Riffs That Ruin (Survival Records #2)

36. Raina

I t’s felt like we’ve had to wait an eternity for this show, much longer than the two days it actually was. I made a video for Tristan—looked like an idiot too—letting him know we’re waiting for him, but I’m still nervous that he might not have seen it.

Fans went wild over it, tagging him over and over to get his attention. I practically drove Darius crazy asking him to check for a response from Tris, but he never commented or messaged the account.

If I wasn’t on stage singing right now, I’d bite my fingernail and pace incessantly. And obviously ask Darius to check again.

Why didn’t Tris show up to the meet and greet? We left him backstage passes. Did something happen to keep him from showing up? Did he run into some trouble and they wouldn’t let him through?

Thank goodness I’m able to do this by muscle memory, because I’d be screwed otherwise. And not in the fun way.

Dare steps next to me, smiling and shaking his shoulders in a flirty way. I strut away from him, giving a playful smile over my shoulder. He does that sexy move of sliding his guitar onto his back with the strap, freeing his arms to chase after me and guide me into a spin.

Our fans love this bit. The enticing dance, the playful banter, the fluid rhythms—it keeps them hooked, their screams hitting a fever pitch.

And me?

I can’t deny the thrill either, the electrifying connection with Dare that sets my blood on fire. But tonight, there’s a bitter tang to the sweetness, an ache in my heart that spoils my perfect performance. It’s hard to put my heart into what I’m doing when it’s somewhere else.

Tris... damn it!

His name stirs a storm inside me as our song hits the climax and the crowd erupts into another deafening roar. I thought working around his absence would be... easier? But now, under the glaring stage lights and amidst these pulsating beats, I yearn for his harmonies more than ever.

Dare’s eyes meet mine as I return from my mental tangent. They’re vibrant, alluring pools of greenish-blue that seem to see right through me. He gives me an encouraging nod, chasing away the ghost of Tris from between us… at least for the moment.

His strong hands slide along my sides until he’s bracing me in the middle of my back, and I bend backward. His other hand glides along my leg, lifting it in the air.

It never fails to give me goosebumps, having his hands on me like this. The tender way he touches me. That irresistible spark between us. It’s that chemistry that the fans eat up. That’s why they ship us together. The reason for #TeamDarius.

He helps me stand straight as the last note of the song leaves my lips, but instead of stepping away and spinning me out so we can face the audience, he holds me against his body. His gaze locked on mine as we both breathe deeply.

My chest brushes against his as tingles travel over my skin. And then he’s kissing me, his lips creating a spark as they meet with mine. It only lasts a moment, we have an audience after all, and I’m sure somewhere in the back of his mind, he doesn’t want to inspire Nash’s jealous streak—we all know he’d rip Darius off me creating a scene of epic proportions.

We step apart and face the fans, and I have to force myself not to touch my lips with my fingertips. I feel shooketh to my core. What even just happened?

Why would he do that?

I mean… I know why, but fucking why ?

The audience screams, reaching all new decibels. Not sure if I’ve ever heard them this loud before.

All of a sudden, it shifts. “Tristan! Tristan! Tristan!”

My mouth drops open. Of course this would happen seconds after Darius kisses me. I move to the edge of the stage where I’m able to see into the crowd and find them splitting apart, revealing my ex-best friend.

Okay, fine. It’s actually an aisle and people are getting out of his way, but it doesn’t change the effect it gave. My heart pounds out of my chest, giddy butterflies taking flight, and the biggest smile takes over my face.

As much as I want to, I’m smart enough to not jump off the stage to run to him. That would be a security nightmare, and I’m not that big of a dick to put my team through that.

Instead, I breathe out his name. “Tris.” It’s light and breathy, but the microphone still picks it up and his gaze meets mine. Our eyes lock, and it feels as if the world has stopped spinning. The fans fall silent for a moment—a split second of awestruck silence.

He smiles that crooked smile of his, one he used when we were kids that hints at danger and breaking the rules. He gives me a wink that makes a giddy laugh fall out of me—one that, of course, gets caught by the headset—and he starts making his way towards the stage in slow, deliberate strides.

The anticipation is killing me, but it gives me time to take him in as he finds the stairs on the side of the stage. He has one arm carefully tucked against his ribs, his other waving to the fans who’ve started cheering his name all over again.

“Oh, come on, Tris. You’re keeping the fans waiting,” I tease as he takes the stairs slowly. He’s smiling, but it almost seems like he’s trying to keep me from seeing his wince of pain.

“You going to make me come all the way?” he shouts over the noise from the audience. He reaches the top of the stairs and I can’t hold myself back anymore; I run across the stage as he rushes toward me and jump into his arms.

I squeeze him around the neck, nuzzling my face into the crook and taking a deep breath. Leather and bergamot. Damn have I missed that smell. It just feels like home. Like I can finally relax and be myself. Which is fucking crazy because not that long ago he was twisting my lyrics around, trying to purposefully hurt me.

“I missed you,” I say, because it’s true. I can admit it even if I don’t forgive him.

The words carry through the microphone reminding me that nothing will remain private with it on, and I unfortunately have a show to finish for my fans…

I run off the stage with a quick wave to the audience and search for Tristan. “Where is he?” I ask Gill, who’s standing on the sidelines with a tablet in her hands, ready to take care of any needs at a moment’s notice.

“He saw Mr. Lexington lurking around and decided to wait in your dressing room,” she says, giving me a broad smile. I really appreciate her not calling that bastard by our familial link. It’s bad enough that we share the same last name. Perhaps I should think about changing it…

“Thanks, Gill!” I wave to her as I once again take off, not wanting to waste a single second until I’m with Tristan again. He’ll be lucky if I ever let him out of my sight again.

“Raina! Where are you going?” Darius shouts after me, but I’m in too much of a rush. They can meet me in the dressing room when they get there. It’s not like they’ll be that far behind.

Navigating through the backstage areas is always a risk. Unsecured cords and unseen instrument cases could easily trip me up at any moment. But I can’t resist taking the dangerous route.

It earns me stares, crew members giving me looks like they think I’ve lost my mind. They aren’t far from the mark, if I’m honest. I don’t care what they think though, I only have one thing on my mind.

Tristan .

I take a turn and bolt out a door, quickly realizing it leads to a side emergency exit. Fucking venues and the maze of hallways they hide behind the stage. There’re so many places we visit that they quickly blend together.

Turning around, I find a man standing behind me. A quick glance around his body shows a mop handle shoved through the handles of the door, blocking it from anyone coming through.

He turns to face me, and the sight in front of me sends fear coursing through my body. His hood is drawn over his head and he’s wearing a baseball cap, but what turns him from emo boy to scary is the black ski mask showing only his eyes peering at me. They look like dark pools of death. There’s no sign of humanity in his gaze.

A shiver runs through me, sending me racing for the emergency door at the end of the hall. If there’s ever been a time for an alarm to go off, it’s now.

Reaching the end, I press on the bar to release the door and let myself out. There’re so many people who camp the outside of my shows, I know it won’t be hard to find help. Facing fans without security will suck, but I’d brave that any day over the man behind me.

I shove my body into the door, hope rising in my chest as it releases, only to come crashing down when I find it’s chained on the other side. I have about two inches to view outside, finding a dark alley and a brick wall several feet away.

“Hey, Raina. Going somewhere?” His voice is a low rumble, far more menacing than I could’ve imagined. The words are an icicle to my spine, turning my body colder than the winter wind peeping through the slight opening of the emergency door.

I force a reply up my throat, but it halts at the edge of my lips. My heart pounds in sync with each heavy step he takes toward me, creating a rhythm akin to a suspenseful orchestra. The master conductor of my nightmare.

“Please,” I manage to rasp out, clutching the door handles tighter like they might suddenly break free at any moment. It digs into my skin but fails to hurt more than the terror ripping through me, holding me hostage.

Deer in the headlights… I never thought that would be me, but I’m shaking in my boots.

Swallowing, I decide to fake my boldness that seems to have fled through the gap in the doors. “What do you want?” I ask firmly, finally turning around to face him.

Guilt seeps through me as I remember Gill, Tristan, and everyone else still in the building. If only I hadn’t rushed off... Keaton asked me to never go anywhere alone. This is what I get for losing myself in my desperation to get to Tris.

I need to buy them some time. It’s not like they won’t come searching for me.

He pauses for a moment, neck angled upward slightly, as if observing me with intrigue rooted in the invisible crevices of his obscured face. “Money,” he finally replies, running the back of his gloved hand over my cheek.

My throat feels clogged and I try to swallow past it. “I can give you money.” Something tells me this isn’t what he really wants, but stalling is the name of the game.

You just have to make it till someone comes to find you. You’ve got this, Raina.

A laugh comes out of him, making my blood freeze in my veins. My heart fails to pump in the presence of such a sound. “I get the money when I’ve killed you,” he hisses, the next second his hands are around my throat.

The bastard lifts me against the door; the chains holding strong even as they rattle with the force of my body slamming against them. I claw at his gloved hands desperately as he squeezes tighter, my vision blurring in the face of air deprivation.

“No...” I rasp weakly, kicking violently against his body. He retaliates with a brutal laugh that sends shivers shimmying down my spine. My heartbeat roars in my ears, a frenzied drum pattern that seems to play its final countdown.

In the haze of pain and terror, I remember Keaton’s song he played against my skin. That’s supposed to be the rhythm of my heart, not this.

Keaton... Oh god, where is he? My ever looming self-named bodyguard. The thought brings a fresh wave of fear that stokes the burning need for survival buried deep within me.

If anyone gets to take my life, it’s me. Not this motherfucker.

My fingers tremble as they reach for the base of my spine where hard plastic digs into my skin. The weight of the small microphone pack nestled there is palpably reassuring. It’s the only thing I can fight with. Not even the heeled shoe will help me right now unless I can land a perfectly aimed kick.

With a triumphant surge of adrenaline, I manage to yank the pack free and immediately slam it hard into his temple. I don’t have time to waste as stars dance in the corners of my narrowing vision. He falters, his grip on my throat loosening enough for me to suck bittersweet gulps of air in as my feet hit the ground, making me stumble.

“Help!” I do my best to scream, but it doesn’t come out as loud as I want, and it’s like I’ve swallowed shards of glass. My throat is on fucking fire.

His hands are on me again in an instant, throwing me to the ground where he lands on top of me. The thick fingers hidden in gloves return to my throat, wrapping around the delicate skin and squeezing like his life depends on it. This time he’s aided by gravity and better leverage to force his weight into the action.

My hands grip his wrists, the mic pack lost when I fell to the ground. I tug at his grip, wishing I could remember any self defense at all instead of this numbing blank wall of pure terror.

I reach for his face, wanting to scratch his eyes out, to inflict some kind of damage on him as my feet scrape against the ground, trying to find some purchase to get me out from under him. His arms are too long for me to reach his eyes, so I work on a plan B.

The only thought running through my mind is the need to find some way to leave a message of who attacked me. I don’t know this man; it was evident from the first moment I looked into his eyes. That tipping feeling of falling off a cliff with sharp rocks at the bottom isn’t something you’d ever forget.

Scratch him. Bite him. Find some scrap of skin to get under your nails for DNA…

In desperation, I slide my hands from his wrists, reaching for his gloved fingers. My nails dig into the thick material, clawing at it with all the strength I can muster. But even this yields nothing. His gloved fingers remain unyieldingly clenched.

He lets out a deep-throated chuckle then, breaking through the bubble of fear that had encased us. The sound ripples through me like a brutal symphony of impending doom. This can’t be the last sound I hear.

I panic, scrambling through my memories for something happy to hold on to. But I’m too late. Inky blackness envelops me, its chilling embrace feeling like the unbidden kiss of death’s mistress. It engulfs me, pulling me deeper into its depths, until all I can see is the faint glimmer of stars above.

The silence is deafening, yet I can hear the echoes of my own slowing heartbeat. Bah-dump… bah-dump… bah—