Page 87 of Caught Stealing

The band closes out their third song moments later, and the crowd goes nuts as both Nash and Saint start stripping down to thin tank tops. Miles and miles of inked skin are revealed between the two of them, and honestly, I understand the hype behind the man himself too.

“Nash Kaelin is a fucking god,” I shout in Holden’s ear over the roaring fans. “It’s the only explanation why he can look like that and also sound the way he does.”

Holden turns to speak directly into my ear, his lips brushing the shell as he says, “Is this you trying to make me jealous? By fawning over another man in front of me on our first date?”

It wasn’t, actually. It’s just a fact. For him to have those looks paired with his vocal abilities? There’s no way he’s human. And if he is, then he’s also living proof that God plays favorites.

“Not at all,” I say, shaking my head.

“Good, because you’ve gotta know as well as I do that his reputation is far,farworse than mine will ever be.” He nips at my ear before murmuring, “And just so we’re clear, Nash Kaelin might be a god amongst men, but all that means is he’d never get on his knees for you the way I do.”

I smirk to myself, enjoying the hint of possessiveness in his tone. It’s a different side of him I’ve yet to see, and I don’t hate it. Not one fucking bit.

Something to keep in mind.

“It’s probably just the tattoos.” I peer over at him, my eyes tracking down all the clean, visible skin of his forearms. “You’d look hot with ink, too.”

He lets out a sharp laugh before brushing his lips over the shell of my ear. “Your fear of heights is my fear of needles, so it’s not happening in this lifetime. But we both know I look hot, regardless.”

Ain’t that the truth.

Bishop starts a riff into their next song—this one I recognize as one of their heaviest—and Nash hops onto the riser at center stage to watch the crowd. There’s a hellish smile on his face as he scans the room before pointing out at the center and making a slow circular motion, a clear call for the pit to kick things up a notch.

He doesn’t have to speak his request; the fans are already on it, growing the pit to nearly double the size it was before by the time the drums kick in and Nash hits us with a growling scream that would make Satan quake in his boots.

Holden taps me on the shoulder, and I find him pointing back toward the pit.

I smirk and nod, knowing exactly what he’s saying, before holding out my hand to take anything he doesn’t want to lose or break while getting tossed around. He sets his phone and keys in my palm before placing his hat backwards on my head with a wink.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he shouts. Then with a press of his lips to my temple, he’s off, squeezing his way between people. I watch as he bobs and weaves his way through the crowd, but the pit is back far enough from the barricade that he disappears from sight well before he hits the edge of the circle.

Even with him gone, I can still feel the heat on my skin from where his lips brushed it.

Sometimes I don’t know what to do or think of the easy affection that seems to come so naturally to him. As simple as breathing. And whenever he gives it—a soft sweep of his lips and arms wrapped around my body—I feel this whole thing between us becoming more real by the second.

I feel myself falling—harder and deeper.

Shoving the thoughts away, I return my attention to the stage and let the music flood my mind and senses instead.

The band continues blasting through their setlist, sounding absolutely incredible on every song they play. I rock out with the girl next to me, singing and screaming and banging our heads along to every song without a care in the world about who might be watching.

That’s the beautiful thing about the metal community. Nothing matters once the artists take the stage, because you become one with the crowd, the music, and the experience.

We’re about halfway through the set when Nash hops up on the riser at the front of the stage again and squats down to talk with the crowd about their newest album charting.

“Hey, watch it!” I hear shouted behind me, and I swear I hear my name called.

No, Idefinitelyhear my name called.

“Nix!” Holden shouts. I turn in time to catch his head bobbing up and down about halfway between where I am and the pit, and it’s clear he’s still looking for me. I raise an arm for him to find me, which he spots quickly and starts working his way back up through the crowd with ease.

That is, until he reaches a couple who give him the glare of death about three people behind me.

“I’m with him,” I catch Holden say, pointing to me. “I’m just trying to get back to him.”

I don’t fully hear what the guy says, but from the bitchy look on his girl’s face and the shake of his head, I don’t think it’s going well.

Damnit.

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