Chapter 2

Another crumpled paper filled with lame attempts at lyrics. Five new songs to write and this one had become an obsession. Brave Trousseau slumped on the leather sofa spanning the front lounge of the tour bus. The noise from the other bands hustling around the parking lot outside wasn’t helping him brainstorm. He tossed his notepad on the cushion beside him.

I fucking hate that bastard. Why write a song about him?

Worst thing was, no one had asked him to. Well, no one besides Winter’s Wrath’s ex-manager who was stuck in prison for the next three-to-five. That son-of-a-bitch had insisted a song about the ‘tragic’ death of the eldest Trousseau brother, Valor, would bring a spike in sales.

His other ideas for publicity almost ended the life of Brave’s younger brother, Alder, so fuck what he thought.

Still, Brave couldn’t shake the urge to write the song. And nothing else seemed to inspire him. With a studio deadline looming he didn’t have time for writer’s block, but there was no way around it.

The front door to the bus opened, bringing in more noise. He looked over to see Jesse Vaughn, their new tour manager and longtime roadie, climb up the steps with a clipboard in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“No fucking smoking on the bus.” Brave scowled at the slight quirk of Jesse’s lips, but at least the man tossed his cigarette out on the curb. “And I’m good on time, so don’t get on my ass.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Jesse chuckled as Brave ground his teeth, making the innuendo even more obvious. He stepped up to the dinette across from Brave, setting down the clipboard before turning to face him. “You asked for an update on the security detail. Their van’s still stuck on the side of the highway—they gotta wait for Triple A. Your bodyguards won’t be here in time.”

“Cancel the show.” Brave took a deep breath, rising slowly as Jesse shook his head. “This isn’t up for discussion.”

“No. It isn’t.”

I’m about to knock this asshole’s teeth in. They were in Detroit for the first time since Alder had been stabbed. No fucking way in hell was the band getting on stage without bodyguards. Jesse claimed to love his brother, but he had a fucked up way of showing it.

“Brave, listen to me. I get it. Every goddamn time you guys hit the stage I’m watching the crowd, wondering…” Jesse rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s been seven months. There are no new threats.”

“You need one?” Brave fisted his hands by his sides, leaning heavily on his newfound restraint. “Not that we’d know if there’s another psycho out there since Reese has all our mail screened.”

“She does that so you don’t have to stress about it.” As usual, Jesse acted like Winter’s Wrath’s new manager walked on fucking water. Sure, she was great for the band, but she hadn’t been there while Alder almost bled out on stage with a ‘fan’ holding a knife to his throat.

Seven months and everyone treated Alder’s brush with death like old news. Everyone except Brave.

Recording the first few songs for their new album rather than going on the road had given Alder time to heal, and releasing a new single, along with a kickass music video, had kept the band relevant. Brave had delayed the tour as long as he could, but then Reese called a meeting to cement the importance of building off fan excitement. Avoid hitting a plateau.

The band took a vote.

And he’d surrendered to the overwhelming majority. Not that he’d had a choice, but the team of military trained bodyguards shadowing them seemed like a reasonable compromise.

Now they wanted him to give that up too?

Not happening.

He had one card to play. And he didn’t think twice before tossing it on the table. “The band can’t go perform without me.”

“True… Alder could probably sing a few songs on his own, but the fans will be disappointed.” Jesse glanced around, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You never mentioned how much the bus cost you. I know you’re all making good money now, but I suspect our new house was cheaper.”

‘Our’ was Jesse, Alder, and Danica Tallien—the band’s stage performer. The happy trio had bought a nice little bungalow in upstate Michigan. Which they’d be renting out now that they were back on tour, because they were all about the purchase making good business sense.

Brave was fine with his old apartment. Investing in the band meant more to him. His first big paycheck on signing with their new label went to buying the bus, a slick 2014 Prevost XLII. A few of the guys had wanted to pitch in, but he needed to do this for them.

He’d almost destroyed the band once in a spectacular meltdown. Winter’s Wrath was his whole world. And there was nothing he wouldn’t do to prove it.

“Get to the point, Jesse.” He folded his arms over his chest and held Jesse’s level gaze. One that once would have been filled with lust. Lust Brave could have used to get anything he wanted.

The game had been fun while it lasted. The big, muscular man had a mouth meant to suck cock. And a hard body, with sleek muscles and an ass Brave could—

He belongs to your brother. His ass is off limits.

Right. They had a professional relationship now. One that grated in moments like this. Jesse had been an excellent choice for tour manager because his extensive knowledge of the band members’ strengths and weaknesses left them all at a disadvantage.

He knew where to find Tate Maddox, their drummer, when he went AWOL. He effortlessly kept heated arguments from coming to blows, making it easy to forget how volatile he himself had been less than a year ago. The man had become calm and collected, slipping into his new role like it had been made for him.

And he’d probably figure out exactly how to get Brave up on that stage no matter what he said.

Let him fucking try.

“You are aware you signed a contract with the label? You’ll be fined if you don’t perform barring medical reasons. And that’s not in the fine print, so no way you could have missed it.” Jesse shook his head when Brave glared at him again. He went to the fridge to grab a beer. “Unless I’m wrong, you can’t afford the fine. Which will create all kinds of issues for the band. Possibly screw up the recording schedule, the promotion, pretty much everything the label supplies.”

“For missing one show?” Brave snorted, but his confidence faltered. Reese had been clear that the label was taking a chance with them. She wasn’t tough on them for the fun of it. They had a lot to prove. “Security concerns are a good reason to postpone.”

“If there were any, I’d agree.” Jesse opened the fridge again, grabbing another beer and holding it out to Brave like a peace offering. “Do you think I’d put any of you in danger? Seriously, Brave. You know I love your brother. The venue has its own security and I’ve met their guys. They don’t fuck around.”

“They’re not our guys. They don’t know—”

“They do know. Damn it, haven’t I earned your trust?” Jesse set the bottle aside when Brave didn’t take it. “Look, business aside, I get it. I was with you on postponing the tour, but the band needs this. Alder needs this. He’s been going nuts with everyone trying to put him in a fucking bubble. He can’t let that night cripple him forever. He needs to get past—”

“Can you? Can you get past seeing him up there, bleeding out? Am I the only one not willing to put him at risk again for the almighty dollar?” Damn it, Brave felt like he was losing his damn mind. Part of him wanted what was best for the band. Another part was fucking scared to death, because success wasn’t worth losing another brother. Not Alder. Alder was better than them all.

“No one is risking him—or any of you—for money! No one’s risking you at all!” Jesse slammed his fist on the table, losing his annoying as fuck composure. “I thought you were done pulling this diva shit!”

Diva shit? Brave let out a cold laugh. “You wanna go there, Jesse? Maybe I wouldn’t need to pull ‘this shit’ if you’d been doing your job that night.”

Jesse’s fist cracked into his jaw. He stumbled, then threw himself forward, slamming his shoulder into Jesse’s gut. Jesse fell over the dinette table. Beer bottles hit the floor. Latching onto his arm from the floor, Jesse jerked Brave down. He flipped Brave on his back, pinning him with a forearm on his throat.

“Enough! Get off him, Jesse. Now.” The cold snap of a familiar voice had Brave and Jesse scrambling to their feet. Reese Griffith, their new manager, regarded him, then Jesse, like a teacher would a couple of kids in the schoolyard acting like fools. And she had no time for their shit. “Sound check is in ten minutes. The rest of the band is setting up. Why are you still here?”

“He’s decided not to sing tonight because our security detail was held up.” Jesse straightened his black shirt, then ran a hand through his neatly trimmed, dirty blond hair. “We were…discussing his options.”

“Clearly.” Reese’s lips thinned. She was a Korean woman with sharp, angular features and wide, dark brown eyes that narrowed with annoyance when she caught them being childish. She also had a brilliant smile the whole band craved, though she hadn’t graced Brave with it yet. She didn’t seem to like him very much.

And what she’d just walked in on wouldn’t help.

He cleared his throat, going for his most calm and reasonable tone. “I’m sorry. Maybe I didn’t handle this well, but—” He cut himself off and dropped his gaze. If Jesse thought venue security was good enough, so would she. “This is our first show in Detroit since Alder was attacked.”

“Very true. And while I don’t believe the city itself has any bearing on what happened, there’s been some concern expressed on social media. People will be watching this show to see how we address those concerns.” Her tone softened slightly. “Brave, I can see how this would be difficult for you. If I believed the venue security was lacking I’d postpone the performance myself. The band’s safety is my top priority.”

“So a few bouncers are supposed to be good enough?”

“No. But this venue has a capacity of five hundred, limited specifically for the most hardcore events. They’re known for handling unruly crowds. Which is one of the many reasons I booked you here.” She moved to the sofa and took a seat, smoothing her crisp gray skirt over her knees. “Please sit.” She waited until he joined her before continuing. “Your own security being delayed was unexpected. However, this venue has full screening. Metal detectors, bag-check, rules against crowd surfing, and a wide barrier from the stage. No one will get anywhere near you.” She stared at him until he met her eyes. “Or Alder.”

He took a deep breath and nodded. “You probably think I’m being paranoid.”

“You have reason. But your safety and security is my highest priority. And Jesse’s.” She shot Jesse a look he couldn’t read. “For future notice, please don’t hesitate to contact me with your concerns. I need you focused on singing and writing music. I am here to make sure you don’t have to worry about anything else.”

“I’ll do my best.” He rubbed his throat, wondering if he could use it being sore as another excuse to reschedule the show.

Reese let out a soft laugh. “Don’t bother. Your voice sounds fine. You will perform tonight.” She pushed off the sofa and smiled at him. “I must say, you’ve proven to be a much different man than I thought I was dealing with.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. That was an observation, not a compliment.” Her slight smile softened her words. “I hope this will be a mutually beneficial partnership. You have reservations because of your former management. I have my own, to be perfectly honest, because your track record is shit.”

He wet his lips, nodding slowly. “But things have improved.”

“Slightly, yes. But not enough. You’ve agreed to three of the ten stops on the tour so far which is unacceptable. There are fifteen planned in North America before you begin your European tour. I will give Jesse a list of places Winter’s Wrath will perform before I leave.” She looked around the bus, her lips thinning slightly at the pile of dirty dishes by the sink. But she didn’t comment on them. Instead, she jutted her chin toward the door leading to the bunks. “How many spare beds are there?”

“Technically three, but one’s used for storage.” His whole body tensed as she continued to give the bus a critical once over. The dishes were only there because he refused to clean up after Connor Phelan, their bass player. The muscle-head had been off with their opening bands all morning. Soon as he came in tonight, they were gonna have a chat.

“Good.” Reese started for the door. “You have two interviews with bloggers scheduled tonight.”

“Yeah. Jesse told us.”

“I’m happy to hear he’s fulfilling his role.” She paused and glanced back at Jesse. “Let me know if that changes.”

She left the bus to a heavy silence. Brave retrieved the still intact beer from the floor. He took a few swigs, arching a brow as Jesse pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket.

Jesse rolled his eyes and started off the bus.

“Wait.” Brave followed him to the door, tension building between his eyes as he met the other man’s hard gaze. They’d gotten along better when they’d been fucking. Now, he had no idea how to talk to the guy. “I wasn’t trying to mess with your job.”

“I know.” Jesse sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “But you should be in there, working this shit out with the band. And with your brother. He convinced me and Danica he was ready. Maybe he’ll convince you too.”

The man had a point. Brave stared at the door after Jesse shut it behind him, wishing it was that simple. Writing music—or attempting to—was all he knew how to do anymore. His relationship with the band was still strained. And it was up to him to fix that, but old habits died hard. For years he got the final say, no matter what they wanted. The shift in dynamics gave him whiplash.

Running the band like a democracy meant more than discussing their plans for the future. If he suggested so much as a restaurant to stop for lunch, one of the guys would come up with a ‘better’ option. And the rest would agree while watching Brave to see if he’d get pissed.

He kept his damn mouth shut. Every fucking time. He got it. He wasn’t in charge anymore. He’d abused his power and to make up for it, he was left with none.

But he hadn’t felt that extreme lack of control so fiercely until now. His one redeeming quality, one that had been a surprise to everyone, was that he’d do anything to protect Alder. Reasonable for a big brother, right?

Apparently not.

Finishing off his beer, Brave eyed the time. He should have been inside a few minutes ago. Shoving his long black hair back he pulled a leather tie from his snug black jean pocket and tied his hair at the nape of his neck. A glance in the mirror on the far wall showed a smudge of gray—probably from his left hand rubbing over the pencil-scrawled pages for so long. He rubbed it off. Not a huge improvement. There were dark shadows under his eyes and his clothes were rumpled. He looked like shit.

At least one thing he could control. The fans wouldn’t care, but his bandmates would be annoyed after having spent time primping for the show. He glanced at his nails, covered in chipped black polish and smirked.

Too fucking bad.

Leaving the bus, he hustled across the lot, lifting his hand to wave at the people in line who noticed him and started screaming his name. The metal barriers held them at bay and in seconds he was inside, taking the back entrance and striding along the dark hall toward the greenroom.

One of the doors along the hall opened and Danica stepped out. She blinked when she saw him, her blood red lips tipping at the edges.

“You’re a mess.” She grabbed his wrist and tugged him into the dressing room she’d just left. Her makeup lady straightened from where she’d been cleaning up all her tools from the vanity. “Lucky for you, Gloria can fix you up in no time.”

“Ah…yeah.” He gently pried his wrist free. “Unfortunately, we have no time.”

“We have plenty. Lighting blew a breaker. Sound check’s been delayed, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.” She patted his cheek. “I’ll let the guys know you’re getting prettied up. See you in a few.”

“Awesome.” Brave frowned at Danica’s back as she skipped off, but flashed a smile at Gloria when she spun the chair—which looked like it belonged in a barber shop—around and motioned for him to sit. Wasn’t her fault his one last attempt to exert some control had been foiled.

So this is the life of the rich and famous.

Only, he wasn’t rich anymore. And none of them would be famous for long if they didn’t work this shit out.

For the moment, the distance between them was only felt by the band.

But it wouldn’t be long before it poisoned the music as well.

* * * *

Shiori hugged herself tightly as the lights went out and the curtain at the very back of the stage parted, revealing the huge Winter’s Wrath logo, a skull in a snowflake, which had been hidden while the opening bands played. Beneath it was a drum kit, which seemed to have twice as many drums as any band she’d seen before.

One bass drum had the logo, while the other had the band’s name in realistic blood splatter. The drummer, Tate Maddox, made his way behind it, drawing excited screams from the crowd.

From the side stage, Shiori could see his little smirk as he took his seat. He was too freakin’ cute—even cuter than she’d expected from his pictures. His golden-brown hair was shaved all around, except for a long part on top that fell over one eye when he bowed his head. The black eyeliner around his eyes made his pink-toned, white skin even starker in contrast, and he almost glowed under the neon lights.

Next came Malakai Noble, the bassist, who strode on stage and gave the crowd a cold smile. His darkly tanned skin, broad jaw, and the way he moved made her think of a powerful beast with a wild edge tightly leashed by his own hand. If he loosened his grip, he’d be dangerous. Having him so close gave her a strange thrill, like the temptation to play a risky game, exciting and scary all at once.

She shivered as he glanced her way and crept further into the shadows, bumping into Sophie who steadied her with a hand on her shoulder.

“He plays the part well, but he’s not as mean as he looks.” Sophie whispered to her. “Reese, and I have spoken about ways to work on the band’s image, but he’s one we’ve agreed doesn’t need to change. On stage, he’s dark and mysterious. All tight muscles, military style, and out of reach. His fans have all kinds of theories about his dark past, which puts him just below Brave as the favorite.”

“Does he have a dark past?” Shiori bit her bottom lip, not sure she should have asked. She was here to see the band in person, meet with them after, and get the stamp of approval from Reese to start her trial run.

For two weeks, she’d gone through a crash course in modeling. Her audition and training were rolled together, everything from proving that she looked good on camera, to becoming comfortable with interviews—all pretend ones with Sophie, but she’d been assured that was enough. Over and over she’d been tested on her ability to mimic Danica’s dance moves, but the work had paid off. She’d been offered a temporary contract with the band as Danica’s understudy. Sophie and Reese had gone back and forth for another few days and finally come to some kind of agreement.

Shiori didn’t know all the details. Only that she’d be on tour with them for at least a week to see if she was a good fit. Starting tonight.

She hadn’t met any of the guys yet. Or Danica, who she’d been taking over for if all went well. Reese insisted Shiori needed to see the band perform first. When Shiori admitted she’d only been to the concerts of a few small local bands, Reese hadn’t been pleased.

Seeing that huge crowd out there, she understood Reese’s reluctance. As much as Sophie tried to sell her as a perfect fit, she couldn’t hide her lack of experience. Sure, Shiori would get to rehearse before she actually got on stage with the band, but that didn’t change the fact that a high school play was the biggest performance in her portfolio.

Strangely enough, one three-way phone call with Shiori and Sophie was all it took for Reese to give her a chance.

“I’ll be honest with you. Danica set the bar high. This may not be PC, but I refused to consider replacing her with the standard pretty white girl most agencies would have offered. Her presence made an impact because she’s different and talented. She has a special quality that can’t be matched.” Reese went silent for what seemed like a long time. “I’m not asking you to go up there as a token, Shiori. I’m asking you to become a presence. To earn your own fanbase. To give the crowd something they’ll never forget.”

Sophie jumped right in. “A new talent could do that. We won’t know until—”

“I need to hear it from her.” Reese had a no-nonsense tone that intimidated Shiori, but she respected the woman for knowing exactly what she wanted.

So she took a deep breath and did her best to assure she could fulfill her role with the band while Danica was gone. “Danica is…everything I want to be. Her confidence on stage inspires me. I wasn’t sure what I wanted until I saw her up there. I want to be able to do that. To know that some other girl, somewhere, will look at me and know she can do anything.”

“You could do that in many professions. Become a journalist. An actress. You’re a beautiful young woman with a lot of potential.” Reese sounded kind and supportive, but Shiori knew this was another test.

She cleared her throat. “I could. And maybe I will one day. But when will I get another chance like this? I want to be on that stage. I want people to see me, to feel how much I love the music so they can share their own passion with me.”

Reese let out a soft laugh. “Damn. That was perfect. If nothing else, I want to see if she can be this convincing when all those bloggers start grilling her.”

“She can. She has something Danica didn’t and I think the fans will love it.” Sophie’s tone was light, as if she’d known all along Reese would agree that Shiori was the best choice. “She loves the music just as much as they do.”

“I don’t need a fangirl.” Reese’s voice sharpened. “Or a groupie.”

“You’re not getting one. Shiori is well aware of who your boys are. She has no illusions about them.”

“Perfect.” Reese’s smile was clear in her tone. “That’s all I needed to know.”

Sophie squeezed her shoulder. “You’re not even listening to me, girl. Please tell me you’re not star struck already. I’d hate for you to prove me a liar.”

Shiori blinked as she realized she’d been staring at Malakai while lost in thought. Good thing she’d drifted away too, because as she focused on him again, her belly got all fluttery. He looked over and her mouth went dry. His expression never changed, but something in his eyes told her he was well aware of her presence.

His playful wink heated her cheeks.

“No, I’m not… This is all just…” Trial run, Shiori. Pull it together. She wet her lips with her tongue. “I’m excited. And yes, he’s incredible to see in person, but he’s not the one I’ll be looking at.”

“Good.” Sophie straightened as two guitarists strode onto the stage. “Keep that in mind and you’ll do fine.”

Smiling with relief, Shiori focused on Alder Trousseau, her chest squeezing slightly as she caught the familiar features. His long, sleek black hair sliding down to cover most of his face helped, but for a split second, she could imagine how Kyoko had felt, six years ago in the crowd, looking up to see that face.

The Trousseau brothers all had that smooth, irresistible appeal. They were so different in attitude, but even the worst of them could charm a woman with a smile. Make her forget that they had so many girls like her lusting after them.

A few sweet words, a bit of attention, and Kyoko had been a goner. Back then Shiori had thought it was so romantic that her sister had fallen in love with a rock star. Sure, the band played metalcore, but it was all the same. The dark hero, the sweet virgin, a forbidden love that ended in happily-ever-after.

They’d both been silly little girls, ready to latch on to whatever dream they could find.

Only, Kyoko had paid the price for hers.

And Shiori had learned from it.

Connor Phelan, the rhythm guitarist, didn’t mess with her senses like the others, so she observed him as the band began the opening of their latest big hit, Subsist. He had bigger muscles than the rest, mussed up blond hair, and a ruddiness to his skin that told her he spent a lot of time outside. He flashed a charming smile at the girls leaning over the metal barrier set a yard back from the stage.

A deafening scream rose from the girls and spread through the crowd as Brave Trousseau sauntered up to the mic, his head down, his wavy, long black hair covering his face completely.

The beat quickened. Rose to a fever pitch. Goosebumps spread over her skin as she anticipated the sound of his voice.

He latched onto the mic and tipped his head back enough to reveal his lips. “Red gifts, teeth, and candy. So many innocent lies. Let me believe… Let me always believe.”

The whispered lyrics sent a chill down her spine. She’d listened to this song over and over, it affected her every time, but never like this. He growled and her pulse skipped a beat as he threw his head back, the power of his voice vibrating through her bones with each word. In seconds the music had a hold on her soul, clearing her mind of all but the aggressive beat as Brave’s passion wrapped around her.

Like thunder fading into the distance, the first song ended and Brave raked his hair back to grin at the rowdy throng. “Fuck, it’s great to be home! Let’s hear it for the best city in the world! Detroit, you ready to tear this place apart?”

Screams and howls. Devil horns in the air in a wild salute. Fans pressed against the barrier.

Shiori held her breath as she watched them reach toward the stage, crushing one another in their excitement. Being up here was incredible. Down there? She’d be freaking out.

Brave laughed. “Let’s hear it for the opening bands! Atlas, Spider-Spawn, and Gear-Core!”

More cheers and some clapping. A group in the back started chanting ‘Gear-Core!’ and pumping their fist in the air. Shiori hadn’t come out until just before Winter’s Wrath hit the stage, but she knew a few songs from the other bands. Unlike some shows, this line-up fit Winter’s Wrath’s style perfectly. She wouldn’t be surprised if the opening bands earned themselves some new fans.

“Now, I know you’re all waiting for something, but I can’t quite put my finger on it…” Brave cocked his head to one side. “Wanna give me a hint?”

Silence. Then a low hum, growing louder and louder as everyone in the crowd seemed to catch on. Voices rose, singing lyrics of another song Shiori knew well.

Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believing’. She’d almost forgotten Winter’s Wrath did a cover of the song every time they played in Detroit. A few bands did, but she might be a little biased because none of them came close to this intensity. This wasn’t an offhand tribute. The way Brave sang, the way every member of the band played, truly expressed the feeling that they’d come home.

Before the song finished the beat changed, shifting effortlessly into the opening of ‘Center Mass’. Shiori shook with excitement as Danica ran onto the stage, sliding on her knees to the edge in front of Brave, forming a gun with her hands and ‘firing’ over the crowd.

Oh god, she’s gorgeous! Shiori bit her bottom lip as Danica leapt to her feet, punching her fist in the air at the chorus. She was wearing a camo skirt, tight little vest, and a green beret. Her incredibly long legs were covered with strategically ripped fishnet stockings and she had platform combat boots on her feet.

Boots Shiori would probably break her neck trying to walk in, and here Danica was, dancing in them. As confident as she’d been about her ability to take this job, actually seeing the woman out there gave her serious doubts. Would the fans even accept her as a temporary replacement?

“I know that look!” Sophie practically screamed in her ear to be heard over the music. “Don’t do that!”

The uber professional Sophie shouting while making faces at the music was too funny. Shiori stifled a giggle, her mood instantly lighter, and went back to watching the show.

Two more songs, then Brave worked the crowd a bit, flirting and making risqué comments about a local politician everyone seemed to hate. Most of the fans seemed to enjoy his jabs, but a group of guys near the barrier started grumbling.

“Hey, who fucking cares?” One man, whose words were slightly slurred, leaned over, giving Brave a one fingered salute. “Didn’t you learn anything from your brother? We want to hear about pussy!”

For the first time that night, Alder spoke into his mic. “Yeah, I tried to teach Brave about pussy, but the two girls with him told me he’s got it covered.”

The attention got the man even more riled up. He burst out laughing. “Not you, loser! Valor!”

Oh no. Shiori brought her hand to her lips as Brave stepped forward and Alder grabbed his arm. After losing a sibling herself she could imagine how painful it was to have their dead brother thrown in their face so heartlessly.

At least Alder remained calm. A good sign.

“Whatever, pal.” Alder gave the man a cold smile. “You need material to whack off too, try PornHub.”

“You wanna entertain us? Play something by LOST!” The man looked around for support, but even his friends were trying to get him to calm down. He ignored them and pointed at Alder. “I say the wrong brother died! Go home and fuck your nasty bitch! Get us some real talent!”

The second Alder jumped off the stage, Shiori covered her eyes and groaned. The night was about to go to hell. And even though she understood Alder snapping, she couldn’t ignore the impact of his actions.

If this went on his permanent record, she might as well go home now.

Sophie tugged her away from the stage, nudging her to keep going. “Wait for me outside. And don’t worry. Reese will have a plan.”

Will she? Shiori retreated from the chaos, her throat tight as she felt all her hopes slip away. She’d known meeting Alder and Brave wouldn’t fix all her problems. Might not solve anything at all. Their hardcore lifestyles weren’t ideal. Still, she respected all they’d accomplished.

But those accomplishments wouldn’t do her any good if they didn’t come off as stable on paper. She didn’t judge them, but her opinion didn’t matter.

She wouldn’t be the one who decided Hiro’s future.