Chapter Nine

Angel

The summer festival was in full swing, the final day drawing a crowd so massive it felt like every person in the city had converged on this one spot. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the festival grounds, while the sky transitioned from gold to deep violet. The air was thick with the scent of fried food, mingling with the earthy undertone of the grass beneath my feet. People were everywhere, laughing, shouting, dancing as a rap band blared from the stage, their heavy bass beats pounding through the air, through my body, until I felt like I was vibrating with the music.

I moved through the throngs of people, barely noticing when a sharp sting bit into my arm. Mosquitos. I slapped at the spot, then another on my neck, irritated by the small intrusions. But the truth was, I was more than just annoyed by the mosquitos. My emotions were all over the place, and the crowd wasn't helping. There was a restless energy in the air, a kind of wildness that felt on the edge of tipping into chaos. Maybe it was just the nature of the final night of the festival, or maybe it was my own nerves projecting onto everything around me. I didn't know. I just felt on edge.

But beneath the anxiety, there was something else, too. A warmth that had been simmering ever since my time with Bowie. It was strange how quickly I'd gone from being wary of him to feeling something much deeper. It wasn't just attraction—though there was plenty of that. It was the way he made me feel safe, in a way I hadn't felt in years. I'd almost forgotten what that felt like, to be with someone who made me feel secure. I never thought I'd feel that again, not after Trace. Not after what he'd done to me.

I didn't think it was possible to trust a man after Trace had broken that trust so completely, but Bowie…he was different. There was a steadiness to him, a kind of reliability that I respected. More than that, though, it was how he'd turned his life around, how hard he'd worked to be a better person for his younger sister. He wasn't just some guy with a pretty face—he was someone who had been through hell and come out stronger on the other side. That was the kind of person I wanted in my life. I could feel it deep in my bones, that Bowie was someone I could trust, someone I could build something real with.

And yet, even with that warmth, that budding sense of hope, there was a shadow over everything— Trace . I knew he wasn't out of my life yet, not really. He had always been the kind of man who couldn't take no for an answer, and I doubted that had changed. I couldn't shake the feeling that he was still out there, plotting, waiting for the right moment to strike. What was he planning? And when would he make his move? The questions circled in my mind, feeding the anxiety that was gnawing at my insides.

As I navigated through the crowd, I spotted the security personnel stationed at the entrance gates and others weaving through the throngs of festival-goers. Their bright vests were like beacons in the dimming light, but even with their presence, I felt uneasy. The crowd was getting rowdier by the minute, and with darkness falling, I couldn't help but worry. I'd managed to get through easily enough, thanks to the pass Miles had arranged for me. It was a special pass, one that kept my identity secret but let security know I was part of Angel's team, granting me access without any questions. But looking at the sheer number of people around me, the way the energy was building, I wasn't sure if the security team was prepared for what could happen if things went south.

My anxiety spiked again, this time for a different reason. The performance. I'd been planning to debut the first song of my new album tonight, a song that was deeply personal, one that meant everything to me. But now, with everything that was happening, I didn't know if I could do it. My confidence was wavering, and I felt like I was teetering on the edge of something I couldn't control.

Miles had put so much into this as well, and he wasn't just my manager—he'd become like a father to me in the years since he discovered me with a mop in my hand and a song on my lips. He'd taken me under his wing, helped me unleash the music I'd carried secretly in my heart for as long as I could remember. He was someone I respected more than I could ever express, and I couldn't bear the thought of letting him down, not after everything he'd done for me. But the thought of stepping onto that stage tonight, of baring my soul to the crowd, felt overwhelming. I just didn't know if I was ready.

Finally, I reached my trailer, the small, quiet space a welcome refuge from the chaos outside. I closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment as I tried to collect myself. The noise of the festival was muted now, just a distant hum, and I let out a long breath, trying to shake off the tension that had settled into my shoulders.

I moved to the kitchenette and poured myself a glass of wine, smiling a little as I thought of Bowie and Sunset Vines. The wine was smooth, rich, and it brought back memories of our banter, the way he'd made me laugh when I hadn't thought I could. It was a small comfort, something to hold onto in the midst of everything else. I took the glass and sat down on the small couch, the cushions sinking slightly under my weight. I sipped the wine slowly, letting it warm me from the inside out as I checked my phone. Miles should be arriving any minute.

But even as I tried to relax, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen. My nerves were on high alert, every small sound making me jump. I hated feeling like this, so out of control, but there was nothing I could do except wait.

A knock on the door startled me, and I set the glass down, my heart racing as I stood up. I moved to the door, opening it cautiously, and relief flooded through me when I saw Miles standing there. But the relief was short-lived. There was something off in his expression, something that made my stomach drop.

"Miles?" I asked, my voice uncertain, trying to read the worry etched on his face.

Before he could answer, I saw movement behind him. My blood ran cold as Trace stepped into view, a cruel smile twisting his features. The sight of him was like a punch to the gut, a nightmare come to life. And then I saw the gun in his hand, the way it was pressed against Miles' back, and everything inside me went still.

"Get inside," Trace ordered, his voice low and threatening.

I stumbled backward, my mind scrambling to make sense of what was happening. "How did you get past security?" The question tumbled out of me, my voice shaking with fear.

Miles looked at me, his face pale, sweat beading on his forehead. "I'm sorry, Angie. I tried to…"

But Trace cut him off with a harsh laugh. "It was too easy," he said, his tone mocking. "All I had to do was pay some scantily clad woman to distract the security guy checking passes at the entrance. Then I just waited behind a tree until I saw you arrive and then Miles. No one's the wiser."

The casual way he described it, like it was some kind of game, made my skin crawl. I felt sick, my mind racing for a way out, but every possible escape route seemed blocked. Miles, bless him, tried to reason with Trace, offering him money to leave us alone. But Trace only sneered, his grip tightening on the gun.

"I've got plenty of money," he snapped, his voice filled with venom. "That's not what I'm after."

"What do you want, Trace?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, even though I could feel the tremor in my words.

His cold eyes locked onto mine, and I saw the raw hatred in them, a rage that had been festering for years. "I want you to pay for what you did to me," he hissed, his voice dripping with malice. "I was the one who discovered you first, not Miles. But you betrayed me. You called the cops and sent me to prison. You wasted six years of my life, but in a way, it worked out. I spent all that time in the gym, and now I'm in better shape than ever. But you…you ruined my life, and now it's time for you to pay."

I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. This wasn't just about revenge; it was about power, control. Trace wanted to take back everything he'd lost, and he was going to do it by taking me down with him.

Trace made Miles sit down next to me, his gun never wavering. The threat in the air was palpable, thick enough to choke on, and I knew he wasn't bluffing. There was a cold certainty in his eyes that told me he was ready to do whatever it took to make me suffer.

"I'm going to shoot you both," Trace said, his voice eerily calm, like he was discussing the weather. "Make it look like a lovers' quarrel. I've already got a suicide note written out for Miles. That should get the media's attention nicely."

A wave of terror washed over me, and I felt the blood drain from my face. My body was trembling, every instinct screaming at me to run, to fight, but I was frozen, trapped in this nightmare with no way out. I glanced at Miles, his face ashen, his eyes wide with fear and regret. This man had been my rock, my guide, someone I'd come to depend on more than anyone else. And now, because of me, he was caught in this hell.

Trace's grip on the gun tightened as he glanced between us, a twisted satisfaction in his expression. I knew he was enjoying this, feeding off our fear. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, the air thick with tension, with the weight of what was about to happen.

Then, just as Trace raised the gun, the door to the trailer burst open with a crash, the sudden noise startling all of us. Before any of us could react, Bowie charged into the room like a force of nature. His eyes were blazing with fury as he lunged at Trace, tackling him to the ground with a power I hadn't seen in him before.

The trailer seemed to explode with movement. Bowie and Trace wrestled on the floor, the gun skittering across the linoleum, dangerously close to both men. Miles leaped up from his seat beside me, his face twisted in a mix of terror and determination as he lunged at Trace, tackling him to the floor and allowing Bowie the split second of advantage he needed to reach the weapon first.

In the chaos, everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. Trace's hand shot out, just as Bowie grabbed the gun. They struggled, their grunts and the sound of scuffling feet filling the small space. I was frozen, my back pressed against the wall, watching in horror as they fought for control.

The gun went off with a deafening crack, the sound echoing in my ears like a thunderclap. For a split second, time seemed to stop. My breath caught in my throat, my heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst. I couldn't tell who had been shot, who had been hit. All I could see was the wild look in Trace's eyes as he staggered backward, clutching his chest. A dark, red stain blossomed on his shirt, spreading like a terrible flower.

Trace crumpled to the ground, his body folding in on itself as the life drained out of him. The gun clattered onto the floor. Bowie scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving as he turned to me, his eyes wide with concern.

"Angie!" he called out, his voice sharp with worry. He was at my side in an instant, his hands on my shoulders, pulling me close to him. "Don't look," he whispered, his voice softer now, filled with a gentleness that nearly broke me. "It's over, Angie. It's over."

He turned me away from the sight of Trace's lifeless body, shielding me from the horror. I buried my face against his chest, feeling the warmth of him, the solidness that grounded me, that made me believe I was safe. The scent of him—woodsy and warm—wrapped around me, comforting me in a way I hadn't expected.

I could barely comprehend what had just happened. One moment, I'd been sure that Trace was going to end us all, and now…now it was over. He was gone—permanently.

The door to the trailer burst open again, this time with police officers flooding in, their guns drawn, their eyes sweeping over the scene. Miles immediately began explaining what had happened, his voice steady despite the horror he'd just endured. I couldn't bring myself to look at Trace again, couldn't let myself process what had just occurred. All I could do was cling to Bowie, grateful beyond words that he'd come for me, that he'd saved us.

Bowie's arms tightened around me, and he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of my head. "I'm here, Angie," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you ever again."

I believed him. In that moment, as I stood there in his embrace, I believed him with every fiber of my being. The nightmare was finally over. As the police led us out of the trailer, away from the chaos and into the cool night air, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. Trace was gone, and with him, the fear that had haunted me for so long. I didn't know what the future held, but I knew that I wasn't alone anymore. Bowie had proven himself to be the man I could trust, the man I could rely on, and as we walked away from the scene together, I knew that whatever came next, we'd face it together.

The crowd outside had no idea what had just transpired, the festival still in full swing, the music pounding through the night air as if nothing had happened. But for me, everything had changed. The danger was gone, and in its place was the flicker of hope for a new beginning.

As we moved away from the flashing lights and the commotion, Bowie kept his arm around me, guiding me through the throngs of people, protecting me from the world that had suddenly become so much brighter. I leaned into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my cheek, knowing that in this moment, I was safe. For the first time in a long time, I was truly safe, and I could finally leave the past behind.