Savage Rhythm (9 page)

“No,” Declan said coldly.

Molly turned away to hide her relief.

“Well, fuck this,” Brian said, standing up. “I need to work off the fear of death. I’ll catch you guys in twenty.”

“More like five,” Erik said, sending Gage into a fit of laughter. Brian flipped them off as he left, but it had helped, at least a little bit.

They were all still a little tense.

“Where’s Davey?” Declan demanded, wiping the sweat off of his face.

“On the phone with the label about security,” Gage said. “Dude, serious question. Are we going on? I don’t want this to turn into a stampede, like freaking Altamount or something. I’d rather we sent everybody home than got anyone killed, man.”

“No shit,” Declan said. He stood there, drawing all eyes to him just by being. The man was just a presence, covered in red paint, in jeans and nothing else. He would have been a presence even in a freaking clown suit. Definitely when naked, Molly was sure of that. It was just hard to look away, the way he gathered energy around him, the way it seemed like a storm was building around his mood. Declan took a deep breath and seemed to come to a decision. “Ok. You guys stay here, wait for Davey. I’m going to fix this. Molly,” he said, giving her that
look
, that commanding, won’t-take-no-for-an-answer look, “Come with me.”

And he held out his hand.

It was a bizarre sight, the famous rock star, huge, muscled, bare chested and still covered in blood red paint, holding out his hand for
her
. How was he going to “fix” this? How could anyone? And what could he possibly need her for to do it?

“
Now
,” he said, and she started. Then his face softened a little. “We’re leaving now, Molly. Move.”

She was already walking toward him.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I’m going to deal with the crowd,” Declan said, pulling her toward the door. “And you’re coming because I’m not letting you out of my goddamn sight.”

The backstage area was like a warren of interconnecting hallways and offices, totally disorganized, and half in a panic because of what was going on in the concert hall and parking lot. There were interns and PAs and even suits flying around on walkie-talkies and cellphones, everyone trying to figure out when the cops would arrive en masse and why the hell they weren’t there already. Declan carved a path through them all with that grim expression on his face and Molly was, at this point, along for the ride.

Rationally, she knew this was fantastic for her book.

But mostly she was thinking about what he’d said: he wasn’t letting her out of his sight. Did he feel guilty? He’d wanted to leave her on the bus. No telling what would have happened then, but he wasn’t responsible for this situation, not in any real way. But he acted like a man who had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Like it was very much his responsibility to fix it.

“Declan, what are you doing?” Molly asked, tugging on his hand.

“Looking for the head of security, the promoter, fucking
someone
who can get me on that stage in front of that crowd with a live mic,” he said.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” she said, stopping in her tracks. He looked back at her, astonished. “I meant why is this your job? What the hell do you think you’re going to do to prevent a
riot
?”

Declan actually looked confused for a second. And then a different expression came on his face, one she was beginning to recognize, the same expression he’d had after the show at Volare, the one he wore when he gave her orders she couldn’t refuse.

“It’s my job to fix it because I can,” he said. Then he smiled at her, the first time she’d seen him smile since they’d arrived. “You’ll see. Eventually.”

Molly shivered. Somehow she didn’t think he was just talking about whatever it was he was about to do.

She was still lost in that line of thought, her body pulling her closer to him, her mind lingering on the memory of his touch, when Declan’s eyes narrowed on something behind her.

“Bobby!” he bellowed. “Get the fuck over here and tell me what’s happening!”

Startled, Molly turned to find Bobby, a skinny guy wearing a cheap suit, looking about as scared as a grown man could be. He had a phone
and
a walkie-talkie, and both of them were making a lot of noise.

“The police are on their way, Declan,” Bobby said. “This is entirely my fault in promoting this event, and I just want to apologize. I failed to take into account—”

“Jesus Christ, Bobby, I don’t want to hear that right now. Was anyone hurt?”

Bobby shook his head, his expression still tense. “I think we got lucky there. But they haven’t really calmed down, and now the crowd in the hall is even worse, with the rumors and everything. Like a fucking tinderbox. Don’t worry, though, we’ve doubled security for backstage, nothing is getting through, I promise you.”

Declan glowered. “You took security away from the fans out there?”

“Well, we had to make sure—”

“What the hell is wrong with you? You know what, fuck it, just make sure there’s a wired mic out there and a spotlight in two minutes.”

“What?”

“Two fucking minutes, Bobby! Do it!”

Molly watched it all happen in disbelief. He was insane. She could hear the crowd out there, now, screaming, roaring, like a natural disaster just waiting to happen. He was going to get up on stage in front of that? By himself?

“Declan,” she said.

When he looked down at her, for the first time, she didn’t see Declan Donovan of Savage Heart. She just saw Declan. A man who was…she didn’t know.
Something
to her, already, even if she didn’t know what, exactly. A man who’d seen through her bullshit and knew things about her no one else knew, even though he’d only known her a few days. A man she definitely did not want to see hurt.

“Please don’t do this,” she said. He was still holding her hand. She clutched at it now with both of hers.

Declan Donovan blinked.

And then he smiled.

“Molly, it’s gonna be fine,” he said. “Trust me.”

And then Bobby was back with the mic, and Declan told him to go get the rest of the band ready to be on in two minutes flat. He pulled her down the hall to the point where the only thing that separated them from the crowd was a heavy black curtain, and stopped.

And then Declan Donovan threaded his hand through her hair, pulled her tight against the length of him, and kissed her.

chapter
10

The heat of him spread through out her body, from her lips to her tongue, down her chest and through her core, lighting fuses along the way. She lost herself in that kiss. Forgot herself. Let the warmth of his body cover hers until she didn’t care about all the reasons this wasn’t supposed to happen, or what he was about to do, or anything other than the feel of him on her.

It was the safest she’d ever felt.

And then the hungriest. She kissed him back and felt that rumble in his chest, felt her own hips move for him, felt her arms wrap around his neck. She was out of her mind with desire, out of control completely. It was no longer safe. No longer anything even approaching safe. Declan growled into her mouth, slid a hand down her side, squeezed her ass and pulled away.

“You wait right fucking here,” he said.

Molly looked at him, short of breath, mouth open. No words came.

And then he stepped through the curtain, onto the stage.

The spotlight clicked on and there was a moment of silence, actual silence, when it was just Declan on the stage, striding toward the front with a mic in his hand, still covered in red paint, like all of this made sense to him. And then the screech of the crowd was deafening.

“Quiet!” Declan roared.

They grew quiet.

They actually did.

It was Molly’s turn to blink. That thing he did, the way he gave an order that made her obey without even thinking? He’d just done it to thousands of crazy fans at once. And he’d known. He’d walked out there knowing they would just…obey.

“We came here to give you the best you’ve ever had,” he shouted. “But one person gets hurt, one fucking person, and we are
done
. I am not having that shit, Springfield. If you want the best show you’ve ever had, let me
hear it!
”

The sound nearly knocked Molly off her feet.

Declan grinned. “If you want to be
Savaged
, let me fucking hear it!”

Molly actually covered her ears. She kind of couldn’t believe his stage presence. Except that she could, because she felt it, too, she felt it every time she was near the man; he could get her to do things she’d never, ever do. Things she wanted, but things she knew she shouldn’t dare do. He could get her to sign a contract saying she’d be on birth control and had no STDs. He could get her to tell him things she’d never told anyone else. He could get her to give in to a kiss she knew would only get her hurt in the end.

And now, right in front of her, was the evidence that it wasn’t just her. He could do that to anybody.

It wasn’t personal. She had to remember that. She couldn’t think it was about her.

That kiss…

“‘Scuse me, doll, sorry, coming through,” Brian said as he rushed past her, grabbing his bass from the hand of an outstretched roadie with one hand and buttoning his pants with the other. Gage and Erik weren’t far behind, and suddenly there were people swarming the stage, setting up barebones equipment, making it all work. A NASCAR pit had nothing on these people.

“Sound check? Who needs a fucking sound check? Let’s
go!
” Brian shouted as he ran out on stage to more cheers.

In about a minute, they were set. Erik hit the opening chord of “Ember” and the whole place erupted.

She could see Declan smiling that intoxicating smile. He already had the crowd in the palm of his hand. And then he let loose with that panty-quaking yell and Molly suddenly knew—
knew
—that if she stayed there and watched this, she would be a goner. She just wasn’t strong enough to watch Declan Donovan and protect herself at the same time. No one had that kind of self-control. And when she lost control, that was when bad things happened.

“Fuck me,” she said.

And then she turned around and walked back inside to do her job.

***

It turned out that during the first couple of songs of a Savage Heart show was not the greatest time to try to find people to talk to about Savage Heart. Everyone was watching the show. Understandably. Even the techies and stagehands, the people who made everything work, in between doing all the things they had to do, they were just as enthralled as any fan.

Molly couldn’t risk it.

It felt physically
painful
to turn away, and she did it anyway.

No way this is good for me
.

So she did the only sane thing: She called Adra.

Or she would have called Adra, except that when she looked at her phone, she saw a text from an unknown number.

UNKNOWN: “I’m fine, just busy! – Lydia”

There were about a million things wrong with that. First, Lydia usually signed her messages “Lady,” or “bug,” because Molly had called her Ladybug for years, even when it had infuriated a much smaller Lydia. It wasn’t unheard of for her to use her actual name, but it sounded…weird. Stressed. Not like a casual, fun kind of conversation. Second, an unknown number?

None of that was good.

But there was no answer when Molly called that number, and no voicemail. Lydia still hadn’t checked in on Facebook, either, and she wasn’t in any of her friends’ updates or anything.

Really not good.

And in a weird, sick, terrible, awful way, Molly was almost glad of the distraction, because it brought her back down to Earth. She couldn’t allow herself to think that anything was really wrong with Lydia—that was just a no man’s land, where her brain shut down completely; she couldn’t conceive of anything really happening to her baby sister—but she did really need something to think about other than that kiss. Worrying about her sister was the equivalent of ten thousand cold showers.

So by the time a couple of fans came stumbling backstage, Molly was all ready to put on her professional pants and get down to work. Her preliminary interviews with the guys had been total duds in terms of information. They were all too wary of the whole enterprise and seemed kind of relieved that she knew it was all an elaborate lie because it meant they could just refuse to answer. At least she’d started to develop a rapport with the guys, the kind of thing she needed to paint a portrait of the band. But for the real dirt? She was going to need to talk to the fans.

“’S not the same without him, is all,” the male half of the couple mumbled, and helped himself to some of the catering. He was wearing tight black jeans, a ratty old Savage Heart shirt, and a chain belt. He had a Savage Heart tattoo on his arm, and he had his hair dyed blond and messed into chunky, spiky shapes in obvious imitation of the way Soren wore it. Or used to.

His girlfriend, hair dyed jet black, and in a torn up t-shirt meant to show off more than it concealed, didn’t seem particularly interested in what he had to say.

“You’re sure it’s ok, right? They’re not gonna be pissed off and kick us out? Because you promised I could meet them,” she said.

“”S fine. They know me from way back.”

These two were perfect.

Now how to get them to talk?

“Did you used to play with them?” Molly asked suddenly. Her voice was loud, startling, and the guy was a little drunk. He looked up at her with alarm, and then, slowly, the flattery sunk in.

“Not, like, officially,” he said, all smiles. “You know, just every once in a while, jamming. I’m Ian. This is Sierra. You here with the guys?”

Molly smiled right back. “Yup. I’m, like, their official biographer, I’d guess you’d call it.”

“Oh shit, that’s so cool!” Sierra sounded suddenly interested. “You spend a lot of time with them?”