Steel 7 (Multiple Love)

21

LUNA

I feel weightless during my performance in Melbourne. Maybe it's because I'm now a quarter of the way through my tour and well-practiced at all the routines. I know what's expected of me and can replicate the dance moves without even thinking.

Maybe it's that I'm becoming the professional singer that I didn't even have the courage to dream I could be, back when I was in the small town where I grew up, with only my two brothers to hold me together.

I tell myself it's those things because the alternative reason scares me too deeply to contemplate.

When my Steel 7 bodyguards cover me with their kisses, envelop me with their arms, and push inside my body, my mind drifts to a place where I feel like I'm flying. And after, the bubbling feeling that rests near my heart doesn't settle. If anything, dancing in front of a sold-out crowd, knowing that their eyes are settled on me protectively, the feeling of weightlessness only gets stronger.

Connor is resting back at the hotel tonight, and even though I know the rest of my bodyguards are more than capable of taking care of me, I feel his absence.

Is it weird that I want us always to be together? We're like a toddler's puzzle; eight pieces that need to fit together to make a single bright and colorful picture.

As I finish the penultimate song, I tell myself that I should be worried less about the weirdness and more that this thing between us has become so much more than just sex.

My plan was to indulge in a fling that would keep me from worrying about everything at home. Having company in my bed pushed away the anxious feelings that come with every new photo or incident related to my stalkers. It's helped me to focus on what this tour is about, delivering great music to my fans.

It's working, but I know it's not just a fling. How could I ever keep my heart separate when these men are all so perfect for me? How could I hold them at arms-length when they fit so perfectly against me?

My throat is a little dry, so rather than push through and risk being hoarse tomorrow, I dash to the side of the stage to grab a bottle from the table set up for me. Unscrewing the lid, I take a long gulp of the room-temperature water that is best for my vocal cords, except it isn't water. It's something terrible and bitter that burns and stings the inside of my mouth. Retching, I start to spit on the floor, the screaming of panic in my ears dulling the rising noise of the crowd and the music the band is playing as an interlude until I return. Resting my hand on my thigh, I retch and retch, my stomach racking my whole body as my stomach empties over my feet. Tears are streaming from my eyes before Elijah's arm goes around my body.

"Luna…are you okay?"

I hold out the bottle, coughing, and spluttering. "It's…it's not water."

He lifts the bottle to his nose and winces at the smell. "You drank this?"

"It went in my mouth…I don't think I swallowed, but it's burning."

"Fuck."

Pulling a bottle from his pocket, he quickly hands it to me. "It's okay. I brought this from the hotel. I've tasted it. Wash out your mouth with it and spit on the floor."

He touches his lapel. "Luna's water's been contaminated. She needs medical attention. She can't go back on."

"Fuck," I hear in response, sensing the movement of people gathering around me. Hands touch my shoulder. Someone pulls out a stool, and I'm urged to sit. I retch again, bringing up yellow water, coughing, and spluttering until my face is wet from tears and my nose running.

I don't care what I look like because it doesn't matter how much I wash my mouth out with the fresh water Elijah gave me, it’s still tingling.

"What the fuck is it?" Mo asks. "It's not…?" When he trails off, I know what he couldn't bring himself to say.

Acid. Poison. It could be anything.

"It smells chemical-y," Elijah says. "How the fuck did it get in with Luna's drinks?"

"Deliberately," Jax says, holding his hand out for the bottle so he can smell it too.

I open my mouth to speak, my throat feeling raw. "It's not acid, is it?" I whisper.

It's at that moment, two paramedics arrive. One drops to his knee in front of me. "Open your mouth."

He presses my tongue down with a flat wooden stick, shining a light into my throat. "It looks pretty red. We need to get her checked out."

"Shit," Hudson says.

I blink, tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes leaving cool trails over my cheeks. The crowd is cheering restlessly as they wait for me to go back on and sing my number-one hit. They're going to be disappointed.