Chapter Twenty-Five – Angel
My mind was whirling, my thoughts racing. The others had started the show, while I stood off to the side of the stage, microphone in hand, waiting for my cue to enter stage left. Aegis Theater was not a theater in the sense that there were seats; more like a giant open room where insanely large groups of people could stand super close together and rock out. I had no idea how big the audience truly was. I didn’t want to know.
We’d gone over choreography, where I’d stand, what I’d do, all that stuff, multiple times in the suite. What we hadn’t gone over, however, was what I was supposed to do now that my lips were all tingly after kissing Bishop.
He remembered. He’d known this whole time but thought I was the one who’d forgotten him . I couldn’t even call him names, because I’d thought the same. And then, somehow, we’d ended up together, embracing, kissing like our lives depended on it.
That meant I’d kissed both Priest and Bishop. What the hell was wrong with me? I shouldn’t be making out with any of them. It’d only lead to heartache and utter disaster; guys like them could have any girls they wanted. Once we got into a routine and the stuff with Pope became last year’s news, I’d probably see them hooking up with groupies all the time.
I shouldn’t be thinking about any of this right now. I needed to not overthink what happened with Bishop because I had a show to put on. My first one. The big one. If I failed, if I messed up in some way, I’d not only disappoint the guys, but also Ramona—and that said nothing about Cleo, who was not so patiently waiting for my angel persona to make her debut.
From where I was hidden, I couldn’t see much of anything on the stage. Deacon and his drums were in the back; that’s about it. Priest and Bishop were too far up on the stage for me to watch them from the side.
Well, if there was one thing the kiss was good for, it was getting my mind off how nervous I was about this show. I just hoped that didn’t mean I’d mess up. Sing the wrong lyrics or come in too early or something. I had to prove myself tonight. It was literally now or never.
Priest ran through a few songs. He knew how to get the crowd going, get the blood pumping. The crowd cheered for him, sang along during certain parts of the songs; all in all, it sounded like they were into it, like they were excited about Black Sacrament’s return. Of course, only the hard-core fans bought tickets and came to the show with such short notice, but that was beside the point.
The moment Priest finished singing Black Sacrament’s first-ever single, Raising Hell, the music trailed off, and Priest addressed the crowd: “How are you doing tonight?” He was met with applause, but he kept going, “I know you’re doing great. Wanna know how I know? I can hear you. I feel you. Your energy feeds me, it keeps me going!”
More clapping, hooting and hollering. The crowd wanted more. They’d only done three songs so far.
“Now,” Priest paused, and I imagined him holding onto his guitar lazily as he addressed them, “I bet you think this is it. This is the new Black Sacrament.” A long, long pause, and as the crowd waited for him to continue, I swore you could hear a pin drop.
Priest’s voice came out hypnotically low when he whispered into the mic, “It isn’t. My boys and I have one more surprise for you. Some of you might’ve heard about a competition. We’ve been looking for someone special, someone who’ll complete us, and I think I speak for all of us when I say…” He exhaled loudly, as if shuddering. “We found that person.”
The crowd couldn’t contain their excitement. The volume of the theater turned up, and Priest asked, undoubtedly with a devilish smirk, “Who’s ready to meet them?”
The audience clapped, wanting more, wanting to meet me—and that was when the lights went out, darkening the entire stage. I held my head high and walked out in the darkness, bringing my mic with me. Unlike Priest, who couldn’t move that much due to his electric guitar, I was supposed to roam the stage, connect with the crowd, move to all the guys and sing while making eye contact with them. I was their angel, after all. Had to act flirty.
I only had twenty seconds to get into position, but that was all I needed. I found Priest at the center, and I lightly touched his arm with my free hand, wordlessly telling him I was near.
Priest let out a harsh breath into his mic, and then his deadly, slightly demonic voice whispered, “And then he said, Let there be light .” When he said it, only certain lights flicked on—blacklights.
The guys had done their crosses on their masks and the one on Deacon’s chin in fluorescent paint, and every cross on my mask glowed, too. The ones near my eyes, the one on the mask’s forehead, and the one going down from my lip. Smaller crosses, but I think they worked.
When the crowd realized there were more than three people on the stage, they got excited, and then Bishop started a guitar riff to lead us into our next song—a song I’d be the lead in: Bleed Me Dry. Deacon started the drums, and beside me, Priest picked up the tune. I closed my eyes, brought the microphone to my face, and jumped in.
“Let me tell you a story about a girl named Destiny. She came riding over the hills and said she was looking for me,” I sang the opening verse, finally cluing the crowd in to the fact that I was a girl. “I tried to run, I tried to fight, but she wasn’t bringing me to the light. That girl named Destiny came to put me on my knees.”
Singing in the dark—well, mostly the dark—was an experience, but it helped me find my footing, so when Priest’s voice joined me for the bridge, I was ready. The moment Priest started to sing along, the regular lights flashed on, allowing everyone in the audience to see.
At first they were stunned, but then when the refrain came and the song turned less ballad-y and harder—AKA more akin to Black Sacrament’s sound—they started rocking out.
The guys had tried to tell me what it’d be like, being up on that stage with them, but words couldn’t have described just how electric it was. How the air itself had a jolt to it, how the heat of all the lights on the stage couldn’t bother you when you were riding the high the audience was giving you.
The way they watched you, how they rocked their heads along, how they sang along with the beat; everyone in the theater was having a shared experience, and the people on the stage were at the heart of it.
Us. We were at the heart. Priest, Bishop, and Deacon… and now me. The four of us were one now. It was official. We were Black Sacrament.
I lost count of how many phones I saw in the audience recording and taking pictures. I couldn’t pay too much attention to the sheer number in front of me, lest I stumble on the lyrics of songs I’d only learned a month or so ago.
It was exhilarating. It was addicting. It was so damned easy to lose track of time. We ran through our set list, and then Priest egged the audience on by asking them to be loud—and if they were loud enough, maybe we’d play an encore.
Hint: we’d already planned on the encore, but that was something the audience didn’t need to know.
“Now, before we give you what you want, let me introduce you to Angel,” Priest spoke, gesturing to me. When he wasn’t playing guitar, he could point. His mic was on a stand in front of him, a guitar strap around his shoulder and back to the guitar fixed on him. He pointed at me and bowed. “Isn’t she amazing, sinners? Can’t you just eat her up? I know I could.” He winked at the crowd.
I was riding the high of my first performance, too happy about how good it was going to send a glare Priest’s way.
“She might be our angel right now, but I hope she’ll become your angel, too,” Priest said, setting a hand on the microphone. His other hand held onto his guitar, getting ready to play. “Now, who’s up for a little Revenge?”
Revenge was one of Black Sacrament’s most popular songs—and that was evident by how loud the crowd cheered.
We played four more songs for the encore. Honestly, I didn’t know why I’d been so worried about getting up on this stage and performing. I was having the time of my freaking life. Things were great. I was riding cloud nine.
And what was more, the crowd was eating it up. Here I was freaking out that they wouldn’t accept me as a part of Black Sacrament, but this particular crowd had no objections about me or the new sound I brought to the band.
We finished up the final song, and it was time to tell the audience goodnight, but Priest took to the microphone once again after taking off his guitar and setting it onto the floor of the stage: “Before we go, can I let you in on a little secret? I was worried you wouldn’t like Angel, but I’m glad you do—”
I had no idea why he was saying this now when we should be thanking the audience and getting the hell off the stage. I tossed a glance to Bishop and then at Deacon, and it was clear this part wasn’t rehearsed among any of them. They were just as clueless as I was as to what the hell Priest was talking about or where he was going with this.
“I’m very fucking glad you do,” Priest whispered into the mic, his voice taking on that same gravelly tone he’d used during the show—the one that gave you goosebumps like nobody’s business. “Because I like her a lot, too.”
And then Priest grabbed my hand and pulled me closer to him. My chest slammed into his, and he let go of my hand so he could curl an arm around my back. All of that happened in the span of seconds, because the next thing I knew, his tall frame was bending down and his lips were crashing down upon mine.
Maybe it was the high of the show, or maybe it was just my body’s reaction, but I kissed him back before I realized what I was doing.
It felt like it lasted forever and was over too soon. Priest kissed me long and hard enough to make my insides twist and turn into molten lava, and then he pulled his mouth off mine, took my hand in his, and called out to the audience: “Thank you and goodnight!” He did a mock bow, and due to the fact that his hand held onto mine, I was forced to bow, too.
Priest was the first to walk off the stage, taking me with him. My lips burned with the realization of what just happened, and as we walked by Bishop, I noticed the shock on his face. I didn’t get a chance to look at Deacon.
We went backstage, and then out into the hall, and not once did Priest loosen his grip on my hand. My thoughts raced, every part of me now jittery. Ramona was in that audience, watching. She wouldn’t be happy with what Priest did.
My sister would find any videos of the performance online and watch them. What if she found one of Priest kissing me? I’d never hear the end of it.
Oh, man. This was going to be bad.
Priest brought me to his dressing room, and he only let go of my hand once we were safely tucked away. Almost immediately he began to pace the length of the room. We were joined soon enough by Bishop and Deacon—the latter of which shut the door behind him to give us privacy. Let’s just say neither of them looked particularly happy after what Priest did.
“What the hell, Priest?” Bishop asked, sending a frown his way. Beside him, Deacon’s painted mouth wore an intense scowl, all you could see thanks to the mask—nothing too out of the ordinary, but with that mask, the facial expression was even more demonic.
And yet they were still hot. It really wasn’t fair.
Priest stopped pacing. His gray eyes were a stark contrast to the black mask covering his face, and they zeroed in on Bishop. “I should be asking you the same question,” he shot back. “I saw you kiss her right before the show.”
That got Deacon to whip his head toward Bishop and ask, “You did what? What the fuck, Bishop?”
“This isn’t about me, this is about Priest and what he did in front of a live audience ,” Bishop replied. “You had no right to kiss her in front of all those people, Priest.”
“And you had the right to kiss her when you two were in her dressing room, alone? Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Priest wasn’t going to apologize; that much was obvious. “You thought you could, what, keep it a secret? Please.”
Bishop took a step toward Priest with an aggressive stance. “You’re just jealous I kissed her.”
Priest laughed. “Jealous? I kissed her weeks ago, bro. Those lips of hers were mine first—”
Deacon stepped in the middle of them, about to diffuse the situation, but then he must’ve realized what was said, because his hard glare was on me. “You kissed Priest weeks ago?” When he said it, it dawned on Bishop, and Bishop glanced at me, as if waiting to see me refute the accusation.
Crap. This was getting way too messy.
I figured it was my turn to talk now, since all three guys were staring at me. Bishop and Deacon looked slightly hurt, while Priest only looked smug, the jerk. “Yes, Priest kissed me a while back. I didn’t want to say anything because—”
Because I liked it so much? Because it made me want to kiss all of them? Because then I’d have to admit that I was starting to have real, genuine feelings for the members of Black Sacrament?
I settled with saying, “Because I don’t owe you guys anything, okay? You guys are falling apart, and it feels like I’m supposed to be the glue that holds you together.”
“Glue?” Priest huffed. “You’re not the glue.” I looked at Deacon, and all Deacon did was shake his head. It was enough of a reaction, though, for Priest’s attention turned to him as he asked, “What is she talking about, Deacon?”
Seconds passed, though they felt like minutes. Eventually Deacon muttered, “I want out. I want out of the band. I’ll do what I’m obligated to do, but after that, I’m done. You can replace me just like you replaced Pope. It shouldn’t be too hard. Drummers are a dime a dozen, right?”
“Deacon,” Bishop said, his ire and jealousy over Priest’s kissing of me weeks ago forgotten. Those emotions had been replaced by concern, his eyebrows drawn slightly together, his mouth thinning as he stared at Deacon. “We couldn’t do this without you.”
“Used to think the same thing about Pope, but here we are,” Deacon huffed with a frown. He probably wanted to skulk away, but Bishop was in his way. This dressing room wasn’t really big enough for all four of us, now that I was thinking about it. We all stood less than two feet apart.
Way too close, if you asked me.
The air was so thick with tension, I could tell none of the guys knew what to say. Well, at least Bishop didn’t. Priest, on the other hand, gestured to me and suggested, “Why don’t you try kissing Angel? Maybe it’ll make you feel better. I know it made me feel better after seeing her and Bishop going at it like rabbits—”
“Fuck you,” Bishop spoke with a frown. “We were not going at it like rabbits—”
“And you can’t just offer me up to anybody you want,” I said, chin upturned so I could meet Priest’s eyes. “And back to what you did on stage: you can’t just kiss me like that in front of all those people.”
Priest cocked his head at me in a deliberately slow way, and I’d bet anything he was lifting a single brow beneath his mask. “I can’t, huh? That’s funny.” He took a step toward me, towering over me with a haughty smirk on those devilish lips. “Because, from what I recall onstage, you kissed me back.”
I did, but that didn’t stop me from quickly saying, “I did not.”
He must’ve taken that as a challenge, because once again, he moved fast. Faster than my mind could follow. The next thing I knew, he’d taken me in his hands and spun me around, pushed my backside against his makeup table, and lifted his hands to my face. The smirk he wore on his handsome face made it seem like he was doing this for my own good, to teach me a lesson.
The lesson being I kissed him back.
Priest’s mouth came down on mine, his lips crashing harder on mine than they had on stage, almost bruising in their dominance. His mouth took hold of mine, and though logic told me I should push him away, the only thing I could do was melt into him as I surrendered.
“Hey—” I faintly heard Bishop’s voice through the kiss. “—get off her, Priest.”
“No,” Priest murmured against my lips. “I’m still making my point.” With every word he spoke, his mouth brushed against mine, his breath hot on my face. It was like we were breathing the same air, and we still weren’t close enough. His mouth returned to mine, kissing me hard.
Bishop tried to pry him off me, but Priest was stronger. His lips never left mine, though I could feel him smirking through the kiss.
Behind the commotion, I heard Deacon mutter, “Oh, my God. This is so fucked up.”
The door to the dressing room opened, and Ramona’s hard voice called out, “What the fuck was that? What the—” She must’ve spotted Bishop struggling with Priest’s immovable body and Priest’s lips on mine, because as she slammed the door behind her, she said it again, “What the fuck is going on here?”
Priest finally pulled his mouth off mine, but he kept his hands on my face. He grinned at Ramona. “Hey. Nothing’s going on here. What’s happening with you?” Acting like nothing at all was wrong here. Too bad Ramona wasn’t blind.
“What’s happening with me?” Ramona chuckled, but it was a mirthless sound, more bitter than anything else. “I was just watching what I thought was the start of a great comeback for Black Sacrament, when the singer did something absolutely stupid and kissed his new bandmate in front of the entire audience. Do you have any idea the shitstorm that’s gonna be headed your way now thanks to this stunt of yours, hmm? It’s not going to be good—not after what happened with Pope.”
“That sounds terrible,” Priest deadpanned. “Let me know how that goes.” His head turned toward me, like he was going to kiss me again. His eyelids looked heavy, and he licked his lips in what must’ve been hunger.
Oh, boy. The way he gazed down at me made certain parts of me heat up, and I couldn’t move. Never mind the fact that I was still pinned against his makeup table with his body, but even if I wasn’t caught between a rock and a hard place, I wouldn’t want to move at all. This was right where I was meant to be.
Shit. Listen to me. I sounded ridiculous and lovestruck.
“Let her go, Priest,” Ramona spoke, the words growled out.
Priest groaned, almost as if he was asking, Do I have to? Do I really have to? But when he glanced at Ramona, he saw the deadly expression she wore, so he pulled his hands off me and took a step back. “There, happy?”
Ramona held up a hand. “I am the furthest thing from happy right now.”
“Maybe it’s not a good time to tell you that I’m not the only one who kissed Angel tonight,” Priest rattled off, throwing Bishop under the bus.
As Bishop prickled and glared at Priest, Ramona looked between all of us. It was almost like I could see her headache coming on, a cloud above her thick, curly black hair. “You four need to clean yourselves up and go home. Don’t do a single thing until I touch base with you guys tomorrow. There’s going to be some heavy damage control after this.”
She set her hand on the doorknob, but she didn’t leave. She sent us all one last glare and pointed with her other hand as she added, “And stop kissing each other! No more lips better be locking, do you hear? No more.”
Ramona turned to leave, but right then Priest raised his hand like he was a student in class. She preemptively rolled her eyes and asked, “What?”
“So, no one’s allowed to kiss Angel, but does the no kissing rule apply to everyone else? If I want to kiss Deacon to cheer him up—”
Priest’s deadpanned questioning was interrupted by Deacon, who huffed, “Shut the fuck up.”
Ramona forced a smile, though it was more of a baring of her teeth than anything else. “Nobody’s allowed to kiss, okay? Not a single one of you better lock those fucking lips. Now, unless you have any other stupid questions, I need to go handle this.” She didn’t give Priest the chance to ask anything else. She just left and slammed the door behind her as she went.
“Wow,” Priest muttered once it was just the four of us. “Somebody ain’t in a good mood.”
If the situation wasn’t so tense, I might’ve laughed at that. Alas, it was perhaps the most tense situation I’d ever been in in my life, and that said nothing about how things might change because of what Priest did.
Somehow, I had the feeling everything was about to change—and maybe not for the better.