Page 11 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
I head toward the shared green room in the Portland venue, needing water and distance from Jake's concerned alpha energy. The hallway's narrow enough that I have to turn sideways to avoid a roadie hauling equipment, and that's when I literally run into them.
Phoenix and Rafael.
Phoenix catches my arm as I stumble, and fuck, he's even bigger up close. Six-foot-six of mostly solid muscle wrapped in a Metallica t-shirt. His blue eyes are surprisingly kind for an alpha his size, nothing like his bandmate's single visible eye of pure murder.
"Shit, sorry," he says, immediately letting go like I might break. Or like I might bite. "Didn't see you there."
"Story of my life," I mutter, straightening my shirt. The movement pulls at my binder, and I have to suppress a wince at the sharp sting in my lower left rib.
Rafael's leaning against the wall, looking like he belongs in a magazine, not in this glorified basement. He's not quite as intense as Rex, at least not in the same "I want to put a stake through your heart" way, but he's studying me with dark eyes that miss nothing.
"So you're the infamous Bells," he says, but there's no hostility in it. Just curiosity and maybe a hint of amusement. "Didn't have the chance for a proper introduction the other day. You're smaller than I expected up close."
"Yeah, well, your lead guitarist's ego takes up enough space for all of us."
Phoenix actually laughs at that. It's a genuine, warm sound that makes something in my chest loosen. "Rex isn't here yet.Which is probably for the best. He's in a shitty mood, even by Rex standards."
"When isn't he?" Rafael pushes off the wall, and I catch a whiff of his cologne, something expensive and spicy that makes my suppressed omega instincts twitch before I brutally shut them down. "Don't take it personally. He hasn't been the same since?—"
"Since his brother died," Phoenix finishes quietly, and the temperature in the hallway seems to drop.
Nash Steele.
I remember the flurry of tributes and news articles from about a year ago, dancing around the fact that he died from an overdose in a hotel room. That explains why Rex is so unhinged. It doesn't explain why he's unhinged in my direction specifically, but still.
We stand there in awkward silence for a moment, three people dancing around a ghost. Finally, I clear my throat.
"Why was he asking where The Reverie gets our music?" I ask.
Phoenix and Rafael exchange a look. "This probably isn't the time or place to get into it," Phoenix admits, dragging a hand through his hair. "It's a long fucking story. And we don't have long before you-know-who shows up."
Rafael snorts. "You can say his name. Rex isn't a demon that gets summoned just by?—"
"Phoenix! Rafael! Get your asses in here!" someone from staff shouts from the green room, making Rafael jolt like he's second guessing what he just said.
"Speak of the devil," Phoenix says, shooting me a wink over his shoulder that's probably been the death of many an omega's panties on his way out the door.
They disappear into the green room, and I'm left alone in the hallway, trying to catch my breath around the vice grip ofmy binder. Just a few more hours. Just have to make it through sound check and the show.
Sound check is a blur of feedback and adjustments. Vespyr goes first, but it's just Phoenix and Rafael going through the motions. No sign of Rex, which should be a relief but somehow makes everything worse. Like waiting for a storm you know is coming.
We run through our set twice, and by the end, I'm sweating through my compression shirt. The silicone cock has shifted slightly in my jeans and I have to adjust it discretely while pretending to tune my guitar. Jake keeps shooting me looks, but I ignore him.
The venue starts filling up around seven. Through the stage door, I can hear the crowd's energy building, that electric anticipation that usually feeds me but tonight just makes me feel exposed.
Still no Rex.
Eight o'clock comes and goes. We're supposed to go on at eight-thirty, with Vespyr following at nine-thirty. Phoenix and Rafael are in the green room with us now, all nerves just like me. Jake's doing his pre-show alpha posturing and Mike's got his headphones on, listening to whatever pumps him up. Ethan's taking one last vape hit.
And then the door slams open.
Rex stalks in and the entire room goes silent. He's in full stage gear—leather pants that look painted on, a black leather jacket, and of course, the mask. Tonight's is different from the last show, but it's still black with silver filigree that catches the light like knife edges.
His single visible eye sweeps the room and our eyes lock. I stare back readily, channelingjust fucking try itinto every thought just in case he can read my mind. His eye narrows slightly, but he doesn't say a word.
"You're late," Rafael says to him, breaking the tension.
"Fuck off," Rex responds automatically, but his eye's still on me. "Bells."
