Page 23 of Never Forget

The detective glances at one of the other agents standing near Cory.

“It was a rather rudimentary device. However, it was still dangerous. Had it functioned as intended, it’s likely that anyone standing within ten to twenty feet would have been significantly injured or worse, not to mention the fires, structural damage, or electrical issues that could have occurred.”

Will curses under his breath. Everyone else stays silent, looking around at each other uncertainly.

I’m guessing everyone else is thinking what I’m thinking. This wasn’t just some bullshit threat. This wasn’t someone just trying to scare us.

Ari shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Somebody actually wanted to blow us up?”

The agent doesn’t answer immediately, which is answer enough.

“Yes,” the detective answers plainly. “And as the device was packaged and addressed to the band as a whole, there is a very credible threat against all of you. We will be looking into security footage and questioning every hotel employee to find out how the assailant accessed the floor. We’ll also interview every member of your team to make sure we have a clear picture of the events of the night. Until we figure out who the assailant is, I believe it’s best for you all to lie low.”

Blake leans forward, placing both of his hands on the table. “What concerns me most is that not only did the bomber know which hotel we were at, but they knew which floor. Which means they had to have some kind of inside help.”

Cory steps forward. “He’s right. We’ve been tightening procedures for months because of the harassment campaigns and threats. We don’t announce our itineraries and are careful not to release information about where the band is staying. We take great pains to enter through back entrances, use aliases to cover our tracks. Not even the staff have had any confirmation of who we are. Access to the floor was restricted, so finding out who got that far is important, but there’s more to it than that⁠—”

“How did they find out where we were staying in the first place?” Blake finishes for him.

The detectives and agents chatter back and forth, but I watch the subtle change in Cory’s demeanor. I notice the way he looks at Blake. He looks worried.

A knot forms in my stomach.

We’ve gotten used to a certain level of threat. Angry emails, protestors, people showing up where they shouldn’t. Enough that we’ve all gotten used to checking over our shoulders. The band and the main security team have resorted to covering our faces, breaking into smaller groups, and using outside vetted security to avoid being noticed. Whatever it takes to protect the guys from the scrutiny and threats that are thrown at them constantly.

It never occurred to me that the threat could be closer than we ever thought. That the threat wasn’t the bomb itself or even the bomber.

The threat is whoever helped them find us.

Someone on the inside.

SIX

NAZ

Stepping off the plane and onto the tarmac, I pull the brim of my cap lower, grateful for the late afternoon sun hanging low enough in the sky to throw long shadows across the private terminal. There’s rarely anyone hanging around the private airfield except pilots and stuffy rich dudes, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

The hat alone probably isn’t enough to hide my identity, but paired with the lightweight jacket I have zipped halfway to my chin despite the North Carolina humidity, it should do. I’m at least less recognizable. Less exposed.

It’s an odd position to be in, having to hide my identity like this. Even through the worst of the negative publicity lately, I haven’t really changed my habits. While everyone else was lying low, I still went out in public when I needed to. Sure, paparazzi followed me and social media apparently loves making memes out of me and Scott. The most common is taking his expressions out of context and twisting them to make it look like he’s a lovesick puppy. He thinks it’s hilarious, thankfully. I usually can’t be bothered by what the public thinks of me. That’s their problem, not mine.

Except now it’s different. Now it feels like we’re being hunted.

I still can’t believe that bomb was real. That someone actually wanted to hurt us. To kill us, even.

We’ve gotten death threats before, people have burned effigies of us or our merch, and we’ve been getting more than our fair share of protestors at our concerts and outside the record label headquarters and recording studios. I’d be lying if the sudden increase in that kind of behavior hasn’t concerned me, but for the most part I’ve been able to move on with my life. Haters gonna hate and all that.

Now we’re all being sent into hiding. Jesse and his boyfriend are on a yacht somewhere in the middle of the ocean, making the most of their time off before Luc starts training camp. Will and Ari are in California, staying at a remote beach house owned by Alonso Carter, a movie star friend/ex-boyfriend of Ari’s. I thought about hiding in plain sight in New York like I normally do, but after the excitement of the last week, I need some major quiet time and decided to play it safe.

The homestead I’m building outside of Raleigh is far outside the city limits, a good thirty-five minutes from the nearest neighborhood or grocery store. It’s off the beaten path, so even the construction isn’t likely to be noticed, and even if it was, there’s nothing to tie my name to the property. Officially, the land belongs to a holding company that my grandparent’s lawyer helped me set up, owned by a trust for an added layer of privacy. Every permit, tax bill, and utility account points back to a lawyer’s office in Raleigh. I suppose someone determined enough could probably untangle the trail eventually, but considering not even the contractors know who they’re building for, it’s unlikely anyone is going to find me out there.

That doesn’t stop me from pulling my collar up higher to cover my tattoos and darting my eyes around to see if anyone is watching as I make my way to the car idling with a driver holding my alias name.

“Mr. Rio?”

I nod to the waiting driver and let him take my duffle bag to the trunk, slipping into the back seat. While the driver attempts idle chitchat, I find myself checking the road behind us frequently to see if we’re being followed. Not that I think anyone is out to get me personally, but it’s important to me that “the compound”, as I’ve been calling it, remains undiscovered. Not just for my privacy, but because my grandparents will be living there and I don’t want there to be any chance that their privacy or safety is compromised. I can’t even imagine the fuss they’d make if some photographers or news vans showed up at their door.

If they ever move in, that is. Their house has been finished for months, and they keep making excuses not to move in.