Page 62 of Her Dark Angel

“Holy fuck indeed,” a woman’s voice says from behind me.

I turn on my heels to face the mystery woman. Gray hair hangs loosely around her thin shoulders and her brown eyes pierce into mine, holding me in place. Whoever this woman is, she means business, I can tell that much.

“Who are you?”

She steps beside me to look out at the rowdy crowd. Dark Angel is less than fifteen minutes away from taking the stage, so the fans are starting to grow restless. Beer bottles are being tossed across the mosh pit, and they have started a few chants for the band to come out to perform. I was worried for a second a fight might break out, but the security have done a great job at crowd control.

The woman folds her arms over her chest, the material of her dark blue suit jacket pulling slightly. “I can’t believe they actually did it.” She sounds surprised about the success of the last-minute show. “I mean, I always knew they could sell out a stadium like this given their success and popularity, but they just needed that extra push to get them here.” She turns to me, her red-painted lips curled up at the corners. “And that push was you.”

My brows shoot up in surprise. “Me?”

She nods. “Yes, you. If Nash hadn’t agreed to the contract your agencies conjured up, then we wouldn’t be here tonight.” The woman steps away from the curtain to stand in front of me, her presence looming like a dark rain cloud. “You see, Nash is… how do I explain it? He’s not very confident in his abilities, or himself, for that matter. He refuses to believe someone like him can have success and be loved by others, especially for his music.”

This is news to me. Well, mostly.

I knew Nash was feeling overwhelmed this week and on edge with tonight looming in the distance as he and the band formed a setlist and practiced every day to make sure they were ready for the gig.

I had no idea Nash doesn’t believe in himself and his abilities like everyone is led to believe through the media. I mean, I knew he was worried about selling out the show, but I at least thought he would have some confidence in himself and his talent.

“I had no idea,” I say slowly. “Nash comes across as confident and sometimes even arrogant, so to hear that he doesn’t believe in himself is news to me.”

The woman clicks her tongue and looks down at the dainty gold watch on her thin wrist. “Well, let’s just say that his past is the reason for that. But I’m sure with your help in this publicity stunt, you and the rest of the world will make him see his true potential. We just have to be patient.”

The woman doesn’t say anything else as she spins on her heels and walks down the corridor that leads to the green rooms, leaving me alone in the dimly lit area. I still don’t know who that was, but I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.

I left the green room earlier to give Nash some space and have been standing here ever since, watching the crowd of fans grow louder and rowdier with each passing second. He seemed stressed and anxious all afternoon, pacing the floor and running a hand through his curly strands. I figured giving him some time to be with just his bandmates and away from his fake girlfriend might do him some good.

Stop lying to yourself, my subconscious so graciously reminds me.

Okay, fine.

I had to get out of that damn room because I couldn’t stand to look at Nash for a second longer. Not because I was angry with him or anything like that. I had to leave because seeing him dressed in black jeans and a leather jacket with nothing underneath did things to my core that made me feel pathetic. A black bandana was wrapped around his head to keep his messy curls out of his face and his abs were on full display, along with the tattoos littering either side of his torso.

Seeing him dressed like that and knowing he was going to be stepping out on that stage to play to nearly a hundred thousand fans—some who probably traveled across the country to be here tonight—was too much for me to handle. My limbs tingled at the sight and my heart rate was out of control. I had to leave to get some fresh air before I said or did something that wasn’t part of our agreement.

It doesn’t help that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what happened between us in his shower. The details of that night have been consuming every waking moment and it’s driving me insane because I don’t know how to feel about it.

Instead of addressing it, I’m choosing to ignore those feelings because it’s easier.

Well, for now.

And now, here I am, waiting in the wing of the stage for him and the rest of the band to make their way out of the green room.

Get a grip, Kinsley.

I’m only here because Nash asked me to be, so I need to remember this is just business as usual and nothing else.

Blowing out a long breath, I turn to glance down the corridor as footsteps approach. Beams of light from what I can only assume are flashlights illuminate the corridor as Dark Angel and a few security men walk toward the stage. With it being minutes away from show time, the crowd has only grown louder, their voices echoing in my head. I can only imagine how loud they’ll get once the band steps out on that stage.

In the darkness, I find Nash’s mismatched eyes. His face is stoic and smooth as he walks closer, but I see the anxiety filtering across his features. He’s nervous, that much is obvious. Anyone would be nervous to step out in front of a crowd of close to one hundred thousand people, no matter how many years you have been performing. It just so happens that Dark Angel gets to have this honor so early in their career.

Hudson, Luca, and Axel smile at me as they approach the edge of the stage. All three of them are wearing black leather pants and a loose tank top. Hudson and Luca have their guitars strapped around their chest while Axel taps away at a large speaker with his drumsticks, nodding his head along to whatever beat he’s playing. James approaches them and begins to say something, but I’m too distracted by Nash’s woodsy cologne invading my senses.

My eyes snap up to meet his as he stares down at me. His annoyingly straight teeth tug on the metal ring in his lip as his eyes sweep across every inch of my face.

I want to ask what he’s thinking, but the words don’t want to leave my mouth, choosing to lodge themselves in my throat instead. I’m reminded why I had to leave that goddamn green room.

Holy fuck. It’s too hard to describe how devastatingly handsome he looks at this moment.

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