Page 97 of Graves

Adrenaline floods my system, and I’m in an incredible rush. My body feels weightless, as if I were soaring.

They guide me toward the stage. My feet touch down, and the crowd’s hands push me upright. A hand suddenly wraps around my throat and yanks me backward.

I flail like a drowning man, reaching for anything to hold onto. The ground disappears beneath me as I’m dragged down. Sam shouts my name in the distance. Then I’m swallowed by the crowd.

Everything goes black. The arm around my neck tightens. I hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the air out of my lungs. When the grip loosens for a second, I gasp desperately.

The scruffy guy from earlier appears in my vision, but it’s not his ugly face that makes my heart skip. It’s Ben, smirking over his shoulder.

I stare at my dead ex, paralyzed.

“You fucking piece of shit,” the man growls, choking me again. “You think you can do whatever you want just because you’re a goddamn rockstar?”

I want to spit in his face, but I’m too busy fighting for air. Before I can draw a breath, he’s ripped away. The crowd surges around me like a tidal wave. I’m dizzy from lack of oxygen.

Rage boils up, and I scramble to my feet with help from a couple of strangers.

The guy breaks free from two young punks and charges at me again.

If prison taught me anything, it’s that I don’t take shit anymore. I swing and punch him square in the face with everything I’ve got.

He’s bigger and stronger. The hit stuns him but doesn’t drop him.

Too bad I forgot he didn’t come alone. A right hook catches me and I stumble sideways. Someone catches me while two others jump the attacker.

A full brawl breaks out. I’m right in the middle. A circle forms around us like a mosh pit, except no one’s dancing.

I give as good as I get. My head is pounding, my body bruised all over, but the high pushes me forward and numbs the pain.

When the guy grabs me again and starts choking me with both hands, I finally realize how serious he is. The pure hatred in his eyes sends ice down my spine. He wants me dead, and if the system won’t do it, he’s happy to finish the job himself.

I claw at his wrists and groan.

Right before I black out, he’s yanked off me. I sink to my knees, weak—until Fox catches me.

“Shit, man! We gotta get you out of here. You okay?”

He slings my arm over his shoulders, grips my waist, and drags me out of the crowd and back toward the stage with two security guys clearing the way.

Sam and Mike are waiting to haul us up.

“Aran!” Sam calls, searching my eyes. “You good?”

“Fuck!” Mike curses. “Where the hell was security?”

I drop to all fours, coughing and gasping for air, but Fox doesn’t give me time to recover. He pulls me up again.

I barely know what’s happening as I stumble through the dark backstage hallways beside him, still desperate for air.

A door to the outside flies open. Bright camera flashes blind me. Reporters and haters swarm us, shouting questions and insults. Someone spits on me. I don’t know where to look or how to protect myself.

Fox shields me as best he can while steering me toward the car. A security guard opens the door, and Fox shoves me inside and slams it shut.

Only then do I notice how hard my heart is racing and how labored my breathing has become. I’m still lying on the back seat when Fox climbs in, starts the engine, and drives off. Overwhelmed by the sudden silence, I roll onto my side, knees drawn up, and cover my face.

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