1
TRINITY
I’d seen some crazy shit in my life, especially in my career, but watching grown men stripping as they tried to barrel their way through security was a new one for me. The fact that they were all shit-faced, on top of the sight of the most beautiful woman they’d ever set eyes on—a woman who had the voice of a siren, calling them all to their doom, tempting them with what they craved more than food or drink or even oxygen—was enough to cause bedlam.
I stood off to the side, watching as my security team tried to keep the masses away from the stage. Despite the wall of fifteen well-trained men, most of whom were ex-military, as well as the metal fences that were supposed to be an added precaution, men were slipping past, charging the stage, and scaring the fuck out of Roanna Sinclair as she performed onstage with her band, the Blonde Bombshells.
“Fuck this shit,” Sin, Roanna’s husband and Tainted Knights’ bassist, snarled from beside me. He stepped out onto the stage, pushing the first man to climb onstage so hard, he dropped with a thud that could be heard over the music and the roars of the men trying to get to their prey—Roanna.
Numbly, I wondered if that was going to be lawsuit number one of the night—or the first of many I could press charges against for trying to assault my rockers. With all the phones out, capturing the craziness as it unfolded from the nosebleed seats, I figured it could go either direction. It would all depend on how the person edited the video. Either way, it was going to end up on social media, YouTube, the local news, and, within the next twenty-four hours, on the entertainment news channels back in the States.
Unless I made a call and had Mieke take all that shit down.
With that in mind, I quickly shot her a text, warning her that she was about to earn every penny she was paid for keeping a long list of rock stars off the internet and out of trouble. I almost felt sorry for her, but compared to what I was dealing with, her job was a casual walk in the park. Mine was more of a “run for your life, and save who you can along the way.”
Just one more juicy moment I could add to my memoirs if I ever retired from the business.
Another man got as far as standing up once he pulled himself onto the stage, but Sin tackled him, causing the drunken idiot to slam his head onto the metal grating. I wasn’t sure if that was what knocked him out, or if it was the punch to the face Sin gave him when he pushed to his knees. Sin was a beast on a good day. Put his wife or child in harm’s way, and he became a monster even the devil would fear.
The rocker’s chest rose and fell with his rage as he stomped over to London, the Blonde’s bassist, and took her guitar from her. In an act that belied his wrath, he gently placed her behind him, making sure she was okay before he turned back to the other men who had gotten onstage. She didn’t put up a fight, just stepped back out of his way while he used the bass like a baseball bat and swung at the next dumbass who got past security.
Heart pounding, I stood there, feeling helpless. Normally, I had things under control. I’d been trained by the best of the best, and nothing could faze me. But this… This was uncharted territory. The majority of the bands I managed on tour were male. Kin St. Charles and the Blondes were only two of the handful of female rockers on the roster. This was the first time I’d ever been on tour with them personally. Typically, Amara Graves dealt with the Tainted Knights, Blonde Bombshells, and Kin. But she was having a difficult pregnancy, and right before Christmas, it was decided I would take her place while she stayed home and rested.
Cash Graves hadn’t wanted to come, but his wife had made him, agreeing only under the condition that Amara and their daughter stayed with Amara’s best friend, Riley, and her husband, Nate. Knowing they were in good hands, because Riley would have killed for both Amara and Charlotte, Cash had been able to relax on the plane ride over. Relaxed, but still kind of a grouch.
I’d thought dealing with a grumpy rocker would be the worst part of the eight weeks on this tour.
Apparently, I was wrong.
Fuck.
This was only the first stop on the European tour, and it was already apparent we weren’t prepared to protect Roanna while she was onstage. I’d known it was going to be chaotic when it came to her, but I hadn’t imagined it would be this crazy.
Swallowing my anxiety, I let Jace St. Charles urge me off the side of the stage even as I lifted my phone to my ear. Behind me, the other Tainted Knights rushed out to help—to protect the Blondes, to have their bandbrother’s back. Roadies ran past us so they could add extra muscle, but from the yelling that didn’t get any less loud with each step Jace rushed me to take, nothing was helping.
I didn’t want to call my mom or Aunt Emmie. They’d entrusted me to handle this tour as professionally and effortlessly as either of them would have done. As they had trained Amara for—trained me for. My mom had been so proud when Aunt Emmie had told me I was going to manage this tour, and disappointing either of them was the last thing I wanted to do.
But I wasn’t stupid enough to deny I needed help.
“Sup, Trin,” Barrick’s voice greeted me.
“I need more security!” I shouted into the phone so he could hear me over the noise surrounding me.
“I don’t have more to give you,” he reminded me, sounding bored, unaware of just how much trouble I was in—how much he would be in too if he didn’t get me the manpower I desperately needed. “All my men are already on other tours or handling jobs for private security clients.”
“Unacceptable,” I snapped as my brother’s best friend guided me away from the danger. I should have been back onstage, trying to help. But all that would have accomplished would be to cause the security we did have more trouble, because they would have to worry about me as well as the band onstage. “Roanna isn’t protected enough. I need an army just for her. They nearly got to her, Barrick.”
For all I knew, they could have already gotten to her. But if that happened, I knew I’d have to call Aunt Emmie for sure, because Sin would kill anyone who touched her. Then it wouldn’t be a lawsuit I needed to worry about, but murder charges. In a foreign country, where I didn’t even know the penalties for murder—even if it was in self-defense.
“Fuck,” Barrick muttered. “Where’s Brandon? Isn’t he keeping you all safe?”
“Brandon is doing everything he can, but there isn’t enough security staff to keep the masses from attacking the stage to get to Roanna. They’re too drunk by the time she goes on, and you know how people react when she takes the stage.”
It was as if the idiots had never seen a beautiful woman before. That, mixed with her amazing voice, added to their already inebriated state, and it was a recipe for the kind of shitstorm I’d just run from.
Barrick grunted. “Okay. Let me see what I can do. I might have a solution.”
“Anything is better than what I’m currently dealing with,” I told him, nearly tripping over a cord because the roadies had left things lying around when they’d rushed out to help Sin and the other Tainted Knights protect the Blondes. “Fans are still charging the stage. If this happens again, I’m going to have to cancel this tour because I won’t let them go out there unless they are protected.”