9781488051265

by Reverb (epub)

  The taping itself was uneventful—the show ran through the monologue, the main guests, and then Twisted Wishes played an abbreviated version of “Finding Light” with both Ray and Mish singing. Then the band ended up on the couches, with the host bantering back and forth with snappy questions that the members answered with witty comebacks. That bit hurt to watch. This would be the last time he’d see Twisted Wishes—see Ray, Zavier, Dominic, and Mish—up close, in person, their personalities shining through.

  “You could change your mind,” Adrian said, standing at his right shoulder like a freaking guardian angel or his own damn subconscious.

  “It’s not that simple.” Staying with the band and not with Mish would kill both of them in the long run.

  Adrian didn’t say anything, just gave a little shrug.

  David kinda wanted to punch the guy. He wondered if that was what it felt like to have a brother—that mix of utter frustration, warmth, and understanding. God, he was gonna miss all of them so damn much.

  After the segment with the host and the band, they taped a bit more, then the whole show wrapped up, with the studio band playing the audience out. Twisted Wishes hopped off the stage to mingle a bit with some fans, and that’s when David perked up. This part—this was when he needed to be alert.

  He kept an eye on the fans and the rest of the audience, moving to position himself near Mish. No idea why, but his hackles went up—the same way they had that concert where Mish’s ring had been stolen. Or that night long ago in the bar.

  Slipping past a few fans—they had to be in their early twenties—he scanned the rest of the crowd. Nothing.

  He turned back and noted Adrian watching him, eyebrow raised. David was about to shrug when he spotted a man working his way toward the band from an odd direction. Not from where he should have been coming, and his approach would take the band by surprise.

  Older guy—older than David. White. Thin face. Brown hair. Unremarkable, except for an intense look as he homed in on Mish. He had his hand in his coat pocket.

  Fuck!

  David was on the wrong side of the studio. No way to put himself between the fucker and Mish.

  The man had passed Adrian, too. David surged forward, but the guy was maybe two arms’ lengths from Mish.

  “Mish!” he called. “Run!”

  * * *

  Mish! Run!

  David’s words ripped through Mish. The worry, the terror imbedded deep into his voice. She loved David. Trusted him. Believed in the danger he warned about. But she was through with running, with worrying, with being fucking helpless.

  Instead, she turned and met the cold eyes of her tormentor. Years had passed, but she recognized him instantly.

  Breath left her to be replaced by heat and anger and seething. This man? Of course this man. Of all of them, it would be this fuckhead. Coals of anger blazed beneath her skin and fire stoked in her bones.

  “You.” The word erupted from deep inside, from the marrow of her past, shot up through her soul into her mouth until she exhaled them like fire. “You fucking asshole.”

  She started toward the man, vaguely aware of the dismayed cries of her bandmates—they were too far away to stop her, though she understood their protectiveness.

  In response, the creep dropped the jacket he’d been holding and a knife flashed in the lights of the studio. Sixteen years had passed since she’d seen those dead eyes and the glint of a blade, since this man had tried to touch her.

  Everything clicked in that moment—the past and the present slowing to a near standstill, like something out of a movie. Fury and pain and rage roiled in Mish.

  He’d been seeing her mother, yet another one of the shitty men who’d passed through their lives because they’d seemed so nice at first. One more man whose lies her mother had believed. This one, though—Mish had shoved so much about him from her mind.

  His eyes. She remembered those cold, cold eyes, a shade of brown that should have been warm. The same eyes had followed her when she’d walked through the living room of the tiny apartment she’d lived in with her mother. Now she remembered that leer, that glint of metal when he’d come to her closet of a bedroom and told her to be quiet. How she’d screamed anyway before he’d even crossed the threshold.

  She’d been seventeen. He’d been in his thirties. A couple of years older than her mom.

  That had been the only time she’d ever seen her mother hit anyone. She’d thrown a punch to the head that had stunned him enough that he’d let go of the knife. There’d been blood, too, running down his face. Maybe that had been enough for him to fear her mom and run from the apartment.

  After he’d left, they’d packed all the important things and fled, too. Stayed with friends he hadn’t known until they could find another place to live.

  Mish pushed past a panicked fan, intent on vanquishing this monster from her past. She didn’t remember his name. Couldn’t. Blotted that out.

  What had come to haunt her and her mom after those events had been worse. The cancer, the struggle to keep a roof over their head. Food on the table. Then not being able to fight the demon that took her mother from her.

  But this fuckwad? She was going to rip his heart out with her bare hands.

  His grin was a horrible mockery of delight. “I finally found you, bitch. Took years. But I saw through your disguise.”

  That same voice, the one that had come over the phone at the radio station. The slickness of it. Now she remembered where she’d heard it before.

  “I wasn’t hiding. And you’re gonna wish you hadn’t found me.” She slipped past someone else, and shook off their grip on her arm.

  “Mish, no!”

  That voice she knew, understood the horror and anguish there. David loved her, respected her, and cared for her safety. But he’d let her go because he couldn’t let his job go for her.

  That stabbed at her heart, layering sorrow on top of the rage. David would blame himself for this, just as her mother had taken the blame for this horrible man and for the cancer that claimed her.

  Mish reached for this monster’s throat, even as the blade stabbed up toward her. This monster she could conquer. Fight. For her and her mom.

  Except David was there, throwing himself between her and the knife, knocking her tormentor away. The blade, though—that kept moving right into David’s torso.

  His eyes widened and his lips turned into a knowing circle of pain. His hands moved, landing blows against the other’s chest. A few grunts, but nothing more from either of them. There was blood and screaming and others rushed forward, even as David stumbled back.

  The blade clattered on the floor, stickily wet, shining in a different way now.

  Oh hell. Oh fuck. This person, this afterthought of a human, would not win. Not this time.

  Mish’s fingers caught on the monster’s shirt and she yanked him to her, to his doom, and her fist landed against his face with a satisfying crunch of bone on bone. Pain lanced up her arm, but not enough to keep her from punching him a second time, for good measure. His weight falling back ripped him from her hands, and he landed hard on the floor.

  Still, the monster moved, scrabbling backward and away—right into the legs and shoes of studio security, who caught him in multiple grips. He struggled until a gun appeared, held by a New York City cop.

  “Stop resisting,” the cop barked.

  This man, this monster, wasn’t a horror anymore. He slumped pathetically in the hands of security, undone.

  Mish blinked, and the world swam as chaos cascaded around her without touching her at all, as if she were the eye of some terrible, awful storm.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  Ma’am. Not seventeen anymore—far from it. She flexed her hand, and fuck, did it hurt, but nothing seemed broken.

  “Yeah.” That wasn’t the truth, but w
hat else could she say? Later, she’d crumble. When it was safe, when all was settled and done.

  “Mish.” Ray’s voice was full of worry and pain, but also her name, her truth. She’d never hidden—especially not from him. She’d just chosen to detach from her past.

  She turned toward him. “Hey, kiddo.”

  His eyes were too dark and painful in the bright lights of the studio. “David’s been stabbed.”

  Just like that, her calm shattered as reality caught up to her. Mish stumbled against Ray, her heart ripping, and all the horror and nausea returned. All the terror and torment. She reached for her rage to center her, even as Ray supported her, but couldn’t find it anymore. The storm had caught her as well.

  Zavier was there with Ray, she realized. Silent but present, concern laced into his gentle touch as he helped collect her. Kept her from falling and falling.

  They were too good for words, these men, who were part of the reason she believed in the goodness of the world. Their music. Her family.

  David.

  “Where?” That was the only word she could manage to push out.

  They took her to him, and each step was like stepping on needles with legs made of broken glass.

  David lay on the floor with Adrian by his side, pressing a black T-shirt to David’s torso. Drops and smears of blood littered the tiles nearby. Adrian was bare-chested, though a too-small leather jacket had been thrown over his shoulders. Domino’s jacket, with all its chains and spikes, didn’t look imposing on Adrian.

  Dom stood nearby, no longer Domino by far, a familiar expression marring his worried face. He’d been like that with Ray, too. Eyes wide, the persona he wore completely gone. “They called 911,” he said.

  Ray murmured words of comfort into her ear that she didn’t understand. Her vision hazed and twisted and a lump lodged in her throat, one made of regrets and sorrows and frustrations.

  David had his eyes closed, his mouth twisted in pain. His breath caught every so often, but evened out right after as he obviously fought through the pain to stay calm.

  He’d been a soldier. This wasn’t his first wound. She’d seen a few of those scars, the ones he didn’t talk about.

  God, the world was wrong and awful and horrible.

  Mish wanted to collapse to the floor. Would have without Ray and Zavier holding her up. Wasn’t time to fall apart, not yet. Instead, they helped her kneel by David’s side. She wouldn’t sob, either. Wouldn’t break down.

  “David?” Her voice wavered, as her heart clenched and tumbled and shattered.

  He flicked his eyes open. “Baby, you okay?”

  Hearing him ask the question like that didn’t help the ache in her lungs. “I’m fine.”

  “You got him?” His voice was rough, as if speaking pulled out all his strength.

  “Yeah.” She finally raised her hand to look at it—and it wasn’t pretty. Some cuts and a lot of bruising. But all the fingers worked. “Ray’s gonna chew me out again.”

  “Am not.” Quiet, sweet words from Ray. “Love you too much.”

  Her sight wavered again. David coughed a laugh, then winced. “You’ve got a mean hook.”

  “I hate him.” That came out as a whisper. “You were right. I knew him. Fucker dated my mom.”

  A small nod of understanding.

  Then there was a bunch of commotion and some sort of medical personnel swarmed around David. EMTs or paramedics. God, the déjà vu was awful, except this time Ray was behind her. He tried to draw her away, but she could be unmovable when she wanted. He meant well, but she needed more time, so she shrugged off his touch.

  Zavier spoke, but the words made no sense, because every one of her senses was tuned in to David, who pushed the hands of one of the paramedics away and reached toward her.

  “Princess?” His voice was shaky and rough as they worked on him.

  Mish’s heart rammed against her ribs. Seeing him like that, laid out on the floor as they peeled Adrian’s T-shirt away, was too much. The ache in her chest threatened to tear her apart.

  “Not a princess,” she said, all husk and unshed tears.

  He smiled for an instant, then followed that with a deep wince. “Rock queen.” His eyes were dark and wet. Despite the noise and people all around, only they existed in the world in that moment.

  “Yeah.” She took his hand and squeezed it, relishing the warmth and the pulse. “What do you need, David?”

  He blinked a few times and blew out a breath. “Marly’s gonna get lonely. Would you to look after him? He’s in—” He waved in the direction of the exits.

  The tears Mish didn’t want came so fast, she barely had time to breathe. They ran down her cheeks and it took everything in her to keep her voice steady and not let it turn into sobs. “I can do that, sure. Keep him safe until you come home.”

  “Home,” he murmured. “I wish...” He gritted his teeth then and grunted, low and guttural.

  “Ma’am,” one of the paramedics said, and gestured for her to stand back.

  “Hey, come on. Gotta let them work.” This time, she let Ray draw her away, because he was right. She loathed leaving David in the hands of strangers, even professional, well-meaning ones. “One of us needs to go with him.”

  Ray helped her to her feet and didn’t let go, though his touch was gentle and unobtrusive. This man was their spine and heart. Their leader through and through. They’d all be lost without him. “Marcella’s going with the ambulance. She’s got David’s medical history.”

  Of course Marcella would. She had all of their shit. “It should be me.”

  “Mish.” A deeper voice—Zavier’s. He gave her name such weight and care, as if his heart were breaking, too. She met his gaze and opened her arms—and he folded her into tight hug. A brother, a friend. “Believe me, I know. I understand. But Marcella will take care of him. And you and us.”

  “Okay.” She pressed her face down onto Zavier’s shoulder. “How about getting me out of here, then?”

  Zavier flinched. “You’re gonna have to talk to the police first.”

  “Shit.” She’d forgotten about them. And momentarily about the monster she’d defeated. Tremors threatened to take over.

  Zav must have felt them, because he melted a little. “I understand that, too.” He loosened his hold. “You don’t have to tell them much. We’ll get the lawyer on the phone.”

  “But I kinda punched that shithead out.”

  “Yeah.” He flashed a smile. “Honestly, I don’t think you’re gonna catch any flak for that.”

  In the end, she didn’t, not from the police, nor from anyone else, though a paramedic did give her a cold pack for her hand and admonished her to have it checked out.

  She almost wanted them to haul her away to the hospital, but the cops did have a few questions about the whole incident. She answered most of them, shaking off a few, like how she knew the man, with more vague answers. She’d have to answer more later, but when they’d gotten enough of a statement from her, she held up her hand. “Guys, I’m tired and rattled and someone I care about was stabbed. Can this wait?”

  They let her go, with a business card and some murmured niceties. She found Zavier and the others waiting for her. “Now can we get the hell out of here?”

  They did. Her bandmates and Adrian—her family—ushered her out, protected her, and got her into the waiting limo without so much as having one paparazzi shove anything in her face. Their ride was more of a luxury SUV than an actual limousine, which was good, because Ray directed them to the hospital.

  Somewhere along the line, Adrian had acquired a new T-shirt, one with the late show’s logo on it. Mish tugged at it. “They give you that?”

  He nodded. “I was in the hallway after the paramedics took David, and the staff took pity on me.”

  “This is why we don’t share
clothes,” Dom said. He had his jacket back on, but still looked more Dominic than Domino.

  “Tell that to the sweatshirts you keep borrowing,” Adrian said.

  That got him a little quirk of Dom’s lips, but he settled back into a frown pretty fast. “Do you think our tours are cursed?”

  Mish shook her head. “This is my fault.”

  “No.” Both Ray and Zavier echoed one another. Ray planted a hand on Zavier’s knee and that was all it took for Zavier to snap his mouth shut. Worry marred his face and hooded his eyes.

  “No,” Ray repeated. “None of this was your fault.” He shifted his gaze to Dom. “And no, our tours aren’t cursed.”

  “Still feels like we need a cleansing ritual or something.” Dom hugged himself, and Adrian pulled him close.

  “Still feels like my fault.” Because it did. David wouldn’t be hurt if not for her. This asshole wouldn’t be disrupting their tour if not for her.

  “Mish.” Ray rubbed his forehead. “It’s not. You know it’s not.”

  She did logically, but emotionally was an entirely different story. Fuck it all, the tears came again. She gritted her teeth. “Doesn’t make a difference, does it?”

  “It does.” Zavier’s voice was smooth and calm. “How old were you when he dated your mother?”

  “Seventeen.”

  He pursed her lips. “If a fan came to you and blamed themself for being attacked by someone their parent was dating, would you agree?”

  She whipped her head up, the shock of that drying her tears. “Fucking hell, Zavier!”

  “Would you?” Same soft voice.

  “Fuck off. No. Of course not.”

  He nodded. “None of us would.”

  If something like that ever happened, she’d pull the fan aside and make sure they didn’t heap the blame on themselves. Recommend people to talk to. That kind of thing. Mish closed her eyes. She hated Zav sometimes. Loved him always, the jerk.

  The ache was still there, even as they pulled into the hospital. Ray spoke to the driver, maybe making sure he hung around. It was Adrian who navigated the hospital personnel and got them to the hallway outside of David’s room.