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Christian pulls up next with Arya and then we’re all lost to the chaos, unloading gear while golf carts and vendors zoom by. Someone hands me a bundle of badges, another throws a checklist at Salem. I lift a ramp off the trailer while Taylor and Christian get the bikes. Devon curses under his breath as he drags a toolbox behind him.

I don't think he's supposed to lift anything heavy, but I'm not his keeper. Arya seems to ignore him as well, keeping her back turned. Oddly enough, not even Christian acknowledges his presence.

No one's rehearsed in days. Half the group can’t even look each other in the eye. By sheer force of necessity, though, we work together and set everything up. Just like we've been doing all month.

But as I drag our gear to the performance area and pretend I’m still part of this team, I can feel the tension simmering in the air.

Something’s going to crack. And soon.

I just don't know if we’ll survive the fallout when it does.

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

Salem

The stage lights pulse red and violet as Symbiotic thrashes through another screaming chorus, smoke cannons blowing plumes of fog across the grounds. People are losing their minds, the crowd bobbing up and down like waves crashing to the shore.

The band isn't bad, to be honest. I like their sound—heavy bass drops combined with synth melodies from the keyboardist. Their drummer is badass, too, shrieking into the mic with her ripped and bloodied dress clinging to her body. This kind of vibe should be right up my alley, but… I’m just not feeling it.

Maybe I should be. This was the whole reason we booked the stunt show at a music festival, after all. Not only are Taylor and Christian's favorite bands playing all four days, but so are mine. Big-name headliners equal a massive turnout, which means viral exposure for the Twins of Terror.

Yet I'm skirting along the edge, snapping photos of Tay and Christian in the middle of the pit, slightly jealous of the joy on their faces. They could hardly get through their performance tonight, too excited to see Symbiotic play.

I just feel… numb. All the anger and resentment fizzled out of me after I kicked Devon’s ass. He's currently pouting in the RV because his concussed head can't take the loud music, and even though I'm definitely satisfied about that, there's a pit of nothingness in my chest when I think about him and Logan. Blank space. A void. Like my heart built a cage around it and nailed up a "keep-out" sign, refusing to let anything in.

Arya appears beside me, the glitter under her eyes catching like a disco ball as she wraps her glowstick-covered arms around my shoulders. “No more work, Sally Mally. Come sing karaoke with me.”

“Not in the mood,” I mutter, wiping moisture from the back of my neck. She's definitely dressed to party in her neon crop top and gauzy skirt. Meanwhile, I'm sweating my ass off in my usual flannel. I should have borrowed some of her clothes.

She snatches my hand with an eye roll. “Come on, then. Let’s go do weird shit.”

I let her pull me away into a swirling maze of food trucks and art booths. We pass a guy on stilts wearing a birdcage over his head and a woman doing aerial silk above a stand selling tie-dyed condoms. Arya buys a handful of glow in the dark ones, giggling about using them on Christian.

“So, what's up with you two and Dev?” I ask, inspecting a shelf of giant dick-shaped keychains. “You've both been ignoring him.”

She scoffs as we move on to the next booth. “They got into a fight back in Indianapolis, so it’s not really a thing anymore. Christian said we’re done with him.”

“What was the fight about?”

“I think Devon likes the attention,” she answers vaguely, studying a table of flowered paintings that look suspiciously like vaginas. “From both of us. From everyone, honestly. He thrives on it.”

“And you don't?”

Her palm connects with my shoulder playfully. “I do, which is why we were both too much for Christian to handle. But it’s not my fault that I'm the baby of the family and my daddy treated me like a princess. Buy this pussy flower for me?”

She holds up a drawing of a weeping tulip with a pierced petal, and I snort as I hand the artist a twenty-dollar bill. “Am I your sugar momma now?”

“Is sugar bestie a thing?”

“Certainly feels like it.” Glancing back toward the stage in the distance, I can't help but wonder where Logan is right now. Is he hanging with Huck and having a good time? Part of me hopes he's miserable.

“Devon’s messy,” Arya continues quietly. “But so is everyone else lately. You included.”

My lips twist grimly. “Maybe knocking out his back teeth wasn’t the best way to go about things.”

A cackle bursts from her mouth. “You know, he deserved it. You can't trash-talk every person you see and expect no consequences. Someone was bound to put him in his place sooner or later.”