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That makes it clear where his loyalty lies.

Silence falls for a moment. I hold his intense gaze. When the tension becomes unbearable, I throw my hands up and turn away with a bitter snort.

“Look, Koh.” Fox’s tone says he’s trying one more time to smooth things over. “I’m sorry I put you in this position. I only found out on Monday from Aran’s lawyer that he was getting out. It was a huge surprise for all of us. We knew the case was moving, but we never expected an early release. So we’re all in the same boat. While I flew to Poland to pick him up, Leslie—the band’s manager—rounded up the guys to prepare them for his return. If it’s impossible for you to live with him, you’re free to go. I’m just offering you the chance to stay until you find something else. But between us… I’m also glad someone’s here to keep an eye on him. He’s seemed kind of in shock since he got out.”

Every word meant to stir even a drop of sympathy for this guy makes me roll my eyes internally. He’s a punk rocker—loud, chaotic, antisocial. Probably rude too. And then there’s the dead rockstar on his tab.

I will never feel sorry for him. He killed a man—whether in a drug haze, in the heat of the moment, whatever. I don’t give a shit.

God!

And yet I’m no better.

My revenge was planned.

I should’ve ended up on the electric chair.

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek until I taste blood and push the thoughts away. “I need a drink,” I say, heading back inside.

In the kitchen, I grab the ouzo my half-sister Olena gave me for my birthday, pour a shot, and throw it back. I’m not usually a big fan of anise liquor, but I actually like this one.

“If anything comes up, call me anytime,” Fox says from the other side of the kitchen island. “You’ve got my number. I live ten minutes away.”

I pour a second shot and close the bottle. Before I drink, my eyes drift to the cracked-open door. Aran didn’t even turn on the light.

What the hell is the psycho doing in there in the dark?

“If that guy gets too close, I’ll knock him out. I know how.”

Fox laughs. “Go ahead, Komura. But how about giving him a chance too? I’m sure he’ll surprise you.”

I just roll my eyes and down the second shot. When I set the glass down, I notice Fox staring thoughtfully at the bottle.

“What? Problem?”

He forces a smile and shakes his head. “No. No problem. I’ll just check on Aran real quick, then I’m out.”

“Have a good evening.” I put the ouzo back in the fridge and disappear into my room on the other side of the apartment—far away from Aran Graves, the rockstar and my new roommate.

“Ugh…” I groan as I close the door behind me. “This can’t be fucking real.”

2

—

Aran

I just wanted to get away from Fox and that guy who was drilling holes through me with his gangster stare.

Well, buddy, lucky for you I’m already hollow inside.

Now I’m standing in the half-dark of my own room—after almost six years—and the first thing I see is a photo of Ben and me.

No matter how hard I’ve tried since my release not to show any emotion, the pressure inside me has built up so much I’m scared I might explode. On top of that, it feels like a goddamn iron chain is wrapped around my chest, slowly tightened by some machine. I can barely breathe as I stand in front of the picture, staring at a moment from happier times.

Ben’s next to me, ruffling my hair and smiling at me with so much love while I pull a stupid face and stick my tongue out.

We’d just left a bar in SoHo. Liam, my drummer, had turned around with his phone and snapped the shot. It was a fun, carefree night. We’d just finished recording our last album and were gearing up for the joint world tour.