5. The After Party
FIVE
THE AFTER PARTY
L ily
The post-show high is electric, buzzing off the band and pulling me into the afterglow of their killer performance. The roar of the crowd still echoes in my mind as Marcus insists it would be a terrible idea to skip the after party.
"You can’t miss this," he says, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "You’ve gotta experience the full rockstar lifestyle."
“Yeah, Lily,” Dylan adds, his grin mischievous. “It’s all part of the job.”
We pile into a van, heading deeper into the city, away from the venue. I had planned to go back to the bus and get some rest, but I didn’t want to be the one to ruin their night. If they wanted to party, then I, as the band’s handler, had no choice but to join. We arrive at a lavish house, the music thumps loudly, audible from the street. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and something else—probably weed. I’ve never been around it much, but the smell is pungent and terrible.
Hopping out of the van, I walk through the front door trailing behind the band, and the wild sounds of the party hit me like a wave. People are everywhere, drinks in hand, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement. Groupies flock around the band members like moths to a flame. Feeling out of place amidst the scantily clad women and tattooed men, I stick close to the guys.
“Welcome to the circus,” Enzo mutters, smirking as he grabs a beer from a passerby. His eyes are already scanning the crowd for his next distraction.
Jax is the first to drift away from the group. A handsy brunette attaches herself to him almost immediately, her lips brushing his ear as he leans in to whisper something. She nods eagerly, and they head toward the stairs. She’s tall, curvy, with long flowing hair and a tight dress that clings to every curve. He glances back at me with a quick nod before disappearing upstairs with her. A strange mix of jealousy and disappointment swirls inside me. It’s ridiculous—I barely know him and he’s an adult that can do whatever he wishes to. Shaking it off, I scan the rest of the party.
In the time it took me to watch Jax head up the stairs, Marcus, Enzo, and Dylan have all disappeared, leaving me alone. I find a spot near the wall to lean against and observe. The house is unnecessarily opulent, the total opposite of the gritty venue the band had just played. A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the crowd, and plush carpets muffle the footsteps in other rooms. Expensive artwork adorns the walls. Despite the expensive surroundings, the party is in full swing—people are dirty dancing, drinking, and indulging in all sorts of vices.
Across the room, I spot Dylan and Marcus with a dark-haired woman who looks like she walked right out of a music video. She’s wild-eyed, and scantily clothed, her laughter echoing through the room. Dylan leans in to whisper something that makes her giggle, while Marcus runs his hands over her body, tracing a tattoo on her arm.
“Let’s find somewhere more private,” I read Marcus’s lips from across the room as he suggests it. He leads her away, stopping in a dimly lit corner just beyond the main crowd.
I watch as Marcus presses his body against hers, kissing her with hunger. Dylan stands behind her, his hands roaming her body as her shirt comes off, revealing her breasts that bounce with each of her movements. Marcus’s hands are everywhere, gripping her hips, sliding up her thighs, while Dylan nibbles at her neck, eliciting moans I can only imagine as they become lost in the loud music.
They’re fully into it, and I realize I’m staring, envy and fascination mixing inside me. My face flushes with embarrassment as I glance away. This is definitely not my scene.
I wander into the kitchen, needing a moment to breathe. The counters are cluttered with empty bottles, and a group of people huddle around the island, snorting lines of cocaine. My stomach churns, and I turn away, focusing on finding something to drink that won’t mess me up.
I pour myself a glass of water, listening to bits of conversation float around me—people are talking about the band, their music, and the wild stories that surround them. It’s strange hearing strangers discuss the lives of the guys like they know them personally. I guess that’s part of being famous. Everyone feels like they know you enough to comment on your life.
“Hey, Lily,” Jax says, suddenly appearing beside me. His presence is comforting, until I notice the disheveled state he’s in. His hair is messy, his shirt untucked, and a faint smell of sex clings to him. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie, giving him a half-smile. “Just... taking it all in.”
Jax studies me, his eyes softening. “If it gets to be too much, let me know. We can leave anytime.”
It’s the first real conversation we’ve had all day. On the bus, Jax keeps mostly to himself, but there’s something about him that appeals to me—a sadness that clings to him and makes me want to understand him. Makes me want to fix him. Before I can respond, a group pulls him away, their faces lighting up at the sight of him. He gives me a reassuring nod then disappears into the crowd again.
I make my way back to the living room, trying to find a quiet corner to sit and observe. The scene has gotten even wilder. Groupies are draped over the band members and crew, their hands roaming freely. One woman, barely dressed, is straddling a guy on the couch, sliding up and down on his lap in rhythm with the thumping bass in front of everyone, her head thrown back. I’m surprised that they don’t want more privacy, but then again maybe that’s part of the appeal. Or maybe they’re just too messed up to care.
My eyes are drawn back to Marcus and Dylan again. Their conquest is topless, bouncing between them. Marcus has her legs wrapped around his waist, and it’s obvious what’s happening beneath her skirt. Dylan whispers in her ear while gripping her waist, his eyes dark with lust. The scene is so raw, so unapologetic, that I have to look away, feeling like an intruder.
Scanning the room, I spot Enzo near the front door with a woman clinging to his arm. She’s tall, platinum blonde, and her body seems too perfect to be real. Unease builds as I approach them—Enzo is clearly drunk, more so than I expected for how little time we’ve been here. His movements are sloppy, and I can hear the slur in his voice.
“Let’s go to another party,” the blonde purrs, tugging him toward the door.
“Enzo, what are you doing?” I demand, stepping between them. Enzo hasn’t exactly been welcoming, but that doesn’t mean that I can let him leave with a stranger to an unknown destination. That is literally the first step in kidnapping.
“Get out of my way, Lily,” he snaps, his unfocused eyes flashing with irritation. “We’re going to another party.”
“You can’t just leave,” I argue. “We need to stick together. You’re not thinking straight.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” he growls, trying to push past me with the blonde in tow.
She totters past me on her heels looking smug and I frown in response. Desperate to stop him, I grab his arm. “Enzo, please. Just stay here until I can get the others. We’ll leave together.” He shifts, like he plans to move away and I tighten my grip on his arm slightly, hoping to keep him in place.
Anger flashes in his eyes. Instead of responding, he swings his arm. He’s probably hoping to loosen my grip, but, in his drunken state, the movement is erratic. His elbow connects with my face, sending me stumbling backward.
I release him immediately and my ass hits the floor heavily. Pain explodes in my cheek as I drop.
“Lily!” Jax’s voice is sharp as he rushes to my side, fury flashing in his eyes. He turns to Enzo, his voice low and dangerous. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Enzo’s anger evaporates, replaced by horror. “Lily, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean?—”
“Enough!” Jax barks, cutting him off. “Everyone, back to the van. Now.”
The room falls silent. Even the music quiets as Jax scoops me into his arms, cradling me protectively. As we leave, I catch the faint smell of sex still clinging to him, a reminder of his earlier… choice of activities. It mixes with the throbbing pain in my cheek, making my stomach churn. I don’t say anything, but I feel my stomach twisting in knots. I peek over Jax’s shoulder and find the rest of the band following us outside, their expressions a mix of guilt and worry.
Jax refuses to let me go, bundling me onto his lap in the van and buckling us both in together despite my protests. His arms create a protective shield, but it doesn’t stop the pain or embarrassment that continues to grow with each passing minute. Every time I try to move from his lap, his grip tightens until I give up, resting against him and letting his warmth soothe me.
The ride back to the venue is tense and silent. As I sit there, my cheek throbbing, I wonder if I’m really cut out for this life. The shows, I can handle. But the after-parties? They might be the death of me.