Page 94 of Unleashed By Eden

She glances up, her eyes finding mine. There’s the smallest pause, then Cindy offers a razor-edged smile, daring me to react. She’s testing whether she still has access to the old buttons she used to push for sport.

I don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Not even a twitch.

Instead, as they pass me, I hitch the strap of my backpack higher on my shoulder and follow them into the private lounge. As soon as I spot Megan digging through her satchel, I drift toward her.

“What’s the deal with her?” I ask under my breath, keeping my eyes on Megan’s bag instead of the parasite across the room.

Megan exhales through her nose. “Xander invited her to Milan,” she says, voice low. “And, from what I’ve heard, the rest of the tour, too.”

I blink. “You’re kidding.”

“Oh, I wish.” She frowns. “They’ve been hooking up all week. I thought you knew.”

A laugh pushes out of me, thin and humorless. “I thought I’d finally seen the last of her.” I shake my head lightly. “Apparently, she’s glitter. You think you’ve got it all, and then it shows up in the weirdest places a year later and you have no idea how it got there.”

Megan splutters before she can stop herself. “That is . . . disturbingly accurate.”

Cindy doesn’t live rent-free in my head anymore. I moved her out the second she walked away from our showdown. She can claw at the windows all she wants; she’s not getting back in. In fact, I should probably thank her. Being shoved to the outside of everything as a kid taught me how to watch. How to read people and catch the moments everyone else misses. That’s how Vega Wolfe was born.

If only Cindy knew.

But if Xander wants to be an idiot, that’s on him. She can trail the tour and hang off his side, for all I care. If she wants to fuck half the crew and orbit the band for the last three cities, fine.

As long as she keeps her distance from me, she’s not my problem.

Chapter twenty-six

Carter

The Milan crowd is still losing their minds when I slide into the last chord. The whole stadium shakes alive, consuming us whole.

Lights drop.

I jog offstage and sling my guitar at the tech, sweat running down my face, pulse still synced to the addictive thump of Kai’s kick drum.

The backstage hallway is its usual clusterfuck: security barking at the groupies for space, crew dragging cases, cables underfoot, Mika and Dave trying to get their shots without being trampled, Violet somewhere in the swirl catching her angles. Someone swings a towel at my head; I snag it one-handed and loop it around my neck, not breaking my stride.

Because I’ve already seen them.

My people.

My mouth goes wide. “About time you assholes showed up!” I roar, barreling toward them. “I’m disgusting and I don’t give a shit, get in here.”

Zac gets grabbed first, whether he wants it or not. Then Cora, round and glowing and way too pregnant to be on her feet in this chaos, then Hailee, laughing while I haul her in. All of them get the full rock star treatment: sweat, heat, leftover stage buzz still crawling over my skin.

Chloe hangs back a little, hands tucked into shorts.

I snag her wrist and tug. “Oh no. None of that. Get over here.”

She makes this horrified yet delighted sound when I wrap her up in a sweaty hug, and it pulls a laugh out of me that feels too big for my chest.

When I let her go, I jab a finger her way. “You. You’re the one who made Dr. Doom stop scowling at the world.”

She blushes all the way up to her hairline. “That’s . . . highly debatable.”

“Nope.” I glance at Zac. He looks down, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know him. I saw him before you. I see him now. Night and day. You pulled him back from the deep end.”

Her eyes shine, lips parting.