Page 67 of Killer Notes

“My friend from Quantico says a female wrote those notes. And the familiarity of using Danny’s name in the last letter says that he knows the woman,” Dean further clarifies. “They also found a partial print, maybe enough to trace who it is.”

My entire body stills at his words. “Are they running it?”

“As we speak, but it might take time.” A tiny glint of satisfaction shows on my boss’s face.

“It’s one step closer than we’ve been in weeks,” John adds, visibly hyped.

“Yes. All we have to do is keep with the schedule until the results come in,” Dean says with nod.

I’m patient, but not when we’re so close to finding out who’s after Danny.

I turn and spot the very man standing there fidgety, arms loosely folded across his chest, and watching me.

There’s worry emanating from his eyes. The last thing I want to do is burden him with this new information, especially when this event is such a big deal for him and the band.

So I paste on a smile, like everything is fine, and move toward Danny.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

Danny

The rest of Thursday is uneventful, which is good compared to the fiasco of seeing Siles and the calamity that is Laney.

The guys and I start to run the lineup of songs we’re playing on Friday, but being stuck inside the bus fucking blows. At Ron’s suggestion, for purely PR purposes, we walk around the festival, showing our faces to the ever-growing crowd of fans.

These are our people. The metalheads, headbangers and the rock and roll thrashers. We greet, fist bump, take pictures and sign autographs on whatever surface they request.

Our security team stays with us, especially Tobias, but the weary look on his face conveys his unhappiness with our manager’s decision.

Once we’ve made our rounds, we’re back inside the bus and we finish the rest of the lineup. Now it’s time to head to the stage for a sound check.

Tobias keeps his distance, and I’m not happy about it. Yet, I understand that he’s giving me the space the band and I need. However, it feels like there’s something more—something he’s not telling me. But I can’t worry about it now.

I’m nervous about getting on that main stage, even though it’s only for the sound check.

Connor is no better. He’s drawn tight, his fingers have a death grip on his drumsticks as he taps them against his thighs in a rapid rhythm. Raef, Callum, and Bobby are standing back, all stoically waiting for Ron to call us up.

I still can’t get over the fact we are here. Amongst the bands we worship and the fans that love their music. I hope they love our music, too. And after this, we have an interview with Metal Times. So fucking surreal.

“You’re up,” Ron says loudly, pointing toward the stage.

Mack and Vinnie stand there with Raef’s guitar and Callum’s bass, while George is in the sound control center ready for our cue.

We quickly run through three songs, before the sound check is set. With a thumbs up from George, we head off stage and straight into the interview with Donavon Right. That takes twenty minutes.

By the time we get back to the bus, I’m mentally exhausted. And we still have an interview with Rock Magazine at noon tomorrow, a fan signing at three and then we play that night. I’m just glad Saturday is for us to enjoy the music.

The guys end up partying with the other bands, whereas I end up in bed decompressing.

I must have dozed off because I slowly rouse to someone sliding in next to me. As strong arms wrap around me, I snuggle into the heat at my back and inhale, and freeze. The familiar scent hits me like a battering ram slamming into my nose.

“Siles.” I try to jerk away, but too late. He tightens his arm around my chest like an iron band while his other hand slaps across my mouth in a vise grip.

“Don’t struggle, Danny boy,” he whispers into my ear. “You’ll never learn. You’re making it harder for yourself.”

I muffle out, “Let me go.”Oh, fuck. I can feel his stiff prick poking at my ass as he grinds his pelvis against me.

“I promise it’ll be good for us.” He kisses my temple.