Chapter Twenty-Six
MERCS
Effa and I wander through the dim, echoing halls of the PPG Paints Arena, our footsteps a rhythmic beat against the concrete.
It’s quiet for now, just the bones of the venue humming in anticipation.
A few of the girls are already here, probably scattered around somewhere, and Luke’s got to be on-site by now, along with the rest of the crew.
This place is massive, a labyrinth.
I tighten my grip on Effa’s hand, my thumb brushing hers as we navigate the corridors.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
Her head tilts toward me, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?”
“We should’ve left Ligonier earlier. Gotten here sooner, so you could have more time to settle in. I know how you are, you need to connect with the venue before a show, feel the vibe, breathe it in. You haven’t had the time you usually need, and that’s on me.”
She stops and turns toward me, squeezing my hand. “Stop that. Don’t turn this into a thing. I got time with you, and that’s what matters. I’ll vibe with the venue just fine. But yes, let’s head out to the stage and let me soak it up now.”
Her optimism always floors me. She never lets small stuff rattle her.
That grounded center of hers? It’s magnetic.
We make our way toward the mouth of the stage, walking in step. I’ve only been off tour with them for two days, but damn, I’ve missed this—the rhythm, the buzz, the anticipation that lingers before a show. Being back with the girls, with the crew, with my girl... it fits.
As we round the corner into the main stage area, I spot the rest of the girls in a tight circle with Luke in the center, looking animated as he gestures toward something on a clipboard.
“Oh, Effa, there you are,” Kristy calls, waving her over. “Come here. We’ve got to talk to you about something.”
I glance toward Raoul, who’s already hovering nearby, posted up like the silent, watchful protector he is. I give him a firm nod, and he responds with a slight dip of his chin, already tracking Effa’s every move.
Turning back to her, I tug her hand gently. “Don’t go anywhere without Raoul. Promise me?”
Her lips twitch, and she gives me a mock salute, giggling. “Yes, Mr. Overprotective. You’ll see me after the show.”
I lean in and press a kiss to her lips, letting it linger just long enough to remind her she’s mine. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
She flashes a smile and spins off toward her bandmates, Raoul seamlessly falling into step beside her. That knot of unease in my gut? It loosens as soon as I see him shadow her path.
Turning on my heel, I head toward the back of the stage.
There’s crew to catch up with, and I’ve got a lot of ground to make up.
The familiar scent of metal, grease, and stale coffee greets me like an old friend as I reach the rafters, and I spot Tank wrestling with a load of rigging gear.
The bastard’s grunting like he’s lifting a damn car.
“Need a hand?” I call out, already moving toward him.
He looks up, a wide grin splitting his face. “Welcome the fuck back, brother. Shit’s been miserable without you here.”
I lift a brow, smirking. “You call threesomes miserable now?”
Tank barks a laugh, readjusting the weight. “Yeah, well… that part wasn’t bad. But Jesus, man, Andi’s mood swings? I can’t keep up. I need some solid bro time. You, me, and Jay. Beer, pool, wings… a testosterone reset. ’Cause I swear, man, I’ve lost my fuckin’ balls.”
I laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “Damn! She’s really got you in a spin. What the hell happened?”
He exhales hard, shaking his head. “I don’t even know. One minute we’re good, the next, she’s out for blood. I am pretty sure I’m on her death list, bro.”
“Someone will straighten her out. She’s probably got shit going on in that wild little head of hers. Best you steer clear till she levels out.”
“Oh, I’m steering waaay clear. I’m not getting my nuts stomped on again.”
I stop, eyeing him. “Wait! She actually went for your balls?”
“Hell, yeah! She missed, but it turned into a full-on wrestling match. I thought she was messing around, like some weird foreplay or something, but nah, girl was deadly serious. Left claw marks on my thigh, man.”
I wince. “She’s got a lot of fire crammed into that tiny body.”
“You’re tellin’ me. I wanna help her, though. I care about her, even if she wants to murder me right now.”
That gives me pause. Tank’s not the type to spill feelings. So if he’s admitting that? It’s real.
I nod. “Then be there when she’s ready.”
“That’s the plan. But until then…” he smirks and tosses me a pair of gloves, “… you better stop slacking, ’cause this shit’s not lifting itself.”
I catch them mid-air, chuckling. “You missed me.”
“Like a hemorrhoid.”
***
The stage is set.
The crowd’s pouring in like a wave of adrenaline.
The energy builds with every single beat that echoes through the arena.
The lighting’s locked in, pre-show filters cycling across the LED boards, casting colored glows over the excited faces. You can almost taste the electricity crackling in the air. It’s the kind of buzz that gets under your skin in the best fucking way.
I’m perched up in the rafters, legs swinging over the edge, sitting next to Tank and Jay, overlooking the chaos below. From this height, it all looks surreal. Thousands of eager fans packed shoulder to shoulder, eyes wide with anticipation, waiting for the show to explode into life.
It’s a damn good view.
But there’s one flaw in this perfect picture.
Swift Division is up first.
And while I’m technically supposed to be up here monitoring the rigging during their set, because it’s literally my job, I can’t stomach watching that smug bastard Jett pretend he’s rock royalty.
Not when I know the truth.
“Hey, I gotta hit the head,” I mutter, standing up and brushing my palms on my jeans. “Be back before the show starts.”
Tank mock salutes me with a smirk. “Don’t get lost, lover boy.”
I shoot him a glare but grin anyway, walking across the catwalk with the practiced ease of someone who’s lived up here more than on the ground lately. I know I’m ditching my post, but Tank and Jay have it handled. They’re solid.
Truth is, I can’t stop thinking about her.
Effa.
That tiny purple leather dress she wears onstage, the one that hugs her curves like it was stitched to her skin, and those thigh-high boots…
Mental note: I’m fucking her in those boots. No question. No exceptions.
It’s wild how different she looks onstage compared to off. Usually, she’s all floaty skirts and band tees, like a retro goddess dipped in glitter. But when she gets on that stage, she’s fire and leather and sex on heels. The contrast is intoxicating.
I shake my head, smirking to myself as I slide down the pole and drop to the back of the stage. Glancing through the curtains, I take in the sea of fans. It’s a full house tonight. The atmosphere is thick with anticipation.
This is Effa’s element, and she’s going to eat it up.
Turning away from the crowd, I spin around and slam chest-first into someone solid.
The smell hits me first.
Tobacco and cheap aftershave.
Then comes the fury.
I take a step back, tension snapping through me like a live wire, only to find myself face-to-face with the last person I want to see. Fucking Jett. And of course, his entire goddamn entourage is standing right behind him like a pack of smug, leather-wrapped hyenas.
Typical.
I suck in a deep breath through my nose, trying to hold onto some shred of composure. There’s no way I can afford to throw down right now, especially not with four witnesses.
He planned this.
The calculating bastard.
“Jett,” I grit out, voice low and full of warning as I attempt to brush past him.
“Mercury…” he purrs, like he’s savoring the word. Then he smirks. “Did Effa happen to mention our little rendezvous today?”
I stop cold.
My jaw tightens, teeth grinding so hard it’s a miracle they don’t shatter. I want to punch him so bad my fists twitch with restraint. But I won’t. Not yet. Instead, I turn, plastering on a smile that feels more like a sneer.
“Yeah, she said something about seeing you, and how pathetic you’ve become.”
His grin wavers, only for a second, but I clock it. Then his gaze darkens, like storm clouds rolling in fast. This guy’s a grade-A, toxic-waste-level asshole—a manipulative, egotistical, narcissistic prick.
“Don’t worry, Mercury,” he drawls, stepping forward. “She won’t be able to resist me. I won’t even need to make a move… she’ll come crawling back all on her own. Effa’s like a moth to my flame. And I can’t wait to watch your face when she leaves you in her dust.”
I shake my head slowly, my voice dripping with disdain. “You’re delusional. She’s not falling for your bullshit again, Jett. She sees through you now.”
He shrugs, his lips twisting in a smug, little smile.
“It’s inevitable. You’ll screw it up because you’re too intense, too protective, too possessive, and she’ll run straight back to me.
” Then he leans in, and I swear I hear the sound of my own self-control cracking.
“And when she does,” he whispers, his breath hot and vile.
“I’m going to enjoy tasting her cupcake frosting again. Mmm… delicious.”
That’s it.
My fists clench like they’ve got a mind of their own, and before I can think, I lunge.
But his guys are ready for it, two on each arm, and I’m slammed back into the wall like a wild animal being caged.
They hold me down, grinning as if they’ve already won.
I breathe heavy through my nose, my chest heaving with suppressed rage, my nostrils flaring with every inhale.
Jett steps up, face way too close, basking in the moment like the smug fuck he is.
“You swing again, Mercury,” he murmurs, his voice low and cold. “And I’ll have your job. Then who’s gonna protect my sweet little cupcake, huh?”
Then the final insult…
He leans in and presses his lips to my forehead.
The scratch of his beard against my skin churns my stomach.