Chapter 24 Kolton
Kolton
What the fuck was that?!
My entire body was shaking, a heavy mixture of rage and fear. I tried to focus on Sloane, on the solid weight of her in my arms, the tears that fell from her eyes and her fists that were clenched in my shirt.
Kicking open the door to her dressing room, I rushed over to the couch and carefully laid her down. But she wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t let me pull back. No matter how much I worried about how this might look to Monica or anyone else, it didn’t hold a candle to my worry for Sloane.
“Is she alright?” Monica asked, barging in the room minutes after me. She came to my side and stood over me while I held the woman I loved.
“She hit her head when she fell,” I told her as I smoothed a hand over Sloane’s hair. “I want an EMT to look her over.”
“They’re already on their way.” Monica turned her attention to her client. “Sloane, sweetie, are you okay?” When she didn’t respond, Monica asked, “Can you let Kolton go so we can take a look at you?”
In response, Sloane tightened her grip and buried her head against my chest.
“Come on, Diva,” I whispered, still holding her tight. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m not okay,” she sobbed against my chest.
I tensed, then edged back, forcing myself to let go. “What’s wrong? What hurts?”
Reluctantly, Sloane let go, though only a little. “Everything hurts. What even was that?”
It was impossible to tell if she was shaking or if it was all just me. “Someone got past security. They rushed across the stage and got to you before anyone could stop them.” I gripped her face, wiping tears from under her eyes with my thumbs. “I’m so sorry, Sloane. I should have stopped them.”
“There’s nothing you could have done, Kolton,” Monica said, putting a hand on my arm. “You were on the wrong side of the stage; there’s no way you could have gotten there in time.”
“I shouldn’t have had to get there at all! She’s my client!” My diva. The love of my life. “I’m supposed to protect her from things like this!”
“You did everything you could,” she countered, pulling her hand from my arm and putting both fists on her hips.
“You’re only one man. A man who spent hours walking through every possible scenario with the security team.
Nobody doubts your dedication to this job or to Sloane.
The best thing you can do right now is get out there and help the team make sure there aren’t any other security breaches we need to be concerned with and let me take care of her. ”
Monica didn’t wait for me to decide. She pushed herself between me and Sloane and gathered her up in her arms. The sight of Sloane’s tears falling on someone else’s shoulder had the rage I’d been feeling coming to the forefront of my mind.
I wanted to lash out, to hit something, but I didn’t want to scare Sloane.
Instead, I rose to my full height and left the room, not stopping until I found what I was looking for.
The head of the security team that had been brought in to protect Sloane and the kids.
“What the hell was that?” My voice boomed in the hallway, pulling the attention of every one of the guards that happened to be nearby.
And the man, Dillon, took a step back. With his hands raised between us, he went on the defensive. “We did everything we could.”
“Everything? You did everything you could? Sloane was attacked on the fucking stage!”
“We don’t know how the girl got in!”
I shoved my hands through my hair and spun away from him so I wouldn’t be tempted to punch his face.
After a few long breaths, I turned back around, my voice uncharacteristically low.
“I need you to figure it out. Your team was supposed to secure this building. You were here hours before I even knew you existed. Figure out how that girl got by your men and assaulted my fucking client on stage and figure it out now.”
Dillon and his men snapped to attention at the sound of my demand. “Yes, sir!”
A couple police officers slipped into a room just beyond Dillon’s men. I rushed past them, arriving at the door just before it shut. The officer opened it slightly, his body blocking the entrance. But I was taller than him and could see inside.
There was a girl seated in a folding chair at the side of the room. She looked like a normal kid, one of many of Sloane’s fans. Her pink T-shirt was rumpled, the jeweled studs on the front had seen better days. But it was easy enough to recognize what it said: Sloane’s Squad.
“Can I help you?”
My attention snapped back to the officer. I extended my hand. “Kolton Johns. I’m Sloane Rivera’s personal bodyguard.”
His lips pressed flat, and he shook my hand. “Pete Dubachek. Sounds like you got your work cut out for you.”
I gave a tight smile. “You talked to her yet?”
He shook his head. “Hasn’t stopped crying or screaming for Sloane yet. Might have to take her down to the station to get her to calm down. She seems convinced Sloane personally asked her to come.”
“Fucking hell.” I scrubbed my face with my palm.
“You’re telling me.” He pulled out a notebook and pen. “We’ll call you if we find anything useful. I’d like to say this is just a one-off matter, but with the mayhem she’s caused,” he said jutting his chin toward the hallway behind me, “I’m not so sure.”
“Right.” As if it was Sloane’s fault she was assaulted.
As if she had a hand in the crazed crowds swarming the hotel.
She hadn’t stepped foot outside our suite since we arrived back after shopping and being confronted by Brooklyn, and she sure as hell hadn’t told anyone to body slam her during her fucking charity concert.
After giving him my number and taking his card, I headed back to Sloane’s dressing room. Monica was standing just inside the door while a pair of EMTs looked over my girl.
“Find anything?” she asked as I stepped up beside her.
“Just a bunch of it’s not my fault from Dillon. The girl who attacked her keeps crying and screaming. Cops haven’t gotten her to talk. How’s Sloane?”
“She’s shaken up. And she’s been complaining of a migraine.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Did they let her take a pill?”
“They will once they’re done.”
We watched as they finished looking her over. As much as I wanted them out of the way so I could talk to her and hold her in my arms, I didn’t want to rush them. Protecting her wasn’t only about keeping her safe from crazed fans. It also meant keeping her healthy and alive.
Finally, after what felt like a century, they started to pack up. One of them, the female, stepped over to where Monica and I stood.
“Everything looks to be okay,” she said after introducing herself.
“She’s probably going to be bruised, and she says she’s got a migraine, but there doesn’t appear to be any damage other than a small goose egg on the side of her head where she hit the ground.
I recommend she take it easy and get as much rest as she can.
If any new symptoms pop up, she can follow up with her primary physician. ”
“Can I go home?” Sloane asked, coming up behind the EMT. “Back to Chicago, I mean? I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Monica opened her arms to her, and my ribs squeezed tight as I was hit with an intense desire to hold Sloane against my chest.
“Well,” the EMT started, hesitating a moment, “we found no signs of a concussion, so it should be safe. Though I don’t know that I’d recommend the bustle of the airport—”
“We have a private jet,” Monica cut in before looking down at Sloane. “I’ll call and have them file the flight plan. By the time we get your things from the hotel, they should be ready.”
When Sloane nodded, Monica glanced up at me. “Be right back.” I had to force myself to leave, to walk out of that room, away from Sloane. With my fists clenched at my sides, I walked the concert halls looking for Dillon.
I found him in the security office, where he was standing over the shoulder of a frumpy looking man in a dark blue sports jacket. Dillon turned when I entered the room.
“We’re going through security footage to see if we can figure out what we missed.” Though the curl of his mouth indicated he wasn’t happy about it, I was glad he was admitting to some fault. “We don’t have anything yet, but we’ll keep searching and let you know as soon as we do.”
Though I was far from calm, I was at least levelheaded enough to have a civil conversation with the two men.
After that, I bounced between them and the security footage, the policemen who were interviewing any and everyone who might be able to tell them something, and watching over Sloane as she tried—unsuccessfully—to sleep through her migraine in her soundproofed dressing room.
Each time I stumbled my way across the dark room to her side, she grabbed my hand and held tight until I had to step out again.
And on the rare occasions when Monica had to take a call in the other room, Sloane would curl herself into a ball with her head on my lap while I tried to massage her head and neck to bring her what little relief I could.
I hated that I couldn’t do more for her, that this migraine had taken hold as quickly as that girl had slammed into her on the stage, and nothing—no matter how many people told me it wasn’t my fault—could relieve me of my guilt.
By the time the police cleared us to leave, they were no closer to having any answers. Our hired car took us back to the hotel, using the same entrance we had gone through on our way out earlier in the day. Monica followed us to our suite and let out a massive sigh the minute we stepped inside.
“Sloane, why don’t you rest on the couch while I pack up your things and Kolton gets his. The plane should be ready to go, and we still have traffic to face.”
Sloane’s face broke, her bottom lip trembling as she gripped Monica’s hand tight. “Please don’t leave me alone.”
My heart nearly broke. But as Monica pulled Sloane into an embrace, my diva showed me that she wasn’t as bad of an actress as she insisted she was. She winked at me over Monica’s shoulder before her eyes went wide and she tipped her head toward our rooms.
Our room.
Because try as we might, I was sure we’d left some things in there that would be a dead giveaway to the fact that I hadn’t used the bed in the spare room except to toss my shit onto when Monica showed up this morning.
“I’ll take care of it. You just rest.”
With that, I raced to the spare room and grabbed my bag, shoving in what belongings I hadn’t tossed in earlier.
Then, taking it with me, I went to our room and finished packing all my things.
Sloane’s belongings were a little harder.
I swore she wasn’t used to having to clean up after herself, and with no reason to pick up our clothes, we’d often left them on the floor after stripping each other and falling into bed.
I grabbed everything and shoved it in her suitcase, not worrying about the wrinkles or making sure things were organized. Her hair and makeup kit was in the bag we brought to the concert, and the outfits in her hanging bag hadn’t come out since we moved downstairs.
In less than twenty minutes, I’d gone through the suite twice to ensure we hadn’t left anything behind. Then Monica and I ushered Sloane back to the car that took us to the airport and our private jet.
By the time we landed in Chicago and Monica dropped us off at Sloane’s condo, I felt like I was dead on my feet.
Sloane had slept off and on during our flight, but I’d continued to work, following up with Dillon and Officer Dubachek and combing through every article I could find online that mentioned Sloane this past week.
Once upstairs and locked inside her apartment, I pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her head.
“Go to bed. I’ll be in after I talk to Lee.”
She nodded, then lifted onto her toes. “Thank you for taking care of me.” She kissed me, a gentle brush of her lips against mine. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I couldn't help it; I kissed her again. Kissed her with more passion than I thought I possessed. I needed her to know what I said was true. I loved her more than anything in my life.
My heart hammered in my chest as she walked out of sight, her steps slow and ambling, zigzagging slightly as she rubbed her tired eyes. I wiped my own, then whipped out my phone, letting out a heavy sigh as it rang.
“Kolton? What’s going on?” Lee’s voice was sandpaper rough and his words half-slurred, like I’d woken him out of a deep sleep.
“I fucked up, boss,” I told him, pushing my hand through my hair. “At the charity concert today, I fucked up.”
No longer slurring, he asked, “What happened?”
“Sloane was in the middle of her performance, in the middle of her song, and all of a sudden someone rushed out from behind stage and—”
I didn’t finish.
I couldn’t.
Because Sloane’s voice came like a blaring siren from the other room, and the scream she let out felt like razor blades slicing at my skin.