Staged (Exodus End 3)

“But we do not get along,” Steve said. “Not even a little.”

God, Roux fucking hated this farce. If it had been any person on the planet except Tamara, she would have come clean right then, but she wouldn’t give this woman the satisfaction of knowing she’d figured out their stupid sham so easily.

“We need to set up for the next band,” a stagehand interrupted.

That was their cue to stop clogging up the wings.

“What now?” Azura asked, deliberately turning her back to Tamara and effectively ejecting her from the conversation. “Do we get an after-party?”

Tamara huffed and crossed her arms, but the attention she’d once had, had shifted to Azura and plans for better times. Roux avoided looking at Steve so Tamara couldn’t read the heartache that was surely displayed in her eyes.

“We have a few hours before Sinners takes the main stage,” Reagan said. “You have to watch them perform. They’re amazing!”

Exodus End didn’t play until the next night, but they all wanted to support the other headliner of their tour.

“I think someone is a bit partial because her husband plays guitar in Sinners,” Max said.

“Guilty of being in love,” Reagan said, “but I’m not partial. They really do rock. But you all definitely need to celebrate. You were awesome! Like, I wanted to be you awesome.”

Azura laughed. “Right . . . You want to be us, when you get to be part of Exodus End.”

Roux chanced a glance at Tamara and was relieved to note she had vanished. She turned her gaze on Steve, who was staring at the ground, his jaw flexing as he clenched his teeth. Roux hadn’t been oblivious to Tamara’s tirade about making Steve’s life miserable in retaliation for whatever he’d done to her; there had been something between them that Roux didn’t know about. He needed to come completely clean about his involvement with Tamara.

“There’s this electrifying connection between you all,” Reagan gushed on. “It’s hard to describe and impossible to replicate.”

“I’ll trade you,” Azura said, but Roux knew she was only teasing. For one thing, Azura wouldn’t be able to survive without Sage by her side.

Reagan squeezed Azura’s arm. “I wouldn’t let you.”

Roux wondered what it must be like to be an outsider in a band with a long history. Reagan must feel isolated, and not just because she was a woman in a male-dominated profession, but because she had no history with her band. It hadn’t occurred to Roux until that moment that the insanely talented guitarist might be experiencing something besides utter jubilation as a temporary member of a band as famous and successful as Exodus End.

“I’m insanely jealous,” Reagan added. “Baroquen is going to be huge. As much as I despise Sam, I have to admit he was right.” She stuck her tongue out and gagged. “Never thought those words would cross my lips.”

Another non-fan of Sam’s. They were sure adding up. Did anyone like him?

“Uh,” the stagehand interrupted again. “I really need you to clear the area.”

“Sorry!” Reagan said, looping one arm through Azura’s and the other through Sage’s. “I was so busy fangirling, I forgot we were heading to a party.”

“What party?” Azura asked.

“The first one we can crash,” Reagan said.

Roux smiled, loving that her sisters had found a kindred guitar-chick spirit in Reagan Elliot.

“If she figured out who Roux is . . .”

Roux perked up her ears at Iona’s use of her name.

“. . . it’s only a matter of time before she figures out who I am,” Iona said to Kyle.

“I don’t care anymore,” Kyle said. “I’m tired of hiding. Besides, I’m no longer on the show, and it’s been three seasons since you competed. Everyone has forgotten the both of us.”

Roux followed them away from the stage, very conscious that Steve wasn’t beside her. She wasn’t even sure that he was behind them.

“Well, yeah,” Iona said, “until the entire scandal is revealed.”

“No one will be scandalized.” Kyle turned to Roux. His blue eyes appeared strikingly bright in contrast to his jet-black hair. “Are you scandalized?”

“Completely.” Roux grinned to let him know she was being sarcastic.

Iona scratched beneath her ear. “I guess we could use the outing of our relationship to divert attention from Roux.”

“I honestly don’t care if I’m found out,” Roux said. “And I don’t care if people think I had to screw some famous drummer to get my band its big break. It isn’t true, so I don’t care what they think!”

Iona wrapped an arm around her shoulders and spoke to her in a low voice. “I know you’re upset by that reporter following you around today, but we threw her off your trail again. She won’t keep bothering you. You’ll get plenty of private time with the guy in question. Just be patient.”

“You don’t get it at all,” Roux said. “I don’t want private time. I want blatant PDA. I want to hold his hand and kiss him and not have to worry if someone might be watching.”

Iona glanced around. “Shh. Someone will hear you.”

“Good!”

“This could be bad for Steve too,” Kyle said. “In today’s climate, a lot of men in positions of power are getting into trouble for coercing women.”

“He didn’t coerce me. He never coerced me.”

“But if the tabloids take that particular slant—”

“I’ll deny it all.”

“Just think about what you are doing before you do something rash, Roux,” Iona advised. “Once you go public, you can’t take it back.”

Roux rubbed her forehead. Was she being rash because she was fed up? She wasn’t sure. She didn’t want to regret any part of her relationship with Steve. But at that moment, her only regret was having to hide how she felt about him. She stopped and turned, scanning the crowd behind her, hoping that he’d heard he

r stand up for them. She smiled when she saw that he’d stopped quite a ways back. He was tall, so easy to spot in a crowd. For some reason he didn’t look too happy. Her smile faltered when she saw who he was scowling at. What the fuck was Sam Baily doing in England?

Twenty-Seven

“Christ on a cracker,” Steve grumbled under his breath. What was Sam Baily doing there? Their manager never followed them on European tours. It was too difficult for him to fuck up their lives if he was overseas and far from the security of his embezzled-funds-sponsored office.

“Have you seen Max?” Sam asked, as if he had a right to talk to anyone in the band.

Steve was ready to tell Sam to fuck himself with a rusty chainsaw, but he remembered just in time that Sam was clueless that they knew he’d been stealing from Exodus End for years. Not that Steve’s animosity was anything new. Sam probably expected such insults.

“He was around here earlier,” Steve said, clenching his hands into fists.

“I was right about Baroquen,” Sam said with a level of smugness only the most pompous of assholes could achieve. “Would you go round them up and tell them that a tent has been erected in front of the main stage entrance for them to sign more forearm autographs? Brilliant idea. Absolutely brilliant.”

“Do I look like a fucking errand boy?”

Sam smirked. “You look like a man who wouldn’t want Katherine Roux Williams to get hurt because she’s been sleeping with the likes of you.”

Steve’s heart skipped a beat. How could Sam know . . . Steve mentally slapped his own forehead. How could Sam not know? He probably knew her social security number by heart and what her blood pressure had read at her last checkup.

“You wouldn’t hurt her just to piss me off,” Steve said.

“I wouldn’t?” Sam chuckled, and then a shrewd and uncompromising mask slid over his aging features. “Round them up. They have work to do. And if you see Max, tell him I’m looking for him.”