Chapter 1
Sloane
Six months earlier
“Get your ass up here!” screams my best friend, Lydia, from the bedroom on the second level of my studio apartment.
“Wow. Love the green lace,” I say to Lydia as she struts out of my closet wearing a long-sleeved deep green bodysuit tucked into a black miniskirt. Her dark brown, shoulder-length hair is styled in loose waves, her bangs a stark contrast to her bright blue eyes.
“Yeah? What shoes should I wear with this?” she asks.
“The Docs, duh.” I deadpan. She gives me a knowing look and proceeds to toss my outfit straight at my face. I reach up and grab it, sticking my tongue out at her.
“Get dressed! We’re going to be late,” she whines.
I chose an all-black bondage-style outfit.
The top of it crisscrosses over my chest and then opens up to two flowing panels that travel down either leg.
I have a slate-gray leather belt with a snake buckle wrapping around my waist, over the dress.
For shoes, I’m going with Doc Martens as well.
I take a long look at myself in the mirror, my auburn hair curled in loose waves that tumble down past my mid-back.
The dress is sleeveless, showing off my full, black ink tattoo sleeve on my left arm.
I’ve got a smoky gray color shadowing my upper eyelids and winged black eyeliner and black mascara to top it all off.
I grab my deep mauve lipstick, removing the covering and applying it in a thin layer before admiring my work one last time.
“I can’t believe you’re gonna wear that. I might have to take you home at the end of the night.” She winks.
“Real funny, Lyd. Let’s go,” I say as I grab my cross-body and head down the stairs. While she was getting ready, I set up an Uber. The driver just texted that he’s here.
The drive through the winding back roads of Hollowcrest is a sight to behold.
Even though I’ve lived here for my entire twenty-eight years of life, the view never gets old.
The narrow veins of the cracked asphalt beneath us curl between the dense pines and the foggy hills that surround us.
The air grows thinner the closer we get to the heart of the city, and the cell bars rise like ghostly stepping stones.
The trees overlying the road filter in more light as we make our way out of them.
I only live about twenty minutes out of the city limits, but it feels like another world of its own.
Reverb is playing at The Thirteenth Door, a moderately sized concert venue that lies in the heart of downtown Hollowcrest. The venue is surrounded by cobblestone alleys and slightly crooked brick buildings with iron-railed balconies.
The atmosphere here is intoxicating, alive in a way that only this city could be.
The locals roam the streets slowly, as if time here doesn’t quite pass the same as anywhere else.
Down the street from the venue, there’s an old, beloved bookstore with paper signs attached to the inside of the windows.
I can practically smell that familiar, worn book smell from here.
Next to an old studio, there’s a record shop with the doors open.
I hear the low, indistinct sounds filtering out into the evening air as Lydia and I step out of the Uber.
We arrive at The Thirteenth Door three hours before early entrance to stand in line and get a good spot.
As Lydia always says, beating the inevitable crowd is necessary.
A staff member walks down the row and hands us each an armband.
She explains that the band has a changeable LED light that will be used for the show.
The bracelet is all black, approximately one inch thick, and sports a square light at the center that rests over the top of the wrist. I twist it in my hand, examining it.
I guess this is how all those other venues can spell things out in the stands using lights and match the beat of the music during concerts.
We fasten the bracelets on, and we wait.
We wait, and wait, and wait. After what feels like an eternity, the line finally begins to move into the building.
We’re able to score a spot right in the middle up against the gates, thanks to Lydia.
She unapologetically sprinted past everyone else as soon as the doors opened.
Did I mention she’s a big fan? She might even be Reverb’s biggest fan.
Which is why I’m glad I could do this for her.
When you’re a true fan, as Lydia says, you must arrive at these events early enough to beat the other true fans.
Being as physically close to the stage as possible is also a nonnegotiable.
So, here we are, standing against a gate opposite one of the bodyguards who’s staring blankly out at the crowd with a serious expression on his face.
His lips are pulled into a thin line, and his hands are planted firmly at his side.
Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one of these guys smile.
“How freaking excited are we?!” Lydia squeals. I don’t miss the way she said we, but I’m not one to disappoint my best friend.
“So excited,” I say. Lie. Traitorous liar.
Well, mostly. I am excited to finally dive back into my work, and it’s been entirely too long since I’ve been to a concert.
But the real reason I’m here is born out of pure curiosity.
These guys have such an ominous cult-like following, and I’m here to find out one thing: why?
I’ve spent the last few months learning everything I possibly could about Reverb.
I researched the lore until my brain physically hurt and my eyes were dry as a bone.
I tried, and failed, to discover the true identities of the band members.
I listened to countless songs, even managing to learn most of the lyrics by now.
Admittedly, I even kind of like some of them.
That’s how I find myself here, leaning against the gates in the pit while I wait to listen to the hottest band of the moment.
Not to brag, but usually my research stops before this point.
I’m sort of great at uncovering truths and exposing them.
When I was handed a folder with their name practically written across the first page, I knew I wouldn’t stop until I uncovered something.
I knew I wouldn’t stop until I uncovered everything.
And I’m not so tone deaf that I can’t appreciate that they are pretty decent. I do have ears, after all.
There’s something to be said about this fan base, though.
I’ve seen women get on their actual knees and freaking beg for the attention of Vantros, the lead vocalist. They call him Van, for short.
It’s almost cute. And while I’m sure Van gets off on that shit, I’m not here for that.
I find that type of attention unnerving. When did fans become so feral?
“Hellooooo, earth to Lo!” Lydia yells, using her nickname for me.
“You didn’t hear a single word I just said, did you?” she asks, annoyed.
“Um, no. Sorry,” I say apologetically.
“I said, I’m going to get us a drink. Will you hold down the gate while I’m gone?” I nod.
She turns, pushing her way through the thick crowd that has quickly formed behind us.
It takes her what feels like an eternity before she returns, holding two seltzers, handing one to me.
I crack it open, take a sip, and hope it doesn’t open the forbidden flood gates.
Just thinking about pushing through that crowd makes me anxious.
“Can I borrow your mirror real quick?” Lydia asks.
“Why?” I tease. “Trying to become one of Van’s sacrifices tonight?”
She answers back with a high-pitched, “Welllll.” I scoff and make a horrified face.
“What? I’m kidding. Oh God, Sloane, chill.
Maybe take another sip of that drink. You know what?
Just chug it.” I roll my eyes as I reach into my cross-body, pull out my compact mirror, and hand it over to her.
I am perfectly chill. I am the definition of chill.
I’m about to tell her just that when the overhead lights completely shut off and the stage lights flicker to life.
The crowd goes wild. Absolutely. Insanely.
Wild. I bring my hands up to my ears to muffle the sound.
This is the reason that I’m chasing this story.
This is the reason I have to know why. It’s sort of electrifying, being this deep in my research.
Because that’s all this is, research. The echoes of the crowd grow even louder before coming to a silent halt.
It’s as if they were compelled to do so.
It’s so completely silent that I can hear my heart beating in my ears.
Then I hear it. His voice. Van’s voice.