Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Poison

The roar of the crowd is deafening.

It's my first day out of the clubhouse, and I'm already questioning what the hell I've gotten myself into.

Sydney's fans are wild, but I guess that comes with being a rockstar.

"Keep your eyes open," Dex had said before we got here. "You never know what kind of shit will go down at these gigs."

I stand backstage, my back against the cold concrete wall. The bass from the speakers vibrates through my body, making my heart pound in sync.

Sydney's about to hit the stage, and I scan the crowd, looking for anything out of place.

"Showtime," Sydney says with a grin, striding past me in her blazing glory. Her outfit is a sight to behold, a mish-mash of leather and lace that clings to her figure like a second skin.

Tight-fitting black leather pants hug every inch of her slender thighs, flaring out into boots that look more like weapons than footwear.

They're high-heeled, of course—not just an inch or two, but a staggering five.

The way she carries herself in them is nothing short of impressive.

Her torso is adorned with a crop top made entirely of black lace.

The delicate fabric reveals her toned midriff, the smooth expanse of her skin contrasting beautifully with the harsh leather below.

The sleeves are long and end in an extravagant flare of lace, billowing around her arms whenever she moves.

But the real show-stopper is the jacket.

It's made of supple leather dyed a deep crimson—so dark it's almost black—and is studded all over with glittering gems that reflect the stage

Her confidence is contagious. She owns the stage before even stepping onto it.

"Good luck," I mutter, knowing she can't hear me over the bass.

My job isn't to wish her luck, though—it's to make sure she stays safe. Well, Gears, Dex, and I all share that job.

The lights dim, and the crowd's energy surges. I can practically feel the buzz vibrating through my bones.

Sydney's about to take the stage, and these fans are ready to lose their minds.

"All right, everyone!" The emcee's voice booms over the speakers. "Are you ready for Sydney?"

A roar erupts from the crowd, a wave of sound so powerful it feels like it's going to knock me off my feet.

My heart pounds in rhythm with the chanting, the hollering.

"Here she is!"

She struts out, and the audience does exactly what I thought they were going to do–lose their mind.

The energy is electric.

I can't help but admire her. She's got some damn talent, no doubt about it.

But admiration doesn't distract me.

My eyes sweep the throngs of people, searching for any sign of trouble.

The fans are rowdy, but it's just excitement—for now. I stay tense, ready to spring into action if anyone tries something stupid.

"Hello Three Forks!" Sydney's voice echoes through the speakers, and she struts across the stage like it's her kingdom.

The cheers surge into a roar that shakes my bones.

Her band kicks in, the first notes of her hit song blasting through the venue.

I stand backstage, every muscle on high alert.

My eyes dart from one side of the crowd to the other.

No telling when some overzealous fan might make a break for it.

Sydney's voice flows smoothly with the music, hypnotizing the audience.

She's got them eating out of her hand. I can't help but feel a swell of pride. She deserves every bit of this success.

"She's killin' it out there," Dex whispers beside me, his eyes glued to the stage.

"Yeah, she is," I reply, not taking my eyes off the crowd.

We get through the first song without a hitch.

The fans are wild but contained—for now.

"Thank you!" Sydney calls out, waving to the sea of people. The applause is deafening. "Now, I could sing another song, or I could tell you guys about the really special treat I have for you all tonight! Which one do you want?"

My attention sharpens. What's she up to?

The crowd chants: surprise over and over again.

Sydney laughs, her smile contagious. "My label thought there was an artist who would sound amazing with me, someone you all undoubtedly know. Luckily for me, he happened to be in the area and agreed to stop by tonight."

A murmur of excitement runs through the crowd.

"He's one of the best rockstars around, Asher Gun!"

The name slams into me like a freight train.

My heart plummets, sinking into my stomach. It goes so fast I think it might actually pop right out of my asshole.

I barely have time to process before he steps out from the other side of backstage.

He's exactly as I remember—tall, fit, with that damn buzz cut and five o'clock shadow that makes him look like trouble.

Trouble I couldn't keep my hands off.

Our eyes lock for a split second–hazelnut meeting silver.

Asher's eyes widen, his head snapping back in surprise.

My throat tightens, but I don't flinch. I won't give him the satisfaction of letting him know he's getting to me.

"Poison, you good?" Dex mutters beside me, snapping me back to reality.

"Yeah?" I manage to croak out, my voice betraying me.

His eyes get a little more serious. "Who the fuck is that?"

I'm trying like hell to keep my cool. "No one."

Asher hesitates for a heartbeat—maybe two—before he steels himself and strides onto the stage, all confidence and swagger.

The crowd erupts, their cheers blending into a deafening roar.

I feel like I've been hit by a freight train.

Heat spreads through my body, starting from my chest and radiating outwards.

My skin prickles under the weight of memories and unresolved tension.

How could he be the one here tonight, out of all the artists in the world—it had to be my ex.

"You're a shit liar, you know that?" he mutters, but I can't muster a response.

My focus is glued to Asher, who stands center stage next to Sydney, his presence commanding as ever.

Asher flashes that cocky grin of his out to the crowd. It's like no time has passed at all, and yet, everything has changed.

My heart pounds so loudly, I'm sure Dex can hear it.

"Focus, Poison," I tell myself, clenching my fists. But it's easier said than done when your past is standing right in front of you, singing his heart out.

"Why'd it have to be him?" I snap, feeling the weight of old wounds reopening.

"Because life's a bitch," Dex answers, hearing me. "And you're saying him, so I know you know him. Who the fuck is he to you?"

"He's my ex." I reply, my voice shaking with more emotion than I'd like to admit.

On stage, Asher and Sydney are electric, their voices melding perfectly.

They move together like they've been doing this for years, and I hate how natural it looks. How natural it feels.

"Shit," Dex says, more serious now. "That sucks and all, but don't get distracted. We've got a job to do."

"I'm not gonna let this get to me," I mutter, forcing myself to scan the crowd.

But my eyes keep drifting back to Asher, to the way he commands attention without even trying. To the way his voice wraps around every word, making it impossible to ignore him.

Dex puts a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to look at him. "Want me to switch places with you? Might make it easier."

"Thanks, but no. I can handle this." But even as I say it, doubt creeps in. Can I really handle this? Handle him?

Dex pulls his hand off my shoulder. "All right, but if you need a break, just say the word."

"Will do," I promise, though I know I won't. I can't afford to show weakness. I'm not that kind of woman. I'll handle whatever life throws at me, and I'll do it with my head held high.

Sydney finishes her introduction, and the music starts up again.

Asher takes the lead, his voice filling the venue with a richness that's always captivated me.

The crowd eats it up, swaying and singing along, lost in the magic of the moment.

"Keep it together," I remind myself, though it feels like I'm trying to hold back a tidal wave with a paper cup.

Asher glances back toward backstage, his eyes scanning the shadows until they land on me again.

For a split second, our gazes lock, and the air between us crackles. God, there's so much unresolved shit between the two of us.

All I got was a fucking text message from him saying we were over.

No call. No meet up. Nothing.

It showed just how much he didn't respect me, and that hurt. It hurt me so easily.

I even tried to call him, but by the time I did, his number was no longer in service.

Asher's gaze is hot on my skin, even from this distance.

His eyes seem to be searching for something. Maybe he's trying to spot the differences in me. Maybe he's just as surprised to see me as I am to see him.

A familiar melody begins and I see him strumming his guitar. His fingers moving effortlessly over the strings, plucking out notes that ring out over the drunk, cheering crowd.

His voice joins in, husky and deep, the same voice that used to whisper sweet nothings in my ear late at night.

The same voice that had called my name so many times, in so many different ways.

My heart lurched when he started singing, a sickening mixture of nostalgia and pain twisting within me.

Each note tore at my heartstrings, bringing back memories I've tried so hard to suppress.

My throat tightens with emotion but I push it away. I'm not going to let him know he's getting to me.

Asher broke my fucking heart. He ripped it straight out of my chest and didn't even have the balls to explain anything to me.

He's a fucking joke.