follows until she’s left in nothing but her bra. “You weren’t wearing any panties?”
“Guess I forgot to put them on.”
She didn’t forget anything. She did it to tease me, so I reach behind her, unhooking her bra and sliding each strap off her shoulder until it falls to the floor. “You’re so beautiful.”
Her eyes roam over my chest and drift to the top of my pants. With sore fingers, she still manages to work the button through the hole and pull down the zipper, freeing me in her hand. “Looks like you forgot, too.”
Once I step out of my jeans, I join her under the warm spray, thankful we’re both here to hold each other. “You’re sure it doesn’t hurt?” she asks when she squirts some body wash onto my chest, making sure she’s extra gentle when she moves across my cut.
“I don’t even feel it.”
She lets the water wash off the suds before bringing her lips to my skin, kissing the spot she’s so worried about. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen . . . and I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“You had no control over tonight, Noelle. None of us did, so stop apologizing for someone else’s mistake.”
“But you could have . . .” she begins, but stops before she says the words. It kills her to even think them let alone say them.
“But I didn’t. We’re fine, Noelle.” Before she has a chance to say anything else, I lather some of her favorite shampoo in my palm and massage it through her scalp. Her eyes close and a sweet smile encourages me to continue.
A soft moan passes through her lips, making me hard when I shouldn’t even be thinking about sex. “You should do this for me every single day.”
“This shower could be our playground—if you stayed with me.”
“Lane.”
“I’ll get you so dirty, Noelle, you’ll need three showers a day. Think about it, how good you’d have it if you stayed.”
She must paint herself a pretty spectacular picture because she reaches for me, needing the contact. “Jesus Christ,” she mutters before opening her eyes. “My turn.”
; “You can’t even reach the top of my head, babe.”
“I can if you get on your knees.” I hesitate, only making her more impatient. “I wash hair every day of my life. The things I can do with these hands, you don’t want to question.”
I raise my brows, impressed with her seduction skills. I do as I’m told, bending down and kneeling in front of her. With my head so close to her chest, I can lick her nipples and hold onto her hips. It makes her squirm, but she washes my hair like the pro she is.
“That feels really good,” I tell her, wanting her to know how much I’m enjoying it. But when my knees start to ache from the tile, I lean back on my heels, making her inch even closer to me. She doesn’t realize the position she’s in until I pull her hips closer to my mouth, diving into her sweet pussy.
“Lane,” she groans when I swipe over her clit with my tongue.
By the time she’s telling me to tilt my head back to wash out the soap, I already have her exactly where I want her. I let the shampoo run down my face and risk it burning my eyes just to suck on her a few seconds longer. Her thighs are trembling when I finally pull away.
She helps me to my feet, jumping on me like she needs me as much as I need her. I don’t have to tell her twice to wrap her legs around my waist before she’s guiding me inside her, exactly where I need her to be.
Maybe it’s all we’ve been through in the last two hours, or maybe this is how it’s always going to be with her, but she rides me like she’s never going to get close enough—like she doesn’t want to go a single moment without me inside her.
It doesn’t get much better than this—my girl in my arms, her back against the shower wall, and some of the best sex of my life. The only thing that could ruin the moment is someone knocking on the door, barging in like they own the place.
And that’s exactly what happens when I turn my head and see Easton’s shadow. “What the fuck are you doing? Get out of my bathroom.”
“I figured you were fucking when nobody answered the door.”