D ash Justice had returned. Never mind the day we spent back home. Never mind the night and morning we’d just had. Jamie had gone away, shuffled into some place Dash would only let me in as soon as his boots hit the stage. The crowd soaked it up, loving his high energy, the heavy, detailed make-up, and the attitude of tonight’s show. He should have been relaxed, or at least marginally calmer, but Dash circled the stage like a maniac, jumping in time with the beat the replacement drummer shot off and howling into the mic, profane words, dirty suggestions like a spell he weaved over the crowd .

“I’m home, Indy,” he shouted, and a tidal wave of sound followed. They loved him, they wanted him, and he knew it .

“Is he drunk?” I asked Landon when he paused in the rush of activity that seemed to consume him .

The kid hazarded one glance at me, then at Dash but kept his expression neutral. “Probably.” He listened to the two-way, muttering a response I didn’t hear. “You were late, weren’t you?” I nodded, and he shrugged. “The band polished off two bottles of Jack while you were doing whatever it was that kept you at the hotel.” He dismissed my frown, then took off .

The “whatever it was” had been Jamie’s suggestion after we relaxed in bed together. I got a half an hour of his time before the pounding on the door started and Landon called for Jamie from the other side .

“Duty calls,” he’d said, rubbing his face .

“You want me to meet you downstairs?” I’d asked, already leaving the bed. He watched me, grinning when I picked up my jeans and frowned as I noticed the mess I’d made of them. “Shit .”

“Take a robe from the bathroom and go have a long soak in your suite. I’ll make sure someone picks you up for the show.” He sat up, pulling on his jeans before he stood in front of me. “Trust me, you don’t wanna miss tonight’s show.” I tilted my head, curious, and Jamie kissed my forehead. “Homecoming shows are always the best, the most exciting .”

There would be media, I knew that from the calls I’d heard Landon make earlier in the day. There would also likely be questions about us, about things that we hadn’t discussed, but we weren’t in synch about any of those things. And, there was a gigantic piece of information I’d yet to give him .

“Hey, Jamie,” I started, taking the robe he offered when he came out of the bathroom. “There’s something I need to tell you. Can I have a minute ?”

I hadn’t known what to make of the look he gave me. Maybe he was suspicious. Maybe he was worried I’d say something he wasn’t ready to hear. Whatever he thought, Jamie kept to himself as Landon knocked again, shooting a quick, “Mr. Justice, we have a problem,” against the door .

“Be right there,” he answered, tugging a shirt he took from the dresser over his head. “Later, chica , okay? I gotta go handle some mierda .” He grabbed my face, holding it between his hands to look at me. “Go get your soak, and we’ll talk later .”

But that talk never came. The soak had gone on longer than I’d meant, and the ride Dash promised to the arena was a half hour late. By the time I made it to the arena, the set was nearly complete and, apparently, Dash was a little trashed. By the loud, obnoxious way Jamie behaved on stage, he was more than a little trashed .

He turned, back to the crowd, gaze up at the large screen behind the drum kit. The arena was dark, and the only light came from that screen, shooting red and blue sparks of light across the stage like it normally did, but the girls were missing. Normally, the silhouettes danced and gyrated, teasing the crowd with their curves, but tonight they were missing. In their place was a snow grain, something that reminded me of my cousin’s non-cable massive TV he watched on the reservation in New Mexico. I thought maybe that there had been some sort of technical glitz that had caught Dash’s attention, but then he smiled, eyes closing as he stood there and then shot a look to the side, seeking me out backstage .

He didn’t smile when he caught my gaze. He didn’t do anything but curl his mouth, disgusted, and then he faced the crowd again .

“You know, Indy, I wanna talk about bitches…” That wasn’t a shock, not in to this crowd. Dash had done the same little speech at the beginning of the tour. It was a made-up diatribe of misogyny and disrespect that he’d pulled from the show after my second week on the tour .

“You think it’s insulting?” he’d asked when I complained about it. “Why are you so fucking sensitive, chica?” That had led to a screaming match, one that lingered on for a half an hour, one that I suspected Dash had enjoyed—he did love it when we fought. Always had. “You look fucking sexy when you’re mad,” he’d told me years ago. But the complaining had worked. He’d pulled the monologue. I had no idea why he was doing it now .

“Bitches are typical,” he continued, laughing when the first row of half-dressed when waved and screamed at him. “They’re fucking easy, aren’t they?” Behind him, I caught Isaiah’s gaze, his frown deep as he shared a glance with his band mates, then looked at me, head shaking. There was a low strum of music gearing up, the intro low, but familiar, though I couldn’t quite place it .

That dreadful feeling came back to me. It had dimmed as we left Willow Heights, then disappeared while I was with Jamie in his room. Now, though, it had returned, throbbing in my chest to beat in time with the melody from the band. I glanced back at Isaiah and frowned when he looked away, eyes on his strings, avoiding me .

After the day we’d had together, after the night and this morning, Dash was going to sing that fucking song .

“Bitches,” he continued, “like the ones who spread their legs and tell you they love you. What a fucking joke!” He strummed a chord, played the first chords, but paused, glancing back at the screen before he continued. “Bitches who promise forever and then stab you in the back.” He strummed hard, the sound vibrating. “Over.” Another hard strum, this one louder. “Over.” And a third, a whine of echoing noise that drove the crowd wild. “And over again .”

The white snow from the screen went dark and a flicker of light shone from the bottom of the screen, the scene familiar .

“You know what I say to those bitches?” The crowd’s screams were deafening now. Dash laughed hard, head back before he growled into the mic. “I say fuck ’em, and when I don’t say that, then I do it .”

I stepped closer to the stage, ready to scream, howl at Dash when the intro began, and he started singing the first line .

Every curve of her figure like sweet retribution

I would have raged and attacked. I would have pounced on top of him and announced to the crowd how I’d had their precious God of Rock on his knees last night, panting, whining to touch me, to serve me. But the scene on the screen shifted and the video changes, flashing images that made bile coil in my stomach and crawl up my throat .

Oh, God. Oh my God, I thought, as a screen flashed a recap of me and Dash together on his hotel room bed .

Came like a bomb, left in confusion

It had been edited in parts, some of the action sped up, making us look ridiculous, manic. My legs were spread, face turn toward the camera as Dash fucked me, shooting smirks and grins right at the lens .

Stepping back, I covered my mouth, shooting a glance into the crowd, seeing how they ate it up, how they howled and laughed and cheered on their god as he fucked me, controlled me. My stomach ached, heart on the verge of thundering from my chest as I spotted Joan in the crowd, a pinched, disgusted expression on her face and then Isaiah’s scream pulled my attention back to the stage. He’d torn off his guitar, stopping the song in the middle of the chorus and pushed Dash away from the mic, screaming in his face .

Dash pushed back, nose nearly on top of his cousin’s as he pointed at the screen, then backstage where he knew I stood. Isaiah wouldn’t back down, pushed Dash again and then both men stopped, when the crowd began to chant “1221” over and over. They didn’t care about my humiliation. They ate it up and wanted more .

My world fractured once again. Everything tumbled and became disarrayed for the second time in three months. Dash had used me up and left me humiliated. Again. I could only stand there, back straight as he returned to the mic. He shot a glare my way, adjusting his guitar. “Tell Lager to go fuck himself,” he told me, eyes shifting to examine my face. “You can too .”

The tears flooding my face made me feel weak, disgusted. I should have lashed out and attacked. I should have responded to him, to that song as he tried playing it one guitarist short, as Isaiah left the stage and grabbed Landon by the collar .

“I don’t give a fuck what that cabrón told you. Turn the fucking screen off now or I will end you, pendejo .”

The kid scrambled, and I supposed by the collective boo of disappointment that rang out in the arena, that he managed to kill the feed. I didn’t wait around to find out. Isaiah ran after me, pulling on my arm. “Iris, wait, please cariño . Wait, I’ll get you back to the hotel .”

I jerked away from him, speeding to a jog as I left the stage and moved out to the back of the venue, desperate to be away from this place, from Dash and this tour, and from the notion that I’d ever felt anything for him at all. As I hurried through the hallway, I made a promise to myself. One I’d hold with more passion, more fierceness that I’d ever stupidly had for him. I would never let someone break me again. Growling, I slammed through the back door, wiping my face dry, disgusted at myself at the way I’d just stood there and taken his humiliation .

I’d just stood there stupidly, watching him as he fractured my heart. I’d stood there as something inside me slammed shut. Something I was sure I’d need. Something I didn’t think I’d ever loose: mercy .