Total pages in book: 200
Estimated words: 189898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 760(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 760(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
At least one of us could say it with a straight face. With my friends sticking close, I approached the line of guards keeping backstage separate from the crowd and the short, overweight man wearing a full beard and a headset.
Before I could give my name, he spoke. “Hey, are you, Brandy?” he asked even as he glanced at his clipboard where my name was printed clearly.
“Braxton.”
“Backup’s already here,” he announced, making me sigh in relief. The guys getting hammered or caught up chasing ass had been on my mounting list of worries these last couple of hours. “Get backstage. You’re up next.” Headset guy then started shouting at one of the crew members without acknowledging his mistake.
What if there was a Brandy waiting to perform, and I took her spot? I knew I was overthinking things considering the organizer had emailed the running order, but that didn’t stop my pits from perspiring. The lights and constant need to vomit would keep me warm if the temperature dropped, so at least I had that. Freezing on stage wasn’t what terrified me anyway.
Reluctantly, I waved goodbye to my friends, who held each other as if I were going off to war, and passed through the metal gate one of the guards held open for me. Once I cleared it, I debated calling Oni to see if she’d been able to make it.
And that was when I heard them.
Helicopter blades.
My attention shot toward the sky along with everyone around me. Chances were that it was just one of the local channels reporting the festival. It took a few minutes to realize that it wasn’t just approaching or flying overhead.
It was landing.
Even though we were in a desert valley, a collection of horrified gasps rang out since the pilot had chosen to land within a stone’s throw of the stage. A gust of wind threatened to knock over any equipment not tied down along with everyone backstage when it hovered twenty feet off the ground before executing a smooth landing.
There was a moment of hesitation before the asshole with the clipboard rushed toward the chopper as its blades still circled. He was yelling something into his headset. Whatever was said in return, there was too much happening for me to overhear. Four more guards materialized on the heels of the headset guy as they rushed for the bird.
With my arm up, I shielded my face as best I could from the strong gust the blades stirred. I guess they couldn’t be bothered to cut the goddamn engine. Maybe they weren’t staying.
As if hearing my thoughts and purposely crushing my hopes, the engine died, and the blades slowed. One of the doors had barely opened before someone started screaming. There were no words of warning—just a long, piercing shrill.
And then…pandemonium.
The backstage crew, volunteers, groupies, and musicians blocked my view as they dropped what they were doing to rush for whatever had caused them all to lose their minds. Different smells and tastes assaulted me all at once until I was close to gagging. Whoever had stepped from that helicopter, I’d only managed to glimpse blond hair gelled to perfection. I didn’t even know if they were alone.
The screams, shouts, and stampeding feet baffled me. There was no one on the lineup who could have sparked such an explosive reaction.
I turned since I was still lingering by the gate, hoping to get answers from the guards, only to see they were occupied with keeping twenty thousand people on the other side of those gates. Word had managed to spread without ever reaching my ears. I wasn’t convinced ten guards could control a hysteric crowd that large. Even now, there were more barreling through to help them.
Holy shit.
I was standing in the middle of chaos and the only one without a goddamn clue. I was Mark Wahlberg in The Happening. Everyone around me had lost their minds, running toward danger instead of away from it.
Not willing to be left that way, I moved toward the short metal stairs leading to the stage and climbed until I reached the top.
It didn’t help.
A moment later, I didn’t need it to.
The screams heightened just before the last of the maniacs who were backstage were shoved aside by the hulking security guards, and then…
My living nightmare walked through.
A smorgasbord of smells and tastes fought for dominance as my emotions unleashed themselves. My stomach clenched tight. I felt like I would never breathe again.
So I watched them instead.
They moved as one in perfect symmetry.
Houston Morrow was at the helm. Loren James was a step behind and flanking his left. The final piece, Jericho Noble, walked in perfect line with Loren on Houston’s right. Together, they formed a pyramid.
Towering, impenetrable, and utterly beautiful.
I wondered if they’d rehearsed it and for how long.
Houston’s gorgeous brown hair was free to be caressed by the wind. He wore a T-shirt that read Not Someone Who Cares, distressed blue jeans, and a matching denim jacket.