Wicked Bad Boys (97 page)

T
he night
that had been months in the making had finally arrived. I paced in my dressing room at the RHVA, needing some effort to keep my shit together. I had Kevin to thank for getting me here. It was going to be a tough decision, figuring out whether to take up the record label’s offer to produce my own music.

“Are you ready for this?” Kevin asked, breezing into the dressing room.

I took a final sip of the water bottle I had been drinking. “Yes. All set.”

“You got this. Just focus and let all the practice work for you.”

“Will do.”

“Remember. It’s one song. No encores, as you’re so high up on the lineup.”

“Right. One song. No encores. Got it, Pops.”

Regardless of what was going to happen with my career choices, I didn’t want things to disintegrate to where he didn’t see me as family. In some ways, signing with Terry could help that.

“So tell me something. What was that on the red carpet?” He asked.

“Someone asked about the split with Amanda. I didn’t know what they were talking about. The reporter said it was on my official website.”

“Oh. That.” Kevin said. “It’s bullshit. The social media firm added a PPC advertising section on the home page. Some idiot approved a gossip magazine advertiser, hoping to cash in on the media speculation.”

“It needs to come down.”

“I’ll take care of it in the morning.”

“Good. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m part of that shit, especially not Amanda.”

“I’m on it. Okay, let’s drop it. You need to focus on this performance.” Kevin looked around to the back of the L-shaped room. “Where’s Fred? I didn’t see him on my way in.”

“Someone called him on the radio to check out a threat out back. Jenny is on her way.”

I looked forward to the end of people guarding me 24-7. After tonight, they could dial things down and let me go back to normal—my version of a normal.

Kevin nodded and checked his watch. “The guards outside will have to do. They need us backstage in five. Let’s go.”

The four guards outside walked in a loose square formation around me as we made our way to the green room.

“
E
xcuse me
, miss, you’re not allowed past this line,” a man dressed in black announced. He stepped in front of me to block my path.

“I’m part of Johnny Q Venom’s security team,” I explained, straining to look around this large man in front of me. I hoped I could catch a glimpse of one of the men who knew me.

“Do you have a badge?”

I stopped my visual search and looked up at the guard. I couldn’t tell if he was FBI, private security, or with the theater. “I’m sorry, no, but if you ask Agent Fred Carlson he will confirm it.”

“Who is Agent Carlson?” He asked.

Okay…definitely not FBI, then
. I sighed. “He’s the lead agent on the FBI task force, assigned to this event and to Johnny’s protection.”

The man crossed his arms, obviously less than convinced.

“Come on, can’t you radio your supervisor and ask? I
need
to speak with Agent Carlson.”

A woman holding a tablet stepped into the conversation. “Is there a problem here?” she asked, looking between the man and me as we faced off.

“Hello, ma’am. My name is Amanda Baker, I’m with Johnny Q’s security team.”

She flicked her fingers across the screen a few times. “I don’t see your name here,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in.”

I held back an eye roll. I should be happy they were all taking the threat so seriously, but at the moment, it was proving to be a pain in the ass; and other places—my leg injury was throbbing from all this exertion. “Yes, I understand that. Can you please radio FBI Agent Carlson and confirm my identity. He will let me through.”

The woman looked me up and down. She smiled at me, her lips pressed in a thin line. She gave a subtle nod to the guard before walking away.

“I hate to do this, ma’am, but I’m going to have to escort you back to the sidewalk.”

He reached out for my arm, but coming from somewhere behind the black partitions at the end of the red carpet, I heard my name. I turned and found myself face to face with Jenny.

“What are you doing here?”

“Get Fred on the radio. The stalker is going to be here.”

“Come on, I’ll take you to him.” She told the guard it was okay, and let me in at the end of the barriers. She looked at me as I walked beside her in crutches. By then I was sweating buckets. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be overdoing it?”

“I tried phoning everyone. No one answered.”

“We were probably doing sweeps. Maybe you should let me help you.” Her expression was one of concern. I knew why. I looked like hell.

“I’m fine. Just get me inside.”

“Okay. What did the message say?”

I recapped it for her. She nodded thoughtfully as we got backstage. “So the bag may have been a diversion…”

“What bag?”

“Fred got a call not ten minutes ago. He’s with local police investigating a report of a suspicious package at the staff entrance.”

“Okay, so who’s with Johnny now?”

“Fred left four guards at his door. I was on my way to him when I saw you out there. Listen. I’ll tell Agent Carlson.” She lifted the backstage pass lanyard from around her neck. “Here’s my pass. I can get to him with my FBI badge if anyone stops me. Johnny’s dressing room is the third on the left down that hallway. His name is posted on the door. I’ll come find you as soon as I can. Are you armed?” I nodded. “Good. Just stay with him.”

I nodded and raced down the hall. By the time I got there, the door was open and there was no sign of Johnny anywhere. The tinge of anxiety in my stomach exploded into full-blown panic. I looked up and down the hall, trying to decide which way to go first. I checked my phone. His performance was to start in less than ten minutes. I cursed in pain as I moved down the hallway, stopping only long enough to ask a passerby with a badge how to get to the stage.

T
his was it
.

I was set to perform one song, and execute the complex choreography I had been practicing for the last few days. It had to be flawless. The band members and backup singers were in place behind the secondary curtains, and the host who would welcome me out was ready. I spotted the dancers I had been rehearsing with all week. They clustered around in a circle on the opposite side of the stage. They would come on after I hit the second line of the chorus.

Something seemed off. “Kevin, do you recognize that girl? The one on the far left?”

He turned and took a two-second look. “She’s one of the dancers, right?”

I studied her for a moment, but before I could put my finger on it, she turned around and I couldn’t see her face anymore. “I don’t recognize her at all.”

“Well, maybe it’s the makeup,” Kevin said, brushing it off.

Right then, one of the stage managers told us it was time. I took in a long, slow breath. Kevin had organized the tour to prepare me for the awards show. He was convinced this performance would allow me to take any direction I wanted in the music and entertainment business. I looked around behind me. No Fred, Larry or Jenny. None of them had returned. I heard my cue—the host at the microphone introduced me.

“Knock ’em dead, Johnny,” Kevin said, patting my back one final time. “I’ll be waiting in the audience for you when you’re done.”

The stage manager motioned for me to get in position. I moved to my spot on stage, as the pre-recorded announcement gave the crowd a rundown of my career to date. The crowd roared and I took one last breath. The Johnny Q Venom they wanted would give the performance of a life-time.

I
had
to get to Johnny. My heart slammed against the inside of my chest. I hurried down the hallway toward the stage. The crowd of people thinned out closer to the stage area. The announcer was introducing Johnny. I willed my sore body to move faster, listening to the highlights of his music achievements.

Just then, the music started.

It was too late. Johnny would already be onstage.

I rounded a corner when his voice belted out the first line of lyrics. The backstage area was dark, and with crutches, there were trip hazards everywhere. My feet hit something solid and I tripped, pitching forward before I could regain my balance. My head bumped the wall beside me on the way down. I crashed to the ground with a loud
thunk
that sent a sharp pain through me. Dizzy and winded, I whirled around, looking for the source of my fall.

It was nothing.

I scrambled to get to my feet, and saw something poking out from under a nearby drop curtain.

“Shit!” I covered my mouth as my eyes adjusted to the dim backstage lighting. It was Fred, lying prone on the floor. I crawled over to him. “Fred. Are you all right?!”

My fingers scanned his neck, and found a pulse. He was alive. I noticed the bright orange ear plugs in his ears, and put the pieces of the puzzle together. The stalker probably caught him by surprise, and knocked him out somehow.

“Fred?” I shook him gently.

He was out cold. I had spent enough time on the fighting circuit to know he would not come around for a while. I grabbed his waist and found his radio.

“Agents, this is Amanda. I need you backstage left now. Agent Carlson has been compromised. Repeat, Agent Carlson is down.”

I didn’t have time to elaborate. I clipped the radio to my waist band and stood up with the help of my crutches. By the time I shuffled to the spot where I could get on stage, I looked back and saw Jenny racing over to Fred. I breathed a sigh of relief; he was in good hands. I reached the side stage area and stopped short in front of the stage manager. I was panting and gasping for breath as Johnny came into view behind her. His four guards were on the other side of the back stage area.

“You need to stop his performance now,” I demanded.

“We can’t do that,” she told me dismissively. “He has another five minutes to go.”

I looked past the woman, searching the stage for the stalker. She had to be up there, or somewhere close.

Where was she?

Then I saw her.

The backup dancers were all dressed alike; their tight blue dresses all fit like gloves. With the dancer on the end, there was something about her that set her apart. It took me a moment, and I understood why she stuck out. Her hem line didn’t match that of the other dancers. The dress itself was loose around the hips and fell at an odd length, as if it was made for much taller, more curvy woman. Even with all the makeup and glitter and feathers, I was positive she was the woman who had stabbed me.

And she was three feet away from Johnny.

Time slowed down. The scene unfolded in front of my eyes. Everything seemed to freeze in place for just a moment, before bursting back to full speed again. The woman— our suspect, Trisha Crusielli—kept her eyes fixed on Johnny. I watched in horror as a knife slid from under the long sleeve of her dress. The corners of her mouth curled into a half-crazed smile, eyes wide and fixated.

Something inside me snapped. The adrenalin kicked into high gear. I dropped my crutches and ran on stage.

“Johnny, look out!” I screamed.

Johnny turned and saw me sprinting toward him. He immediately stopped singing. His face froze in shock. Trisha lunged forward, but instead of making a move on him, she charged over at me.

Johnny saw her rush by him and tried to stop her by gripping her arm.

The wrong arm.

She swung around and slashed him somewhere on the torso. He pushed her forward at the shoulder, and she fell to the floor in front of me. I stepped on her arm that held the knife, kicking the blade to the corner of the stage. The four guards rushed on stage. Two of them dragged Johnny away, and the other two came over to hold the woman down.

She started monologuing about how she saw Johnny first, and he was hers and no one else’s since the day she saw him on stage four years ago, and getting finally rid of me would pave the way for her and Johnny to be together forever.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” she screamed at me, squirming around as the guards’ picked her up off the floor. Hell, they were not gentle either.

“You tried, remember? Too bad you fucked it up, because here I am, bitch.”

I could have gone on and on—she had been such a nightmare during the tour. Another ten or so guards swarmed the stage, accompanied by Larry, and he took control. The curtains closed. The audience broke into a round of applause, shouting Johnny’s name over again. He had been singing a song called ‘Dangerous Rock and Roller’ when it all happened. My guess was they thought it was all part of the act.

Show business.

I hopped back to my crutches and hurried to Johnny’s room to see how bad his injuries were.

I got to his room and went to him. He stood near the sofas, his back facing me, away from the guards in the room.

“Johnny,” I whispered, stepping around to look up at him. “Are you alright?”

“Shhh,” he cupped my chin and brushed his thumb over my lips. “I’ll be fine.”

His hand slid to the base of my neck, pulling me in as he brought his lips down to mine. I relaxed into his chest and looked up at him when he broke from the kiss.

“Why did you try to stop her? You should have let me handle it.”

“You’re already injured. There’s no way I was going to let her get to you again.”

“I was so worried she did damage when she slashed you with that knife,” I told him.

“Don’t worry. The paramedics are on their way.”

“Let me see how bad it is.”

I pulled away and looked down, only to notice the front of my pink sweat shirt was now blood red. A lump immediately formed in my throat. Tears filled my eyes. Johnny gripped his chest. A spurt of red ran out from under his hand.

“I love you, Amanda.”