Page 6 of Captured By Fate

I flash that one a devilish grin. She’s hot. I wouldn’t be opposed to giving her a behind the stage tour later on. I’ve seen her a few times. I think her name is Celeste.

I’ve inquired about her more than once, come to think of it. But every time I get the idea in my head to give her a backstage pass, I get sidetracked. Something breaks, something blows up. Someone dies. It’s always something.

I wink back before searching the crowd one more time. I’m always looking for deception, for someone or something that shouldn’t be here.

And that’s exactly what I find a few feet away from Celeste. Two women I’ve never seen in my life are leaning over the balcony watching one of the motorcyclists fuck with a bolt on his Kawasaki.

One elbows the other and gestures to me. They know I’ve spotted them now, and the moment the short haired woman meets my gaze, she turns subtlety with her friend in tow and walks away.

“Shit.”

I move quickly, eager for this chase. I’m not sure who they are, but I’m going to catch them and I’m going to find out. They’re not allowed here. I hop over the first balcony and move fluidly through the crowd of people.

Some pat me on the back, others try to talk to me, but I’m on a mission. I don’t have time for idle chatter. I shove past them and fling open the emergency exit that leads to the balcony above. This stairwell will be empty and it’ll get me up there quicker.

A moment later, I tug open the door to the second balcony. This level is even more cluttered with bodies. You can see better from up here. People pay more to be on the second and third levels.

My height gives me a major advantage. I scan the crowd. The woman with the short hair had on a hot pink tank top. That’s what I look for and it takes me a solid two minutes to find her.

I move toward the color. I see both women glance back. Both beautiful, breathtakingly so, but both are unwelcome in my domain.

They see me chasing them and they pick up their pace, eager to get to the doors that will lead them downstairs. Perfect.

That’s exactly where I want them to go. My office is downstairs and the moment I get my hands around one of them it’s over.

How the hell did they get in here? Someone must have let them in. They must have fooled someone. My mind filters through the list of people in charge of admission. There’s no way anyone would let them in.

Not unless they came with someone who’s a regular. And I can’t imagine who would be dumb enough to let strangers enter our midsts.

Then again, women are easily bought. For all we know, they could have paid someone. Anger washes over me as I chase them through the crowd.

They’re my prey and I’m not about to let them get away.

4

JACKSON

Iweave my way through the dense crowds, keeping my eyes locked on the two women up ahead.

I need to catch up to them before they disappear into the chaos. Sweat drips down my forehead as I push forward, gently nudging past men with beer guts spilling out of their shirts and women in dresses far too tight for their figures.

The smells of dirt, gasoline, and booze fill my nose. It's hard to breathe with all this dust swirling in the air. My heart pounds as I strain to keep that woman’s bright tank top in view. They're staying close together, holding hands so as not to be separated, but now, one of them pushes the other away and they split, heading in opposite directions.

I wish I could call out to them over the roar of engines and blaring rock music, but I can’t. They wouldn’t be able to hear me, anyway. I have to maintain the element of surprise. So I weave and duck as quickly as I can, bouncing between makeshift beer stands and flimsy folding chairs. The women glance back, just as a group of leather-clad bikers hop over the railing and separate me from my prey.

My eyes lock onto the shorter woman. I don't know her name yet, but I'm focused solely on her bright pink top standing out in this sea of denim and leather. I weave through a maze of onlookers and race equipment, the world around me blurring away.

All I see is the woman’s short, black hair bouncing as she moves swiftly through the crowd a few yards ahead of me. My focus narrows like a sniper zeroing in on a target. I'm forced to bump shoulders with a few grumbling fans, but I barely register their existence, so intent on my pursuit of this woman.

She scurries around a trailer loaded with spare motorcycle parts, and I deftly slide through the narrow gap behind it.There she is, at the end of a corridor, panting hard, trapped. There's nowhere to go. It's a dead-end.

An anticipatory shiver ripples down my spine as I saunter towards her, my boots crunching on the sparse gravel beneath. She presses herself against the cold metal of the race trailer, her chest heaving as if trying to gulp in all the air she could.

I watch as beads of sweat travel down her heart-shaped face, smudging her kohl-lined eyes. Her black cherry lips are parted in alarm - a surprised doe caught in headlights.

She raises her chin defiantly, though I can see her eyes bely her bravado – they flicker with apprehension. "Stay...stay back," she warns, her voice shaking but there’s an undeniably ferocious edge to it.

I stop a few steps away from her, a corner of my mouth twitching upward in amusement. Her anger intrigues me. "Why? Are you scared?"

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