When a hand pulls her hair, making her head fall back, taking her eyes off me, I’m hit with a whirlwind of emotions—disappointment, lust, jealousy, and more predominantly, rage. She continues to lean into her backup dancer’s shoulders, his hands as eager to touch her as mine are. Tonight, there is only one dancer on stage with her, but it’s one too many for my liking. His hands grip her waist from behind, his mouth on her neck as she continues with her next provocative verse.
My aim for tonight was to see who was here and who paid particular attention to her, but instead, I’m transfixed on Scar’s every seductive move. The music grows as impatient as the man standing behind her. His hands run up and down her frame, mimicking the way she fondles her mic. Scar lets him continue to peruse her body, her voice becoming raspier with every touch.
When she pulls him by his hair, forcing the dancer to drop to his knees beside her, I get up from my seat, not wanting to see what comes next. My fury is a living, breathing thing. A monster close to the brink of being uncaged and running up on that fucking stage to tear his hands off of what’s mine.
I’m a ball of rage as I charge out of the dark room, her song still ringing in my ears. I’m so possessed with fury that I don’t even see where I’m going and end up slamming right into someone.
“Easton?” I hear a concerned, familiar voice call out.
I take a step back, trying to see through the hazy shade of red my little church mouse provoked.
“Mr. T?” I ask gruffly, too pissed to be surprised at seeing Colt’s dad here.
“You okay there, son? You look like you’re about to burn the world down.”
Owen Turner squeezes both my shoulders, unaware that I might do just that if I don’t get the fuck out of here. He looks toward the room at my back, his brows pulling together questioningly.
“Why in such a rush? Was the performance not to your liking?”
“It was fine. I just forgot I have somewhere else I need to be,” I reply, shaking out of his grip and putting my best, unfazed grin on.
“Hmm,” he hums, not buying into my bullshit.
“I really have to go. Nice to see you, though, Mr. T,” I mumble back, the words sounding flat even to my ears.
I don’t wait around to continue this little serendipitous chit-chat and rush out of there. I need to cool myself off before I do something reckless. I should just go the fuck home, or call Finn or Linc to talk me down the ledge. These are the thoughts that bounce around my head as I get into my truck and drive as far away as I can from The Brass Guild, only to find myself driving up to Scarlett’s cottage.
Fuck.
All I can do is to stare at the two bodies lying on the floor. My trembling hands go to my forehead, but instantly pull back when I feel blood and brain matter sprinkled on its surface.
Shit.
“Did this really just fucking happen?!” Finn croaks out loudly, losing his mind as he pulls at his hair, pacing erratically back and forth.
I’m unable to find the words to comfort him right now. This is a fucking shitshow, and no matter what pretty words I use, it won’t be enough to color what we did in any other way. While Finn is freaking out, I’m left mute, turning my attention to my other two best friends in the room.
Lincoln’s eyes look wild and manic, while Colt’s hateful expression is still glued to his model-like features. On shaky legs, I bridge the gap between Linc and me, placing my hand on his shoulder.
“Linc?”
He doesn’t register me calling out to his name in the slightest. He just stares at his dead father on the floor, his hands still covered in his mom’s blood.
“Lincoln?” I try again, shaking both his shoulders this time.
The frenzied fog seems to lift a bit from his ocean eyes as he repeatedly blinks in my direction, but he remains oddly silent, which only leaves me that much more fearful.
My best friend doesn’t see me. All he sees is the death and destruction we made for ourselves.
“We should call the police,” Finn belts out, sounding just as unhinged as I feel, while he continues to fidget at the edge of the room.
“No,” Colt responds assertively, bending down to pick up the gun that just shot all of our futures into smithereens.
He hides it in his waistband before walking over to Linc and me, pushing me to the side to talk one-on-one with his detached cousin. I’m so out of it that I don’t even care the asshole just manhandled me.
“Linc, snap the hell out of it and tell us what to do!” he orders forcefully.
But Lincoln is not here. He’s trapped in the nightmare of his own creation. Linc snaps his head over his shoulder, looking over to his mother on the other side of the room, letting out a truly anguished howl. His wail is something out of a horror movie, prickling my skin, choking my throat, and making it hard to breathe.
“Stop it!” Colt shakes him again. “Just wake the fuck up, Linc! It’s done. Now get us the fuck out of this mess!” Colt commands with pure resolution in his voice.
If Colt Turner has become the voice of fucking reason, it will be a dark day for all of us.
Linc presses his temple to his cousin’s, furious, silent tears streaking down his face. When he lifts his head back up, the friend I love is now a hollow shell. But at least his mind is not.
“Let me just say goodbye,” he whispers to Colt, who promptly relaxes, while Finn and I look at each other in utter confusion. “Let me kiss my mother goodbye, and then I’ll tell you what needs to be done.”
I feel someone shaking me, intent on pulling me out of that horrid night and back into a familiar setting. I try to push the blurry image of the two dead bodies away from my subconscious as deep brown eyes come into view.
Scar.
I close my lids again, letting the flowery smell of her perfume welcome me back home and away from all my past transgressions.
“I know you’re awake, Easton.” She lets out a cute little humph, bringing a smile to my lips. “Is this going to be a thing now? I come home, and you’re lying on my bed waiting for me?”
“It can be if you want it to be,” I tease, making myself more comfortable in her bed.
“Funny.”
“Feel free to join me if you want.”
“What I want is for you to stop breaking into my house when I’m not here!”
“Does that mean you won’t mind me coming over when you are here?”
“You’re impossible. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”
“Not sure what you’re implying there, Scar. I’m being perfectly reasonable.”
“Argh! Just get up already.”
She shoves me, making me open my eyes to her disgruntled face. Even with a deep scowl, Scarlett is still the most glorious vision I’ve ever laid eyes on. I bite back a smile and take my time to take stock of all her features. While I was asleep, she managed to change into oversized sweats. Her wig from tonight’s performance is long gone, and in its place, luscious brown hair falls at her shoulders in majestic waves. Her glasses are also perched on her cute little nose, even if it’s stuck up in the air right now, pretending to be pissed at me for invading her sacred space. But I know better than to believe the annoyed expression. Her disdained glower at me is all for show. Scarlett might hate the fact that I broke into her house again without warning, but I know she secretly yearned for my next visit.