Page 131 of The Ruthless Note

I catch it with my open palms and use my discarded T-shirt, that’s wet and dripping with sweat, to wipe the rest of my face.

As we walk to our dressing room, I glance around. The front of the building was decorated and painted over for the concert-goers, but the back shows the wear and tear the warehouse has endured over the years. Doors are off their hinges, the walls smell like mold, and the floor is cracked cement and dirt chips.

The stage crew is bustling around, but they all stop and take in a breath when we stalk past them. Most gigs are like that. People either don’t expect much from us because we’re in high school or they think we’ve gotten this far on Jarod Cross’s clout.

When they hear our sound, there’s always this sheepish acknowledgement, like they want us to think we had their approval from the start.

I stalk past them without acknowledgement and follow my brothers into the hallway that leads to the dressing rooms. Even this distance from the stage, we can still hear Bex Dane’s band booming out into the dark night.

The first room we walk by is occupied. Another band is in there, snorting coke. Barely-clad girls are on their laps, ready and willing to do whatever they want just to say they slept with rockstars.

I hate my dad for the choices he made, but if there’s ever an industry that tempts you down a road littered with bad decisions, it’s the music business.

Zane falls into a couch and kicks his legs out. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

“I didn’t say anything,” I grumble.

“Your face says it all.” Zane’s nostrils flare. “I know. I went too hard on the set tonight.”

“You kept the rhythm. The crowd liked the energy.” He’s already beating himself up enough. I’m not going to join him.

Zane aggressively rams his fingers through his hair. He got the sides shaved recently, so only the top is long enough to hold his sweat.

“I won’t let dad mess with my head forever. I’ll figure myself out,” Zane says.

Finn plants a hand on his shoulder and squeezes in silent solidarity.

I check my watch. It’s half-past one.

“I’ll stay back and pack up the instruments,” I offer. “You two can leave if you’ve got other plans.”

Zane rubs his temple. “My head is pounding. I’ll head home first.”

I don’t know if he’ll make it that far. There are plenty of women here who would love to take his mind off Miss Jamieson. But I nod and Zane slips away.

Finn watches the door as it clicks shut. “He’s slamming so hard on the self-destruct button, it’ll break before he’s finished with it.”

“If he goes too far, we’ll reel him back.”

Finn nods.

I sigh wearily. “Any word from Sol?”

“No.” Finn pauses. “But I know for a fact that he hasn’t been sent to any more boot camps. He’s staying close to home.”

“Good. He needs his family now more than ever. One loose cannon is more than enough for us to handle.” I glance at the door that Zane stepped through.

“What are we going to do about Miller?” Finn asks, lounging against the wall and staring at me.

I rub my palms over my cheeks. Images of Brahms’ beautiful face as she whimpered for me fill my head. All my life, I’ve been a dark shadow, never passing too close to the sun, just coasting on numbness and apathy.

Brahms is terrifying.

She pulled me closer to the light just as much as I dragged her into the darkness.

“We can’t touch the friend,” I say steadily.

Finn’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t comment.