Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)(89)

His smile softened as my expression drifted into something tender. It was impossible to keep it out.

“You already know what I think about the music,” I told him.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah…about your voice. About the way you wrap me up when you play. The way I don’t feel so alone when I’m surrounded by the words that feel almost like you wrote them just for me.”

I lifted a self-deprecating smile, Red so far gone I no longer remembered who she was or who I’d been so frantically trying to be.

“Pretty sad, huh, being that girl sitting all alone in her apartment, pressing play again and again to the same song, pretending this untouchable rock star was there and everything didn’t seem so bad anymore.”

He brushed his fingers through my hair, making my head tilt back as he looked down at me. “Not alone, Blue. Not anymore. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

Didn’t I? I wanted to beg him as that flood whooshed into a white-capped wave of insecurity.

“Come on,” he said. “Four of us have a little tradition after each show. Want you there.”

“And what kind of tradition would that be?”

“Shots.”

“Surprise, surprise,” I mumbled, tone dry.

A smirk played at that delicious mouth, and he turned on his heel and started zigzagging us through the backstage crowd. I clasped my free hand around his wrist, refusing to let him go as I tried to keep up with his long, purposed stride. He gave my hand a squeeze, a silent reassurance that he had me, that he knew where I was.

That maybe he knew who I was.

I hear you.

His voice trembled through my spirit.

People clapped him on the back as we passed, and I took in the whole scene with wide-eyed exuberance.

Balancing on the ledge.

Ready to take that last step over the edge.

To jump.

Straight into a free fall.

Would he be there to catch me at the bottom?

“Great show, man,” one of the guys from the opening band said to Lyrik, slowing our progression as he blocked our path in the cramped hallway.

Heat permeated the space, the air dank and dim and thick. In amused appraisal, the guy’s brown eyes slithered down to where Lyrik’s and my hands were clasped.

“Where’s the twin?” he asked with a suggestive twist of his brow.

I cringed.

Wow.

That hurt worse than I thought it would.

But it was no secret or surprise. That was Lyrik’s style. In almost every picture I’d seen of Lyrik with a girl, there was never any girl about it. It was a pattern in the images captured by the paparazzi, in those snapped by fans.

Lyrik West was always draped in multiple women.

In them, his posture almost suggested he didn’t register they were there except for the fact he was getting ready to ravage and annihilate.

Spoil and loot and desolate.

Once he used them up, I was sure there was nothing left behind.

All except for the one I’d found in that picture.

“Fuck off, Brinks.” That was Lyrik’s only response as he jerked me back into movement. My gaze turned in time to follow the guy’s shocked expression staring back at us as Lyrik wound me deeper into the darkened maze.

I guess I was a little shocked too.

And a whole lot relieved.

Lyrik said a few hellos as he walked into one of the reception rooms backstage that had been close to empty when we’d walked through it earlier this afternoon.

Tonight it was packed, overflowing with a crush of people plastered against every wall, some voices loud and raucous, the center of attention, others obviously ill at ease and having no clue what to do with themselves.

Heavy metal blared from the speakers, only adding to the chaotic vibe that vibrated the floors and climbed the walls.

For the most part, Lyrik barely lifted his chin in acknowledgment of someone calling his name, those competing for his attention, this dangerous, volatile man seemingly unaffected and aloof.

He led us to the very back where a bar was set up.

Here, most of the people in the room held back, giving us space.

Anthony appeared off to the side with a grin on his face. He clapped Lyrik on the shoulder. “Lyrik, it’s good to see your face. Feel good to be back in town?”

“Sure thing,” Lyrik said with a little less enthusiasm than someone might anticipate.

Anthony turned his gaze on me, appraising again, but where the * back in the hall had been exactly that…an *…Anthony’s assessment was soft and without judgment. Just…curious.

“Nice to see you again, Tamar.”

“Nice to see you, too.”

Ash squeezed through, bounding onto the scene, always larger than life, cutting off any further conversation. “Anthony, how’s it going, man? You outdid yourself this time. Sold out. Guess we can’t ask for better than that, now can we?”

“Hell yeah,” Sebastian agreed as he sidled up to the bar, his hand wrapped up in Shea’s, refusing to let her go.

She eyed me with a knowing smile.

Crazy, huh?

I shook my head with a smile, thinking it truly was crazy, that Lyrik had me wrapped up kind of the way Sebastian had Shea.

Staunch and resolute.

That I was here, and for the moment I was his.