Page 42 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
"Shit," Rafael breathes, dropping to his knees beside them. "Shit, shit,shit."
I'm still standing there, knife in hand, watching this unfold like it's happening to someone else. My body feels disconnected from my brain, operating on autopilot while my mind tries to process what just happened.
Stephen groans.
He's alive.
Bleeding from multiple wounds, face already swelling into an unrecognizable mush, but alive. He tries to push himself up and fails, collapsing back against the wall with a pained croaking sound.
Rafael pulls out his phone, fingers shaking as he dials. "Yeah, I need an ambulance. Foxhole Studios, alley on the north side. We've got two men down, one unconscious, one—" He looks at Stephen, then away quickly. "Oneseriouslyfucking injured, maybe dying. Hurry."
Phoenix has Rex rolled onto his back now, Rex looking strangely vulnerable with his head on the drummer's lap. Rex's visible eye is closed, and even though his lashes are lighter than his dyed hair, they're dark against his skin. The mask is askew enough that the edge of the pink and white scarring beneath is visible, the white parts of tissue the same chalky color as the rest of Rex's face. His breathing is too fast, too shallow, and despite the cold rain, he's sweating.
And bleeding.
Bright red blood trickles consistently from beneath his mask, running over his lips and throat and pooling in the dip of hiscollarbone, soaking into his white shirt like roses blooming on freshly fallen snow.
Is he bleeding from where I slashed him with my knife?
"He's burning up," Phoenix mutters, more to himself than to me. "Fuck, he's been sick for days and didn't tell anyone."
Sirens wail in the distance, getting closer. As the paramedics arrive, the parking lot transforms into a crime scene. Stephen's still slumped against the wall, making weak attempts to push himself upright. Rafael's standing guard over him—not to help, but to make sure he doesn't try to run or attack again.
Rafael shifts his position, keeping one eye on Stephen while watching the street. "Police probably right behind them."
Police.Shit. This is about to get complicated in ways I haven't even begun to process.
"What do we say?" I hear myself croak.
"The truth," Rafael says in a flat tone. "That Rex attacked Stephen."
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly freezing cold. I don't want to admit the truth. That Stephen wasn't just being weird, he was being a fucking creep like every other guy in the music industry, alpha or not.Because if I admit that, they'll be suspicious about my identity. But I can't let them think Rex attacked Stephen out of nowhere, either.
I try to replay the scene, but it's all fragmented in my memory. Stephen's breath on my neck. His hand sliding up my side.
I shudder.
Nope. I can't think about that now. Can't process the implications of what just clicked into place. If I start down that road, I'll break, and I can't afford to break right now.
"Stephen was threatening me," I say finally, knowing if they review the tapes, that's all it will look like to them. "Rex saw it and intervened."
Rafael's brow furrows, his eyes flicking to Stephen, then the knife I'm still gripping. "And Rex intervened right before you had to gut Stephen like a fish," he says. "Just want to make sure we've got our story straight."
We stop talking when two paramedics jog toward us. They split up immediately, one heading for Stephen, the other for Rex.
"What happened?" the paramedic asks, kneeling beside Phoenix.
"He collapsed," Phoenix says. "He feels like he has a fever. He got in a fight protecting our bandmate and?—"
The paramedic is already checking Rex's vitals, pulling out a thermometer, a blood pressure cuff. "Fever's 104. BP's low. Pulse is thready. We need to get him to the hospital now."
She reaches for Rex's mask.
"Don't," I say, the word leaving my mouth before I even realize I'm speaking. "Don't touch his mask."
Phoenix gives me a confused, surprised look.
The paramedic looks at me, then at Phoenix, confusion written across her face. "I need to assess his injuries?—"
