Page 20

Ethan

The familiar hum of mid-show activity surrounded me as I made my way through the backstage corridors. Technicians rushed past with cables and equipment, while dancers remained limber in corners, their faces intense with concentration. The bass from Nova’s current song vibrated through the walls, accompanied by the distant roar of thousands of fans.

I found Mel exactly where I knew I would—standing in the wings, her tablet clutched to her chest as she watched her sister command the stage. Something was different about her tonight. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders instead of being pulled back in her usual professional style, and the sight of those dark waves made my fingers itch to touch them.

“Everything running smoothly?” I asked, stepping close enough to catch the faint vanilla scent that always seemed to cling to her skin.

She turned toward me, and my breath caught in my throat. There, just above her left eyebrow, was a small smudge of blue paint—evidence that she’d been using the art supplies I’d given her again this afternoon. The sight of it sent an unexpected surge of satisfaction through me.

“All good so far,” she replied softly, her voice barely audible over the music. “Nova’s in top form tonight. The crowd’s eating it up.”

“You’ve been painting.” The words escaped before I could stop them, my eyes fixed on that telltale streak of color.

Her hand flew to her face, fingers searching frantically. “Oh God, I left some on my face, didn’t I? Where is it? I thought I got it all.”

I caught her wrist gently, lowering her hand. “Don’t. I like it.”

Pink bloomed across her cheeks, and memories of last night flooded my mind: her gasps echoing in the command center, the way she’d arched against my mouth, how my name had sounded on her lips when she’d come apart beneath my tongue.

“About tonight,” I murmured, keeping my voice low. I did a quick visual sweep to ensure we were alone in our little corner. “How about if I come to your room as soon as the show ends?”

“We can’t.”

“Fine.” I trailed a finger down her arm. “You come to mine.”

“I want to,” she whispered, her green eyes darkening with unmistakable heat. “But we have that after-party at Skylight. Nova’s been talking about it for days.”

Damn. In the haze of desire, I’d momentarily forgotten about Nova’s celebration plans at New Orleans’ hottest nightclub.

“Right. The nightclub.” I couldn’t keep the disappointment from my voice, though I tried.

“I have to be there,” she said apologetically, twisting her fingers together. “Nova needs me to handle the VIP list, make sure the right people get in, coordinate with the club’s management?—”

“I know.” I cut off her explanation gently. She didn’t need to justify herself to me. This was her job, her responsibility. “We’ll both be there. Security detail doesn’t stop just because the venue changes.”

Her fingers brushed against mine, a fleeting touch that sent electricity racing up my arm. “Later?” The single word held so much promise.

“Definitely later,” I assured her, my voice rougher than intended.

Ty’s voice crackled urgently in my earpiece, breaking the moment. “Boss, we’ve got a situation. Drunk fan trying to climb the barricade at section B. Security’s struggling to contain him.”

“On my way,” I responded, pressing my finger to the comms unit. To Mel, I said, “Duty calls.”

“Go,” she said, but her eyes held promises for later that made my blood heat.

I forced myself to turn away, to focus on the job at hand. Professional distance was becoming harder to maintain with each passing second.

The Skylight club pulsed with an energy that bordered on frenetic. Located on the top floor of the prestigious Astoria Hotel, it offered panoramic views of New Orleans’ glittering skyline rather than the French Quarter—not that anyone was paying attention to the scenery. The bass thumped through the floorboards, vibrating up through my boots as colored lights swept across the packed dance floor in dizzying patterns.

“All entry points secure,” Logan reported through the comms, his voice carrying a strain I recognized all too well. The crowds, the noise, the constant flashing lights—I knew this environment was hell on his PTSD, but he was maintaining his position without complaint.

“Copy that,” I replied, my eyes continuously scanning the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor. Nova held court in the elevated VIP section, surrounded by her ever-present entourage. Dexter was there, gesticulating wildly as he told some story that had the backup dancers in stitches. Local celebrities and industry bigwigs the promoters had invited mingled among them, everyone vying for proximity to the pop star.

“Jace, status on surveillance?” I asked, pressing my finger to my earpiece to better hear over the thunderous music.

“All feeds operational,” he responded from his position in the club’s security office. “Got eyes on every corner. Nothing suspicious so far, but this place is packed way beyond legal capacity.”

The club was indeed dangerously crowded, bodies pressed together so tightly that movement through the space required constant physical contact. Servers in skimpy uniforms weaved through the maze of people with trays of overpriced drinks held high above their heads, while security personnel in matching black shirts maintained watch from strategic positions around the perimeter.

I spotted Mel near the edge of the dance floor, not quite part of Nova’s inner circle but still present, still watchful. She’d changed for the occasion, trading her backstage attire for a black dress that hugged every curve. Watching her move to the music, her body swaying with unconscious grace, was pure torture. Every shift of her hips, every toss of her hair, reminded me of how she’d moved beneath my hands, above my mouth.

“Ah fuck.” Ty’s voice burst through the comms, annoyed. “Got a handsy drunk trying to pull Nova onto his lap. Moving to intercept.”

I was already pushing through the crowd toward the VIP area, but Ty had it handled, smoothly extracting the man—some finance guy in an expensive suit reeking of whiskey—with minimal fuss. The man protested loudly, but Ty’s imposing presence quickly convinced him to cooperate.

“Good work,” I said as Ty deposited the offender with club security near the main exit.

“Just another entitled asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself,” Ty muttered, resuming his position. “Dime a dozen.”

The next hour crawled by in a tense cycle of monitoring, intervening, and trying not to stare at Mel. Every time our eyes met across the crowded room, heat flared between us like a physical thing. The promise of later hung heavy in the air, making every minute feel like an eternity.

Nova seemed to be in her element, dancing with abandon, taking shots with her entourage, basking in the attention. Occasionally, she’d pull someone famous into her circle, creating perfect photo opportunities that would no doubt be all over social media by morning. This was her world—glamour, attention, adoration—and she navigated it with the ease of someone born to it.

Mel, on the other hand, remained on the periphery, always watching, always managing. Even here, in what should have been a celebratory environment, she couldn’t fully relax. I watched her field questions, coordinate with staff, handle small crises before they could reach Nova’s attention. Always working, always responsible.

“Movement at the north exit,” Jace suddenly announced, his voice sharp with concern. “Someone’s messing with the emergency door. Can’t get a clear visual—too many people blocking the camera angle.”

I turned toward the indicated area, already moving through the crowd, but before I could investigate, bedlam erupted.

The fire alarm shrieked to life, its piercing wail cutting through the music like a knife. Simultaneously, the sprinkler system activated, showering the entire club with cold water. Screams of surprise and confusion filled the air as people scrambled in every direction, the orderly party devolving into pandemonium in seconds.

“Fire! There’s a fire!” someone shouted from near the bar, their voice carrying over the alarm.

My training kicked in instantly. “Ty, Logan—get Nova out now. Emergency evac protocols!”

The crowd surged toward the exits like a living tide, panic spreading faster than any flame could. Bodies pressed against me from all sides as I fought to maintain my position and visual contact with my team.

“Got her!” Ty reported, his voice strained but controlled. “We’re heading for the east secondary stairwell. Path is relatively clear.”

This was why we’d studied the plans for the club. Knew routes that wouldn’t be as obvious to the swarming crowds.

“Jace, what’s happening? Do we have an actual fire?” I demanded, shoving through the panicked masses.

“Negative on visible flames,” he responded, the rapid clicking of keyboard keys audible in the background. “No heat signatures on any sensors. Someone pulled the manual alarm—north wall station, second floor.”

Deliberate, then. Not an accident or malfunction. Goddamn it.

I pushed through the panicked crowd with increased urgency, water from the sprinklers soaking through my clothes, making the floor treacherously slick. People slipped and fell around me, adding to the nightmare as others nearly trampled over them in their desperation to escape.

“Status report!” I called out, helping a young woman to her feet before she could be crushed by the stampede.

“Primary is secure,” Logan confirmed, his breathing slightly labored. “We’re in the east stairwell, descending now. Minimal resistance.”

“Moving to the evac point,” Ty added. “ETA two minutes. ”

“I’m right behind you.”

My focus narrowed to getting Nova to safety—that was the job, the mission, the priority. I made it to the east stairs, taking them three at a time until I reached ground level, fighting my way through the stream of evacuees.

The bottom floor was less chaotic—loud with people moving outside, but not so much pushing. A lot more phones recording the drama as emergency vehicles began arriving with sirens wailing.

I spotted my team ahead, crossing the parking lot at the fastest clip Nova’s stilettos would allow. Ty and Logan flanked Nova on either side, creating a protective barrier, while Dexter and several others from her entourage trailed behind them. I sprinted to catch up, my longer stride eating up the distance quickly.

Our black limousine idled at the designated evacuation point, exactly where it was supposed to be. Logan and Ty had Nova surrounded, using their bodies to shield her as fans and paparazzi tried to get close, even in the midst of the emergency. Nova was soaked, her carefully applied makeup running in black rivers down her face, but that didn’t stop some people from trying to get photos.

Logan firmly guided her into the car, his hand on her back urging her forward. Nova’s group jumped into the vehicle after her, a tangle of wet clothes and excited chatter, while Ty and I maintained a watchful perimeter, scanning for any signs that this might be some sort of coordinated attack rather than a simple false alarm.

Once everyone was inside, we dove in ourselves, pulling the door closed with a solid thunk that muffled the madness outside.

“Driver, let’s move,” I ordered over the cacophony inside the limousine. “Back to the hotel.”

The interior of the limo was a mix of confusion, fear, and anxiety. Nova was breathing hard, her chest heaving as the adrenaline hit her system. Dexter was frantically trying to dry her with a towel from the emergency kit, his movements almost comically maternal. A couple of the dancers were crying, their mascara running worse than Nova’s, while one was laughing with the slightly hysterical edge of someone coming down from a panic high.

The limo began to pull away from the curb, but my own adrenaline was still surging through my system. I kept my eyes fixed on the windows, watching for any signs of pursuit or additional threats. Ty and Logan were doing the same, our training keeping us vigilant even as we left the immediate danger zone.

“Oh my God, I’ve got to make a post about this right now,” Nova said, her voice an octave higher than normal as she fumbled for her phone with shaking hands. “People are going to want to make sure I’m all right.”

“Wait until you’re secure back at the hotel,” Logan said firmly without taking his eyes from the window, his tone brooking no argument.

I waited for Mel to jump in and reaffirm what Logan had said, to provide that voice of reason that always backed up our security decisions. But the expected support didn’t come. A cold feeling began to pool in my gut as I finally pulled my gaze from the window and actually looked at who was in the vehicle with us.

“Wait.” My voice was sharp enough to make everyone look up from whatever they were doing. “Where’s Mel?”

The interior of the limo went suddenly, eerily silent. I scanned the faces—Nova with her ruined makeup, Dexter still clutching the towel, dancers whose names I’d never bothered to learn—waiting for someone to point out the obvious, that of course Mel was here, I’d just missed her in the adrenaline rush of the evacuation.

But she wasn’t there. The realization hit me like a physical blow .

“Where is Mel?” I barked, my professional composure cracking for the first time.

“We were working the primary, boss,” Ty responded quietly, his expression troubled. “Standard protocol.”

Which was exactly what they were supposed to do. Nova was the client—her safety was the primary objective. Every bit of our training emphasized protecting the principal above all else.

“I’ll text her. She’s fine,” Nova said dismissively, already typing on her phone without even looking up. “She probably went out a different exit. Mel is always fine. She knows security gets me out first in any sort of fubar situation.”

Just because that was standard operating procedure didn’t mean I had to like it. The thought of Mel alone in that chaotic mess, potentially scared or in danger, made my chest tight with an emotion I couldn’t afford to examine too closely.

“She’s your sister,” I said, unable to keep the accusation out of my voice.

Nova shrugged, the gesture so casual it made my blood boil. “It’s Mel. She can handle herself. She’ll grab a cab or call an Uber. She’ll meet us back at the hotel the way she’s done in the past.”

The revelation stunned me into momentary silence. This wasn’t the first time Mel had been left behind? This was normal for them? The casual disregard for her own sister’s safety was incomprehensible to me.

Logan and Ty exchanged glances, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. They’d been focused on the primary—on Nova—just as I had. It was what we were paid to do, what we were trained to do. But the knowledge that we’d left Mel behind in that fucked-up disaster sat like lead in my stomach.

We’d done our job perfectly. Protected the client. Executed the evacuation flawlessly.

And in doing so, we’d abandoned the one person who had started to matter more to me than any job ever could.