Page 25 of The Rogues

It was a disaster, and now Raven is here, smirking like she’s won a lifetime lottery.

“What the hell are they doing here?” I hiss at Cleo.

“They texted me saying they were in town. They came to the concert, to support us,” she says, already defensive. She knows how I feel about Raven, but we haven’t spoken about it in a long time, or the reason why. Her relationship with the lead singer always felt off-limits to me after the first few times I expressed concern and kept getting shut down. It’s like a stain between us that has never been fully scrubbed clean.

Nicola runs over first, hugging the guitarist Rian, her long black hair braided down to her waist. They beam at each other. I’m happy for the reunion, but I can’t seem to crack a smile, the overwhelming frustration at Raven’s presence overriding the joy it is to see the rest of them.

They walk closer, and Raven is terrifying as ever, her alpha scent strong and intimidating in the space between them. She looks down at me with her nose scrunched, just like she always has, before turning to Cleo and pecking her lips, asserting her dominance and showing me my place.

I’m not sure what she thinks about me. She definitely thinks of me as the dirt beneath her shoe, but I’m not sure why. I used to think it was because of how close Cleo and I were. As someone building a romantic connection with her, she might have seen me as a nuisance to their budding relationship. Maybe she also thought my disdain for her stemmed from jealousy. Unfortunately, I am painfully straight, so Cleo has always been a sister to me.

But now, it’s obvious. Raven doesn’t like that I can see her for who she is: a rotten, narcissistic alpha that has no business corrupting my best friend. She prides herself on camouflaging her prowess, and I have never been able to see the facade she projects, just the tigress hiding underneath, waiting for her next kill.

Her scent hits me, and it’s just as obnoxious as it’s always been. If I had to describe it, I would say it resembles an atomic bomb explosion. That may seem dramatic, but that’s the only accurate way I can explain it. It’s harsh, something that feels like a torpedo heading straight toward your chest and exploding in a fiery combustion.

Not bad, necessarily—I wouldn’t even say it makes my nose wrinkle in disgust—it’s just weird. Something you would only find at a chemical plant. Or an arsonist’s hideaway.

“Ready to go, Leo?” she asks, and my frown gets more pronounced, disgusted by the nickname.

Cleo must not hate it because she cheeses, giving a firm nod before turning to me. “Are you still coming?”

I am so angry, so frustrated, that I can’t even formulate a response.

But I don’t want to ruin their night, so I hold my tongue. “No, I’m tired. I’ll probably head back.”

If my best friend—who used to notice every tiny micro-detail about me—notices my change in mood, she doesn’t say anything. She just nods and doesn’t look back as the entire group heads out.

Lark steps up beside me, her honeysuckle scent easing my worries as she grabs my hand. “I’ll look after her,” she reassures me, squeezing my flesh in hers.

“And call Cameron to shadow you,” I tell her, referring to our bodyguard that we don’t usually use anymore, but my anxiety calls for it, and by the look in Lark’s eyes, she agrees.

“I will.” She nods and gives me a soft expression, and it’s like a whole conversation passes between us.

Raven’s dangerous.

I know.

Please don’t let her get out of control.

I won’t.

She lets go and jogs to catch up with them, leaving me to stand alone in this unfamiliar lobby, my feet filled with lead. Ten, fifteen minutes must go by with me standing there in distress, but then all the smells from my friends dissipate, and I snap out of the stupor. With a heavy sigh, I turn to the elevators, hoping I can just go to sleep and forget this ever happened.

The trudge back to my room is difficult. Every step away from the situation with Cleo is excruciating. Knowing she is with Raven and that there is nothing I can do is extremely frustrating.

Still, I can’t change my mind. All I would do is make things weird because of the animosity between the singer of Scarlet Decay and me. The only thing I can do is go back to my room, put on a relaxing movie, and hope everything is going to be okay.

Lark is with them, I remind myself. If Raven steps out of line, Lark will push her right back into it. She won’t let her hurt Cleo anymore than she already has.

It’s eerily quiet as I enter the hotel room, the lock clicking into place behind me. The gorgeous view of the night sky from the floor-to-ceiling windows only helps a little bit, because as soon as I look down to the nightlife below, my worries come tumbling back.

I find my bag that the roadies have transferred, as well as my acoustic guitar, and sit down on the uncomfortable sofa. The only thing that really helps when I get this locked on something is writing, and I have a lot that I can spill onto the pages right now. Despite what our production team thinks, I still think our more vulnerable tracks are our best. The ones that can pull a listener in, make them relate to us. That’s why I do this, not for any unrealistic notion of fame, but for other girls out there to know that they are not alone in their feelings, that instead, they can get through the worst of them and potentially see the brighter picture on the other side.

The lyrics flow naturally as I get started, holding nothing back since no one is around to criticize me. It helps instantly, like the more I physically write down my anguish, the less it is present in my body.

It’s always been this way for me, ever since we started this little venture in high school and had to do all of the nitty-gritty stuff ourselves. Nicola and Lark were better at creating melodies, but Cleo and I loved to put together word sequences. Creating poetry to our friends’ music was our favorite pastime. We spent more time in my room doing that than any kind of extracurricular or partying our senior year, and it’s worked out for us in the long run.

My stomach rumbles after I finish drafting the second verse. It was such a long, stressful day, and performing takes a lot of energy out of me. I go to the counter and look around for the room service menu, preparing to get something quick, when there’s a knock on the door.