Page 107 of Reverb
Mish was dressed in blood-red and white—an untouchable goddess. It hurt so much to watch her, he had to look away.
That was why he felt his phone vibrate in his front pocket—he wasn’t distracted. He dug the thing out and peered at a text from Adrian. A photo. Here at the concert—but that was all he parsed out before the screen dimmed and he scrambled to unlock it.
The photograph was of David—his back—taken at an angle, but unmistakably him, standing exactly where he was now. The text was from Adrian.
This came in email. He’s here. Watch your back!
Adrenaline slammed into David, and training took over. He clicked his phone off and shoved it back into his pocket, far too aware of the noise around him. Fans jostled one another as they danced and sang. The pulsing thrum of Twisted Wishes and the movements of the lights and the band on stage cast shadows around the building.
At the same time, silence descended but for a high-pitched ring in David’s ear. Everything turned sharp and slow. He stared, unseeing at the stage, all his senses tuned to his back. Then he moved to the right—the same direction the photo had been taken from.
A calculated move—the man behind the texts and emails was obsessive, but also careful. Chances were he’d have left that spot. So David glided past, then around, until he reached an emergency exit and put his back to the doors. There, he finally relaxed somewhat and the din in his ears died down. Glancing around the venue, he didn’t see one damn thing that attracted his attention. No one watching him and not the stage. Yes, there were fans in a few of the aisles, hurrying back to their seats, but no one looked out of place. No one ever had. Every incident had been the same—no warning.
It was a fuckingrock concert. This was Twisted Wishes, who skirted punk and metal and pop and were very queer.Everyonelooked like they belonged, no matter what they wore.
Goddamn it.
David’s phone buzzed again. He took it out again.
You okay?
Yes. No. He hadn’t been okay since that jerk had snatched Mish’s ring. He had no way to protect her. No idea who this guy was. And the man had just drawn crosshairs on David.
I’m fine. Moved near an exit.
Anything we should do?
He should suggest cancelling the signings. Refund the fans their money. He doubted the band would go for it. Still, worth a shot, even obliquely.Short of nixing the signing event, I don’t think so. Be extra vigilant. And tell the band when they come off stage.
Will do. They might agree. We’ll see.There was a pause before the next text.Stay safe out there.
Something twisted in David’s gut—a pain of his own making. These people—Mish’s people—could’ve been family.
Don’t worry about me.
Yeah, well, I do. We do.
David didn’t answer that one. The twist inside stung his eyes. They understood him and they didn’t. Just like Mish. Just like all of the people in his life.
A fling had been a bad idea. It had put them all in danger.
As David had predicted, the band didn’t cancel the signings after the show—though only because the argument went back and forth with everyone giving pros and cons until it was far too late.
“Make a decision.” Marcella looked at her watch. “We’re almost out of time.”
“Look,” Ray said at last. “We either go out there and do this thing, or we probably end up with a riot of fans.”
“Our fans have never rioted,” Dominic said.
Zavier picked at his jeans and said nothing. The silence wasn’t unusual, but his hesitancy was. Mish sat on a stool, arms folded around her middle, closed off.
“There’s a first time for everything,” Ray countered.
There was, though David doubted a riot would ensue. The fans would be sorely disappointed, which the band hated. He pressed his back against the door, still feeling the phantom eyes of the stalker on him, the lingering threat keeping his pulse up and grinding his stomach with memories of sand and fear.
Mish stirred and looked up. “David?”
His name ripped through him. She hadn’t spoken it—or anything to him—since that night on the bus.
