So, here I am. Sloane has bodyguards swarming around us, me especially. Kiln, in a suit and tie with dark glasses, looking like a million dollars instead of a fucking dickhole, is keeping a firm grasp on me. Barricades in place assist the security team in controlling the crowds of mostly women. Cameras are flashing and I shrink further behind Kiln. I’m wearing a blonde wig and sunglasses, just like Sloane suggested, along with a hat and heavy makeup. I have to look older and I can’t look like who I am because, yes, apparently I am known. The one article that appeared in the Houston newspaper has gone viral.
The guys have paused at various points and are signing autographs, shaking hands, posing for photographs, and kissing random girls. Even Sloane. I glance over my shoulder. Sloane and a brown-haired girl are whispering back and forth. Based on their body language—curved toward one another—I know they are flirting.
I almost crack open then and there, but I chose him over my grandmother, so I have to deal with his lifestyle and the way he treats me, as if I’m a poodle on a leash.
For once, Kiln isn’t smirking, and that fact is even worse than his grim scowl. I attempt to dig my heels in and wait for Sloane, but Kiln is so fucking strong. He nearly jerks my arm out of its socket as he yanks me forward again, not stopping until we’ve reached the backstage of the stadium, where the band is set to perform later tonight.
Sloane
Red, white, and black rip through the concert venue and my blood is like electrical currents racing through my veins. I feed off the intensity of the crowd’s energy. They are livewires, sparking at the band’s decision to resume the tour.
My lead guitar, my favorite guitar, is racked for now, and, instead I’m playing rhythm. Judging by the panties flying in my direction, I decide the crowd approves. Maitland and I are ripping through our opening act. Since Georgiana is backstage, I’ve ordered we forego the fucking controlled fire.
Controlled or not, shit can go fucking sideways. That’s why fire marshalls have always banned it since we incorporated it into our act, and that’s why we’ve always paid such hefty fines.
But I love living on the edge, pushing the limits. As the color bursts morph into red, white and blue and form the American flag on the screen, Maitland and I walk towards opposite ends of the stage. Tonight, he’s singing the opening act before we launch into the new song, the one that rose in my brain from nowhere.
No one beyond the studio has heard it before and I’m nervous, as if this is the first time I’m onstage, performing in front of so many people. Once the song drops—the only single before the album’s release—we’ll do a casting call for the video. We discussed on the plane ride hiring dancers to tour with us. Again. I’ve sworn to keep my dick in my pants this time around and not touch one of the girls.
Adam’s croon has calmed the crowd and he glances at me to take over. Maitland’s pounding beat crescendos over the bass, slowly sliding into a faster pace, a sexier groove to usher me in.
I haven’t greeted the fans tonight. I’m not in the greeting mood. As the spotlight narrows to me, I know my mic has become the dominant one, so I raise my fist, and the music ceases.
A thirty second delay before I say or do anything and the crowd is roaring, screaming my name, crying it. A smile is locked inside of me, but it won’t release. I can’t let it go because I’m really not in a smiling mood, either.
I glance to the side of me and see Georgie. Her sadness is tearing me the fuck up. Just as I couldn’t prevent Steffie from drowning, I’m doing a piss-poor job of saving Georgiana. Metaphorically, she’s sinking to the bottom. She’s trying to hold on and I think it’s for me.
My control is tightly reined in. The moment I release it, there’ll be no turning back. So I live inside of my head, which has been a fucked-up place for years. I only talk to her to issue orders. My every intention was to leave her in Ocean Springs, to get the fuck away from her, but I couldn’t do it, so I regrouped and came up with a disguise for her.
I can’t fucking stand that the conversation I overheard between Kiln and Georgiana has brought the memories of that day—of Steffie—back. Now, as then, I’d do anything not to have witnessed what my father did. More than that, I’d give anything to save my sister. Risk everything. Give my own life.
Georgiana isn’t Steffie, though. She isn’t Georgiana, either. That’s her legal name, but she’s Georgie. Fucked-up, destructive, and young.
She shifts and I realize I’ve missed my cue. There’s no anticipation now. Only silence.
But that’s what she does to me—throws me off-kilter, out-of-balance, and out of sync.
Georgie
The after-concert party is keeping me awake and I toss and turn in my bed. Sloane has assigned me my own room in his suite. I’m a minute from going out there and ordering them to shut the fuck up, so I can sleep. Or better yet, leave. The sound of the women’s cackles and screechy voices are hurting my ears.
Tomorrow, we leave for Columbia, South Carolina, where my new tutor that Jaeger hired will join us. I’ll bet it’s a hot girl who Sloane intends to fuck. Just as he’s fucking a girl beyond the door.