Page 17

The first chords of ‘Midnight Dune’ ring out, and I pour every ounce of emotion into the song. As I sing, Laney mouths the words back to me, her lips moving in perfect sync with mine. The world blurs away, the thousands of screaming fans fading into nothing.

For these few minutes, there is no stage, no distance between us—just the music and the unspoken connection threading between us.

And damn if I wasn’t already lost in it.

I finish the song and drag my gaze back to the thousands of fans as I say my goodnight and thank them all. I head off stage as they chant my name and grab a swig of water with the band, as we take a breath before heading back onstage for the encore. Tonight has been one of the best nights on stage and everyone is buzzing.

When we finally finish our last, last song, I glance at Laney, hoping she can read what I can’t say in words. I’ll find her backstage. Her small nod confirms my unspoken question, and I grin before waving at the fans and walking off stage and heading into the chaos behind.

Backstage is a mess of bodies, voices, and flashing cameras, all clamoring for my attention. Famous faces, journalists, fans—everyone wants a piece of me, a handshake, a quote, a goddamn moment of my time. The air is thick with sweat, liquor, and the unmistakable scent of too many people in too small a space. It’s suffocating.

I don’t want to be here.

I grin and sign autographs from excited fans, posing for photos and fulfilling my obligations. I usually love this part but tonight it feels too much.

The adrenaline from the show is already wearing off, leaving me feeling drained and irritated. My patience for small talk is at zero, but they keep coming. Endless hands, endless fake smiles,people acting like they know me. I nod, grunt, and fake a smile when required. My skin crawls with the weight of their attention. None of it matters. Not this noise, not these people. At least not right now.

I move through the crowded room trying to make my way towards the door where I know Laney will enter, unless she already has and I missed her somehow. Someone thrusts a drink into my hand and I nod, trying to look grateful.

It’s been an hour since the show ended and there is no sign of the group thinning out as the party gets started.

Younger fans have been shown out and it leaves party girls and hangers-on who just want to fuck someone famous. I’ve already spotted Dizzy doing a line off a blonde’s tits. I turn away, not interested in any of it.

All I want is to find Laney.

I spot her entering the room with her friend, her head turning as she scans the room, looking for me. Our eyes meet, and she gives me the brightest smile I’ve ever seen, causing my chest to feel tight.

Fuck, what is it about this woman that makes me want to drop to my knees and worship her? It’s like the world stops and I know that I’ll do anything to have this woman in my life.

A recorder is thrust in my face as a journalist throws questions at me, and I break eye contact to focus on the woman in front of me so I can get rid of her. Twenty minutes later, I glare at my manager who finally gets the hint and pulls the woman away.

Scanning the room, I look where I last saw Laney, my gaze feeling more desperate when I don’t spot her.

She was right beside her friend a few minutes ago, but now I don’t see her. I don’t see her friend, either. That uneasy feeling slithers through my gut, slow and insidious.

“Eddie! Eddie, man, that set was insane! How does it feel to—”

“Yeah, great, thanks,” I mutter, shaking off another eager hand on my arm. I can barely hear them over the static buzzing in my ears.

Then I see it, across the room near the door.

A new guy, a roadie I don’t recognize, has his hands on Laney.

My stomach drops.

She’s pulling away from him, turning her face, but he’s leaning in, his fingers wrapped around her wrist, dragging her toward the exit.

“Laney!” My voice barely carries over the noise. She looks around, eyes wide, searching for me, but the asshole yanks her through the door before I can shove through the crowd.

I snap. “Move!” I bark, shoving past people, not giving a fuck who I offend. “Get out of my way!”

I don’t care who I knock over. People yell my name, but I don’t stop. My heart is slamming in my chest as I push through the door and into the dimly lit hallway.

I feel frantic, a hungry desperation nipping at my heels, tension coiling in every muscle. It’s dark in the hallway and I frown as I let my eyes adjust.

Then I hear a cry and I know in my soul it’s her. I race down the long hallway toward the sound. My only thought is that I need to get to her. I’m not a world-famous star in this moment, I’m every bit the predator that was trained by the Cosa Nostra.

I am death.