I force a smile, but my mood is less forgiving. Truth is, what seemed like a no-brainer months ago now seems unforgivably stupid. It’s a new status for me: concern. Suddenly, I want Sophia to have an amazing wedding more than I want to piss off my parents. This caring-thing sucks. Makes things complicated.
“You okay?” Hannah asks as we hover outside the locked door.
“Fine,” I lie.
“You look... Wait, are you nervous?”
Her worry is too sincere for me to handle right now, so I focus on the scars etched into the steel door. “If I get kicked out, don’t follow.”
“Wes…”
“I’ll be fine. Just promise me you’ll stay and support Sophia.” I finally meet her eyes and watch her soften with compassion. Makes no fucking sense, but there she is. This goddess-angel melting for a snake. I press my lips to hers in the lightest of touches. Reverent so as not to disturb perfection.
A scrape at the door sends lightning surging through me. We step back as Holland pushes through and waves us inside.
“I feel like an accomplice to a crime,” she whispers, successfully looking the part with her furtive peeks around each corner and open doorjamb.
I huff a wry smile. “I don’t think there’s much of a punishment for accessory to trespassing, but I promise to keep your name out of it.”
She shoots back a mock glare before continuing to guide our covert team. We pass a few witnesses on the way, mostly catering and facility staff. Despite the looks, no one says a word, and I’m sure they wouldn’t have thought twice if we weren’t creeping around like bandits in our formalwear.
“Here,” Holland whispers, pulling to a stop. She knocks on a door, and Spence’s head appears through the crack.
“Hey, man! You showed.”
“Shh!” Holland hisses at him as we sneak inside.
“Of course I showed,” I say once we’re safe and I scan the room. It’s not the elaborate green room I’m accustomed to. Audio equipment, stacks of mismatched chairs, and piles of I-couldn’t-begin-to-guess cram the perimeter of the space. We’re practically standing on top of each other to fit. Sucks being the fake band at an event. Jesse and the gang are probably sipping champagne and snacking on caviar while we pack into the storage closet next door.
“I spoke to Sophia when we arrived,” Holland whispers. “Here’s what’s happening: Limelight is going to take the stage as planned. When it’s time for Sophia to enter with your father, Limelight will move off, and we’ll go on.” She quiets when my jaw tightens. “She’s hoping that your parents will want to save face and not make a scene.”
I nod. “She always was the more optimistic of us.”
Holland squeezes my arm. “It means the world to her that you’re even trying to do this. If it fails, you’ve still won.”
“Minus the prison thing.”
She rolls her eyes, and I smile. “See that door there?” She points to the opposite wall from where we came in. “That leads right onstage. Jesse is going to shoot a text when it’s time, and then we go out.”
“Dude, the place is jammed,” Spence says. “How does your family know so many people?”
“They probably don’t,” I mutter. I swear a colony of ants is crawling over my nervous system. Each second is torture on my patience as adrenaline displaces the fear. I’m ready, fucking primed to fight and take this conspiracy public. I hope my father detonates. I could use a good confrontation. My fists are already clenching in anticipation when a soft hand slips into mine and the ants go still. Everything calms and becomes a moment in the present instead of a vision of the future. I’m here. Now. With the woman I love, about to do something completely stupid and amazing. This isn’t Hell; this is paradise.
I toss a smile at her, and she squeezes.
“We’re on,” Holland whispers and points toward the door.
∞∞∞
The murmurs about the bride’s appearance at the back of the aisle shift to a different tone when we take the stage. Jesse nods as we pass, and I return it.
I see my mother first. Pale, she grips the back of a chair for support.
That’s right, Mom. Faint. Your friends will love it.
I search down the aisle for Sophia and find the second most beautiful woman in the room. She’s glowing when our gazes connect. Frederick Alton? Not so much. He flinches and steps forward, but Sophia pulls him back and tucks her hand in his elbow. She whispers something that slows his boil to a simmer. He gives me a look that promises future pain, but for now, the show’s on.
At center stage, Hannah is rigid, knuckles white as they choke the mic stand. I’ve seen naked fear like that before, scanning a canvas of strangers as though they hold power over your existence. I had those eyes once, still do at times, and I will Hannah to look at me for reassurance. She’s gone though, lost in that place where excitement meets terror.
Her attention stalls on something, and I spot a row of Drake sunshine near the back. I wait as those big blue eyes find me next. It’s a second that feels eternal. I’m obsessed with making her thrive.
You got this! I mouth and signal Spence to count us in before she can believe the lies her brain screams at her.
The band crashes in with a four-chord progression that shrieks over satin ribbons and obscene flower arrangements. In-your-face alternative angst slides through our veins, pushing us toward Hannah’s entry. I glance over and suck in a breath at what I see. She’s a woman ready to run, not fly.
Shit.
I gesture behind my back for the band to repeat the intro.
Hannah’s attention snaps to me, trance broken. Her lips brush the mic and give me hope.
“Coil of strength wound tight to hide,” she leaks out too softly. Her nerves. God, her fear is audible, and I jump in to cover the verse with her. Our eyes meet through our duet, and I smile until she does. Until her gaze brightens with belief.
“Dirty secrets revealed
The bed
I made
Was never the place
To trap this broken soul”
Strength suffuses her voice.
“It’s over!”
Adrenaline blasts through me. She’s got this.
We’re locked in!
“Stand back, you’re gonna want to stand back!”
I ease off the mic and turn the song over to its owner at the chorus. I’m just a backing vocal now. It’s her show.
Her goth-cut mini-dress wrecks me as she gets lost in the music. Her gritty, airy tone is chaos and beauty, melting my sister’s makeup with tears as she moves down the aisle.
I’m making Sophia’s dream come true while we break every social convention I hate. Yeah, this moment? Fucking epic, and I pour it all into my harmonies. All I’m missing is a phantom guitar I’m desperate to abuse.
Hannah kills the bridge. Eyes closed, microphone bonded with her fist, she melts into the music with an intoxicating flood I feel in my own soul. Vaguely, I notice all eyes glued to the bombshell owning the moment. My viper, slaying her prey.
She writhes to the beat, unaware of how hypnotic she is.
“I’m breaking free to strike
Fangs bared, spring out, out
Of hell, don’t tell
Me what I am”
She’s an artist, owning her song in a private moment. Words curl into adlib runs and variations on the final chorus as some of the guests move to the heavy crunch of a tune that has no business in a scene like this.
I harden at the sight of Hannah coiled around the mic stand—lying in wait, holding tight, ready to strike.
When the final chord rings out, I inhale. Look out over the audience and capture the rainbow of expressions coloring them.
Who knew there were so many types of shock? Shocked horror, shocked amusement, shocked wonder, shocked glee, and just your average run-of-the-mill shocked shock of those who can’t even process what happened. I recognize many of the faces and love the fact that this will be my legacy.
Against all protocol, a raucous applause erupts, triggered by the bride’s rush onstage. She throws her arms around my neck, and I swing her up for tight hug.
“Thank you, thank you. It was perfect!” she says against my shoulder.
I kiss her cheek. “I love you, sis. Congratulations.”
Sophia returns to her place between her almost-husband and our father. Dad’s reaction… Definitely no tears. His eyes hold a hatred that even I have to admire. My mother’s face is a twisted grimace, and I suck in a ragged breath. Then I see it. His nod to security.
Fuck. Really?
The officiant begins his greeting while I spot the men collecting along the perimeter of the room. I squeeze Hannah’s hand. She looks up, and her beautiful smile fades.
“I have to go,” I whisper. “Remember what you promised.” I hate the alarm on her face and give her a quick kiss. “I’ll be fine. See you later.”
With that I do my best to retreat as discreetly as possible toward the closest member of the advancing security team. I look him straight in the eye as I approach and tilt my head toward the exit. He seems to understand, and I raise my hands slightly in surrender. I can practically feel his breath on my skin as he hovers centimeters away the entire journey from the room. I almost smirk at the thought that most of the guests probably assume they’re my bodyguards. I can’t bear to look back at the reactions of those who know differently.
“This way,” he says, grabbing my arm once we’re clear of the guests.
I jerk against his grip. “The exit is over there.”
“Yeah, you’re not leaving,” another one says, twisting my other arm behind my back.
“The fuck?” I seethe through clenched teeth.
“You’re trespassing. Your father is going to want to talk to you. You can wait for him downstairs.”
They shove me along a service hallway and through a fire door. Down a flight of stairs and a few turns later, we’re facing a heavy door. The one holding me shoves me into it while another searches me and removes my wallet and phone.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I shout, struggling against them.
“Take it easy. Just—”
I jolt back to free myself and give them an icy look.
“Give my shit back,” I grit out. Four-on-one this time, but I still eye each of them slowly.
“We don’t want trouble,” one says.
Great, so these guys trained at the Thug Academy too. Flashbacks of the encounter outside of Harem drain some of the violence from my blood. Wonder if they were classmates?
“Neither do I, so just give me my stuff, and I’m gone.”
“Frederick—”
“You know what? You can tell him to fuck off. If he wants to fight he can face me himself.”
They exchange a look, and I can see the thug training rattling around in their thick skulls.
“Phone, please,” I say, interrupting the painful-looking brainstorming session.
“Not gonna happen, guy,” one of them decides finally.
“So what? We’re just going to stand here staring at each other?”
They don’t like my sarcasm, which is unfortunate because I’m already holding back like a champ.
“Fine,” I grunt, leaning my back against the wall. I cross my arms and stare directly at them in the most awkward standoff in history. They clearly don’t know what to do with me. I see their fists clench and release in a desire to knock me senseless, but I’m not your average party-crasher. No, this dilemma has them way out of their depth. “Can we at least sit?” I point to a stack of chairs.
“Don’t move.”
I relax into my stance. “What did you think of the processional? Acoustics in the venue could have been better, but a good effort overall. You guys into music?”
“Shut up.”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
I don’t stand a chance if I piss them off to the point of violence, but damn, it’s so tempting. Being held hostage for crashing my sister’s wedding? Kind of a fitting scene, really, and I’m starting to get excited about a confrontation with Dad. Maybe this is the part of the movie where, after a lifetime of opposition, this one moment draws that good work son nod of understanding. God, I hope he doesn’t try to hug me.
“What’s so funny?” Man-Bun Thug growls.
“Nothing. It’s not you.” Well, it’s kind of you. I study them again and can’t help but think they would have made the perfect boyband twenty years ago. Missed opportunities, man. What can you do? “I heard there’ll be an oyster bar at the reception. You pumped for that?” Their glares harden, and I hold up my hands. “Okay, sorry. Not shellfish guys. I get it.”
“I thought we told you to stop talking.”
“No, I know. You did. I was just so distracted by your suits. Be honest, did you coordinate on purpose?”
I guess they draw the line at fashion because soon I’m slamming into the wall, jaw throbbing. I swallow the pain and reach up to inspect the damage. I know the flavor of blood well, and a few drops stain the concrete floor.
“Did he give instructions to fuck me up too?” I ask through a taunting smile.
“He didn’t give instructions not to,” Shaved Head snarls. So clever, these thugs.
“Good news then, gentlemen. I’ve met with my fair share of hired muscle over the years, and you are easily among the most well-groomed.”
I have a harder time shaking off the next blow when it crashes into my sore ribs. Hunched over, I rest my hands on my knees to catch my breath.
“Had enough yet? Ready to shut your mouth?”
I want to. I really do, but these guys say this shit with a straight face. “Yeah, I’m done.” I hold up a hand from my bent position. “Just, are the thug makeovers part of the training or is there some special salon for that?”
I don’t bother fighting back this time. I need my hands more than my face at this point. Protecting your hands with your face—there’s a new one. I’m ready for my second blackout in a month when suddenly, it stops.
Coughs rack my body as I fight to draw air into aching lungs. At some point, I should figure out how to keep my mouth shut, but for now my focus is on piecing the swirling hallway back together. That effort becomes easier when I realize I’m no longer the center of attention.
I glance up at the intruder to find the last person on this planet I expected to see.
“This is a private matter,” Shaved Head barks at Luke.
He studies the scene with casual interest. “Yeah? Kind of looks like assault to me.”
“He was resisting,” Man-Bun argues.
“Resisting what exactly?” Luke asks, and even I have to smirk at the innocent trap.
“He was trespassing,” Shaved Head says. “Frederick Alton—”
“Frederick Alton authorized a hit on his son at his daughter’s wedding? That’s going to be a fun headline for him.”
The hallway is flooded with concerned thug looks as the message sinks in. I have no idea what their orders were at this point, but watching them realize they don’t understand them either is hilarious.
“Tell you what,” Luke says finally. “I happen to know this asshole. I’m willing to bet he’ll keep this to himself if you do.”
“And if you return my shit,” I add.
Shaved Head straightens, puffs, and flaunts, but Luke doesn’t budge. The dude just looks impatient as he waits for these idiots to make their decision. It takes an eternity for Shaved Head to grunt and nod to Man-Bun, who holds my belongings out to me.
“Not a word,” he hisses before letting go.
“Fuck you,” I say, and yank them away.
They delay for a few more menacing thug-struts and disappear up the stairwell.
Luke snickers and drops to the floor beside me. “Dicks.”
We stare at the opposite wall in silence as I wipe at the blood on my face with my sleeve.
“Thanks, man,” I say. “Were you looking for
me?”
“Not my choice, believe me,” he mutters.
“Holland?”
“Yep.”
“Yeah, you can’t say no to Holland.”
“Never.”
Maybe we both kind of smile at that.
I lean my head against the wall. “Has she done the lip thing yet?”
“Where the bottom one juts out in that cute pout?”
I glance over. “Yeah, that one. It’s brutal.”
He lets out a breath. “I don’t even think she does it on purpose. She’s just naturally irresistible.”
“Yeah, don’t look at her if you want to win. I saved all my non-negotiables for the phone.”
“Good tip.”
I close my eyes. “She’s amazing, man. You got a good one.”
“I know. I’m going to do right by her.”
I release my clenched fist. I know.
“Hannah is waiting outside for you. I’m sure she’s freaking out,” he says.
“I told her not to follow me.”
He laughs. “Dude, she’s a Drake.”
“How did that happen anyway? Two assholes like us landing two goddesses like them?”
Luke shrugs. “Hell if I know.” He stands and reaches out a hand to me. I pause and finally let him pull me to my feet. “Gotta be honest, dude. I don’t hate seeing you all fucked up.”
∞∞∞
Sophia insisted on a “short” ceremony, so the guests are filtering from the chapel area to the main ballroom when we make our way upstairs.
I limp along behind Luke, doing my best I don’t look like roadkill impression. Kind of hard to pull off with welts on your face and giant swatches of blood covering your fancy tux, but whatever. No one wants to risk their own couture wedding attire, so it’s a pretty seamless exit. Security Dude at the main door wasn’t part of the Fabulous Foursome who took me out, and lets me pass with only a brief wrinkle in his grave security-face. Hannah is another story.
“Oh my… Wes!” she cries, rushing over.
I step back with a wry smile. “Don’t ruin your dress.”
Viper (NSB Book 3) Page 23