Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
GEMMA
I push the door to my trailer open a few minutes later and welcome the quiet hum of an air conditioner, along with the television that’s still playing in the back. Thank fuck for the Death Tower budget. I know I’ll be sharing this space with my partners at the next festival, but having this one to myself for this show has been unexpectedly nice.
“Is it always like that?” I ask James as he trails into the space behind me.
“Which part do you mean?”
“All of it.” I slouch into the far end of the couch and take my sneakers off as James goes for the cabinet and pulls out a bottle of vodka that was stocked earlier today along with a few other goodies provided by the band’s tour staff.
“First time I’ve ever been provided with concessions by management,” I say as he pours a shot. I wave my hand to decline one when he offers, and he pours himself a second, then tosses me a bottle of water that I quickly suck down instead.
“They’ve always treated us pretty well. One of the many reasons I’m going to fucking miss this gig,” James says when he joins me.
“What time is your flight out?” I ask because I know he only came for tonight.
He checks his watch. “I should be leaving soon. I didn’t want to go without making sure you were okay with everything.” He takes a sip of his drink and peers my way. “Tonight didn’t scare you off, did it?”
I chuckle.
Not hardly.
“I don’t scare easily,” I tell him. “But I definitely did not realize you were being serious about Reed.”
His laughter is deep as if it’s holding secrets within it. “Reed is our chaos maker. He can be a lot, but he’s a great kid, and wears his heart on his sleeve most days. He does get into trouble, though. It used to be much worse; however, the married life has at least tamed the whore in him.”
I can’t contain my snort, and James goes on.
“There was this guy a few years ago who came at the venue with a gun because he said Reed had fucked his wife.”
“Oh shit,” I laugh. “Had he?”
“Probably,” he says. “He never asked those kinds of questions about his partners. Nowadays, it just seems like there’s always a group of fanatics waiting for them rather than angry partners. Always some kind of threat outside the venue that I try not to bother them with—whether it’s the religious groups, groupies willing to go a little too far… Some of the venue security will let anyone in the back, and I can’t always catch every person. None of that ever mattered to me, though. It was my job to protect them, not monitor who they were having relations with.” He sighs and crosses his leg over his knee. “They can each be shits when they want to, but they’re good kids.”
Pain rests in his eyes that makes me squint. “So, why are you leaving?”
He sighs and settles back in the seat. “It’s personal,” he replies. “I wouldn’t be leaving if I had a choice. This weekend should be a good intro to how they work. Normally, they’re pretty safe at festivals, so they shouldn’t give you much trouble for the next couple of days. Mads and Reed will wander tomorrow, so make sure to have someone tail them. Don’t hover or interfere unless it’s serious. Reed likes to sign autographs and talk to fans. Zeb doesn’t do crowds much. He’ll likely hang backstage with some of the other bands.”
“And Bonnie?” I ask.
“With Andi and Wren here, Bonnie will likely stick with them unless Zeb drags her to something different. Usually when Andi is involved, Bonnie is partial to her. They’re good friends. I spoke with Andi last night, and she and Bonnie want to take Wren into the pit for the Take the Orbitor set tomorrow night.”
My brows lift. “Really?”
“Yeah. Just stick somewhere close. Make sure Bon doesn’t get into a fight with some drunk jackass ruining the pits for everyone, because she will,” James says.
I smile because I’ve seen her deck a guy for hitting on one of her friends, and with these little defense classes she’s been taking, I can only imagine the fight ready to unleash within her.
I finish the last swallow of water and crinkle the bottle in my hands. “You mentioned her having a stalker?” I ask. “You’re not worried about that with this crowd?”
“I mean, sure,” he says with a shrug. “From what I understand, whoever it is doesn’t mean to hurt her, unless their motives have changed. Keep an extra eye out for anyone wearing a hoodie or watching her around the area.”
“You don’t sound too threatened by them,” I say, and I don’t know why it irks me.
He sighs. “It’s not that. It’s more like… I keep waiting for this person to do something that actually scares her, puts her in danger, or goes over a line. I know the texts freak Bon out, and I hear that. But a harmless stalker who seems to only want to keep her safe is less of a worry than one who has bad intentions—like the ones Reed was dealing with last year.”
“What makes you think her stalker is some sort of vigilante?”
“It’s the way she talks about her,” he replies.
“What do you mean?”
He sighs as if he’s collecting his thoughts. “When her stalker came back this year, she told me about it. I asked her about the previous incidents, and she opened up about a couple of the larger incidents that not even the rest of the band knows about,” he says.
My blood feels like it’s slowing.
“There’s the usual—text messages. Pictures of her out and about. Nothing alarming as far as her safety being compromised—”
It’s concerning that he’s considering the photos I’ve sent her from inside her apartment as “nothing alarming.” Especially the one from two weekends earlier when she hit two hundred and fifty Saturdays sober, and I took a picture of where she’d written it in the corner of her bathroom mirror, then sent it to her with the message:
Such a good little rockstar, keeping your promise after all these years…
I think you did miss me.
Unless she hasn’t told him about those.
I can only imagine he would have her apartment watched more closely were he aware—at least, I hope he would.
“—but then she told me about the incidents from the last time her stalker was hanging around. Before she got sober,” James goes on.
The world narrows in on him, his words, and I feel myself stiffen.
“She told me about a couple of nights when she thinks she was drugged. The next time, she woke up to a box of some girl’s fingernails in her bed—”
“Oh shit,” I say, pretending to be surprised.
“And then the next…” His voice drifts, and I sit up a little straighter.
Because I know where he’s going with this story.
“She says she was attacked by some guys at a party. She doesn’t know who, and she wouldn’t go into more detail than that. All she knew was that she woke up in her apartment, and she only remembered glimpses of her stalker’s mask.”
The explanation repeats in my head, and I wonder why Bonnie is covering up the entire truth.
Because I was there when she woke up the next day.
She saw me in my suit, my hoodie, and my mask.
I know she knows more than this little story.
“Did she say the date or anything?” I ask. “Were you able to find any information about the parties she went to?”
He blows out a breath. “I tried. She says she doesn’t remember the date, or if it was near a holiday or anything. They got in so much trouble back then that it’s hard to pinpoint any particular incidents.”
“What about following up on the parties they went to?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “They were in three cities a week on that tour,” he says. “Partying every day that they weren’t on the stage. Tracking down video from then is nearly impossible, especially when their old tour manager would let them disappear on days off. Still, there’s one party that I think might be the one she’s talking about.”
My stomach drops a little.
“Oh?”
“There was a party near the end of their first tour, before Bonnie’s first stay in rehab, when they found a guy dead in the bathroom of the club,” James says.
“Dead?” I repeat.
Because I think that’s what people do when they’re surprised.
“Dead,” he says. “The club’s entire camera system was down all night, all their registers glitched, too. There were so many people who got out of there with zero tabs that the bar lost a lot of money. The guy’s throat was slit. Someone else ended up in the hospital that night, though he says his injury had nothing to do with the dead man—even denies knowing him.”
Liar .
It had everything to do with his death.
And he should have died that night, too.
Glimpses of that night haunt the back of my mind. I crinkle the empty water bottle between my hands, fingers twisting around it just as they had one of her attackers’ neck.
They drugged her.
They tried to take her.
I lost her for five minutes, and they took her into the bathroom to ra—
I nearly hurl at the memory, the flashing images of her lying on that dirty floor and that fucking bastard on top of her while the others jerked off and kicked or slapped her, the noise of the one guy laughing and telling her she deserved—
I can hardly shake it.
Vomit-laced combat boots.
Bloody handprints smeared on a dirty tile floor.
A ripped tulle skirt.
My hand around one of their throats.
A heartbeat fading beneath my gloved fingertips.
Amber lights and a broken mirror.
Her unconscious body in the passenger seat of my car.
There’s so much more to the story.
“I don’t know if his death is connected to Bonnie or her stalker,” James goes on. “But I know the band was there, and I know she started getting clean soon after.”
“That’s why you’re not concerned about her stalker? Because Bonnie thinks she saved her?” I ask.
“I’m concerned,” he argues. “I’m glad there are three of you on the team now, especially with them not being on tour. Things were a lot simpler when they were all together. It was difficult managing all their safety on my own.” James checks his watch again and sighs. “Fuck.” He knocks back the rest of his drink and stands. “That time.”
“Anything else I should know?” I ask.
He gives me a small smile. “I think you’ll be fine, Gemma,” he says. “Like I said, they’re good kids. You’ll get to know them and decide your own strategy. It’s not them you’re necessarily worrying about. It’s everyone who wants to be near them, and that’s… that’s a lot of people.”
I stand with him, knees aching from the tension of the night.
“If you need anything, I’ll have my phone on me, but I doubt you need me,” he says, heading toward the door.
“Is that your vote of confidence?” I ask him.
He laughs. “About the best vote you can get. Oh, I don’t know if you heard, but there’s a masked afterparty tomorrow night. I heard them talking about going earlier today,” James says.
Masked afterparty…
My stomach twists a little.
“What’s the standard practice there?” I ask.
“I’ve never been one to hover. They know to call if they get into trouble. Just stick close, and if any of them find themselves in some shit, you’ll be there. They have your number. I would have a chat with them tomorrow before just so you’re on the same page.”
As for the rest of our conversation, I barely remember it. My mind is elsewhere. I know he says more, maybe a goodbye and that he’ll check in. I hear the door snap shut, watch him walk away through the small window in the door.
My body fucking hurts, but my mind won’t turn off as the thoughts turn to tomorrow night and all its possibilities.
A masked party.
Low lights.
Packed bodies.
Anonymity .
The fantasy of it has me sinking onto the couch. I replay everything about today… God, the highlight of seeing her look at me backstage… Her stark wavy blonde hair, wild and streaked with pink, the glitter on her cheeks, black liner on her lids, her dark nails, and those tiny shorts over her tights, not to mention her top that said, save a drum, bang a drummer , on it.
I want to delight in the way she stammered, the way her cheeks became flushed when she spoke to me, and I need to know if that same thing happens when I text her.
I slouch back and open up my burner phone to her number.
You were perfect tonight.
Such a good performer.
Did you find the sign I left for you?
I set the phone down and head into the bathroom to wash my face and get out of these sticky clothes. The stench of the humidity feels like it’s clinging to my skin. My earlier intention had been to go to her trailer, but now… Fuck, I think I need some sleep. Sleep and planning , if tomorrow night is going to be any sort of success.
After my shower, I lay down on the bed in the back and open my computer to find out any details online and on social media about the party. The conversations all seem innocent enough. Costumes. Excitement about mingling with possible musicians. It looks like patrons had to buy an extra ticket to get in—
My phone buzzes. I ignore it at first. Probably Kade checking in. I think his flight is getting in tomorrow.
It buzzes again, and this time, I look, but it isn’t my regular phone that’s buzzing.
My heart drops to my feet as I see my burner phone lit up across the room, and I stare at it for at least a minute before moving.
I only use that phone to text Bonnie.
No one else has the number.
I’m hesitant to check it. Even still… I have to know. Is it her or someone else?
My bare feet hit the ground, and I pad over to the couch to grab the device, to tap the screen and see the message written across it.
It’s a picture message.
From Bonnie .
My thumbs are shaking as I open the message.
The picture is simple enough. It’s only the poster lying on the floor of her trailer. My breath billows out a little more evenly. At least it isn’t a message telling me to fuck off—except that might make me even more obsessed.
I love her fight.
The phone dings again as another message comes through, and my entire body stiffens.
BONNIE
Will I ever find you with it?
I have been waiting on this day for what feels like ages.
I don’t want to scare her off. I don’t want to barrel in too eagerly.
And so, I reply back with only one simple word.
No.