I don’t think twice, leaping off the stage into Asher’s arms, knowing he’ll never let me fall. He never has.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I murmur into his neck.
“Nothing to be sorry for, baby. I’m sorry I was a dick about it.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” I repeat his words back to him. It’s always this way with Asher. We’re like popping candy. Small bursts of frustration that fizzle immediately. “How about we go backstage, and I make it up to you anyway?” I nip his earlobe. Part guilt for my earlier thoughts about Dale and part remorse for how I treated him last night—there’s no excuse for that, even if I was acting out of fear. I feel his dick stir beneath me and lean back to look in his eyes, a question in mine.
Dale also jumps off the stage, and I don’t miss the wince, however brief, that flickers across his face when he hears me proposition Asher. I hadn’t realized he’d followed me, and a flash of guilt hits me in the gut. Only a few short moments ago, I was thinking about how much it would suck to see Dale with one of my bandmates, and here he has to swallow the fact that Asher and I are together every day.
Asher lowers me to my feet. “Fuck yeah, but first open your gift. I see some candy corn in there and need some of that in my belly.”
“I second that. Give me some.” Just like before, Dale’s tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent of tension there, which Asher seems oblivious to.
Seeing my name on the card under the cellophane I ask, “Who’s it from?”
Asher shrugs. “Fuck if I know.”
I start peeling the bow off gently, careful not to tear anything.
“Is this gonna take long?” Asher teases.
“Here, let me help.” Dale tears open the package.
I punch him on the shoulder. “That’s mine, Brat.”
Eventually, we get to the card with my name written in calligraphy with turquoise sharpie.
I open the card, and immediately, my blood freezes in my veins.
Inside the card is a picture of Asher going down on me last night. My nails are digging into his scalp. The word LUST is emblazoned on the picture and on the inside of the card in the same script as my name: “Last chance to right your wrongs. To repent your sins. To seek forgiveness.”
I drop the card to the floor as if it burnt me.
Dale is immediately at my side. “Raine, what is it?”
Asher bends to pick up the card. “What the fuck?”
Dale looks down at the photo and immediately pales. “Jesus.”
Asher crumples the card. “What the fuck is this?”
I sit down on the cold arena floor and wrap my arms around myself. I’m wearing yoga pants and a tee, perfect for being under the stage lights but not really fall attire. Asher hands the card to Dale and shrugs his jacket off before placing it around my shoulders.
“We have to call the cops.”
“No!” I yell. “No police. I know who it is.”
“Who?” Dale asks, turning the photo over so he doesn’t have to see the image anymore.
“It’s Bianca.”
“Bianca from the farm?”
I nod. “Yes, this isn’t the first letter she’s sent me. In fact, there have been seven. One for each of my sins.”
“What the fuck, Raine? Why am I only hearing about this now?” Asher’s tone is sharp.
“Because I didn’t want you to cancel the show.” I look up at him with pleading eyes. He’s been our tour manager since we made it big, and I don’t want him to take this from me.
“She’s fucking threatening you. We have to call off the show,” Asher says, his voice softer this time. “And call the cops.”
“Absolutely not.” I look from Dale to Asher. “Please, no. Bianca is just blowing off steam. Canceling tonight would kill the girls.”
“Raine, you mean more to them than the fucking show.”
“I don’t care. I won’t take this from them.”
“Where are the other letters?” Dale asks, lifting the cap he has perched backward on his head and placing it back the right way.
I stand and walk to the edge of the stage and retrieve the book from my tote. I stuffed it in there this morning on the off chance Bianca would somehow get into my apartment again and remove the evidence. Plus, I was going to tell the guys after the show. Once I could prove to them Bianca’s threats were empty.
I hand the book to Asher, and Dale moves to stand behind him so he can view the photos from over his cousin’s shoulder. With each image they look at, Asher gets more tense, and Dale turns a sickly gray.
“You should’ve come to us,” Dale states.
“She’s taking pics of us together, Raine. That’s fucked up.” Asher takes his phone out of his jeans pocket and starts dialing. 9…1…
I place a hand over his. “Please, baby. If you never do another thing for me, let me have this show.”
The guys look at each other. Silent words pass between them.
“All right. I’ll hold off on calling the cops. But we’re telling the girls. If you can convince them to do the show, we’ll do the show.”
I nod. At least I have a chance.
Chapter Three
Sitting next to Asher on the way home, I can’t stop the smile stretching across my face, and I wouldn’t want to. Asher was right, the girls loved me more than they did the show, and it took a hell of a lot of convincing to get them to perform. But, eventually—after a lot of begging and the promise of more security—they all agreed to go on with the concert. We smashed it, putting everything we had into our performance as if it were our last.
Thankfully, it wasn’t, and I was right about Bianca. She was way more bark than bite. I reach for my bag to retrieve my phone so I can message the girls to gush again—a reaction completely foreign to me,
