18. Chapter 18 Damon

Chapter 18 Damon

T he roar of the crowd was a living thing, a beast with a thousand throats and an insatiable hunger. It crashed over me in waves as I stalked onto the stage, my guitar slung low across my hips like a weapon, like a challenge.

Beside me, the guys fell into formation - Jax on keyboards, Ty on rhythm guitar, and Zane on drums. My brothers, my fucking soldiers in this war we'd been waging since we were just a bunch of scrappy kids with something to prove.

And tonight? Tonight, we would prove it all over again.

We were here to conquer, to set this stage on fire and watch as the ashes of our rivals scattered on the wind. Artificial Hearts, Rafe Vega's plastic princes, had no fucking idea what was about to hit them.

Because Coffin Cargo? We weren't just a band. We were a force of nature, a tidal wave set to sweep away all pretenders to the throne. And I was the eye of the storm, the pulse of the maelstrom.

The crowd screamed as I approached the mic, their faces blurring into a sea of ecstatic chaos. I felt it then, that old familiar thrill - the rush of power, of knowing I held every beating heart in the palm of my hand.

It was a high better than any drug, more potent than the finest whiskey or the sweetest sin. And goddamn, had I missed it.

Missed this - the sweat and the noise and the raw, unfettered energy. The way the music thrummed in my bones, searing away everything that wasn't this moment, this stage, these strings beneath my fingers.

I leaned into the mic, my lips curling in a savage grin. "Miami!" I roared, my voice booming across the surging mass of bodies. "Are you ready to fucking rage?"

The answering scream was deafening, a sonic boom that rattled my back teeth. I laughed, wild and reckless, the sound swallowed by the ungodly din. Then, with a nod to the guys, I slammed into the opening chords of our first song.

It was a battle cry, an anthem of defiance and rebellion. The lyrics poured out of me like magma, scorching and animalistic, painting images of uprising and a world gone mad. Beside me, Jax and Ty did their thing, fingers flying in a blur of speed and precision.

And Zane? Zane was a fucking demon on the drums, his sticks a whirlwind as he pounded out a rhythm faster and harder than a freight train. It was glorious chaos, a mutiny in the making.

I lost myself in it, letting the music take me, body and soul. There was no room for anything else - not the pain, not the doubts, not the constant, clawing hunger for the oblivion of powder and pill.

There was only this. Only the rage and the joy and the blistering purity of this moment, stretching into eternity.

I whipped my hair out of my face, sweat flying from the ends to splatter the stage. My throat burned, my fingers ached, my muscles screaming with the strain of my assault on the strings. But I didn't stop. I couldn't.

Not when the crowd was screaming my name, their faces upturned and rapt, like acolytes at the feet of their god. Not when I could feel Phoenix out there in the crush of bodies, her presence a searing brand, a north star leading me home.

This was for her, I realized with a sudden, staggering clarity. Every word, every note, every ounce of blood and sweat and unleashed thunder. I was singing to her, playing for her. Laying my fucking soul bare in the hopes that she would hear me, see me. That she would know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I was hers. Irrevocably, eternally hers.

The thought was a shot of adrenaline to the heart, a hit of pure, unfiltered ecstasy. I rode the high as the set wore on, song bleeding into song, until my voice was ragged and my fingers were slick with blood.

But I didn't falter, not once. I couldn't, not when everything was riding on this, on us. On proving to Phoenix, to the world, and to my own damaged, doubting heart that Damon fucking Cross was far from finished.

That I hadn't let the poison win. That I was still here, still fighting. And that I always would be, until my last fucking breath.

By the time the final notes of our closer faded into the night, I was spent, wrung dry and halfway to euphoria. I staggered back from the mic, my ears ringing and my vision blurring at the edges.

The crowd was in a frenzy, their screams rising to the smoke-blackened sky like a pagan chant, an invocation to the old gods of vice and chaos. It was everything I'd ever wanted, the culmination of every desperate, drive-all-night, bleed-in-the-studio dream.

So why did I feel so fucking hollow?

The answer hit me like a sucker punch to the gut - because the only thing I'd ever truly wanted, the only thing that had ever made me feel whole and worthy and fucking seen...was Phoenix .

My flame-haired Valkyrie, my avenging angel in fishnets and fuck-me heels. My salvation and my damnation, the beginning and the end of every road I'd ever traveled.

I needed to find her, to touch her, to breathe her in and let the reality of her wash away the last lingering ghosts of my doubt and self-loathing. I needed her like I needed my next fucking breath, and there wasn't a power in this world or the next that could stop me from getting to her.

I was halfway off the stage, my eyes raking the crowd for a flash of crimson hair, the wicked glint of a razor-edged smile, when a hand clamped down on my shoulder, yanking me back.

I whirled, ready to unleash hell on whoever had dared to get between me and my quest - only to find myself face to face with the last person I'd expected to see.

"What the fuck do you want, Vega?" I snarled, shrugging out from under his arm over my shoulder.

Rafe stood before me, his usually smug face pinched with something that looked unsettlingly like worry. "We need to talk, Cross," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Somewhere private. Now."

I opened my mouth to tell him exactly where he could shove his cryptic bullshit, but something in his expression stopped me cold. There was an intensity there, a tightly leashed desperation that I recognized all too well.

It was the look of a man with a fire burning in his belly, the acrid taste of brimstone on his tongue. The look of a man who'd seen the ugliest parts of human nature, and who knew, with bone-deep certainty, that the shadows held teeth.

So, against every screaming instinct, every cell in my body crying out to find Phoenix, to lose myself in her and never resurface...I followed him.

He led me through the bowels of the stadium, past pockets of roadies and techs and half-naked groupies, until we reached a nondescript door tucked away in a forgotten corner. With a furtive glance backward, Rafe shouldered it open and slipped inside, gesturing for me to follow.

The room was small, cluttered with overturned amps and tangled wires. The air was thick with the lingering odors of stale beer and cheap weed, a cloying miasma that made my nose wrinkle in distaste.

But I barely noticed the surroundings, my attention laser-focused on Rafe as he paced the cramped space like a caged lion, his hands raking through his artfully disheveled hair.

"Start talking, Vega," I bit out, crossing my arms over my chest. "Before I lose what little patience I have left and introduce your pretty-boy face to my fist."

Rafe shot me a glare, but there was no real heat in it. Just a bone-deep weariness, an exhaustion that seemed to radiate from his very pores.

"It's about Storm," he said finally, the words heavy and leaden on his tongue. "And Cyrus. And...fuck, Cross. It's about you, too."

I went still, every muscle locking up tight. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

In answer, Rafe dug into the pocket of his obscenely expensive jeans and pulled out his phone. He tapped at the screen for a moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching, before thrusting the device at me like it was a live grenade.

"Just...watch this," he muttered, his gaze skittering away from mine. "And promise me you won't fucking shoot the messenger, yeah?"

I stared at him for a long moment, unease slithering down my spine. But curiosity, and a growing sense of foreboding, had me reaching for the phone with numb fingers .

The video was grainy, shot on a shaky camera phone in what looked like the back room of a club. But the figures on the screen were unmistakable.

Storm, all razor-sharp cheekbones and predatory grace, lounging on a leather couch like a jungle cat in repose. And across from her, holding court like a king in his castle...Cyrus fucking Rowe.

They were laughing, their heads bent together in conspiratorial camaraderie. Two vipers, trading venom-laced secrets in the dark.

"I have to hand it to you, my dear," Cyrus was saying, his voice a liquid purr that made my skin crawl. "That was a masterstroke, enabling Cross with the booger sugar. The look on his face when Phoenix walked in on him sampling the goods. Priceless."

Storm preened under the praise, her blood-red lips curving in a smug smile. "I do have my moments," she demurred, examining her flawless manicure with feigned indifference. "Though I must admit, it was almost too easy. The boy was practically gagging for it. A little nudge was all it took to send him spiraling."

Cyrus chuckled, the sound oily and dark. "And now, thanks to that little indiscretion, Coffin Cargo will be beholden to Rowe & Wade for the foreseeable future. Frozen royalties are such a bitch, aren't they?"

Storm's grin widened, turning shark-like in its intensity. "Tragic, really. And the best part? He won't be able to blame anyone but himself. After all, he's the one who chose to snort away his second chance."

Their laughter rang out, caustic and cruel, before the video abruptly cut to black. For a long, airless moment, I simply stood there, staring down at the blank screen as the world tilted and spun around me.

It was a setup. The cocaine, the relapse, losing Phoenix...it had all been orchestrated, a deliberate ploy to bring me to heel, to put Coffin Cargo under Cyrus's thumb.

And Storm, my fucking supplier, the vicious bitch I'd thought was a friend...she'd been in on it the whole time. A double agent, a Judas in stilettos.

It hurt. God, did it hurt. But beneath the knife-twist of betrayal, beneath the sting of wounded pride...there was rage. A fury so intense, so all-consuming, that it eclipsed everything else.

I welcomed it, embraced it. Let it flood my veins and straighten my spine, burning away the last lingering dregs of doubt and self-pity.

Because this? This changed everything.

I lifted my gaze to meet Rafe's, my lips peeling back from my teeth in a snarl. "How long have you known?"

He flinched, his eyes darting away from the black heat of my stare. "Last night," he admitted, his voice rough. "I found them together when I was looking for her…"

I nodded, the gears turning in my head as I processed this new information. "And you're telling me this...why? Out of the goodness of your heart?"

Rafe barked a harsh laugh, the sound entirely devoid of humor. "Fuck no. I'm telling you because that scheming bitch played me, too. Made me think I was her endgame, when all along she was just using me to get to you."

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "She knew I had a history with you, knew I could get under your skin like no one else. So she fed me bullshit about wanting to take you down a peg, about putting Artificial Hearts on top where we belong. And like a fucking idiot, I believed her."

I stared at him, torn between suspicion and a grudging sort of respect. It took balls, admitting you'd been had. Even more so when your rival was the one getting the confession.

"So what now?" I asked, my voice flat. "What's your play here, Vega? Because if you think for one second that I'm going to let this slide, that I'm not going to rain down hell on Cyrus and his little pet viper-"

"I don't want you to let it slide," Rafe cut in, his eyes blazing with a fire I'd never seen before. "I want in."

I blinked, certain I'd misheard. "Come again?"

He stepped closer, his expression fierce and unflinching. "You heard me, Cross. I want to help you burn those motherfuckers to the ground. I want to watch as you tear apart everything they've built, piece by fucking piece."

My mind raced, trying to find the angle, the catch. But there was nothing but steely resolve in Rafe's gaze, an unshakable conviction that made my breath catch.

"And what's in it for you?" I asked, my tone wary. "What do you get out of this little revenge fantasy?"

Rafe's smile was a brutal, brittle thing. "Satisfaction," he said simply. "The knowledge that I helped take down the bastards who tried to play me for a fool. And maybe, if I'm lucky...a chance to make things right with you."

I stared at him, shocked into silence by the raw sincerity in his voice.

"I know we've had our differences," he continued, his words halting but earnest. "I know I've been a grade-A asshole, more interested in winning than in the music, the craft. But Cross...Damon. We were friends once. Brothers, even. And I know you think I've forgotten that, that I sold out the second I got a taste of the spotlight."

He shook his head, a rueful twist to his lips. "But I never wanted this for you. Never wanted to see you get swallowed up by the machine, by the vultures who would strip you down to bone and gristle just to line their own pockets. "

Rafe held my gaze, his eyes blazing with a fierce, unflinching honesty. "I remember how hard you fought to get clean, to claw your way out of that pit of addiction and self-destruction. I remember the toll it took, the pieces of your soul you had to leave behind just to keep breathing. And I'll be damned if I let Cyrus fucking Rowe drag you back down, just because he thinks he can."

The words hit me like a punch to the solar plexus, stealing my breath and making my eyes sting with something suspiciously close to tears. Because he was right. Rafe, the smug prick I'd written off as just another plastic pop star, still knew me. Still saw me, beneath all the bravado and bullshit.

He remembered. And he cared. Cared enough to risk his own neck, his own reputation, just to give me a shot at taking Cyrus down.

It was humbling. Terrifying. A reminder that even in the darkest, most twisted corners of this business...there was still loyalty. Still honor among thieves.

I swallowed hard, my throat working as I struggled to find my voice. "Okay," I said at last, the word a rasping croak. "Okay, Vega. You're in. But we do this my way, on my terms. And if you even think about fucking me over-"

"I won't," he cut in, his voice ringing with conviction. "I swear on everything I hold dear, Damon. I'm with you in this. To the bitter fucking end."

He held out his hand, his gaze unwavering. And after a moment that stretched into eternity, I reached out and clasped it with my own.

An unholy alliance, forged in the fire of betrayal and the ashes of our twisted history. But an alliance nonetheless.

And now? Now, I had a weapon. A way to fight back against the monsters who had tried to destroy me, to break me down and remold me in their own soulless image.

** *

The bass pulsed through the soles of my boots as I wove through the gyrating crush of bodies, the air thick with sweat and spilled booze and the electric rush of post-show adrenaline. All around me, people danced and laughed and drank, riding the high of Coffin Cargo's blistering set.

It was the kind of chaos I usually reveled in, the hedonistic whirlwind that had been my lifeblood for so long. But tonight, all I could think about was Phoenix. My flame-haired rebel queen, my guiding light in the dark.

I needed to see her, to touch her. To reassure myself that she was real, that she hadn't vanished like smoke on the wind while I was busy plotting vengeance with Rafe.

I found her tucked away in a corner booth, nursing a drink and looking so heartbreakingly lovely that it stole my breath. She was wearing a slinky black dress that clung to her curves like a second skin, her hair a wild, untamed riot of scarlet curls.

She looked up as I approached, her eyes widening and then going soft with an emotion that made my chest ache. "Hey, rock star," she murmured, her voice a husky purr that shivered down my spine. "Fancy meeting you here."

I slid into the booth beside her, my hand finding hers beneath the table and tangling our fingers together. "Well, you know me. I never could resist a beautiful woman and a stiff drink."

Phoenix laughed, the sound warm and rich as aged whiskey. But there was a distracted air about her, a distance in her gaze that set off warning bells in my head .

"Hey," I said softly, ducking my head to catch her eye. "Where'd you go just now?"

She blinked, focusing on me with visible effort. "Sorry. It's just...this case, Damon. Marcus and my dad and...God, everything is such a fucking mess. I can't turn my brain off, can't stop chasing leads and dead ends, even when I'm supposed to be celebrating."

My heart clenched, my grip on her hand tightening. "I know, baby. I know it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. But Phoenix...you don't have to carry it alone. Not anymore."

Her smile was a fragile, tentative thing. "I'm trying," she whispered, her voice cracking on the words. "I'm trying to let you in, to lean on you. But it's hard. It's so fucking hard, after so long of having no one but myself to depend on."

I lifted our joined hands to my lips, pressing a fierce kiss to her knuckles. "I know it is. But I'm here, Phoenix. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere. No matter how hard it gets, no matter how deep the darkness pulls you...I'll be your anchor. Your safe harbor in the storm."

Tears glimmered in her eyes, catching the strobing lights of the club and throwing off sparks of gold and amber. "How do you do that?" she asked, a wondering note in her voice. "How do you always know exactly what I need to hear?"

I shrugged, a small, crooked smile tugging at my lips. "It's a gift. That, and the fact that I know you, Phoenix Rowe. I see you, even when you're trying your damnedest to hide."

She let out a shaky laugh, swiping at the tears that had escaped down her cheeks. "Smooth talker. You sure you're not just trying to get in my pants?"

My grin widened, turning wicked at the edges. "Oh, I absolutely am. But that doesn't make what I said any less true."

Phoenix rolled her eyes, but I could see the smile she was fighting, the way her shoulders had relaxed just a fraction. "You're impossible," she informed me, but there was no bite to the words. Only a fond kind of exasperation, an affection that made my blood sing in my veins.

"Impossibly charming, you mean," I teased, leaning in to nuzzle the spot behind her ear that always made her shiver. "Impossibly talented. Impossibly good with my-"

"If you finish that sentence, I will dump this drink in your lap," she cut in, her eyes sparking with mirth and something hotter, headier. "Don't think I won't, Cross."

I held up my hands in mock surrender, grinning like an idiot. "Threat received, loud and clear."

Just then, a burst of raucous laughter drew my attention to the bar. The guys were holding court like the rock royalty they were, Jax and Ty doing shots off a quartet of giggling groupies while Zane looked on with amused indulgence.

Even Talia had gotten in on the action, perched on a stool and flirting outrageously with the bartender, who looked equal parts flustered and enchanted by her attention.

It was a sight that would have once filled me with envy, with the gnawing ache of exclusion. The sense that I was on the outside looking in, a voyeur to my own fucking life.

But now? Now, with Phoenix warm and vital at my side, her fingers laced with mine and her heart beating in time with my own? I felt nothing but a bone-deep contentment, a rightness that settled in my marrow like a promise.

This was where I belonged. Not lost in the neon blur of nameless, faceless debauchery. Not chasing the next high, the next thrill to numb the screaming void inside me .

But here. With my band, my brothers in arms. With Talia, the brash, brilliant spitfire who had welcomed me into the fold like I'd always been a part of it.

And with Phoenix. My beautiful, brave, unbreakable Phoenix, who looked at me like I was worth saving. Worth fighting for.

Worth loving, scars and sins and stuttering heartbeat, just as I was. As I would always be, beneath the warpaint and leather and larger-than-life persona.

I turned to her, drinking in the way the dim lights played across her face, painting her in shades of gold and shadow. "Dance with me."

She blinked, surprise and pleasure and a flicker of heat chasing themselves across her expression. "What, here? Now?"

I nodded, already rising to my feet and tugging her with me. "Here. Now. While the music is still playing and the world hasn't gone to shit quite yet."

Phoenix hesitated for a moment, her gaze darting to the shadows that lurked beyond the reach of the strobing lights. The shadows that held unanswered questions and ugly truths, demons with sharp teeth and grasping claws.

But then she looked back at me, her eyes clearing and her smile turning brilliant, blinding. "Okay," she breathed, twining her arms around my neck and pressing the length of her body against mine. "Okay, Damon. Let's dance."

And as I led her out onto the floor, as I lost myself in the sway of her hips and the scent of her hair and the perfect, exquisite heat of her...I felt something settle deep in my chest.

A certainty, a knowing as old as time itself. The bone-deep conviction that this, right here, was what I had been fighting for all along.

Not fame. Not fortune. Not the accolades or the glossy magazine covers or the legions of screaming fans .

But this. The simple, sacred alchemy of two hearts beating as one, two souls finding their way home in the shelter of each other's arms.

Phoenix pressed her lips to my ear, her breath a hot flutter against my skin. "I love you," she whispered, the words a secret and a shout all at once. "I love you, Damon Cross. With everything I am, everything I have."

Emotion clawed at my throat, thick and choking. I crushed her closer, my face buried in the wild tangle of her hair. "I love you," I rasped, the words torn from someplace deep and raw and real. "I love you, Phoenix. Always. Forever. No matter what happens, no matter what comes next...that will never change."

And as the music swelled and the world fell away, as the future rushed toward us on wings of shadow and flame...I held onto those words, onto her, with everything I had.

My phoenix. My north star.

My heart, my home, my everything.

Come hell or high water, I would love this woman until my last breath. Until the stars fell from the sky and the universe crumbled to dust.

And nothing, not Cyrus, not the music industry, not even the demons that howled and rattled the cages of my own mind...nothing could take that away from me.

From us.

We were in this together. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.

'Til death do us part.

And with Phoenix Rowe at my side?

Death didn't fucking stand a chance.