Wicked Harmony

Chapter 11 | Sin

Chapter 11

Sin

I ’ve discovered the key to invisibility.

I wish I’d known about it years ago and it would have saved me a lot of trouble. Turns out, all you need to cease to exist to other people is to hang around with rock stars.

It’s like as soon as people see the guys, their brains get fried. They misfire or something and they lose any sense of perspective. The only thing that matters is Orpheus Underground.

Over the course of the following days, it happens wherever we go. Hotels, gas stations, rest stops. Everyone we pass by suddenly has this desperate urge to get their autograph—whether they’re a fan, whether they could even name the band without a search engine—they need a selfie and a signature.

It’s insane.

They also seem to lose any sense of personal space, gathering around the guys and trying to cop a feel.

It’s exhausting, and I’m not the one dodging wandering hands.

Two days into our journey and things are getting worse. Or maybe it’s that my tolerance for the journey, and for strangers’ shitty manners, are both waning.

We stop at another rest stop and almost immediately; the guys are surrounded. I dip past the woman screaming and the group of young guys already filming the band as they try to go for a piss. My own bladder’s screaming at me and I’m in desperate need of something made entirely of sugar.

When I’ve peed and have grabbed a handful of bags of snacks to help me through the next few hours until we break for the night, I head for the doors to wait for the guys.

Peering around, I can see they haven’t gotten far. Micah is signing autographs with his cuff around his wrist and a placid smile in place. Iri is patiently answering fan questions, and Dorian is nowhere to be seen. He’s been in a mood since we set off, and I’m half tempted to make him a cuff of his own—one that makes him less of a grumpy butt to be around.

I’m about to skirt around the gathered crowd and make a dent in my fizzy laces when I catch an earful that makes me begrudge having ears.

“You must be so strong. I bet you could lift me up with one hand.” This is followed by a breathy giggle.

“Nah. One finger. I bet you know some ama-azing tricks.”

Yeesh. I’m smirking as I scan the crowd to see which of the guys the women are directing their attention to. Iri’s remarkably good at fending off advances without upsetting anyone, and Micah’s a sweetheart with everyone. He’ll stand for picture after picture and sign anything you put in front of him.

“Feel that? Pure muscle, holy shit.”

My feet stop before my brain catches up to what’s happening.

It’s not Micah or Iri, or even Dorian.

It’s Cal. And he looks supremely uncomfortable with the attention.

He stands awkwardly with his hands in his pockets as they grab his arm and try to take what must be the world’s worst selfies while pinching at his muscles.

Sure, the guy is ripped. Not just that, he’s big as hell, built like a tank with a layer of cushioning over the muscle, and women seem to lose their minds over that combination. Or maybe that’s because of the contrast between his size and his gentle demeanor. There’s no cockiness or artifice to him.

Unfortunately, the women currently pressing their tits up against his arms don’t seem to read his discomfort. One of them even aims a kiss at his chest—which is as much of him as they can reach—leaving smears of lipstick on his t-shirt.

He looks like he wants to climb out of his own skin and it makes something twist in my gut.

That’s when I snap.

We’re having a fucking restroom break. They shouldn’t be bombarded like this.

Without considering what I’m doing, I stride over and shoulder barge the people closest to Cal out of the way. I then grab onto Cal’s massive hand and tug him bodily away.

He comes with me easily, which is a good thing. There’s no way I could move him without his full cooperation. The guy is massive and he must have a good hundred and fifty pounds over me.

He grunts and doesn’t say a word as I drag him away. Not for the first time, I wonder why they don’t seem to travel with security, or staff at least. Surely they should have people to vet their fans and stop them from getting too close.

I don’t stop until we’re outside in the semi-fresh air, facing the mostly empty highway.

How the hell they got swarmed in a place like this, I have no idea.

“Is it like this wherever you go?” I ask quietly.

He grunts and jerks a nod, still looking tense as hell.

“It must be exhausting,” I mutter.

“It’s gotten worse over the years as we grew more popular. Usually Dorian and Iri take most of the attention and Micah and I can dip out pretty quickly, but I always feel guilty they have to pick up my slack.” He shrugs and I feel this sense of protectiveness growing inside me.

It’s ridiculous, really. He’s a grown ass adult, and he’s also a rock star who must be used to the attention. Yet I want nothing more than to fend off the fans and give him a hug.

I’m not a hugger, but somehow I find my arms wrapping around his thick waist.

He stiffens for a second. And shit, I realize I’m just as bad as everyone else, touching him without his consent.

Then he lets out a long breath, tugging me against him and filling my senses with the gentle scent of soap.

I rub small circles over his side since that’s as far as I can reach around him. “Sorry for not asking before I dragged you out of there, and for the forced cuddle,” I mumble into his t-shirt.

He grunts. “I like this.” I can feel his chest expanding as he lets out another long sigh. “And I appreciate the save. I never know what to say and my tongue stops working entirely.”

“How did you even get into the business?” I ask. “You don’t seem like someone who wants or needs the attention.”

He snorts. “Blame Dorian for that. I always liked drumming, but he was the one who wanted to audition when we were in high school. My dads insisted we go together, and I somehow got roped into auditioning, too.”

I nod. Maybe it would sound nuts to someone else, but I spent years working under Cedar Orlog’s thumb while I secretly hated every minute, yet felt like I didn’t want to let him down.

“I get it, really I do.” I pull back, squeezing Cal’s hand, and he gazes down at me.

“Maybe I can rig you up a mini taser so you can electrocute any fans when they get too close.”

His lips quirk up. “Might not be something management would approve, electrocuting our fans.”

“They should keep their hands to themselves, then.”