Chapter Twenty-One #2
But he was so far from being amenable she didn’t know how she’d get him to say he wanted their bargain to work.
He had to think he was winning the war between them. That had always been what pissed him off the most—not the tour falling apart, but thinking Skye was manipulating him.
She’d just have to let him think he was in control.
The paparazzi swarmed the tour bus as it pulled into the gates of the venue at the next show. Photographers with cameras in hand hurled accusations and damning questions at them through the windows.
“Is Remi going to rehab?”
“Who will replace him if he overdoses?”
“Is the band breaking up due to his drug habits?”
Skye sighed. “You still think this is good for his street cred?”
“No such thing as bad publicity,” Jillian quipped.
Ollie chewed on his fingernail as he took in the commotion, and even Liam’s eyes had gone wide with worry.
Remi had spent the entire day sleeping in one of the bunks. He stumbled out, his hair a mess, and peered out the windows.
“Huh,” he said. “I really am famous now.”
Skye bit her tongue from snapping at him, but West did it for her.
“That’s what you have to say right now?” he demanded.
West might not trust her, but he wasn’t happy with Remi either.
Remi shrugged. “I told you I didn’t do it. The photo is out there. It’s not like I can do anything to stop it. What do you want from me?”
“We want you to care!” Liam said, throwing his arms up.
Remi narrowed his eyes. “Have I ever missed a show?”
No one answered him.
“Have I ever missed a show?” Remi said, his voice hoarse with anger and the remnants of sleep.
“No,” Ollie said in a small voice.
“Have I ever fucked up the words to our songs or missed a goddamn cue? Have I ever not shown up to sound check or for our call time?”
“No,” Liam said.
“Okay!” Remi said. “So obviously I do fucking care.”
The bus jostled them as it inched through the mass of people. The brakes hissed to a stop. Larry got them as close to the venue doors as he could get.
“So get the fuck off my back,” Remi finished and stormed off the bus. Everyone watched as he sprinted to the door. The venue’s security guards held back the paps.
The rest of the band exited the bus. Skye’s phone started ringing as she pushed through the savage photographers.
“Hello?” she said, holding a hand to her other ear so she could hear over the shouting.
“Is it true Remi keeps his heroin in a glass cookie jar on the bus?”
“Skye,” Roger, CEO of Sprites Records, barked her name over the phone. She’d known he had a temper, but this was the first time she’d ever heard it directed at her.
“Morning, Roger,” Skye said, injecting enthusiasm in her voice.
“We need to talk about your singer.”
Someone grabbed her arm, and she threw her elbow back until she heard the satisfying crack of a broken nose.
“Fucking bitch! My nose!” the pap screamed. “I’ll fucking sue you for this!”
She ignored him and made it inside the door. “Roger, the picture was a set up,” Skye shouted into her phone. “Remi is not doing heroin.”
“I don’t give a fuck if he’s snorting elephant tranquilizers and shooting up stem cells from baby koalas! The picture is out there, and there’s a viral post circulating a petition to get the Jacksonville show canceled.”
“What?”
The crew weaved around her as she made her way over to the stage where the band was doing sound check. Her eyes landed on Jillian in the corner. She was holding her phone high and making pouty lips for the camera.
Skye knew Jillian had done this. She’d set up the photo, and she’d leaked it. She was an influencer. The only way she stayed relevant was rolling around in drama, and with the tour going smoothly the last few shows, she must have decided to create some content to keep her posts entertaining.
“There’s some group of mothers rallying the petition,” Roger said.
“Moms Against Drugs or some shit. Remi is a role model for their kids, and now that he’s on dope, what are their kids going to think?
You know, instead of parenting their children, they’re blaming me.
Me. So this mess needs cleaned up ASAP. If even one show gets canceled, I’ll make sure your band is slapped with so many goddamn fees that you’ll be lucky if you can make it into the black by the time every single one of them are old fucks and shitting themselves in wheelchairs. You got me?”
“Yeah, Roger,” Skye said. “I got it.”
He didn’t say goodbye before hanging up.
Skye marched toward the stage, the heels of her thigh-high boots clicking loud enough that the crew members in her path skittered out of her way.
Levi was standing to the side, along with the rest of Key of Atlas, waiting to do their sound check.
Skye grabbed Levi by the wrist and dragged him behind her as she walked up the stairs.
“Hey!” he protested. “What do you want with me?”
“Need you to do sound check for Remi,” she said.
“Why the fuck would I do anything you say?”
Skye whipped around and yanked him until he stumbled into her.
She let the red of her demon vision light up her irises.
“Because, little fucker,” she hissed under her breath.
“I have your goddamn soul, which means I can haunt you for the rest of your life. And you are going to do what I tell you, or else, when this tour is over, I will follow you everywhere, making sure every moment of happiness and peace that you manage to eke out of your tiny, pathetic existence is destroyed. Kay?”
Levi’s face paled, and he nodded vigorously.
Skye spun back around and ripped the microphone from Remi’s grasp and shoved it into Levi’s chest. “Go.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Remi asked.
“We need to talk,” Skye whispered. “Like now.”
Remi took a long breath and sighed it out. “Can I just finish—”
“No, Remi,” Skye said. “The label called. This is important.”
He ran a hand over his face, exhaustion etched in the lines on his forehead. “Fine. Fine.” He turned and put his palms up to his bandmates. “I’ll be back in five. I’m not going to do drugs.”
If it was supposed to be a joke, no one laughed. Remi just huffed and started walking off stage. There was crew crawling everywhere, and she didn’t want Jillian interrupting them, so Skye nodded to the exit.
They pushed back through the paparazzi to get to the tour bus, squinting their eyes against the sun.
“Remi, your fans are turning their backs on you. Do you have a comment?” one of them asked.
“Moms Against Drugs petitioned for your shows to be canceled and all of your music to be taken off the radio. What will you do without music funding your drug addiction?” another shouted.
They both squeezed inside the bus. Skye locked the door and pulled down the second locking mechanism that the driver usually only engaged when they were on the road, just in case.
Remi collapsed onto the couch, tilting his chin up to rest his head on the back. “What is it, Skye?” He didn’t sound angry or upset, just tired.
She could work with that.
Sitting next to him on the couch, she said, “Remi, we need to be on the same side here. You don’t have to like me. We don’t have to get along, but we have to work together or everything is going to blow up.”
Remi opened his eyes to slits. “That doesn’t sound very much like an apology.”
“Apology?” Skye said. “I’m not apologizing. I haven’t done anything wrong. You and West are on one if you think I’m going to apologize for shit.”
Remi rolled his eyes. “Oh, right. Okay, so what the hell even is this? West has finally seen through your lies, and you’re trying a new tactic to get into my head?”
Yes, sort of, but not the way he was implying.
“Remi,” Skye said on a sigh. “I’m not trying to trick you. The label called about this Moms Against Drugs group. They are trying to get our shows shut down, but we can fix this.”
At this point, everything had spiraled so far out of control that Skye didn’t have enough demon magic to compel it away anymore. The best thing she could do for the band was to fix it through the same channels that all famous people used to sweep things under the rug—money and connections.
“We can hire an emergency PR person to help deal with it,” she continued.
“They’ll flood the market with positive stories.
If we do a couple of interviews to drum up positive publicity, the shows won’t get canceled.
We spin the narrative. We grease the right palms. We drop Jillian off on the side of the road for starting this shit in the first place, and then we won’t get slapped with fees, but I can’t do any of this—”
Without you was what she was about to say, but Remi sat up, his body vibrating with anger.
“Jillian had nothing to do with this,” he said.
“Remi,” Skye said with so much more patience than she even knew she was capable of. “She’s manipulating you.”
Remi jumped up from the couch. “She’s manipulating me?” he yelled. “Jillian and I both know what we get out of our arrangement. The only person manipulating me is you. You’re the one who says you want to help the band and then sabotages us every chance you get.”
“Are you high?” Skye said, standing toe to toe with him. “I’m the only reason the tour is going smoothly. And your bullshit isn’t helping!”
“If I’m such a problem for the tour, then get rid of me,” Remi said, and then he snapped and pointed his finger, tilting his head.
“Oh, damn, except you can’t, can you? Tilted Haze is my band.
Not yours. I make the decisions. Not you.
None of us need you. The guys are only blowing smoke up your ass.
They would forget about you in a week if we dropped you.
Because you’re nothing to them, and you’re nothing to me. ”
Skye smacked his finger down and grabbed one of the chains around his neck, wrapping it around her hand and pulling him in until their bodies aligned. “If I’m nothing, then why is your dick pressing in to me?”
Remi blew out a breath and rolled his eyes. “You of all people know that doesn’t mean shit. I could fuck you right here. It wouldn’t change anything.”