9781488051265

by Reverb (epub)

  The rest of Twisted Wishes was focused on Two Times Strong, so none of them saw her press her palm to her chest and whisper a little prayer up to any force that might be listening.

  Fingers brushed her elbow, and she turned. There was David, by her side. He gestured for her to lean down, probably wanting to speak into her ear, so she did.

  “I’ve heard you. I’ve seen you. I believe in you. You’re gonna slay them tonight, Mish.” His voice was like a caress.

  His voice saying her name, right into her ear, sent a shiver down her back and woke a heat in her core that chased away all her fear. In the dim light behind the stage, his eyes were so dark—yet so warm, shining and reflecting the color of the stage beyond.

  God, the need to kiss him burned through her. Her expression must have given that away, because his smile deepened into something more private. He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “Still owe me a beer, darling.”

  Just then, Two Times Strong finished their song, and the audience roared, jerking Mish and David back from their too-close, too-private conversation. Two Times Strong’s crew flew out onto the stage as Lane said goodnight.

  Moments later, Two Times Strong was backstage, and Ray was shaking Lane’s hand and patting them on the back. “Fucking awesome set. You guys are fantastic.”

  Their band was high on the music and the crowd. Seeing Twisted Wishes seemed only to push them up higher. It was a whirlwind of conversations and thank-yous and praise, then the other band was bouncing off like they’d won the jackpot of feelings and emotions.

  Which they had. A grin stretched Mish’s mouth until it hurt. She remembered that rush and high. Hell, she still got that every fucking concert.

  And this one? She’d sing at this one.

  They headed back to the greenroom while the crews pulled Two Times Strong’s equipment off the stage and into the waiting truck, and set up for Twisted Wishes. Tension filled the air—the anticipatory kind. The whole area was filled with it.

  When Marcella gave them a nod, they whirled through the dressing room one last time to check themselves, then they were back in the wings. This time, the butterflies in her stomach were large and happy, and Mish couldn’t stop smiling.

  Ray caught her look in the dim light. “Can you believe our life?”

  She would have answered, but the house lights flicked off and the audience went wild. Screams and cheers and stomping.

  Sometimes she did believe their life. This was one of those times, the noise from the crowd a physical hum in her bones. Ray bounced on his toes in that way he always did before he ran out on stage, and Mish’s heart leapt. Then they were off, Ray in the lead, onto the stage and the screams fell over them like waves crashing on a beach.

  “Yo, Jersey!” Ray shouted into the mic, his own New Jersey accent thick. “How you doing?”

  Hard to believe those screams could get louder. They always did, especially near where Ray, Dom, and Zavier had grown up.

  Ray tossed a look over his shoulder at Zavier—and with the beat clicking off on those sticks—they spun headlong into their first song. It was fucking glorious. The sound, the rhythm, Ray’s voice rising and Dom’s guitar following. Mish’s bass anchored them as they flew into the chaos and emotion they were so known for.

  One song led into another, and she danced across the stage, flirting shamelessly with the fans in the pit, then with both Domino and Ray. Everything was music and the throbbing beats she understood better than her own pulse.

  They paused after the next song to more shouts and thunderous applause. She downed half a bottle of water that had been placed for her on the raised platform that held Zavier’s kit. Fireworks went off in her chest. Third song, “Finding Light.” This was it.

  Zavier quirked an eyebrow and gave her a questioning look.

  “I’m fucking ready.” No idea if Zav heard her over the audience or Ray’s ramping them up, but she bet he could read her lips well enough, since he grinned back.

  She swung around and found Ray waiting, mic in hand, teeth blinding in the spotlight. They were playing this part cool—not letting the crowd know anything was different. So they’d decided to start “Finding Light” like they always did, with Domino’s guitar sliding over notes and Mish adding a rhythm. Then Zavier joined his beats to her bass and they settled into a kind of duel until Ray layered his voice on top for the first verse.

  Mish danced over to Ray, then shimmied backward to the mic that had been set up for when she’d lend her voice to backup vocals. She sang the refrain with Ray, which wasn’t that unusual, but when it came time for Ray to sing the next verse, he danced away, and Mish’s voice rose above Domino’s guitar.

  For a moment time seemed to drop away. Everything happened—nothing stopped—but that instant when the words poured out of her throat and rang into the screaming, shifting throng before her, when the realization hit that she and not Ray was singing, when the energy and sound slammed back into her—that carved itself into her memory and soul.

  Ray bounded next to her for the chorus, throwing his arm over her shoulder and staying there while she played her solo. Then they were both dancing away when Domino took over. Ray sang again, then she did, and this time she saw the outstretched hands and the open mouths—some singing, some screaming, some in ecstasy as her voice soared, carrying words and love into the night.

  When it was all done, the stage shook from the reaction of the crowd. Mish waved.

  Ray chuckled, and though that was amplified, it still bore all the love he had for her. For them all. “Honey, you do have your own mic.”

  It was an unguarded line, one that was pure Ray and would have been at home on the bus or in the studio. She slid up to hers. “Well, how ’bout that? I do!”

  Laughter and shouts from the fans.

  His grin was joy. He turned to the audience. “You like Mish singing?”

  God, the noise. Part of her wanted to cry from happiness. She leaned in. “Thanks, everyone.” She plucked out a cord on her bass. “Been wanting to do that for a long time.”

  She saw, then felt Domino bump up next to her. “I think you should sing with Ray more often.” The venue went wild again. Dom rarely spoke during concerts—and there was more than a little of the wry, sneaky Dominic in the quirk of Domino’s blood-red lips.

  She hip-checked him, and he laughed and spun away. “Maybe I will,” she said.

  From Ray’s beaming, she was sure she would. She swung her gaze out over the people in the pit and their smiles, and met the smoldering gaze of David Altet, who stood between the pit and the stage, looking up at her. He had on one of his soft smiles, and everything about him, from his stance to his crossed arms, spoke of pride and fulfillment.

  Of course he’d be out there in the crowd, watching over her. He nodded once, his smile curving up, before he mouthed two words she read easily on his lips.

  Rock queen.

  Heat rose to her cheeks and a smile followed, and she backed away from the stage’s edge to grab a few swigs of water before they started their next song.

  The rest of the concert flew by, and when they were done, they bounded off the stage, much as Two Times Strong had. Performing never, ever got old. Not when they were here, and now, and living their dreams.

  Chapter Seven

  Mish was still buzzing a high from the show. The way the audience had responded to her singing—wasn’t anything better in the world than those screams and the joy in those faces. Even now, as she sat and signed and talked to the fans, they were glowing and complimentary.

  The woman who came up next had bright-red nail polish and lipstick—close to the color of Mish’s guitar—and she wore a pendant with the band’s logo on it. Bright eyes, brighter smile. Probably college-age.

  “Oh my god, you were amazing. I mean, I’ve heard you backing up, but like, tonight was so amazing.�
�� She pushed a poster toward Mish. “Oh god, I’m babbling. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She was blushing furiously.

  “Hey, it’s okay. And thanks. Been wanting to sing for you all for ages.” She pulled the poster over. One of the few that featured Mish in the center. “You want me to make it out to you?”

  “Yeah,” she breathed. “I love you. I mean—your music.” Her blush grew.

  Mish couldn’t help her smile. She got it. She’d also had crushes on so many of her musical idols. “Gotta know your name if you want it on the poster.” She winked.

  “Oh. Claire. It’s Claire.” Then spelled it out.

  Mish wrote To Claire, with love, Mish and slid the poster back over. The woman gushed, and the staff, bless them, directed her away.

  Mish held up her hand to the next fan. “Give me a sec.” Singing tonight had stressed her voice more than normal, and she needed to soothe her throat a little.

  The fan was polite enough while she took a swig from her water bottle. Her right hand ached, probably leftover from her injury, so she took her ring off—a simple turquoise and silver band she’d bought back as a teen—and flexed her fingers before setting it down on the table. Then she gestured him over.

  He had an actual vinyl album—they hadn’t printed many of them, but some of the fans loved old-school, even if they were a little young to remember playing records on turntables. She got his name, and was in the middle of signing the album cover when a scuffle spilled out in the line behind him.

  A guy—of course it was a guy—broke through the line and lunged at her table. She reared back as David yelled something and leapt after the dude. But rather than touch her, he grabbed her ring and took off past the other shocked band members and the venue security.

  Fuck no. She’d had that ring since high school. Her mom had loved it, had given her the money to buy it back when they’d had so little and spending any got Momma in trouble with her shit-ass boyfriend at the time.

  She was halfway over the table when Ray caught her arm. “Mish! You can’t!”

  She sure as hell could. Hadn’t cost much, but it meant everything to her. “Get off me.”

  He didn’t let go. “Mish,” he ground out again, “David and Adrian went after him. We need you here.”

  Fuck. Fuck. So much of her wanted to bite Ray’s head off, but his last words hit her in the heart and the head. She let him pull her into her seat.

  Her gut tumbled and her hands shook. That fucking stalker. This was part of that, she was sure. He’d take her, piece by piece, whoever the hell he was.

  Bile rose in her throat even as fury made every muscle in her ache. “Ray.”

  “I know. I know. But the fans need you,” he said close to her ear.

  Yes, she heard them, the crowd murmuring and whispering. The tone had gone from excited to frightened and worried. All because some shithead had it out for her. Mish swallowed her anger and hoped to god her hands stopped shaking soon.

  When she met Ray’s gaze, all of his emotions were written onto his face, as they so often were. “And I’m selfish. I can’t handle seeing you hurt again.”

  She had to laugh at that. She knew that feeling all too well. “You don’t play fair, kiddo.” She was hurt, though, but not in a way any of them could see.

  “I don’t play at all. Not in this.” He patted her arm and finally let go. “Did the ring mean something?”

  She shook her head. “It wasn’t worth much.”

  “That’s not what I asked.” Ray’s stare held her. “And you know it.”

  Fuck, sometimes she hated how much he’d grown and matured. But a brush with death did that, she suspected. “Yeah. It meant a lot to me. My mom gave me the cash to buy it.”

  Ray sat back, his lips drawing into a tight line. She’d talked a little with the band about her past, enough that they knew how her mom had died and how hard that had hit her back then.

  “We’ll get it back,” he said.

  Except they wouldn’t. She knew that already. Just—knew. Hurt like fucking hell. Couldn’t let anyone see that, so she nodded, settled back into her chair, and looked up at the fan in front of her. His eyes were wide and he’d gone pale.

  She pulled the album cover back over. Thank fuck the pen hadn’t smeared. She’d gotten his name—Dayton—written, but that was all. “Hey, Dayton, you okay?”

  He took a breath. “Yeah.” He glanced at the other band members. “I—Sorry. I’m sorry. I should have grabbed him or something.”

  “Oh, honey.” She finished signing her name on the cover. “Wasn’t you. Don’t ever blame yourself for the actions of assholes.” She handed the record back to him. “Don’t let ’em ruin this night for you, either.”

  Ray bumped his leg against hers under the table, and she resisted rolling her eyes. Dayton moved on, and the line flowed along again.

  The next fan was a young Black teen with her mom in tow. The girl was twelve, maybe thirteen. So hard to tell at that age. She had tears in her eyes, though, and was clutching a T-shirt to her.

  Mish bit her lip. Yeah, Ray was right—the fans needed her cool, calm, and okay. “Hey, hey. I’m fine.”

  The girl had a death grip on the shirt, her knuckles ashen. “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. What’s your name?” Mish held out her hand, and with a little prompting from her mom, the teen handed the T-shirt over, along with a silver paint pen.

  “Alysa,” she said. “This is my mom.”

  “Liberty,” the woman said. “I’m a fan, too, but this is Lysa’s first concert.”

  Mish signed the T-shirt. “Did you have fun?”

  “Oh my god. It was the best thing ever.” Alysa’s dark eyes were wide and held wonder and joy. Her gaze drifted to the hand where Mish’s ring had been. “I’m so sorry, though.”

  Mish waved the concern away and handed the T-shirt back. “Some people are just jerks. Don’t worry about it.”

  Kid looked at her mom, and Liberty nodded. “If you want to.”

  Alysa took a breath, then pulled a silver ring off her finger and handed it to Mish. It had a sun design stamped into the band. “I don’t know if it’ll fit, but I want you to have it.”

  “Oh god, I can’t!” The words came out so fast, Mish couldn’t stop them.

  Alysa’s eyes filled up with those tears again. “Please?”

  Reluctantly, and with moisture in her own eyes, Mish held out her hand and Alysa dropped the ring into her palm. “Thank you. I’ll treasure it.” Like she’d treasured the ring from her mom.

  The smile both Alysa and Liberty gave her almost made the tears spill, but Mish didn’t cry at concerts. Tried not to cry at all, if she could manage it.

  The pair moved on to Ray, and Mish found another fan in front of her. Another set of worried eyes. Her heart twisted, and she did her best to smile and laugh and set the fans at ease.

  * * *

  “Get out of the way!” David shouted as he ran through the packs of people heading to the parking lot, swerving around those that didn’t move. They were gonna lose the fucker if he got to the entrance. Too many cars, too much land to cover.

  He’d outstripped the venue security when they’d all taken off after the man who’d stolen Mish’s ring, but Adrian ran next to him, his focus as intent on the fleeing guy’s back. “Too fast,” he said between breaths.

  Yeah, the fucker was running pretty damn quickly. Probably fear and adrenaline keeping him moving. The knowledge that bad things would happen if he got caught. David had chased his share of thieves in his time in security. Knew how this went.

  Hopefully the guys behind them had called ahead to the gate security.

  God fucking damn it. He should have noticed that guy lingering, not being as happy and bouncy as the other fans. Impatient to get to the front. Should have caught him before he’d lunged out of line.
David fucking should have been closer to the signing table, but with all the helpers and security there, he’d figured it would be fine.

  He’d been wrong, and put Mish in danger.

  He really fucking wanted this asshole.

  For once, something went their way, and the crowds thickened near the gate as security temporarily slowed people leaving—enough that the dude who’d stolen Mish’s ring came to a stop, then frantically looked around for somewhere else to run.

  “Cut left,” David shouted to Adrian.

  Adrian did, no questions asked. Good. Because if David read the guy correctly, he was going to break—left. Adrian saw and gave an elated shout, which was perfect, since it made their quarry spin right back around and head straight for David, the short, unassuming guy.

  David grabbed the man’s arm, pulled him around and laid him flat on the ground. “You have something that doesn’t belong to you, asshole.” He pressed a knee into the guy’s back, as Adrian and some of the venue security guys came up.

  “Let me go. I didn’t do anything!”

  Guy was maybe in his early thirties. Wiry build. Light brown hair. White as a sheet, despite the exertion and the sweat on his skin.

  “Dude, we watched you snatch Mish’s ring,” Adrian said. “Where is it?”

  “It’s just a fucking ring. Not like she needs it, with the cash she has.”

  Anger spun through David and he pressed down harder. “Doesn’t matter. You’re giving it back.”

  The guy grunted and panted. “I can’t breathe, you fuck!”

  He wasn’t pressing that hard, but there were more than a few boots of the venue security that shuffled forward at that, so David took his knee off the guy’s back. “You can breathe. And you better start talking.”

  “We should wait for the cops,” one of the security guys said. More murmurs in agreement.

  Yeah, he should have expected that. The venue had to deal with insurance and all that. Technically, so did he. David let go of the guy completely. “All we want is Mish’s property.”