Bundled in a magenta winter coat with a fur hood, Maeko peered up at me through dark eyes while waiting for my answer. Despite it being winter, it was seventy degrees today and wouldn’t get cold until much later. I’d give it another hour before Maeko gave in and peeled off those unneeded layers.

Griffin, the most daring of us, wore even less than I did. Her entire ensemble was red—faux-leather skater skirt and sheer, long-sleeved crop top. She didn’t leave much room for guessing, even though the stares she caught lasted an uncomfortable length of time. She’d turned down every single advance as she kept a tight grip on Maeko’s hand. They were thick as thieves, and when they were together, no one else existed.

Sometimes not even me.

“Nope.” The truth was, I was burning. Always burning.

The guys and I had just returned from checking in backstage, dropping off equipment, and confirming our input list and stage plan one last time with the festival’s sound crew while Maeko and Griff set up our tents.

Now that it was done, the six of us wasted no time jumping into the fray. The festival was already well underway, and I needed the distraction. The massive stage and the flashing colorful lights were more intimidating than usual even though nothing was special about the setup.

I wasn’t sure if five minutes had passed before Liam, Mason, and Abe ditched us. Their chances were better at finding girls to take the edge off if they weren’t mistaken as taken.

We shouted our agreement to meet backstage in a couple of hours before the crowd swallowed them. Left alone with Griffin and Maeko, who were already on their way to being wasted, I sighed. Fear of tumbling off stage kept me sober. I’d save getting wrecked for after the show so I could quickly forget if I made a fool of myself.

The winter music festival was amateur hour. Half the acts were booed off the stage, but it brought the people out in droves. Really, any excuse to get drunk and have something new to post on Instagram would bring them out. If I never read another living my best life hashtag, I will have lived my best life.

Before I knew it, after ducking wandering hands from anonymous culprits, eating overpriced food from the food stalls, window shopping at the clothing vendors, flirting free drinks out of guys, and warming up by random bonfires, two hours had come and gone. I now had only fifteen minutes before our changeover time.

The last festival we played only allowed ten minutes to get one band offstage and the next ready to perform. We were allotted fifteen minutes, which was doable, considering only the headlining act would be given the luxury of a soundcheck. Twenty minutes for setting up would have been ideal, but the festival had booked plenty acts for the weekend. In addition to selling more tickets, it kept the crowd pacified if too many of the performances stunk up the place.

“Are you nervous?” Maeko shouted so loud I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d gone hoarse. We’d been slowly forcing our way through the drunken, half-dressed assemblage, and now that the stage was mere feet away, the music had become deafening.

I knew what put that worried look in Maeko’s eyes. I’d been too quiet for too long. Because I liked to be in my head where I felt at home amongst my own chaos.

A nod was all I offered since my tongue felt too thick, and the smell of brine made me feel as if I were in the middle of the ocean rather than the desert. If I swallowed, I was afraid I would choke.

“You’re dynamite, babe,” Griffin assured me as she rubbed my back in a soothing motion. Sure, Griffin looked like the popular cheerleader, but she had the personality of a nursemaid. “You’ve got this.”

At least one of us could say it with a straight face. With my friends sticking close, I approached the line of guards keeping backstage separate from the crowd and the short, overweight man wearing a full beard and a headset.

Before I could give my name, he spoke. “Hey, are you, Brandy?” he asked even as he glanced at his clipboard where my name was printed clearly.

“Braxton.”

“Backup’s already here,” he announced, making me sigh in relief. The guys getting hammered or caught up chasing ass had been on my mounting list of worries these last couple of hours. “Get backstage. You’re up next.” Headset guy then started shouting at one of the crew members without acknowledging his mistake.

What if there was a Brandy waiting to perform, and I took her spot? I knew I was overthinking things considering the organizer had emailed the running order, but that didn’t stop my pits from perspiring. The lights and constant need to vomit would keep me warm if the temperature dropped, so at least I had that. Freezing on stage wasn’t what terrified me anyway.

Reluctantly, I waved goodbye to my friends, who held each other as if I were going off to war, and passed through the metal gate one of the guards held open for me. Once I cleared it, I debated calling Oni to see if she’d been able to make it.

And that was when I heard them.

Helicopter blades.

My attention shot toward the sky along with everyone around me. Chances were that it was just one of the local channels reporting the festival. It took a few minutes to realize that it wasn’t just approaching or flying overhead.

It was landing.

Even though we were in a desert valley, a collection of horrified gasps rang out since the pilot had chosen to land within a stone’s throw of the stage. A gust of wind threatened to knock over any equipment not tied down along with everyone backstage when it hovered twenty feet off the ground before executing a smooth landing.

There was a moment of hesitation before the asshole with the clipboard rushed toward the chopper as its blades still circled. He was yelling something into his headset. Whatever was said in return, there was too much happening for me to overhear. Four more guards materialized on the heels of the headset guy as they rushed for the bird.

With my arm up, I shielded my face as best I could from the strong gust the blades stirred. I guess they couldn’t be bothered to cut the goddamn engine. Maybe they weren’t staying.

As if hearing my thoughts and purposely crushing my hopes, the engine died, and the blades slowed. One of the doors had barely opened before someone started screaming. There were no words of warning—just a long, piercing shrill.

And then…pandemonium.

The backstage crew, volunteers, groupies, and musicians blocked my view as they dropped what they were doing to rush for whatever had caused them all to lose their minds. Different smells and tastes assaulted me all at once until I was close to gagging. Whoever had stepped from that helicopter, I’d only managed to glimpse blond hair gelled to perfection. I didn’t even know if they were alone.

The screams, shouts, and stampeding feet baffled me. There was no one on the lineup who could have sparked such an explosive reaction.

I turned since I was still lingering by the gate, hoping to get answers from the guards, only to see they were occupied with keeping twenty thousand people on the other side of those gates. Word had managed to spread without ever reaching my ears. I wasn’t convinced ten guards could control a hysteric crowd that large. Even now, there were more barreling through to help them.

Holy shit.

I was standing in the middle of chaos and the only one without a goddamn clue. I was Mark Wahlberg in The Happening. Everyone around me had lost their minds, running toward danger instead of away from it.

Not willing to be left that way, I moved toward the short metal stairs leading to the stage and climbed until I reached the top.

It didn’t help.

A moment later, I didn’t need it to.

The screams heightened just before the last of the maniacs who were backstage were shoved aside by the hulking security guards, and then…

My living nightmare walked through.

A smorgasbord of smells and tastes fought for dominance as my emotions unleashed themselves. My stomach clenched tight. I felt like I would never breathe again.

So I watched them instead.

They moved as one in perfect symmetry.

Houston Morrow was at the helm. Loren James was a step behind and flanking his left. The final piece, Jericho Noble, walked in perfect line with Loren on Houston’s right. Together, they formed a pyramid.

Towering, impenetrable, and utterly beautiful.

I wondered if they’d rehearsed it and for how long.

Houston’s gorgeous brown hair was free to be caressed by the wind. He wore a T-shirt that read Not Someone Who Cares, distressed blue jeans, and a matching denim jacket.

Loren looked succulent in his red dress shirt, which, as usual, was splayed open despite it being winter. Seriously, how had he never caught pneumonia? With each step Loren took, I could see his hard nipples peeking through the edges of his shirt and the silver medallion gleaming against his skin.