Page 36 of Cry, Little Dove

She clutches a tote bag with the band’s logo on it, giggling and shaking her head like she expects to wake from a dream. Her unbridled joy gives her a glow that rivals the lightshow on stage. I can’t stop grinning as she rocks back and forth on her heels, listening to the opening act play pop-punk.

Seeing her jaw drop when the band members came out of their dressing room and the lead singer shook her hand was worth every dollar. As I requested, he gave her a swag bag, filled with t-shirts, autographs, and every other kind of merch they had available.

They did a small photo shoot, too, and I volunteered to take the pics. My gallery is filled with pictures of Erica and the band, looking like they’ve been friends for years. Being around her is easy and talking to her is fun, so no wonder those guys were all over her. A liltooall over her for my taste.

My hackles raised when the lead singer pulled her in for a picture, dipping her like he was about to kiss her, but I didn’t wanna fuck this up for her. The jealousy grinding along my guts like razor blades wasn’t a priority. And beating the shit outta the guy for touching her definitely would’ve ruined the mood.

The meet-and-greet was a special occasion Erica will remember until her dying breath, and I wanted her to have this memory. Unblemished. It was important to her, and that meant it was important to me by proxy.

Erica teared up when the singer asked how long she’s been a fan, and she explained that their songs helped her through difficult times.

Your music saved my life, she said, choking up.

Shit, evenmyeyes had burned a bit. Mostly because I hate to imagine my little dove alone and scared during her lowest lows, with just music as her companion. But I’m grateful, too. If she didn’t have her love for Billy Talent, I never would’ve had the chance to meet my soulmate.

Because that’s what she is.

Whether she’s all dolled up like tonight or stumbling out of bed, no makeup and messy hair… No matter if she argues with me, hates me, or laughs and jokes with me.

Erica is my soulmate.

I didn’t even believe in that shit before I met her. All that woo-woo stuff seemed like powerless people’s attempt to pretend they had control over something they could never influence. But there’s no other explanation why I have butterflies in my stomach while I watch her bop her head to the music. Or why I no longer only want to fill her pussy, but her heart, too.

I didn’t think that a monster like me is capable of this most human of emotions. But for the first time in my life, I’m hopelessly in love—with the woman I abducted to slaughter on my operating table.

With Erica.

I nudge her side. She smiles at me, the genuine affection in her eyes making my pulse jump into my damn throat. I wish she’d always look at me like this.

“Yeah?” she shouts over the bass and guitar riffs.

I speak directly into her ear. “I’m gonna get a drink before the main show starts. Do you want anything? You can indulge because I’m driving, but I’d rather you pick something in a bottle so I can buy them closed and pop the top myself. Safety reasons.”

She nods. “Beer, please.”

“Alright. I’ll be right back,” I say, closely watching her reaction.

Erica gives me an energetic thumbs up. If she wants to run away, this is her best shot. I guess this is a test for her. Will she stay or will she flee?

I wait a moment, but she looks at the stage, not an ounce of tension in her posture.

My brows rise. In case shedoesrun, the hidden tracking app I installed on her phone will send an alert to mine as soon as she gets out of range. It’ll lead me right to her. But Erica doesn’t seem to want to go anywhere. She wants to stay right where she is, and I want to believe that has at least a bit to do with me… not just with her favorite band.

My good mood evaporates when I return, carrying a ginger ale for me and a beer for her. The crowd stands in a wide circle around her, and everybody turns away while some mangy bastard is getting in her face. They all act like the stagehands setting up the instruments for the main act are mighty interesting.

Fuckin’ cowards.

What has our damn world come to when people won’t even help a lone woman getting hassled in public? And where are the fuckin’ security guards when you need ‘em?

The guy wobbles as he pushes against Erica’s shoulder. “Listen bitch,youbumped intome,” he shouts, slurring. “You gotta apologize or I’ll put ya in yer place. Got it?”

You just signed your death warrant, buddy, I think and leave the closed bottles on a nearby cocktail table.

Erica puffs out her chest. A proud smile tugs at my lips when she pushes him, too, and he stumbles.

“Nowyoulisten,asshole,” she yells back. “I already said I’m sorry. Fuck off and annoy someone else with your stinky breath!” The man goes red in the face, stammering as he takes another step back.

I chuckle. That’s my little dove, feisty as ever. She doesn’t need saving. I reckon she can probably scare him off by herself, but she’s mine, and I want to protect my woman. The bastard needs to be taught a lesson in respect.

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