Chapter Thirty-Three
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
BONNIE
“Hey! Someone… Someone help them up. Nah, get them the fuck up,” Reed shouts at the audience, mid-song. He glances over to Liam. “Can we get—someone? Security? Anyone? Make sure they’re okay.”
Fuck.
Gemma was right.
These fuckers are tense.
I don’t know if it’s just something in the air or if it’s just an intense group of people attending, but the vibe feels off. Radio Eleven has never felt like this—if it had, we wouldn’t be back here.
I hold my sticks in my lap and wait for security to help the people who were trampled and possibly hurt.
For the third time.
Liam is directing a few guys and Kade is standing at the edge of our stage by Mads with his finger to his headpiece as he watches it from higher ground. I glance up, and I see Gemma in the walk above. I’m surprised she isn’t on the ground smashing heads herself. Though, something tells me if she did, she might be in the middle of the fight herself.
Security lifts someone over the audience—a guy with a bloody nose—and Reed starts pacing, tossing his mic from one hand to the other.
“Okay, I need you fuck heads to repeat after me since some of you seemed to have left your fucking manners at home: if someone falls down, we pick them back up,” Reed says, his tone getting more and more annoyed by the minute. “Let’s not ruin the pit for everyone. Don’t be an asshole. We’re all here for a good time, yeah?”
The crowd roars back at him.
“That’s what I fucking thought.” He pushes his sweaty hair off his forehead. “They say, if you repeat something twenty-one times, you’re bound to remember it. But I don’t have time to say this twenty-one times, so let’s get it through your heads in three. If someone falls down—”
He holds the mic out to the audience.
“ —we pick them back up! ”
“If someone falls down—”
“ —we pick them back up! ”
He repeats it one more time, nods his head, and glances over his shoulder at me. “Ready when you are, Bedlam.”
Shit, I hope that was the last time.
Even more, I hope to hell Gemma doesn’t let him get in the crowd in a couple of songs.
I start up again, trying to block out the audience, and by the end of the song, we’re back in our groove. Zeb comes onto the platform a few times within the next couple of songs, each time peering at me with wide eyes as if to say, “ what the fuck? ” And each time, I nod my agreement.
Because what the fuck.
Reed doesn’t even call for his usual Wall of Death. He’s singing and scouting this venue like a hawk, Mads doing the same. Every now and then, I see Mads step offstage to Kade. He brought Andi backstage instead of in the walk taking photos, intent on keeping her nearby in case something worse than a few pit fights happened.
I don’t blame him for wanting to keep her close.
She’s still taking photos, even coming onto the platform with me some. I’m so consumed with the beat that most times I barely notice her.
And during Pieces , Liam shakes his head at Reed, letting him know there won’t be any crowd surfing today.
Thank fuck for that.
Something tells me he wouldn’t get out of this one, even if Gemma went diving in after him.
We’re almost to the breakdown when I hear Reed’s voice trail mid-verse.
My ears perk, head jerking his way.
Something isn’t right, and if he’s still playing, it means it isn’t just another fight.
Reed walks over to Mads and says something. Mads appears casual as he steps offstage, but I know something is up. I glance to the wings. He says something to Andi. She claps her hand over her mouth, and when she runs, I miss a beat.
What did Reed see?
My gaze scans the area where Reed keeps looking toward. Liam is in the walk. He checks his headset. He peers to the same area and begins walking—not so fast that it draws attention, but quick enough that my attention is fucked.
A hand touches my back.
I jump, but Gemma leans in close, and the fact that she’s onstage makes me nauseous.
“I need you to keep playing,” she says. “Keep playing, and if something happens, run to the dressing room and lock the door. Do not stop. Don’t try to find the guys. They all have their own instructions. Okay?”
I narrow my brows over my shoulder, finding her staring at me with terror in her eyes. It takes me aback, but I keep playing, and Gemma nods once before backing down the platform steps.
Shit.
My heart is in my throat. I’m playing entirely on muscle memory. I look toward Reed again, who’s still singing, but completely distracted, Mads right beside him as if he’s ready to yank Reed off stage the moment something goes down.
Zeb jumps onto the platform like he’s trying to see what’s happening.
Two more security people are closing in down the walk. One hops over the barrier. Someone wearing a hoodie over their head is moving through the crowd with two security people following them from inside the audience. The person reaches the edge of the circle pit, and I stand up without thinking, drumsticks hitting the ground.
Because the fucker pulls a gun from inside his shirt.
“GET DOWN!”
Zeb grabs my arm, and I see Mads jerk Reed to the ground just as gunshots fire.
Fucking gunshots?!
We fall.
My stool clatters down the steps as Zeb and I tumble backward after it. His guitar hits the ground as we roll and land with thuds at the bottom.
“What the hell—”
God, I think I broke something.
And the gunshots haven’t stopped.
People are screaming. Running. Zeb grabs my arm and hauls me up. I think I’d protest if it wasn’t for the fear and adrenaline suddenly coursing through me.
“We have to go!”
“Wait, Gemma said for me to go to the dressing room,” I say.
“She said for me to go to the—”
“MOVE, motherfuckers!”
Mads has Reed by the collar, both running down the back hall at full speed.
“Get wherever Gemma said to go,” Mads shouts at us.
“Wait—shouldn’t we stay together?” I ask frantically.
“We don’t know if this is personal or if it’s just some asshole,” Mads says. “Do what she said. Four different places. Go. Now .”
I look desperately at Zeb, but he swallows and shakes his head like we don’t have a choice.
And I do trust Gemma.
“Okay. Okay. I love you guys—”
I take one more look at them and run down the hall through the people all running in different directions, and I don’t stop until I reach our dressing room door. I throw the door open so hard and fast that I almost fall stumbling into the room. And just as quickly, I shut the door and lock it.
I back up, my body faltering as I hear more and more people screaming. The handle jiggles. Someone beats on the door, but I know if it was the guys, they’d say. The gunshots seemed to have stopped, but even one is too many.
Shit, I hope no one is hurt.
I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m in shock.
Someone had a gun .
I stretch my fingers behind my head and begin to pace, wishing to hell I had something to take the edge off of this anxiety.
Someone shot up a festival during our set.
Our fucking set.
I’m begging the universe that no one was shot, that the guys are okay wherever they are—that Gemma is okay.
Oh, fuck, Gemma.
Tears line my eyes at the thought that she probably went running straight into the danger zone when she left me. What if she’s hurt? What if I don’t see her again?
Please be okay. Please be okay—
Glitter catches my attention from the corner of my eye.
I pause, the noise in my head suddenly silenced. Pink and black glitter. Pink and black glitter at the vanity where I was sitting earlier.
Pink and black…
Everything goes numb, the outside noises turning into a ringing in my ears.
Pink and black glitter wings .
Vomit rises in my throat.
I slowly step toward the seat, and the closer I get, the more I know: those are my wings.
Those are my wings.
They’re my wings .
My.
Fucking.
Wings.
I barely realize I’m picking them up, my gaze snagging on the droplets of blood staining the pink, the torn fabric, the ripped harness… I hold them up to the light, letting the glitter flicker on the walls—a kaleidoscope of colors that makes my jaw begin to tremble.
I can’t catch my breath.
I’m so focused on the wings that I don’t see the shadow of someone much larger than me at my back in the mirror until it’s too late.
Shit—
He lunges at me at the same moment that I scream.
I jump out of his way and grab the wings, making him crash into the chair. He recovers as quickly as it takes me to grab another chair and lift it off the floor. I swing sideways, but I’m not fast enough. He catches the leg and pushes back, sending my back faltering onto the counter lip.
Motherf—
The pain seizes my lower back for less than a fraction of a second. Still, it’s too long. He throws the chair into the mirrors behind him and grabs me by my hair. I yell and screech, beating his hands and kicking. Glass shatters all over the room. I hear it crunch under my boots.
Fucking breathe, Bonnie.
You can kick his ass.
I plant my feet on the floor and manage to get a hand around his wrist and thumb. I pull back and step forward. My booted foot connects with his crotch, and it’s his turn to scream. The grip on my hair loosens, but he’s grappling so frantically that his thick hands find my flimsy shirt. The fabric rips. He falls to his knees, and I trip on my own feet.
Glass finds my hands when I land on my ass.
God-fucking-dammit.
I don’t have time for the pain to get to my head. He’s already pulling me toward him. A shard of mirror cuts a line up the back of my leg, and I can’t hold in my tears or my scream from the pain. I can’t move my left leg. I can’t think straight enough to remember how to defend myself. I’m kicking with everything I have, shoving him with all of my strength—
Blindingly bright lights overhead keep me from seeing his face. The glare is too intense, my tears too thick.
Laughter seeps into my ears as the rest of the world goes silent.
“Stop—No!”
And suddenly my muscles feel like lead. I can’t move, can’t push him away—push them away.
“Get her arms—What do you think of me now, little drummer girl?”
“Please, stop,” I wail as the memory poisons my mind. “STOP—”
Because this time my voice works.
My voice works.
Wait— my voice works.
Reality swarms me, and I scream for help. I scream and squirm and shove as his knees press to my calves. Glass cuts into my side, ripping both my shorts and my skin. Still, he doesn’t have my arms. He doesn’t have my arms, and I grab for anything on the floor.
The moment my fingers touch glass, his fist comes in contact with my face.
My screams turn into sobs. I’m stunned by the pain, by the blood dripping down my split lip.
Get up, Bonnie.
Fight.
You couldn’t fight last time.
You can today.
I take every ounce of rage within me, and I swing. I don’t know what’s in my hand. I don’t know if it will stop him, but I have to try.
The drum pad collides with the side of his head, doing nothing more than pissing him off. I grab for anything on my right, my hand finally finding the stool, and I launch it across him. It cracks over his back enough that one of the legs splinters off.
He loses concentration, weight rocking back. I force my legs to move, force myself to get out from under him and scramble backward. He’s holding his ear as I drag myself to my feet, wooden leg in my hand.
And with everything I have within me, I bring it down over his head.
My knees give out as he winces, holds his neck, and bolts to his feet. He’s up and out of the room as my legs hit the ground, and when the door clicks shut, I can’t turn it off.
I wail.
I howl with every ounce of fear, regret, and terror within me. As all the memories come crashing down, the flood gates open and spill in a relentless waterfall that won’t let up. Flashes of a night I never wanted to relive invade my mind like black ink. Their laughs. Their masked faces. The voice in my head that I couldn’t get out.
The sound of a heart monitor’s steady beep makes me hyperventilate.
I press my hands to the floor and hurl.
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
I’m backed up under the counter, blood and vomit staining the floor all around me when the door opens. I scream and grab a piece of glass, pointing a quivering hand at the person coming inside.
I can’t see them through my tears. I just see a figure… hear their footsteps… see the light from outside around their body.
I can’t hear what they say.
I can’t feel anything other than my own trembling.
And when Gemma’s face comes into view, kneeling in front of me, the glass drops from my fingers, and I throw myself into her arms.
“I’m sorry,” I hear her whispering. “Bonnie, I’m so sorry. I have you now. God, I’m so fucking sorry—”
She pulls back to hold my face in her hands. My body is going numb with every passing second. She says something, though I don’t hear it.
I collapse into her again, and this time as my eyes close, the world goes dark.
Beep.
Beep.