“I don’t think it’s that,” I attempted to defend, but knew I was wrong for it.
“Don’t do that,” Tays chastised, with sadness on her face. “He should want you to be happy in all walks of your life and we all know it.”
“Just bullshit,” Mari tacked on. “We used to go out at least once a week, and now it’s like once a month if we’re lucky.”
“I’m sorry, guys,” I apologized, meaning it. Brandon wasn’t intentionally bossy or commanding, but he guilt-tripped me all the same.
The music in the back suddenly cut, pausing all conversation. It was crazy how most people stopped talking and dancing as a result of the silence.
“So, I know we don’t really ever have big artists here,” the DJ announced, making whispers take over the club. “But we have some special locals here.”
“Fuck,” Marion said, geeking out. “I heard rumors that they were here tonight.”
“Who?” I asked, wondering why this was a big deal.
“Anthem Riot,” Tays said, making my heart stop in my chest. Madden. Madden was here. Not even my closest friends knew Dox was my brother or that Reaver from Anthem Riot was my nephew. To them, he was Toland Reaver. Only I called him Madden.
It was how my parents and his wanted it. Living the life of a rock star’s kid sister wasn’t for me. I never wanted that life, and they didn’t want it for me either.
So, we had a deal to keep it private, and it stayed that way. Even after Dox passed.
“Anthem Riot is here!” the DJ hollered with pride. Madden was definitely a big deal, even if he went by Reaver and nothing more. I’d worshipped their music, and for some reason, it connected me to him when he disappeared.
He sang about death, anger, retribution, and being lost.
He stayed in Brightmore, even after he left me—starting a new life where I wasn’t welcome. Just thinking about it made the ache return.
“I spoke to Al—Stony,” he corrected, adjusting the mic, mentioning Anthem Riot’s backup vocalist. “He told me they’d sing their song Little Demon live for the first time.”
Little Demon? The two words had my heart pulsing erratically. Sweat blotted me, my palms dampened, and somehow goosebumps covered my skin. There was no way... Their newest album Kerosene Kisses, dropped in three weeks, I hadn’t heard it yet. Madden didn’t include me in his life, but if I was, I’d know the music he made before the world did.
Somehow, I pictured it. Him recording, me watching and helping, and then us sitting side by side under the stars smoking and listening together.
If heaven was real, that’d be it. Bliss.
My chest tightened as I imagined Madden singing a song with any reference to us. While I collectively held my breath, Madden and the rest of the members of Anthem Riot came out. From the expression on my nephew’s face, he didn’t plan on singing live.
If they knew him as well as I imagined they did, they understood it wasn’t a great idea to force him into something last minute. He didn’t like change, let alone abrupt change. With the way his soulless eyes met the crowd, he didn’t want to be here.
Which made me want to start a riot, forcing him to have his peace.
“Reaver wrote this song about someone important in his life, we asked if it was a girlfriend and he laughed at us,” Stony explained, his eyes searching Madden’s. “We never got a sure answer, but we give him shit for it from time to time.”
Madden didn’t comment or outwardly react, but I watched as he tapped his fingers on his jeans, the anxiety leaking from him in spurts. I looked at the girls, deciding then and there, I needed to be closer. “I’m going to head up front.”
“You like AR?” Tays questioned. I nodded but didn’t say more, moving forward without them or my drink. The need to smoke a joint hit me and I laughed lightly. Of course, the one thing I stopped doing for my job was the one thing I wanted to do most.
As soon as I made it to the stage, the band got their setup ready. Anthem Riot sang metalcore music, the kind you headbanged to while being pushed around in a mosh pit. It lit my soul on fire, driving me to jump and fling my arms with the beats.
Guitars, drums, and three mics up front. I didn’t pay attention to anyone but Madden. He called to me, a serenading sonnet in the gloomy dissonance.
When I made it to the front, I felt too many things to decipher, but the most fluid was addiction. There was a sort of obsession to the unknown—the forbidden lust—it called out, begging me for more. One taste.
One fucking touch.
Even when I fell to my knees for Madden five years ago, I never touched him with more than my mouth. He didn’t allow it. Not that I should have done it in the first place. So, while I’ve tasted him, obsessing over the flavor, I never did get to touch and appreciate him in the way I wanted.
Above me, but not looking at me, I saw him—my Madden—the one who had a heart that’d save the world if it could. He hid it now, whenever he played, it barely showed. Right now, though, in the quiet of the club, he showed a smidgen of the person I’d grown too fond of.
“I wrote Little Demon to detail my feelings about a person I could never truly have. While she was mine, she was never allowed to be.”
Right there, with those words, my body felt like it was his. A constriction found its way around my heart. Like snakes, it wrapped and wrapped, tightening as the breath was stolen from me. It felt like he was the puppet master, and I was simply his to control. Unlike with Brandon, I wanted Madden to pull my strings, contort me in the most depraved ways, where his command was my religion, and his words were my gospel.
He gripped the mic while the others shuffled about. His hair was wet, probably from sweat. Nerves were a bitch when you wanted to hide.
To top it off, his outfit made me squirm. Skinny jeans with rips all the way to his upper thighs, exposing ink and skin. He wore a necklace around his throat like a collar. I felt uneasy with desire, scanning him from head to toe. His black tee had holes in it, showing his inked skin through the torn fabric there too.
A chaotic mess in a crowd of misfits.
If I wasn’t filled with yearning before, seeing him as if he were a god would’ve done the job. Jealously clogged my throat as I realized everyone else experienced him this way too.
Madden’s mouth began to mimic his lyrics silently, something I noticed every time I watched him live—it was as if he caressed each word, opening a lover’s legs with his virulent tongue.
Right when I thought he’d start, his dark eyes lowered, connecting with mine. The small jolt at the sight had chills racking my frame. At this angle, he’d get a lot of boobs and doe eyes, and for some reason, it distracted me, reminding me of the time I was on my knees for him, looking fairly similar but with a big shirt hiding me.
Andy? he questioned, moving his lips without using his actual voice. I nodded slowly, unable to speak. Just as surprised as he was that I somehow ended up here tonight, right below his stage, wanting more than either of us should ever offer. His feet moved like he wanted to reach for me. The only thing that stopped him was remembering where we were. He peered around, closing his eyes before meeting mine again.
His eyes told me this moment was for me, but his mouth, the way he wetted it before the guitars began, was for them. Somehow, the green-eyed monster wound its way into my gut at that too. How did Harley do it all those years? Witnessing Dox singing for the world while they ate it up.