The band starts to play a track about first love, and Luna begins to dance slowly, her male dancers coming one by one to grind with her suggestively. My eyes meet Elijah's across the stage, and he grimaces. I'm not sure what's driving the response. This music isn't exactly his style so it could be that. Or it could be Luna's hand trailing over the muscular chest of yet another man with perfect rhythm.
That's how I feel.
Jealousy is a fucked-up emotion. It's fucked up at the best of times, eating through perfectly healthy relationships, but it's even worse when you feel it and have no right to.
Luna's not my girl. She can touch any man anyway she wants and feeling anything about it is way outside of my remit, but I can't help it.
The girl is just too pretty, too funny, too sassy, and too perfect.
She's everything that lights me on fire and more, wrapped up in a ball of dynamite.
And I'm her bodyguard.
Could this be more cliched?
I feel like I'm replicating a nineties movie, except my feelings aren't replicated.
"You okay, Ben?" Connor asks, his voice raspy through our equipment.
"All good," I say, but he must have noticed my mind wandering, my concentration lapsing. And that's why thinking about Luna is dangerous. I need to keep my mind clear.
She wouldn't want me, anyway. If she was going to break the rules with any of the Steel 7, it would be with one who still had all their own limbs.
As if my stump can feel me thinking about it, it begins to ache where it rests in my prosthetic. Things have come a long way with technology, but even with all the gel covers and ergonomically shaped equipment, there is still discomfort.
Luna continues her performance, and I manage to keep my eyes on her and all the places in the stadium that I’m responsible for keeping clear. She's sweating and out of breath but killing every song and the crowd are lapping it up.
As the final song comes to an end, Connor tells me to make my way around. I guess things must be getting busy on his side and he wants extra backup to escort Luna back to her dressing room.
"Thank you, Berlin. You've been awesome," Luna shouts, kissing her palms and blowing it into the crowd. She bends at the waist, her cute little skirt rising high enough to see her panties through her red fishnet stockings. My cock stirs in my pants, an image of her bending to rest her palms on the dining table in our suite flooding my mind. I'd love to show her how deep I could fuck her; how good it could be. In that position, she'd never have to see the place my leg used to be. She'd never have to see that I'm not whole.
I'm almost around as Luna jogs off stage, pulling the fabric of her tube top a little higher. Damn, doesn't she know that adjusting boobs in front of men just gets us thinking about boobs.
"On the move," Connor says, just as I take position next to Luna, holding her arm at the elbow.
There are people everywhere, standing around drinking and laughing. Most have lanyards around their necks, official backstage passes. We don't have far to go but it's tight in the hallways. I keep a watch behind us, swiveling every so often to check we're not being tailed. By the time we get to Luna's dressing room, I'm sweating and out of breath.
Asher throws the door open, scanning the room before he allows Luna to enter. Connor follows, and so do I, leaving Elijah to stand outside.
"Dressing room," Connor mutters into the intercom, confirming to Mo and Jax that Luna's safely back.
Luna slumps onto a couch, resting her arms along the back, pulling in deep breaths. "That was crazy," she says. "Fucking crazy."
"You did good," Connor says reassuringly.
I clear my throat. "It was awesome. The perfect way to start a tour."
"It'll be all over the news sites tomorrow," Asher says.
"And I'll have to do it all over again tomorrow." Luna runs a hand over her face, the body language of a person who feels worn down. But this is night one. There's a whole tour to finish. She's going to be doing this show so many times that we'll all know the words and dance moves by the time we're heading home.
With a huff, she heads over to the chair where her bag rests, pulling out a bottle of water. She needs to keep those vocal cords nice and wet. "What the fuck?" Bending over, she pulls the corner of her bag to open it wider, gazing inside. "What the fuck is that?"
Asher's there in a flash, nudging her behind him, so that he can investigate the bag. "Fuck," he growls. Pulling out plastic gloves from his pocket, he reaches in to find whatever has Luna spooked. A pair of white panties has been slashed up and splattered with scarlet. Attached is a note but I'm not close enough to read what it says.