Page 1 of Protector

CHAPTERONE

“Don’t believe the hushed rumors. No one knows who founded KNK or who runs it. But if you’re one of the lucky few, one day, a black card will make its way to you. Slipped into your hand by a friend or stuck in your pocket by a mysterious stranger. On that card, only three gold letters and a website link. Simple, right? Maybe… But will you dare to log on and tell us all about your most haunting desires?

Welcome to KNK, the matchmaking agency that will give life to your most delicious cravings.”

Ivy

The chanting of the crowd grows quiet behind me. I miss their adoring eyes already. With each set of doors I walk through, I lose their praise. Soon, I’ll be out of this gorgeous sequin jumper, my flawless makeup will be washed off, and I’ll just be plain Ivy, all alone at home, without a soul even to eat dinner with me.

“Great show!”

“Thank you so much! Have a great night!” I shout back to Jackie, the woman who did my makeup tonight.”

Backstage it’s bustling with crew and band folk wanting to get to the bar or get to bed. I slip into my dressing room and change. I’ll shower at home. My bodyguards escort me out while thousands of people scream and shout, scrambling to take my picture. I wave, blow kisses then slip safely into a waiting SUV with two of my security guards.

The drive is quiet, which I hate. I think life has a soundtrack, and each moment, we’re making new memories. Quiet moments lack action and tend to make me restless.

“So tell me something, Stan. What’s your favorite song?” I try to make conversation with the blond guard, who doesn’t exactly look nice but slightly more friendly than his partner here who is still in his sunglasses and has his arms folded across his chest.

Stan looks to sunglasses guy before facing forward again. They’re both in the front seat, leaving me alone in the back. I try again.

“You married? Got kids? Like football? Use words?”

They never talk to me. I sigh, giving up.

Out my window, the bright city of Bourbon, Texas is lit up and bustling with night life. People come and go across the walkway. Probably dancing at clubs with strangers or meeting up with these Tinder dates. I wish dating for the famous was that easy. I’m not sure how I could make it work with a boyfriend, but it sucks not to have options.

Just then, my driver slams on the brakes effectively tossing me into the back of the passenger’s seat. It takes a moment to find my bearings, but then, out my window, I see a crowd. They’re crossing the street and didn’t stop for us. A tall guy with a backward baseball hat shouts at my driver, who shouts back. Huh, he does speak. Just not to clients, I guess.

Sitting back and buckling my seatbelt, I peer outside to see what’s drawing such a crowd. A big, red-and-white striped tent sits off in the distance, and for a second, I pretend I’m there. Eating funnel cake and being amazed by the talented acts.

The thought reminds me of Violet. It’s been five years since the Wallflowers band broke up, the three of us scattering around the world. Last I heard, Violet had fallen in love with a strong man in a circus. I nearly dropped my iPad when she first told me. Since then, we’ve barely spoken, and when we did, I filled her with false hope that I would come see her show and meet her now husband. When I say it, I always mean it, but my life seems to be nothing but endless obligations.

The crowd thins, and we make our way through traffic and into the parking garage of this week’s hotel room.

Five years ago, I loved everything about being a rockstar. Endless performance, writing music while I’m in the shower, when it constantly burst from me. Writing new music used to come so effortlessly I wrote top-charting songs for other singers, too, without a second thought.

But now, I can’t seem to write anything. I’ve been riding the fortune of my last two successful records for too long. The fans want new music, and I can’t give it to them.

Taking a deep breath, I release my built-up stress and roll my shoulders then step inside my big, fancy suite and take a deep breath again. I do my best to clear my mind and remind myself how fortunate I am to have had the long career I do. It’s been amazing, and part of me could say goodbye and walk away forever knowing I lived out my dream. The stubborn part of me, however, isn’t ready to retire at thirty.

After a quick shower, I slip into pajamas and my favorite fuzzy unicorn socks that my sister, Luna, got me for my birthday last year. The hotel bed so big it could easily be two California kings in one, and I crawl between the cool sheets, loving the feel against my skin. I prop up against the dozens of pillows and turn on the TV.

My mind slowly drifts back to the circus, and my heart misses my friend. Before I can talk myself out of it, I lean over and unplug my phone. After searching for her name, I write out a long text message. I know my schedule will never change unless I stop people pleasing and finally take some time off. Maybe, something magical from the circus will inspire a much needed new song. If not, I’m smart enough to know the end of the road when I see it.

After typing out my message, wanting to see her, I apologize for the late hour but send the message to make sure she gets it. If I leave it for morning, I’ll end up forgetting in my long list of shit I have to do tomorrow, and I’m tired of always apologizing for my absence. I’m making this reunion happen.

Right after I push send, my phone rings, but it’s not Violet. It’s my sister, Luna. I answer with a smile that drops before I even say hello. The video chat opens to her crying face.

“Oh my god, Ivy,” she sobs, making my heart shoot to my throat. Panic sears up my spine as I see my sister’s tears.

“What is it? What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“I’m outside. please, let me in.”

“Here?” I jump out of bed and rush out of my room and into the elevator.

“Yes,” she says before the call drops.

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