Page 4 of East (The Moral Compass 3)

“Oh my god. You’re going to be so fucking sick over this,” one of the girls cries. Sick is supposed to mean good or happy.

“Oh my god. This is amazing!” Another girl swoons, draping her arm over my brother’s shoulder.

“All of you just shut. The. Fuck. Up!” I yell over the screaming. They all go silent quickly. The girls look at me, petrified. They should. The last thing I can abide is a catty skinny gold digger.

“Thank you. Now, one of you tell me what is going on. And I meanoneof you.” I point to the girl who is not hanging off my brother.

“Well, we’ve had an idea,” she whispered in a shaky voice.

“Spit it out, then,” I demand back. My brother evades my stare.

“You need to be him. For everything but his onstage performances. He can stay here in the hotel suite with us, and you and security can go about pretending to be him.”

“You are not fucking serious. Absolutely no way. People will be able to tell the difference. He wears a freaking wig onstage and has different ink. There is no way anyone will fall for that.”

“Yes, they will. Look…” The makeup artist steps forward with the wig—I swear to God, his sweaty dirty fucking wig—and then it gets worse. Two sleeves of body stocking and then two sleeves of tattoos that look exactly like my brother’s.

“I’m not wearing them. You can fuck off, the lot of you. And I am not pretending to be that prick. You lot are seriously missing a few marbles from the jar if you think I am.”

Two hours later, I am wandering the halls of the casino dressed as my twin brother. Women are going crazy, and the security team is doing a great job keeping them at bay until one girl in the back of the pack of hungry wolves catches my eye. Her blue eyes stand out from everyone else’s. Jesus, if looks could kill, I would be six feet under.

I try to get the security team to stop, but because the women are practically out of control, we have to keep moving.

Was that East McGarry in the back of the crowd? She’s supposed to be in New York. Why would she be here in Vegas? I must be seeing things. I have had her on my mind far too much this week. Maybe I need to find a nice brunette and let off some steam.

It’s been a busy year with one thing after another. I’ve been working with West and North pretty much day and night, so my extracurricular activities have suffered a little. Time to get back on the horse. The plus side to impersonating my brother is that if things go to shit, they will think it’s him they’ve slept with. I can’t help a little chuckle at the thought.

Of course, I wouldn’t do that. And things would never go to shit. But the thought was funny.

Then, she’s back in my head. Was that East? I’ve only seen her once and only for a few seconds, but hell, it looked like her. Maybe I’m just imagining what I want to see.

Come on, man, stop thinking of her. You like your balls positioned exactly where they are.

The crowd of women gets thicker until I can’t see more than two feet in front of me. The security team encircles me as they lead me through some doors and into the backstage area of the arena.

Jesus Christ, I couldn’t do that every day. Don’t get me wrong, the attention was flattering. But hellfire, women pulling at my clothes, trying to grab my arms and more frighteningly my hair. If they pulled any harder, the bloody wig would have come off.

The security team walks me through all the systems, entrances, and exits. They then show me who is who in the staffing. As I am supposed to know who these people are, I am given a guided tour of my brother’s last few escapades. No wonder he has death threats. He’s slept with nearly every female on the set. I’ve never felt so unpopular in my life. Every woman I give a smile to throws me daggers.

Finding out who wants him dead is going to be a lot harder than I first imagined.

My mind flits back to East. Surely, she’s not one of Drake’s followers. I really hope not. And I hope she hasn’t been there with him. West would rip his throat out. That reminds me: stop thinking of East McGarry.

Chapter 5

East

InormallyloveVegas.I love the lights, the sounds, and the hustle and bustle of people everywhere. The slot machine pay-out in the casinos, groups of guys shouting when they win on the blackjack table. The buzz is just like nothing else.

But this time, it’s different. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to watch Drake onstage, but I can’t tell Chelsea. She will want to know why, and I would feel bloody stupid telling her that he didn’t even recognise me when he was in my own home. Nope, that bit needs to stay with me. I’ll just pretend to have a great time and hope seeing him on stage doesn’t reignite the dampened flame inside me.

All checked into our hotel, we head down to the casino. Chelsea has inside knowledge that Drake will be checking out his sound and lighting tonight before tomorrow’s gig.

The casino is swarming with women, and I can tell straight away which direction Drake is coming from. The women go crazy, pushing and shoving and nearly killing each other just to get a glimpse of him. Normally, I would be right in the thick of that, but today, I just pop myself up on a barstool at the back and watch.

My heart flutters as he walks through the casino with a crowd of women tearing at his clothes. That hint of jealousy starts to flare, but I breathe in and remind myself of his vacant look.

Until he finds my eyes staring at him in the sea of people. He looks and then looks again, and there’s a flash in his eyes I’ve never seen before. He looks different somehow. The same, but… different. His walk is more purposeful and stronger. I stand up on the stool to get a better view. His arms are bigger, his shoulders seem broader and, from what little I can see from back here, he has a much tighter arse. He must have been working out since I last got up close and personal with him.

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