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Suddenly, the clamor of the party wrapped around me like a suffocating embrace. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol, the harsh lighting doing nothing to hide the depravity around us from Remi, as she struggled to maintain her aura of composure and professionalism.
“Tell me, Ghost,” Remi began, her eyes locked onto mine, as if trying to physically reset our relationship. “What sparked your interest in music?”
“Ah,” I smirked, relishing the opportunity to ruffle her feathers. “You mean what inspired my descent into this chaos?” I gestured to the party-goers around us, their bodies undulating to the pounding bass of the music.
She flipped open her notebook and slid the pen out of its holder. “Chaos ... Interesting choice of words,” she murmured, scribbling something down in her notepad. “So, would you say music is an escape for you?”
“Perhaps,” I replied, inching closer to her. “Or maybe it’s the only way I can truly express myself.” I reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. It was all too easy.
“Right.” she bit her bottom lip. Professionalism seemed to be slipping from her grasp. “What about your past? Does that influence your music at all?”
“Ah, now we’re getting personal,” I said, watching her struggle to maintain control. “Yes, my past affects my music. It’s shaped who I am today.”
“Can you elaborate on that?” she asked, eyes wide with anticipation.
“Isn’t that true of everybody? Doesn’t their past help form who they are?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous. “How about you? Has your past affected how you do your job?”
Her breath hitched, and I could see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. But she quickly regained her composure and replied, “I’m here to interview you, Ghost.”
“Of course,” I said, backing off for now. “Well, let’s just say that trauma has a way of changing a person.”
“Trauma?” she echoed, her pen poised above her notepad.
I flashed her a cryptic smile. “Let’s leave it at that for now,” I replied, enjoying the way her curiosity gnawed at her. There was something undeniably thrilling about keeping her hanging on my every word.
“Alright,” she said reluctantly, clearly wanting more but knowing better than to push too far. “Let’s talk about your band. How did Ghost Parker come together?”
“Destiny, perhaps,” I mused, allowing myself a moment of vulnerability. “We were all broken souls seeking solace in the chaos of music.”
Her professionalism was momentarily forgotten as she looked at me with newfound admiration. “Beautifully put,” she whispered.
“Thank you,” I replied, my voice laced with darkness. “But beauty often hides the most sinister secrets.”
Her eyes widened at my words, and for a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to become lost in their depths. A shiver ran down my spine, and I knew that this game of cat and mouse had only just begun.
As our conversation continued, I couldn’t help but feel my attraction to Remi intensify. There was something about her — her fiery spirit, her intellect, her determination — that drew me in like a moth to a flame. And as I looked into those deep brown eyes, I vowed to myself that I would break through her professional defenses before she left the tour.
There was no doubt that I wanted to fuck her as much as she wanted it, too. But more than that, I wanted to know her, to understand what made her tick. Because for the first time in a long while, I had found someone who challenged me, someone who made me feel alive.
And I wasn’t about to let that slip through my fingers.
Chapter 9
Remi
This was it. I was officially on tour with my rock band. Nothing could have prepared me for how surreal and exhilarating it would feel. If I’d gotten this revved up by the guys by watching from afar, I wondered what it would be like to meet them all, up close and personal. Especially Ghost.
From the moment I first clapped eyes on him, I’d been spellbound by Ghost. Standing in the wings, I watched Johnny ‘Ghost’ Parker on stage, completely captivated by his raw talent. The way he commanded the audience’s attention was nothing short of mesmerizing. With each note, his voice seemed to wrap around my heart, pulling me deeper under his spell. I couldn’t help but be reminded of Greyson, and how his own remarkable charisma had once pulled me in just as easily.
I had read online about his supposed mesmerizing personality, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality of Ghost. He seemed to absorb all the energy from his fans and project it back a hundredfold. His passion clung to him almost like a mystic energy vibrating around him. My breath quickened, and I shivered with amazement as I watched the remarkable performance; it was something that felt truly special.
Ghost held the microphone like it was an extension of himself, his lips brushing against it as he belted out lyrics that spoke of love, loss, and pain. The passion with which he sang was palpable, every word resonating deep within me. The raw emotion in his voice made my skin tingle and my breath catch in my throat.
Around me, crew members worked diligently, their faces bathed in the dim glow of the stage lights. But my focus never wavered from Ghost. His eyes, intense and piercing, seemed to search the crowd for something — or someone — unseen. It was as if he were calling out, demanding to be heard, to be understood.
His voice echoed through the arena, powerful and raw, sending shivers down my spine. Sweat dripped from his brow as he belted out every note with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. As the song reached its crescendo, Ghost threw his head back, a vein in his neck throbbing as he poured his soul into the final notes. The crowd roared their approval, but all I could hear was the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. At that moment, I knew I was in trouble. He was unlike anyone I’d ever encountered before, and the attraction I felt toward him both thrilled and terrified me.
My heart thumped wildly with excitement. It was only my first day on tour with Ghost and his band, and I was already entranced by his performance.
