My bandmates stare like they’re watching a man on fire, but they don’t stop me. They never do. Because the truth is, I sound better as a man standing on the fucking edge, looking straight down.
Nolan’s delighted smirk shines back at me—he loves this version of me, the broken one, theprofitableone. Beside him, Micah drums like he’s trying to exorcise demons out of his spine, while Finnick keeps glancing over, worry carved into every line of his face. Kami wipes her eyes once, pretending it’s sweat. She’s always been the one who sees straight through my bullshit, who’s sat with me on hotel floors at three a.m. while I fell apart.
I hate how much she still cares.
Adriana stands off to the side, lips parted, watching me with that sparkle in her eye I loathe. “Sound check is complete,” she says. “Everything’s good. Now, let’s go through one song. How aboutDark Streets?”
I glance back at my band, and they all nod. “Alright,” I rasp. “Let’s do it.” Then the song starts, and the lyrics rip their way out of me:
"These dark streets feed on the secrets I keep,
And every lie you fed me still haunts my sleep.
I’m burning through my veins just to feel alive,
Tell me...how much of me has to die to survive?"
And when the final note fades, I’m staring straight ahead. Empty.
Night finally settles over the city, leaving the neon lights shrouded in darkness. Micah and I slip up the service stairs and push open the heavy metal door to the rooftop. Cool August air smacks me in the face.
I sink onto the low concrete ledge, hands shaking as I dig into my pocket for a small bag of coke. After I snort a bump, I hand it to Micah without speaking. As the coke races through my system, my gaze sweeps over the city. People are living their entire goddamn lives down there with no idea that two broken musicians are sitting on a roof trying to scrape themselves together long enough to perform for rich assholes. I drag my hand over my face. My pulse beats too fast.
Micah nudges me with his shoulder. “You good?”
“I don’t know if I can deal with these people tonight,” I admit, voice barely audible over the wind.
Micah swallows hard. “We don’t get to quit,” he says quietly. “At least until the tour is over.”
When we re-enter the venue, the vibe has shifted. Security ushers us through service hallways, past decorated walls and floral arrangements worth more than Micah’s entire drum kit. The coke has my nerves on a tight leash, but exhaustion keeps yanking on the other end. The muffled hum of wealthy chatter bleedsthrough the doors.
One of Nolan’s men hands me a bottle of water. “Hydrate,” he says.
I take it. Don’t drink it.
The dressing room is small and cold with white marble counters and harsh ring lights. I squint, trying to ignore how fucking horrible my reflection looks.
Micah hums the melody of one of our popular songs while Kami braids her red hair quietly. Finnick stretches his hands, cracking his knuckles. No one says it out loud, but they’re waiting to see if I’m going to fall apart again.I feel bad about that.
I close my eyes, swallow the chemical burn in my sinuses, and breathe through it. Then someone grabs my arm.
Adriana.
Her perfume rushes up my nostrils, and I almost gag. She pulls me into the corner, far from the others, pinning me between the wall and her body. One hand slides up my chest, nails grazing my jaw. “Do not embarrass me tonight,” she whispers, lips brushing my cheek. “You blow this performance, and you’ll wish you stayed dead. Nolan wasn’t happy about yesterday’s fuck-up. Our guests aren’t your stupid little adoring fans. They’rerealplayers in arealgame. Do you understand me?”
My stomach flips.
Her fingers harden around my chin. “You belong to me,” she murmurs, voice a velvet blade. “Got that?”
I don’t answer.
She kisses me hard, pushing me against the wall. I kiss her back, but it’s an automatic response. When she pulls away, her lipstick is smeared across my mouth like a bruise. How fucking poetic for us.
Nolan pokes his head in. “We’re on in five.”
She wipes the smudge with her thumb and smirks. “That’s my good boy.”
The moment I step onto the stage, heat swallows me whole.New York’s skyline hangs like a mural behind a wall of glass. Elegant people in black suits and silk dresses crowd around white tables, champagne flutes catching the light. Millions of dollars are flowing in and out of this event tonight. And that terrifies me more than a stadium ever has.