I walked down the hallway, looking at the signs on the doors as I passed. Tons of people bustled by, but no one paid attention to me. I had no clue what went on backstage of a concert, but it was chaotic, although an organized chaos as it seemed like everyone knew what they were doing.
The sound of the crowd died down, and the band was more than likely going to be coming back stage any minute.
Shit, I was hoping to find his changing room before then. But maybe he didn’t have a specific room? Maybe the band shared one?
How on Earth did Trevor convince me to do this? At the time, it sounded simple. At least it did after a few drinks and seeing the unopened bills on my kitchen table. But it wasn’t the sneaking into the concert part that scared me, it was facing Killian Kane.
I turned the corner and slammed into a hard, broad chest.
“Sorry,” I murmured keeping my head down and shuffling past the guy.
But I only made it one step before his hand snagged my arm and brought me to a halt. Uh-oh. “Who are you?” he asked.
Shit. Shit. Shit. “Umm, I’m cleanup crew.” Did they call them a crew?
I held up my fake ID while glancing at him. I immediately knew I was in trouble because I’d seen this guy in the background of pictures of the band on social media. He was security for Tear Asunder, and if he was any good at his job, which I suspected he was, he’d know I didn’t belong here. He didn’t even look at my ID.
“Cleanup crew? For who?” he asked.
“This place.” Oh, God, that was pathetic. “For Richard.”
He snorted. “The only Richard I know is the band’s manager. And I know every single name who is back here tonight.” His fingers tightened on my arm. “Come on. You’re out of here.”
He hauled me down the hallway toward the back door. Okay, I’d have to go with honesty. “Please, I just need to talk to Killian Kane for a minute.”
The guy stopped so fast I banged into him and stepped on his heel. But he didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t care. “How do you know that name?”
His fingers dug into my arm. “Do you mind letting go of me? I won’t run. Besides, you can always shoot me in the leg if I do.” He snorted, but his scowl eased as he released me.
He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I don’t have a lot of time here”—he glanced at my fake ID and his brows rose—“Sara Smith.”
Trevor’s idea. A generic name that wouldn’t draw attention. “It’s not really Sara Smith.”
“Figured that,” he replied. “And I need an answer.”
“We were kind of friends in high school.” A huge exaggeration considering Killian and I only had a few conversations, most of which weren’t friendly. Well, except for the kiss. That was friendly. No, that was panty melting, heated, and hot as hell.
“Name?” He lowered his voice, “Your real name?”
“Savannah Grady.” There was a subtle flicker of something in his eyes as if he’d heard my name before, but that was highly unlikely considering I hadn’t seen Killian since I was fifteen.
There was a loud ruckus down the hallway, and I glanced over my shoulder. That was when I saw him.
It was like being slammed in the chest with a mallet.
My breath stopped.
My heart thumped.
My belly dropped.
Killian was no longer a kid. He was a man. I mean, I knew that. I’d seen pictures of him, but nothing could’ve prepared me for seeing him in person twenty feet away.
A tingling of familiarity sifted through me then a warm rush of heat.
I stepped back to lean against the wall and used it for support as I stared at him chatting with the blond guitarist, Crisis.
There were men, and then there were men, and the latter were the kind who oozed sexiness. They didn’t have to be attractive physically, although Killian totally was; it was how they carried themselves, how they stood, how they wore their clothes.
It was the unassailable factor. The confidence. The indifference to what others thought of them. And Killian was all of that, just like he’d been in high school, but even more so.
Yep, Killian Kane defined Greek god.
Not perfect. Not gorgeous. Not stunning.
Earthy. Raw. Strong.
Jesus, the pictures didn’t do him justice. Well, they did, but in person, my body totally reacted to him as goose bumps scattered and nerves tingled.
Tattoos covered his muscled forearms and were stark against his white T-shirt. He wore snug jeans and carried his drumsticks in his right hand with a water bottle.
As if he knew I was staring at him, his gaze shifted from Crisis to me, and I was met with Killian Kane’s captivating green eyes.
“You need to leave.” The deep voice barreled into me, and my head snapped around to the security guy.
“But he’s right—”
“Now,” he interrupted. He latched onto my forearm arm and pulled me off the wall. I saw my chance slip away as he led me down the corridor away from the band and Killian.
“Luke.”
My breath hitched as Killian’s voice sifted through me. I’d recognize it anywhere. That Irish accent that was smooth as butter, yet had a distinct firmness.
Luke stopped, and whether I wanted to or not, I did, too. “Kite. I’m getting rid of her.”
Wow, getting rid of? As if I was a piece of garbage he was taking out into the back alley. I stiffened, raising my chin and tried to jerk my arm from him, but he held tight.
Footsteps approached, and I stopped breathing as I watched Killian’s long, lean legs stride toward us. God, it was the same as in high school when he walked down the hallways, that immeasurable confidence in each step.
“Let her go,” he ordered.
Luke’s hand dropped, and I stepped away from the scary security guy.
My eyes flicked to Sculpt, who followed Killian, and then to the other two guys in the band, Ream and Crisis, their eyes on me curiously.
Killian stopped in front of me, and any poise I may have had shot out the top of my head. I was a bowl of jelly as my knees went weak and heart slammed into my ribs.
“Killian,” I managed to whisper.
Eleven years. Eleven years since I’d stood this close to him, heard his voice and breathed in his scent.