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“WHY. DID. YOU—” Pax starts, lifting his mic out over the crowd.
“BETRAY!” we all scream back. “Betray and destroy and ruin me!”
“That's the bloody spirit,” Pax shouts with a laugh, taking the mic back to his sweaty mouth and breathing hard into it. “There's the spirit.” But something about the way he says that sounds disingenuous. I'd have to be an idiot not to realize that this song is about Ransom and Chloe. Maybe Pax isn't feeling the hate as strongly tonight? I hope so. If there's one thing I want to accomplish before I leave that bus, it's getting Pax and Ransom to make up. The night of the car crash, they both lost each other as well as Chloe, as Harper.
It's so fucking sad.
The audience screams in the sudden silence as Michael strums one last note from his guitar and Pax slips his mic into its stand. Roadies appear as confetti explodes from the machines—little white hearts this time—and push Pax's piano in place. He slips onto the bench as Michael switches his purple instrument out for a green one and Muse trades in a red guitar for a red and black striped one.
Ransom and Cope wait patiently as Pax takes a sip of water and adjusts his fingers on the keys.
“You like power ballads?” he asks into the mic and the girl next to me bares her breasts at the stage, laughing. My cheeks flush with color and laughter and the excitement of being so wrong in such a right way. That's what rock 'n' roll is, I think, why people like it so much. It's everything you've been told not to do surfacing in a way that feels too goddamn good to resist.
I close my eyes as Pax starts playing the piano.
“I live for the soft sound of your breathing. Sleep so I can dream of our first meeting. Without you my heart would simply stop beating.”
Copeland starts drumming, soft and easy in the background of Pax's powerful vocals. I notice Michael's eyes are closed during this part of the song, making me wonder if there's something special about this particular track. Did he write it? Is it for Vanessa?
“When our lips come together, I find myself drowning in love's painful splendor. Each kiss we share”—Pax cuts off as the other members of the band start strumming their instruments, low, strong notes that reverberate through the crowd, sending us all swaying gently where moments before there was rippling rage—“is an event I hold onto forever.”
Pax presses his hands into the keys as Michael picks up the sound with his guitar, moving to the front of the stage where a row of four benches are set up. He climbs onto one and uses his tattooed fingers to make love to his instrument, all of the anger in his face falling away as his he guides the crowd with soft, lilting sounds that pick at the chords of my own heart.
Oh God.
I was so wrong. If the way he looks right now is even a small reflection of the way he feels for Vanessa, then I'm a complete idiot. He must really love her.
Michael opens his violet eyes and rakes them over the crowd, smiling when he finds me standing there like an idiot, tears on my cheeks. I brush them off and decide there's no way he can see them from up there.
“I won't spend a single night away and I won't forget a single day. Because, baby, I'd never find another way, not a single other thing that could weave my life together with such beautiful pain.”
Michael's guitar playing amps up into this heavy, driving metal riff, cutting into Pax's piano playing. And then they all just stop for a second. When they start playing again, it's with that same thrash-y riff on Michael's guitar and Pax is standing up from the piano, snatching up the mic and taking it with him.
Muse, Ransom, and Pax join their friend up on the benches and start playing hard, sweat dripping down their hands, off the sides of their faces, lighting the crowd up into a heavy frenzy again. I'm new to this scene, but even I can feel it, can understand why all these people would flock here to listen to this.
It's … fucking magnificent.
My fist pumps in the air as the venue bounces and cheers their way through several more songs—some of them bouncy, some of them angry—all of them catchy as hell. Long after I leave this bus and this tour, I know I'll be humming these songs under my breath.
After the last song, the crowd shouts for an encore and they get it, throwing shirts and hats and water bottles into the air as they jam and trash and flail. The air smells like sweat and beer, but the mood is jubilant, and the cheering that follows the final song is deafening.
“And that's it, Chicago!” Pax says as Cope chucks his sticks into the crowd, and the other boys throw their guitar picks. “We're Beauty in Lies, and we're calling it a fucking night.”
He puts the mic in the stand and bends low, taking a bow and rising to his full height to wave at the shouting, raging fans. Muse waves, too, vigorously and excitedly, and between the two of them, they get the people so riled up that they start to push toward the front of the room. I feel like my breath's being squeezed out of me, my body crushed between the crowd and the metal divider.
I figure what the hell, and throw a leg over, finding myself grabbed by one of the security guards and hauled back like a rowdy fangirl.
“Alright, out the side door,” he barks, putting me on my feet and herding me towards the fire exit on the left side of the room.
“Wait, wait,” I shout as he half-drags me toward the door, his hands completely rough and his manner beyond rude. A few other people climb the dividers, too, and get the same treatment, but none of them have backstage passes on, do they? “I'm with the band,” I say as I struggle and the guy laughs.
“Sure you are,” he says, opening the door and pushing me out into the cold before I can get out another word. The metal door slams shut behind him and locks.
“Jesus,” some teenage kid barks as he comes flying out the door next and slams into me. I almost topple over in my heels, but manage to catch myself on the wall as he stumbles past. “Beauty in Lies!” he screams, raising his fists in the air as a few more young guys get thrown out.
I'm the only woman that gets tossed out like trash.
My heart is beating like crazy as I clutch my backstage pass and wonder what I should do. Run around to the front and try to get back in? That seems like the only option. My heart starts to thunder as I realize I'm standing out here with no ID, no phone, no money, and only a very tentative connection to this tour.
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
For the first time in days, I get this sense of teetering on the edge, a realization of exactly how little I really have in this world.
“Hey, babe, you want to come party with us?” one of the teenagers asks, reeking of stale sweat and pot. I give him a tight smile and try to act like I've got my shit together.
“No, thanks,” I say as I take in the dark alley and wonder which way I'm supposed to go. I didn't exactly come in the front doors with everybody else; I'm completely disoriented and turned around right now.
“You sure? You look like you're ready to party,” the guy says, grabbing my wrist in tight fingers and tugging me toward him. Without thinking, I knee him hard in the balls and he collapses to the garbage strewn pavement of the alley. “What the fuck?” he snarls, glancing up at me with rage burning in his eyes. “You fucking bitch.”
I stare down at him, debating how dangerous I think this guy really is. Do I run down the alley? Or do I wait for him to leave? Surely there are security cameras out here, right? Somebody must be able to see what's going on.
The door opens again and I step aside, expecting another person to come tumbling through it.
“Lilith?”
It's Michael.
He steps out and squints into the darkness of the alley, the bright lights of the venue falling across the ground near my feet.
“Jesus, is that Michael Luxe?” the angry kid asks as I feel this huge surge of relief and throw my arms around Michael's neck. As soon as my skin makes contact with his, heat surges through me in a violent wave, knocking my breath away, liquefying that hot, sweet spot between my thighs. He smel
ls like that spicy shampoo I've been borrowing, like fresh sweat, and his body's trembling from the adrenaline of the show.
I'm so fucking relieved to see Michael that without thinking, I kiss him. Hard.
And oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
As soon as our mouths touch, I lose it. A groan slips unbidden from my lips and I curl my fingers in his t-shirt. His arms encircle me almost automatically and for just the tiniest fraction of a second, he kisses me back.
I have never been kissed the way Michael Luxe kisses.
His lips say the sweetest things while the firm press of his body against mine growls nothing but sinful betrayal. His cock is hard against my stomach and his hands are almost painfully rough on my back, my ass. He yanks me against him, kisses me like a fairytale prince … and then gets angry, almost mean.
My back slams into the wall as Michael's kisses get fervent, wild. He's so aggressive about it that he actually makes my lip bleed.
“Fuck!” he shouts suddenly, pushing back from me, stumbling like he's been kicked. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. No, no, no.”
“Michael, I'm sorry,” I say, putting a hand over my mouth and trying to feel awful about what I've just done. I didn't mean to kiss him. I didn't. I wouldn't … I'd never do to another woman what Kevin did to me. “I'm sorry, Michael.”
“Aren't you Michael Luxe? Can I get your autograph?” the angry kid asks as Michael whirls on him and gives him this look that sends the kid and his friends stumbling back. “Never mind, man. Enjoy your night.”
When Michael looks back at me, he's clearly pissed. Whether at me or at himself, I'm not sure.
“I'm sorry,” I say again but he's not looking at me. He pounds his fist on the door a few times and one of the men in Security t-shirts opens it. Michael puts his arm along the door and holds it for me, panting heavily, the slightest shine of red blood on his lower lip. “Michael …”
“Inside, please, Lilith,” he says as I squeeze past him, being very careful not to touch.
“Are you okay?” I ask as he drops the door and lets it slam shut, reaching down to take my wrist and shuddering when his sweaty fingers curl around my equally sweaty skin.
“I'm fine,” he says, dragging me past the rest of the security guards and milling fans, keeping his hold on me down the backstage stairs and through the crowd, out another door that leads to the back where the buses are parked. Michael doesn't let go of me until we run into Ransom. “You almost lost her tonight,” he barks, still not looking at me. “If she's your guys' …. fucking girlfriend or whatever, you should let the crew know so this doesn't happen again.”
He shoves past Ran and up the stairs of the bus. Even from all the way out here, the sound of the bathroom door slamming is loud and jarring.
“What happened, honey?” Ran asks, pausing and looking into my eyes for a moment. He wrinkles his brow, reaches up and rubs his thumb against my lower lip, lowering his hand and examining the red shimmer of my blood against his thumb with a frown.
I wish I had an answer to that question.
I splash my face with cool water from the kitchen sink and feel this tight, awful clenching sensation inside. Guilt. That's what that is. I just knowingly kissed another girl's long-term boyfriend and now my lower lip is throbbing with the memory. How can I just walk around with this tender mouth and not imagine what it'd be like to take things further?
“Baby girl, what happened?” Ransom asks, rubbing my back as I stay bent over the sink for a moment and try to soothe my sore lip with cold water. It helps the physical ache, but it does nothing for the fury inside my heart, nothing for the heated pulse between my thighs.
“I kissed Michael,” I blurt when I spin around, sweeping my hair back over my shoulders and waiting in terrified agony to see the expression on Ransom's face. He stares back at me with surprise and blinks those heavy-lidded bedroom eyes of his.
“Michael?” he repeats, like maybe he thinks he's misheard me. My heart thunders with anxiety and my stomach twists with trepidation. I have no fucking idea how to define the relationship I have with Ransom, with Pax, with Muse, with Cope. But I know that what I just did was wrong on so many levels. “But Vanessa—”
“Damn shit, Vanessa,” Michael says from behind me, making me jump when he appears with his hair wet and dripping from the bathroom. His indigo eyes are sparkling with anger, but his lower lip is just as swollen and full as my own. “We need to have a conversation,” he says but then he looks up at Ransom. “Lil got thrown out of the venue tonight. How the fuck is she supposed to get back in if something happens?”
“Jesus,” Ran breathes as Michael grabs his leather jacket off the back of one of the swivel chairs and … throws it over my shoulders.
“Let's talk outside,” he says, lighting up a cigarette as I tuck myself into the leather and shampoo scent of his jacket. He waits for me at the door as I glance back at Ransom and try to read the strange expression on his face.
“Are you angry?” I whisper, because I am. I'm angry with myself on so many levels.
“Angry?” Ransom asks in his syrupy bedroom voice. “Why? Michael's one of us.”
“Michael is fucking not one of you,” Michael growls, grabbing my wrist in a surprisingly gentle grip. “Michael has a fucking girlfriend.”
He pulls me down the bus steps and around the back, near the whirring generators and a couple of young roadies smoking pot. They scatter when they see us and Michael frowns, taking several drags on his cigarette before he looks over at me.
“That was fucked,” he says, lifting his chin at me, “what you did. You shouldn't have kissed me like that.”
“I know,” I whisper, glancing down at the black heels that Muse bought me. They're covered in these small, decorative silver spikes and they look fucking badass. With the green shimmery dress, the new black leather bands on my left wrist and the makeup, I feel like maybe I actually do look like a rockstar's girlfriend—if that's even what I am. I've known the boys for a week; maybe I am just a groupie?
“You made a mistake,” Michael says with a long exhale, dropping his cigarette to the wet ground, “but so did I. And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you back.” I look past him, towards the crest of snow that lines the edge of the lot. It really is cold out here and I end up actually slipping Michael's jacket on properly to ward off the icy chill in the air. “Now I have to call Vanessa and tell her what happened. That sucks.”
Michael sighs again and when I glance back up at him, he's looking across the icy parking lot with a strange, frustrated expression on his face.
“First time in a year that I've even remotely come close to falling off the wagon. But goddamn, she's going to kill me.” He pauses again and finally glances in my direction. “There's just something about you, I guess. Clearly I'm not the only one that sees it.”
I have to smile at that, but Michael doesn't smile back.
“She's meeting us in Atlanta?” I ask and Michael nods. “Early?” Another nod. “What if I talked to her with you? Explained the situation? That it was my fault. Would that help?”
His laugh is harsh and critical, but I don't think he means to be cruel.
“Seeing the gorgeous girl that I just couldn't help but kiss back in person? I don't think so.”
“How is she going to not see me?” I ask as I hear Paxton's laughter echoing across the lot. “Either you're going to have to lie about who I am, or you're going to tell the whole truth and she'll know it's me anyway. Humanizing the situation, hearing me apologize, that's probably better than having to tell her over the phone, don't you think?”
“You're the one that got cheated on,” Michael says with another sigh. Just watching sound flutter across his lips brings the memory of our kiss racing to the forefront of my mind. I want to kiss him again. So bad. So, so fucking bad. “You tell me.”
“Don't call her and fuck up your visit. Once she sees you in person, she'll know how you really feel.” I saw it in your face onstage tonight, I t
hink but I keep that thought to myself. “We'll tell her together and I'll apologize personally.”
Michael gives me a dubious look, but after a moment, he nods again.
“Okay, Lil,” he says, and I like that he's still decided to call me that. Makes me smile again. “But that can never happen again, do you understand? If you kiss me, I'll … I'm too fucking into you to resist.”
“I won't,” I tell him and even though it kills me, I add, “I promise.”
The thought of never kissing the swollen beauty of that mouth again makes me feel sad inside, but then Muse comes around the corner with his silver mohawk styled low and soft, the hood of his red sweatshirt thrown up over it. He neglected to wear a shirt again today—not even onstage—and holy crap. That combo of low slung pants, hooded sweatshirt, and no top? It makes my heart thump and beat in the craziest rhythm.
“Ransom told me what happened,” he says, holding out his arms and giving me a quickie hug. The leather of Michael's jacket rustles as I breathe in the smoky scent of Muse's hoodie. He smells like Earl Grey tea today. “But I can't figure out exactly what the fuck those idiots were thinking. I showed your picture around, talked to the staff. It must've been one of the venue's security guys.”
“No, it was definitely one of ours,” Michael says and I get this little foreboding chill down my spine. For whatever reason, Octavia's hateful expression flashes across my thoughts, and I have to fight hard to push it away. Why would Beauty in Lies' manager try to sabotage me like that? I'm not the first girl she's seen Paxton Blackwell with and it's doubtful I'll be the last.
“Huh,” Muse says as he lets go of me and reaches up to rub at his forehead. A quirky smile teases across his mouth as he looks between Michael and me. “So you guys finally kissed, huh?”
“Finally?” Michael snaps, giving his rhythm guitarist a bitchy look. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I'm sorry, Derek,” I say, drawing Muse's hazel eyes back over to me. “We never talked about Michael being a part of our agreement. And it's fucked-up of me to ask you guys to be exclusive if I'm not.”