crimson kills [h.s.]

2. | Face So Sunny

Chapter 2

We rode in the back of an SUV after the show. Z—which I had learned was short for Zayn—occupied the back row, taking an important call where he had introduced himself as Crimson Kills' manager. I wanted to listen in out of curiosity, but Vivianne had been expressing her excitement.

"How did you know when to start drumming or when to stop?!" she asked me.

"Can't explain," I said, glancing out the window to find that it had started to rain a little. The sidewalks glistened. "Just kind of felt it."

She scrunched her nose with a large smile on her face. I slipped out a laugh because I couldn't be mad over the position she put me in. It was fucking cool being up on a stage. I never thought I'd pick up another drumstick again, but I had learned tonight that I could.

"You were so hot up there," Vivianne added, her large smile quickly transforming into a smirk.

"Sorry about that," Zayn then interrupted as he tucked his phone away. "I'm never off the clock."

"So you're the manager?" I asked, turning in my seat in the row in front of him to face him.

"Yeah," he answered with a quick suck of breath between his teeth. "and I regret it every fucking day." There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

I smiled at him. "I was going to say, you look young to be a manager."

"Why, thank you, Benny." He offered me a fist bump. "I'm just a year older than Styles, but he makes me feel way older sometimes."

The infamous last name Zayn mentioned almost made my stomach turn. The case I unrelentlessly studied one night years ago feels fresh in my mind and it was making me uncomfortable. I began to feel guilty to think I'm associating myself with a band that might be glorifying heinous acts.

"Is it true you have been best friends with Harry since like... forever?" Vivianne asked Zayn, intrigued to know everything.

"We grew up together, yeah. It's true," he answered.

She practically squealed. "Do you think you can tell me something about Harry that no one else knows? Like, what's he like?"

Zayn only chuckled at her question. The car was pulling over at the same time. "How about you ask him yourself? I'm sure he'd tell you."

The driver had opened the door for us and immediately there had been flashing lights coming from outside. Suddenly, I wanted to be back in Miami. I'd take a heated argument with my aunt any day over whatever this was.

"C'mon, Benny!" Vi gently tugged at my wrist, eager enough to hop out of the car and into the blinding flashes.

I ended up following after her, but my hand flew up to shield my eyes. Zayn joined us and led the way into a nightclub.

Music replaced the chaos outside. The nightclub had layers. As we followed Zayn, we passed a lounge, another solely for VIP, before ending up in the most secluded spot underground for the people above VIP status. Vivianne and I did not belong. The guards looked us up and down and definitely would not have let us in if we weren't with Zayn.

The vibe in the secluded area had been different from the lounges upstairs. There were no packed floors with sweaty bodies or spilled drinks. Instead women were dancing, entertaining on poles, and the rockstars, actors, and models were doing some kind of hard drug or making out with each other.

"There she is!" I heard. It came from a group gathered around a booth curled around a center table with cocaine residue. I then see the bassist, Youssef, stand tall to make it easier for us to find him. He motioned us over.