Page 65 of Ticket to the Stars: Part Two

“I want to dedicate this show to you, Angel.” The moment the words were out of my mouth, I swept over to her and kissed her again. Only this time, I spun her around in a twirl and bent her back, keeping her upright with an arm hooked around her lower back. An overdramatic, exaggerated kiss, sure, but one I felt in my core.

Though it was a mental labor, I pulled my mouth off hers and straightened us both out. Once she was free of me and back before her own mic, I picked up my guitar and pulled the strap over my shoulder. I got in position and threw another glance at her, whispering into my microphone, “I love you, Angel.”

I didn’t give the audience time to process that. I started right into the first song in our setlist. It was the first time I’d announced it in public, so I was sure Black Sacrament would blow up again. Turned out, everyone wanted a couple to cheer for.

Little did they know we weren’t your average rock star couple, brought together by fate. Would we ever tell the world that we were all together? I didn’t know. Maybe not. Really, it wasn’t the world’s business.

It didn’t matter. The only thing that did matter was the girl beside me and my friends. Together we were Black Sacrament, and we were only just getting started.

Time to rock.

Chapter Twenty-Six – Deacon

I didn’t know if this was a good idea. I honestly didn’t, but Priest seemed so sure of it, so confident, that it kind of rubbed off on me. And on Bishop, if what we were doing was any indication.

Angel was gone, visiting her friend at her college. We’d wrapped up our tour not so long ago, and Angel had officially signed on to become a permanent member of Black Sacrament. The tour was a huge success; we saw numbers we’d never dreamed of seeing, and there were fans online already clamoring for us to do another, to come to their hometowns and perform.

So many new fans. So many more people with eyes on us. We really had to be careful from now on, otherwise our identities wouldn’t be secret any more.

But that was beside the point. Angel was gone, so we were doing something that would be a surprise for her. It involved the tattooist signing an NDA, but from what our manager said, he was used to tattooing famous people and being forced to sign papers saying he wouldn’t talk to the press or share details on social media.

Yep. Tattoos. We were all getting matching tattoos. It took us a while to find the right spot for them on our bodies; we wanted them to match in every way possible. Plus, it had to be in an area that wasn’t public when we were out and about. Priest having so many goddamned tattoos on his chest made it a lot harder.

So we went with back tattoos. Black Sacrament’s new logo—part of the rebrand—a black, upside-down cross with white angel wings behind it, along with the first letter of our names. P for Priest was at the bottom of the cross. D was on the left side, and B was on the right. A, obviously for Angel, was on the top.

Or, uh, on the bottom, depending on how you looked at it.

But, anyway, matching tattoos with a little extra flare, a secret we’d been keeping from Angel for a few weeks while we decided on the design and got everything ready. A few inches long, right in the center of our backs.

Would you believe it was my first tattoo? Priest and Pope were tatted up to the extreme. Bishop didn’t have any, either. I’d never wanted one. I thought they were cool, but I just never got one for myself.

That changed today, though, and let me just say, right on the spine? Yeah, that kind of hurt.

Priest got his done first, and that meant when it was time for Bishop and me to get ours done, he was watching with a smirk and saying things along the lines ofDon’t be a babyandJust wait until it starts itching like a motherfucker.

To which my only response was: “Tattoos itch?” That was news to me. Guess I never really paid much attention to Priest when he got his, because I had no idea tattoos itched.

And, according to Priest, they itched something fierce.

I could handle the itching that would come. This was more of a gesture for Angel, anyway, to show her that we were serious about this. About us, about our future together. Even after all this time, I think she was still worried that we’d want to end this—our relationship, kick her out of Black Sacrament—so getting these tattoos would be a sign to her that we would never do something like that.

We couldn’t.

She was ours. She made everything easier. I couldn’t speak for the others, but the only reason I hadn’t quit the band myself was because of her. I was where I was right now because of Angel. As Priest liked to say, our Angel.

The damned tattoo appointment took all day. We had to skip lunch, so when it was all said and done, we grabbed lunch on the way back to the Redborne.

We’d asked if Angel wanted to move into a different building after her kidnapping, but she’d said no. Astraumatic as that experience had been, I think catching Ramona in her plot had helped to soothe the wounds, so to speak.

It was as we were getting off the elevator and heading to our suite that Bishop rolled his shoulders and said, “Man, I think I’m already starting to itch.” He was holding onto the bag with our lunch—McDonald’s, because Priest was feeling the need for some of their, and I quote, ‘Delicious, golden fries.’

Priest chuckled as he pulled out the room key. “Just wait. It’s only going to get worse. And once it starts peeling—”

Bishop stopped in his tracks, his hazel eyes widening. “Peeling? It’s going topeel? You never said anything about that—”

“It’s a tattoo. I thought you knew this already. You’ve seen me get a thousand.” Priest smirked, unable to hold in his amusement. “It’s a wound, you know, all wounds peel once they scab over. That’s what makes them so itchy—” He unlocked the door and was the first in the suite, but he abruptly stopped talking.

And, obviously, that meant something was wrong.

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