Chapter Ten
A iden slammed a shot glass on the table and bit into a lemon slice.
Sour flooded his mouth. Neon beamed across the dancefloor, bending around bodies while hard-hitting bass shook the walls.
People wrapped in micro-dresses and designer jeans stumbled through the crowd, sipping overpriced cocktails and laughing against the music.
Georgia had prowled the dancefloor until she found a handsome man to press against for a while, and Dylan had moved to Hail the Haunted’s VIP table.
Shay sat beside Aiden, scanning the room.
His features tightened. Nostrils flared.
Fingertips curled and uncurled. Aiden knew hunger intimately.
But whatever had taken hold of Shay was an older brand.
Harder and meaner. It terrified him—thrilled him, even—to watch Shay sink into monstrousness.
He swallowed another mouthful of tequila, drowning shame and jealousy and paranoia.
Somewhere close to bone, Aiden wished he would’ve been the one to crawl back onto shore.
Wished he could trade places with Shay, who looked animal and afraid, lit by a flashing strobe in the booming club.
Aiden had unmade himself once before—unstitched his flesh and discarded an ill-fitting self.
If he could turn back time, he would’ve done it differently.
Stepped off the cliff, let the waves pummel him, sold his own soul, returned as something more.
Saved Shay Bennett. Harnessed power. Transformed himself.
But sacrifices couldn’t be undone, and Aiden had to deal with the fucking mess he’d made.
Shay leaned toward him. Their elbows knocked, arms pressing atop the table. “Gonna grab a beer. Want anything?”
“I’ll come with you.”
“It’s fine, I got it.”
“ Seriously? ” Aiden turned, mouth hovering below Shay’s ear. “I’m not about to sit here and pretend you’re not casing this fucking club, Shay. We need a plan—a good one.”
Shay chewed an ice cube. He’d changed into a collared black shirt and dark denim, and fidgeted restlessly with his flashy abalone cufflinks.
He was irritatingly handsome, even with his sunken eyes and sallow complexion.
“I can do this on my own,” he said, and faced the lively dancefloor.
“Keep drinking. It’s what you do best, isn’t it? ”
“No, stabbing people is what I do best,” Aiden said. “Or did you forget?”
Shay’s lips split into a fanged grin, and he tilted forward, teasing at Aiden’s mouth like an asshole . “Yeah, and you couldn’t even get that right,” he said, and melted into the crowd.
For a moment, Aiden re-considered being able to kill Shay a second time. Right then, he certainly could’ve.
Nerves ignited in his chest. He inhaled a slow, trembling breath, cycling through scenarios.
There were cameras, like, every-fucking-where in the club and around the hotel.
Shay wasn’t necessarily unhinged, but he definitely wasn’t thinking clearly, and he probably hadn’t considered the round-the-clock security at a swanky castle like this.
But. . . but if they made for the outskirts of the strip, they might find an easier target.
A traveler—someone without a phone. Without a home.
Briefly, he thought about Shay’s slick, red mouth.
Could he live on blood alone. . . ? He remembered the snap of Thomas’s ribcage.
Grabbed the tequila out of the ice bucket and drank straight from the bottle.
Thought, what if I could feed him , and chewed another lemon to kill the heat in his throat.
Thoughts whirled like a storm. Cameras. Getting caught.
Murder. Prison. Letting Shay bite him. Security.
Sacrifice. Where is he? Aiden craned, frantically searching, until he spotted dainty hands resting on familiar shoulders, dark hair swaying, and abalone glinting as Shay steered a pair of narrow hips.
Someone squeezed Aiden’s elbow. He startled, jumping in his seat.
“Whoa, hey! Chill out, it’s me,” Georgia said. She tugged on his wrist. “C’mon, these kids can’t dance. Keep me company for a minute.”
“Sorry, hey. I?—”
“Come on, one song,” she said, and hauled him off the chair.
He stumbled with her onto the dancefloor, rising to the tips of his boots to see over the crowd.
The bar was three people deep. Purple and pink lights shot from left to right, warping the faces around him.
Georgia pulled him into a spin, following the rhythmic trance with her hips.
Her romper was already sweat-dampened, and a thin sheen glittered on her cheeks.
She grinned at him, laughing as he snaked his hand around her waist and dipped her, stealing a glance over her shoulder.
Where the fuck are you, Shay? Georgia spun, playfully pushing against his hips, fingers laced with his above her head.
Aiden took the opportunity to search again.
Dancefloor, no. Bar, no. Table, no . Finally, Shay appeared, slipping past the bathrooms toward the outdoor pool area, one arm tucked around a black denim skirt, slender legs covered in pleather, crop top draped over fishnet.
You idiot, Aiden thought, and steered his gaze to the table where Dylan shared his vape pen with the drummer from Hail the Haunted. Groupies lingered, minus two.
Aiden put his mouth to Georgia’s ear and said, “I’m gonna check on Shay. Pretty sure he’s tapped out.”
“Since when do you give a single shit about Shay?” She arched a brow, leaning the back of her head against his shoulder.
“Since we have a sold-out show to play tomorrow. Go bug Dylan to dance with you.”
Georgia barked out a laugh. “Oh, hell no. That white boy can’t do anything except bob his head.”
“Yeah, that’s fair.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
“ Fiiiinnnee . Be responsible for once in your life,” she said, and shooed him. “Make sure he takes that good, strong shit, Aiden. Like, the stuff you’re not supposed to drive on?—”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you, I got it,” he said.
Once he shouldered through the dancefloor and made his way back to their private table, he pulled out his phone.
Aiden Moore: where are you
Aiden Moore: seriously!!
Aiden Moore: SHAY ANSWER
A minute went by. Two more. Aiden felt through the ice bucket and brought the dewy bottle to his lips.
Another minute. Nothing. He capped the tequila, sucked in a deep breath, and dove into the undulating crowd, sliding between drunken groups of friends and patrons shouting at bartenders.
Squeezed past the bathrooms, following the path Shay had taken, and stepped into the brutal Vegas heat.
Palm trees lined the clear, chlorinated water, illuminated by an artificial glow rising from the busy strip.
Misters rained on the guests loitering near poolside VIP booths.
Shay . His heart pushed against his vocal cords.
C’mon, where are you? He glanced behind curtains on rented cabanas where legs and arms entangled.
Not Shay. Peeked at couples sharing cocktails in dimly lit corners. Not Shay.
Aiden Moore: i’m actually worried
Aiden stood alone, steering his face back and forth as people meandered outside, holding onto drinks and each other.
“Hey rockstar.” That fuckin’ girl— again —leaned against a lonely wall, nursing an organic cigarette. Laura’s teal hair stuck to her forehead, hanging loose over one eye. “Where’s your other half?”
“Good question,” he said. Anxiety nagged at him. Made him nauseous. “Got another one of those?”
She held out a pack of American Spirits, waited for him to slide the filter between his lips, then flicked her thumb over a lighter, holding the flame in front of his mouth.
“Lead singer syndrome,” she purred, and tilted her head.
“Always running off with the prettiest one at the party. Good thing we carry convenient little trackers.” Laura extended her hand, tapping the rectangular dent on his tight jeans.
“But by the looks of it, I’m guessing you might not want to find him. ”
He glanced at his phone again, twice, a third time. “What. . . ?”
“With someone else,” Laura clarified, and smashed the cigarette under her chunky black heel. “I saw him with Cassandra, though. Think they took off.”
Heat rushed into his face, but he swallowed, shaking his head. “How’d you even get in here?”
“Everybody has a fake these days,” she said, dismissively, and stepped around him. “Word of advice. . .” Her velvet-covered palm ghosted his shoulder. “Use your phone . See you around.”
Jesus Christ, obviously. Aiden tapped the Find My Friends app.
A map opened, displaying the Vegas strip.
Shay’s icon appeared two blocks away. He didn’t run, but he wanted to.
He took long strides toward the exit, flicked the half-smoked cigarette into the pool, and slipped into an elevator with a bachelorette party.
Said hi, yeah, that’s me, when the bride-to-be stammered— oh m-my gosh, are you from that band?
—and galloped down the slow-moving escalator as soon as the doors floated open.
He tried to slow his thoughts. Ignored Laura’s wry smile stamped into the back of his mind.
Attempted to talk himself through whatever he might find.
Shay, eating. Red and blue lights. Blood.
A body. Something—some one —to hide. People who could’ve, might’ve noticed. Shay, alone.
Once he hit the sidewalk, Aiden ran. He dodged entertainers in shoddy animal suits and promoters flicking escort cards.
Knocked his shoulder into someone carrying a light-up novelty cocktail and sent icy slush pouring down their cleavage.
A dog-whistle shriek erupted. Aiden shouted sorry over his shoulder and ran faster.