Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 125248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Come on. Sit.”
Xander let himself be steered into a chair in front of a row of lighted mirrors.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, glancing toward Wes and Law.
They were still fixing, salvaging…fussing.
Guilt pressed heavily against his ribs.
“Forget them. All that cursing and arguing is just foreplay that’ll lead to sex far more explosive than that pyro,” Elliot droned, handing him an energy drink. “Here drink—”
The can was snatched away before he could take a sip.
“That’s your third one,” Jesse bit out. “And it’s after seven. You’ll be up all night.”
Jessica Ross—who everyone called Jesse— towered over him, commanding at an impressive five-foot-eleven in her lavender silk blouse beneath a pristine pinstriped blazer and matching pencil skirt. Her sleek blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail and braided down her back.
She was a woman who didn’t need to raise her voice to make others do what she said.
“Get him a water,” she ordered Elliot. “Or Gatorade.”
Xander stared at his reflection.
He was a mess. His skin was splotchy, damp with sweat, and his eyes were too wide—over-alert—and bloodshot. Like someone who hadn’t slept in three days.
“Are you okay?” Jesse asked in a softer tone.
He nodded.
Her expression was obvious. She didn’t believe him.
“I told you it was okay to take more time off,” she said quietly. “I can make that happen.”
He shook his head.
“Did you call the therapist?”
Another shake.
Jesse exhaled slowly. “Xander, you have to prioritize yourself. Your mental health matters more than this.” She waved her hand at the massive western bar set.
He understood, but he couldn’t just sit around his house, his mind going in too many directions and raising even more questions.
Why is this happening to me?
Who did I piss off to make them want to kill me?
Is it because I’m gay?
What if the person who tried the first time is right here, watching, and waiting to catch me alone and try again?
“I’m fine,” he said, though it didn’t sound convincing. “I can keep going.”
He glanced around at the crew, who were all staring at him.
Jesse leaned closer. “Your hands are shaking.”
He pressed his palms flat on his jean-covered thighs and forced a breath. “That’s because a pyro effect just went off next to me—”
“No. You’re done for the day,” she said, voice cutting through the set.
The director spun, scowling in their direction. “What the hell you mean, done?”
Jesse didn’t budge, her glare radiating more fire than the botched special effect. “You heard me.”
“Fine,” he snapped after another minute. “He’s too distracted anyway.”
Law stormed up to the director, getting right in his face. “The guy just had an attempt on his life, and his friend is still in the hospital. Have a fuckin’ soul, dipshit.”
The set fell silent.
No one challenged Wes or Law. They were Hollywood royalty and considered heroes after risking their lives in Atlanta to help a narcotics task force take down a tyrannical drug lord.
“All right, all right, of course I’m concerned, we all are,” the director muttered before turning to address everyone. “That’s a wrap for today people. We’re gonna let Xander go home and get some much-needed rest. We’ll work on edits for the next couple days.”
Xander nodded. He’d go home, but he wouldn’t rest. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it…worse, he heard it. The bat meeting flesh…Devyn’s screams.
Elliot hooked his elbow and guided him towards the exit. But, the closer they got to the huge bay doors, the more panic he felt.
Outside meant exposure, open space, lurkers, stalkers, unseen threats. They could be disguised as caterers, crew, assistants, anyone.
Studio 8 was by far the largest on the Lorner Partners lot. The facility sprawled across four hundred and sixty acres of backlots, towering sound stages, and two dozen permanent standing sets—tons of places for a killer to hide.
Before he got outside, he could already hear the fans gathered at the gates. Cheering, clapping, and calling out names, eager to get a glimpse of an actor or actress.
It was nearly dark now, so he couldn’t see all the way to the entrance.
What if someone was out there with a rifle or hiding on the side of his trailer?
Xander shook harder, his steps becoming more difficult, as if his feet were inside cinderblocks instead of cowboy boots.
Moisture pricked at the corner of his eyes.
All this torment because he won, because he dared to be vocal, visible, and proud of being a gay man.
Before his last movie skyrocketed and swept the academy, he hadn’t even needed a full-time, personal bodyguard.
“Xander, let’s go.” Carla Kline—his publicist—urged from beside him, her eyes ever-glued to her phone. He wasn’t sure she’d ever looked at him. He didn’t know if her irises were blue, brown, green…or red.
He’d been so zoned out he hadn’t noticed her.
“After you get changed, I need you to make a quick stop at the gate and sign a few autographs. Awards season isn’t over yet, babe. We still have a lot of appearances to make.”