Page 13 of Nothing Special X: The Last Stand

Xander wanted to plead with Cassidy to stay by his door—near him was the safest he’d felt in days—but HOS’s company handled security for the entire stage. Cassidy wasn’t his personal guard.

Besides, Xander was sure he had rounds to make or staff to check in with. Standing vigil at his door was far below his pay grade.

“Take your time,” he rumbled. “I’ll be right here.” Cassidy probably meant for his words to come out soft, but his bass-filled, gravelly voice was too commanding to pull off a whisper.

Xander gazed up into serious, dark brown eyes and said a quiet thank you before he went inside his trailer.

Finally able to release his worry and fear for a few minutes, he dropped onto the couch as exhaustion hit him hard.

His eyes burned. Being afraid all the time was draining.

A sharp knock on his door twenty minutes later startled him so violently he slid off the couch and hit the floor.

The door flung open.

“Why are you on the floor?” Marco—his stylist—asked, frowning.

“I um…uh, “he stammered, trying to think of an excuse. “I dropped my pen. I think it rolled under the couch.”

Marco laughed. “It must be a very special pen. Well, I came to tell you to hurry up and get dressed. I put a fit together for you, and Carla said to move your ass. The crowd is getting restless.”

Marco left, and Xander wanted to throw something.

He got up, burning with anger, as he went to his small closet and began jerking the clothes off the hanger.

He preferred to put on a comfortable sweat suit, Nikes, and a ball cap, and sneak out of the back door. Except no one was listening to him or seemed to care about what he wanted. As if attempted murder was just a part of his job description he had to contend with.

Outside was dark now.

The crowd had grown. Rainbow flags and posters were waving high. Phones were raised, the flashing brighter than a swarm of paparazzi.

And just like that, the few precious minutes of safety inside his empty trailer were ripped away.

His pulse surged hard enough to make his vision blur for a second.

Carla stood nearby with her head bent over her phone, brow creased at whatever she was reading, oblivious to the fact that she was shoving her terrified client into a crowd of strangers.

His tiny entourage hovered close, but Jesse had gone.

In her place stood five men who practically screamed bodyguards—broad shoulders, thick chest, bulging biceps restricted inside dark suits, white collars crisp at their throats, coiled earpieces, and sunglasses despite it being fucking nighttime.

They looked polished and professional, but not reassuring.

His gaze swept past every face in growing panic, searching for one.

Cassidy said he’d be right there.

Did he leave these guys instead?

The thought hollowed his stomach...until he saw him.

A few yards away, Cassidy stood in the shadows between two trailers, blending so seamlessly into the darkness Xander missed him at first glance.

He wasn’t posing or hovering close like the others. He simply existed there, watchful and alert, a wall between him and the mass of people pressing against the barricades.

Relief hit so suddenly it almost weakened his knees.

Xander smiled, or tried to, as he walked towards the crowd.