Page 18 of Darcy
“I can barely counter myownbitchiness most days,” I retort, grimacing as I take another sip of energy drink and trynotto focus on the thong I can clearly see from all the way over here. More power to her if she can survive having her butt cleaved in two like that, I guess… “How am I supposed to counter yours as well?”
Emma cackles, and the two of us watch as the group of ten VIPs—six of whom look mercifully normal, for metal-heads, anyway—are ushered away by a brunette with blunt bangs who’s wearing a suit and a strained expression.
“Gabrielle’s got her hands full,” Emma mutters, noticing the woman. “Poor thing. She’s shy, but she’s Miguel’s assistant, and he always makes her do this shit.”
She was in my file, and I’m relieved to put a face to the name. Miguel’s assistant is an intelligent nobody, put in place by his older brothers to keep this whole show running. She might be a good lead if I can’t get to her boss.
“I didn’t think a metal band would attract those kinds of fans…” I mumble.
Emma gives me the look. “The band has money, and wherever there’s money, there are people who’ll sell their dignity to get their hands on it.” She tosses her pink hair back and sighs. “Thankfully, the band got out of that phase pretty quickly in their careers. Those ladies will be disappointed.”
I amnotrelieved.
“The band doesn’t like groupies?”
I couldn’t judge the clan if they did. If hot men were throwing themselves at me on a nightly basis… Well, I’m not sure I’d be strong enough to resist.
“Sully said they used to.” Emma shrugs. “But it was before I convinced Arlo to let me join. Dodger might fuck one every now and again, but it’s rare. I think the boys got fed up with having the details of their sex lives leaked to the press.” She pauses. “I do feel bad for the girls… the VIP experience can cost upwards of ten grand a ticket, and they’re wasting it because they think their magic vajayjays are going to enchant the boys into making them Mrs. Hazardous.” She waves a hand. “Anyway, the band will turn up for rehearsal soon, which means I’ve got to bounce. See you ‘round, and try not to get into any more fights with that pen.”
She disappears in a sashaying breeze, leaving only the pleasant scent of her perfume behind. My eyes fall back to the clipboard, and I moan. Damn it, what do I have to do to convince this paperwork to do itself?
Anotherribbitechoes from my phone, this time followed by the creepymwahahaI assigned to Slate. I get a few looks from other roadies for that one. A frog croak is cute enough, but Jigsaw’s laugh is decidedly not.
I could turn it to silent, but I’m a masochist. Besides, the other Belladonnas have a habit of messaging me when I’m in the middle of something, even while I’m on missions. If one of my sisters needs me, I don’t want to let them down.
Or at least… that’s my excuse.
Seven
Arlo
Ibite my lip as I check my phone for the fifth time in two minutes. In a few moments, we need to be on stage; I shouldn’t be agonising over this.
“Still nothing?” Prophet grunts, tapping his sticks against his legs. He likes to pretend he wouldn’t be here if he had a choice, but I can read the adrenaline already buzzing through his body. He’s just as addicted to the rush of this as we all are.
I sigh, picking at the ripped leather pants Em bullied me into. God, these things are tight. “Not a peep.”
My hand has been glued to my phone all day. I kept sneaking glances at it all the way through rehearsals. I ignored most of the team meetings—including the safety talk with our hot new pyro—and spent most of my time in my head, wondering what Dark’s up to.
If I get torched by a gerb on stage, it’s entirely my own fault.
This is the longest Dark’s ever gone without a reply, and the silence feels… terse. Like she’s mad at us. Normally, she responds within seconds. I seriously wonder sometimes if the woman even sleeps. But she wasn’t online yesterday, even though we left the kickoff party early to hang with her before the next leg of the tour steals all of our time.
Not that she had any way of knowing that, but still.
“She said she had another trip,” Slate reminds us, accepting his guitar from Gavin as the crowd roars a final applause for Yesterday’s Cascade. “I’m sure she’ll read our messages when she’s got time.”
As usual, there’s an impatient undercurrent to his voice when it comes to talking about Dark. Not because he doesn’t care—no, he’s just as besotted as I am—but because Slate doesn’t do emotional “what ifs.”
In Slate’s mind, either Dark wants to speak to us, or she doesn’t. She’s either interested, or she isn’t. He doesn’t waste time worrying about the why, and he hates the games that a lot of the girls we dated in the past liked to play.
Dark’s not like that. She never has been. She’s funny and sweet, and…
Dodger clasps arms with Tidus as Yesterday’s Cascade jog off the stage, but I can’t pay attention to the pleasantries between the lead singers as I slip my phone out of my pocket and check the group chat again.
[HzD]Fr0gg0
Are you ignoring us?
