In Peace Lies Havoc (Midnight Mayhem #1)(36)

Beat laughs, flicking some peanuts into her mouth. “I get it. I mean, I don’t really get it. I—my mom and—”

“Oh!” I shake my head, thankful for the drink when it finally arrives. I take a sip before answering. “No, I mean, it was great, but they died when I was young.”

“Oh.” Beat softens her tone, her shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

I wave her off, not because I’m unaffected by their death anymore, but because after all these years of having to explain or say the same thing, almost like a rehearsed script, it’s easier now. “It was a long time ago.” Lie, you’re still affected by it. Shutting out bad memories doesn’t help you cope. It’s the easy lie that we blanket ourselves with for a false sense of security.

“So how has Delila been?” Beat changes the subject.

I shrug. “A total bitch at the best of times.” The alcohol is warming my blood and fueling my confidence to speak.

“So, still the same then.” Beat rolls her eyes.

“You used to be in Midnight Mayhem?” I ask.

Her shoulders sag. “Yes. A long time ago, but essentially, yes. For a couple shows anyway.”

“How’d you find it?” I’m intrigued by her on a level that I’m not sure I can quite grasp yet. Fascinated. I want to know her in a way.

“Well.” She exhales. “I was running away from my husband because he kidnapped me. Then there was this whole ‘he might kill me thing’ and I didn’t feel like dying.”

I laugh, throwing my head back. I laugh so hard my belly tightens. When I finally come down from my fit of giggles, she’s watching me with surprise. “You’re not freaked out by what I just said?”

I swipe at my eyes. “No. I mean, if you knew how I came about my current position.”

Beat searches my eyes. “Oh, I think I have an idea. Maybe. Though I’m not sure.”

I shake my head, sighing. I feel relaxed for the first time in a long time. Being around so much testosterone has taken its toll on me. “I swear you could write a really creepy book about my life.”

Beat snorts, leaning into her bag that’s near her ankles and dropping a book onto the table. She points. “Join the club.” My eyes fall on the cover, the bright green title catching my eyes first. The title is simple. MANIK. The cover image is of Aeron’s chest, but where his face is supposed to be, there are ravens flying out.

“Wow! You have a book?”

She waves me off. “I didn’t write it, but yes. It’s the story of how Aeron and I met. I’m all for creepy stories. I wouldn’t recommend this author, though. She drinks too much, procrastinates a lot, and is easily distracted.”

I laugh, running my hand over the book while sliding it back to her. “So why did you want to have a drink with me tonight? Or this morning?”

Her focus drifts. “Well, I was really just hoping to pick your brain on how you dance. I run Aeron’s backup dancers now, and they’re driving me crazy. That’s saying a lot, because my crazy threshold is high due to who I’m married to.”

“Ask away!” I gesture with my hands as she peppers me with questions about my technique. I tell her that I not only have been dancing since I was able to walk, but I had lessons growing up, too, which she understood. Once we’re finished going back and forth, an hour has passed easily, and empty glasses are sitting in front of us.

“Wow.” She leans back in her chair. “I wish I could poach you.”

I’m barely keeping my eyes open. “I wish, too. Oh, how I do.”

“Where are you based?” she asks. “Your home base. Do you have one yet?”

“I don’t have one yet, but I think Delila likes us all to stay very close.”

“Yes, she does, so you’ll be close to the mansion. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was sorting your own house to be built on the property.” Beat pauses, emptying the rest of her drink into her mouth. “Tell me. Do you want to do this?”

I think over her question, wanting to give her an honest answer. “I want to stay alive.”

After a couple more drinks, we swap numbers, and Beat drops me back at the grounds, also called a “compound,” when Midnight Mayhem are on the road. My head is dizzy, and my thoughts are wavering. The vodka has long since left its claws inside me. I swing open the RV door, stumbling to the back of it toward my room. After wrangling my clothes off, I pull my phone up and grab my earbuds, hitting play on my playlist in hopes that music will make my head stop spinning. “Far Away” by Nickelback starts playing. I softly sing the words, tying my hair into a high ponytail and slipping beneath the sheets. I need to go out and grab some more supplies and do some laundry if I don’t want to start wearing the same clothes. I’m singing the chorus when my curtain is pulled open, and Keaton is watching me carefully, a drink hanging between his fingers. He pulls out his phone, so I remove my earbuds.

“What?” I don’t mean to be snappy to Keaton. It’s not like he’s been exactly rude to me, if you don’t count acting like I don’t exist as rude.

He presses play on the song again, pointing to me with his drink. “Sing it again.” When I don’t budge and the opening starts, he rolls his eyes and starts singing it lazily. Even lazy, he’s nailing it. I had no idea Keaton could sing at all. He doesn’t look like a singer, even if that does sound like a shit judgment for me to make. When the chorus comes in, I power it out, and our voices merge together in perfect harmony. As the guitar plays, he drops down onto my bed, dropping his drink on the floor in the process. He continues the song, and I come in again on the chorus, hitting the high notes with him merging through the rough notes.