Page 137 of Rebel

“If you have any issues, come see me, man.” I clap him on the shoulder and walk away to find the others and Gill.

I’m just passing the stage when my phone rings. A picture of Beck sticking out her tongue flashes on my screen. “Hi, beautiful, missing me?” I purr, but then I stop in my tracks.

“I need you now,” she says down the phone, panic in her voice.

“On my way, baby.”

All thoughts of Gill disappear, and I grab Chase and Kolt as we race back to the hotel. I almost break down her door to get in. I find her in nothing but a towel, her face pale as she points at her bed.

I follow her horrified look, my face contorting when I see what’s been left.

It’s written in lipstick above the bed. “Dead Ringer, the dead part, that’s for sure.”

Her lipstick is tossed on the bed, along with some pictures of her with us. I pick them up with a frown as Kolton holds her close. “They weren’t there when I went into the bathroom. That means someone came into my room while I was in the bath—in the fucking bath—and I didn’t have a clue!” she screams hysterically, and I don’t blame her.

This is fucked up, but more than that, it’s a clear threat.

Who the fuck is doing this?

Turning away, I focus on our girl since she’s our priority. “Move her stuff to our room. I’ll call hotel security and the label.”

“Come on, baby.” Kolt wraps her in his coat and leads her to our room while Chase grabs her stuff. When she’s out of earshot, he turns to me.

“What the fuck is going on, man?”

“I don’t know,” I mutter as I grab my phone, “but we are going to find out.”

“You think this shit happened to her sister?” He frowns.

“Maybe. It would make sense after hearing the tapes,” I admit, hating that she was being targeted like this and we didn’t know.

“So fucked,” Chase snaps.

I couldn’t agree more.

SIXTY-TWO

I’m still shaken, but I’m determined not to let whoever it is win. That’s what they want. I mean, who the fuck writes a serial killer message like that? The hotel is adamant nobody but housekeeping went in, and they are questioning their staff. The label is disgusted, and they keep calling me to check in, but I’m not scared. I’m pissed.

Did they do this to my sister?

When I find them, I’m going to torture them like they tortured her.

We are prepping for night two in this venue when the door to the green room opens. It’s a few hours before the show, so I expect Sanctuary or Rachel, but I blink at the couple in the doorway. The woman is older but severely put together. Her hair is perfectly coiffed, not a stray blonde hair out of place, and it’s so tightly pulled back, it drags her familiar eyes up. Her makeup is expertly applied, and she has on fucking pearls and a cardigan. I glance at the man at her side, who’s slightly older. He has graying hair and is wearing a suit.

Who the fuck are they?

“Hi, can I help you?” I ask, unsure.

The woman sniffs, looking around, but before she can speak, Chase stands. “Mother? Father?”

I swing my gaze to him and back to then, my eyes wide. These are his parents? Shit, that’s why her eyes look familiar. They stare back at me every day, but where hers are cold and dead, his are warm and filled with life.

“What are you doing here?” Chase asks, his arms crossed, and he doesn’t seem happy at all.

“That’s not a nice way to greet your parents,” the woman snaps, clearly expecting him to bow to her cold tone.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mother. Let me try again . . . What the fuck are you doing here?” he retorts.

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