Chapter 61: Drummer Boys Get More Blood On Their Hands

The song--To Live And Die In LA by Tupac--makes sense later in the chapter as we see Bodie bring the thug from The A to the City of Angels....

Bodie

The Grammy's

Thirteen lovely ladies are gowned and glowing, posed before the professional backdrop installed on the front lawn at the del Marco's.

Three del Marco wives minus Jax's soon-to-be-ex, plus Marcy. Marley, Kat, Mac. The four Struts, and of course the beautiful Bridge del Marco. Plus baby Alley, who has been all dolled up with the rest of the ladies. She's not going to the Grammy's of course, but this is the Glam Squad Pre-Party. Yeah, Matt's place is big enough to accommodate the styling of thirteen women upstairs at the same time a virtual army of party preppers are setting up for the after party. He insisted we all get ready here, because the limo line to the Grammy's is horrendous, and he's very close to the heart of LA, so at least we all cut down on the commute.

All the ladies are gorgeous, but I can't keep my eyes off Marley. Of course. I mean, I can't keep my eyes off her on any given day, but I ain't ever seen her look anything like this.

She's wearing a beaded red gown that fits her like a glove. It's got a bandeau-wrap top, and hugs her hips, but flares at the bottom. Her hair is shining, spilling, swept back waves. Her face is lit, her makeup professional but not so much that it detracts from the natural glow of her smiling eyes.

She sparkles like the sea set on fire at sunset.

She's the devil's own mermaid in a red skin.

Check that. She's my mermaid.

All us dude tuxed and tamed, admiring the women as the professional photog sets their shot. Our group and couple shots are thankfully finished.

"Feels like prom, huh?" Trace says to Adam.

"Not really, no. I never had a band that played prom. I never had a prom where my date had to grind with Matt del Marco on top of a piano or where I had to perform in a mullet."

"Shut-up. I'm talking about this part. The fancy, the pictures," Trace smiles into a glass of champagne. "I always thought I would take Kat to her prom, but it didn't happen."

Leed and I give each other conspiratory eye rolls over their heads. Our priveleged brothers. Leed was too broke for prom and I was too...incarcerated.

"This is so much better than prom" Kat smiles, strolling up to Trace in her two piece black and white gown.

He offers her his full champagne and grabs another from the waiter walking by. I notice her promise ring looks extra sparkly tonight; she must have had it shined up for the occasion. It doesn't look like an engagement ring, but it's unusual and showy and she'll definitely be asked to display it tonight.

I dunno why I'm looking at Kat's ring. Maybe because of the box in my jacket pocket.

Mac looks like a fairy in a nude gauze dress with whimsical pink flowers. Of course it vees down to the waist and is slit up the side, but it's still less sex-kitten and more...delicate...than past red-carpet dresses. Everytime she's dolled up like this, Adam eyes her the same way he did the night they got married—the first time—at his birthday BBQ. Like a man sure of what he wants—what he will always want.

"Have I told you how truly beautiful you look?" he says, like none of us are there.

"Yes, you have, but it's just as nice this time," she says, with lowered eyes. That's a little demure for Mac. The way they are staring at each other? Damn, it's intense.

Dev strolls up to Marley's other side, looking more at home in a tux than anyone here except maybe Leed. For once he has no smarmy comment about Mac's desirability or Adam's good fortune. He's staring past us all, where Bridge del Marco is laughing with Matt as he refuses to let her tie his bow-tie.

"Bridget, I'm just gonna take it off as soon as we walk in the Staples center. I'm not wearing a bow-tie tonight," He pulls it off his neck and puts it around hers, tying it in a loose bow.

"Daddy, you look so handsome when you wear one," she wheedles, immediately threading it back around his neck. "Mom looks so elegant, don't you want to match?"

"Fine, " he says. He notices us all watching them. He stares solemnly at Dev a minute or two, but then he turns his back to us and speaks to Bridge in murmurs, while she works the bowtie into its form. Whatever he's saying makes her blush, but she nods. And nods. And nods.

Her voice carries. "I know, Daddy. I know."

He laughs at her and hugs her. "I know you know. You look beautiful tonight, Poodle."

"What do you think he said to her?" Dev asks Marley quietly.

"I would say it matters more what you think he said to her."

"To not get drunk and let a dirty bastard like me ruin her."

Marley sighs. "Dev, you have very poor self-concept. Also? I think you may be developing a madonna-whore complex when it comes to the women in your life you admire. I've changed my mind. You should call me. We should talk."

Mac turns to her. "Wait? Did you just call me a whore?"

"Of course she didn't mean it like that," Adam says automatically giving Marley a nervous look.

Marley laughs. "Of course not. And anyway it's his complex," she tilts her at Dev.

"Oh. Okay, " Mac says and grins at Dev. "He can think that."

Dev scoffs at Marley but he bows slightly at Mac.

"Madam, I assure you, I hold you in the highest esteem. However, in light of this unfortunate turn of conversation, I should warn you...the performance director called me earlier to make a change."

"Who are you?" Adam says to him. He looks around at us all. "Seriously, who he is right now? Because he's damn sure not DevBlu..."

Mac flaps a hand at Adam to be quiet. "What change, Dev? He didn't call me!" Mac says. "It's a little late—"

"Don't worry love, no change to your marks. They just want a little freestyle on my part. He wants me to...raunch it up." His gaze switches to Adam. "Therefore I must apologize to your husband in advance for the disgraceful liberties our performance will require me to take."

"How disgraceful?" Adam growls.

"Not exactly sure," he shrugs. "After all, it's a free-style. There's no telling what I might be inspired to say when in the flow of this Priestess' magic," he winks at Mac.

"Keep it clean."

Dev looks confused. "How's that possible? He said raunch it up. You have heard DevBlu rap live, right?"

Adam groans. Mac laughs. Marley suggests he take her card. "Really, I'm convinced now, we should talk, Mr. DevBluBlood Cavendish. The way you just referred to yourself in the third person. Yeah. You need...perspective."

Dev looks at her card, and pockets it casually. "I'll consider it. But if you must know, the brutal honesty with which you speak? It terrifies me, Dr. Watkins. DevBlu says outrageous and often untrue things, but the Cavendish underneath is...much more comfortable with reserve."

"Which one is the real you?" she asks. Of course she does.

He blinks at her. "Nine months ago? I knew that answer. Now? I have no bloody idea. If you'll excuse me, I should attend to my escort duties."

He puts his drink down, walking with his hands behind his back to where Bridge and Matt stand. He bows slightly to Bridget and puts out his hand to Matt, who looks utterly confused as he examines it. Reluctantly, he shakes Dev's hand. Bridge beams.

"I hope he snaps out of this princely persona before he has to perform," Mac says, chewing on her lip.

"Put that dude in a tux at a fancy party and it really flips his switch, doesn't it?" Trace grins. "That's fucking crazy. Never seen anything like that."

"No?" I wrap an arm around Marley and burrows my face at the base of her neck, giving her soft sucks and kisses. "I have. Put a handsy fangirl with a mind to take a bite out of me in front of this classy woman? She'll morph into a brawling babymama throwin' her managerial authority around in about twenty seconds. It happened last week at Spago's..."

She wiggles away from me with the sexy snort. "I simply told her she was out of line to interrupt your business dinner, and no selfies allowed."

"You were rude to a fan."

"She was shoving her boobs in your face."

"Yeah, and Doc Gorgeous shoved her hand right in front of the girl's camera phone and had the maitre-D refuse her party service."

They all laugh. She frowns. "I'm not thrilled about this nickname you all have for me."

I shake my head sadly. "It's too late. Matt named you Doc Gorgeous? Boss Hawkins is calling you Doc Gorgeous? That's your road manager name. Accept it. Hell, you might even have to legally change it for all the contracts. I mean does anybody even know what Boss Hawkins' name really is?"

"Alfred Hawkinberry," Marianne says, as she sashays by with her skirt looped up in her arm. We all laugh some more. Jesus, no wonder he goes by Boss Hawkins.

Riley strolls over with his own glass raised. He looks first at Mac and Adam, then at Trace and Kat, and finally to me and Marley. "To our Soundcrush power couples. You make everyone believe a happy ending is possible. Even a cynic like me," he winks at them.

Our small circle toasts them and Riley adds, "Now, Madam and Traykat, go out there and get us some great coverage on the carpet tonight, yeah? The hiatus was almost too long. I would have liked our media coverage last week at the pre-parties to be somewhat more than it was."

"Don't worry. We've got four captivating couples to draw the eye on the red carpet tonight," Leed purrs, wrapping his arm around Marley. "You gonna let me paw you, Doc Gorgeous? Whenever I show up on a red carpet with a new knock-out, it's a buzz."

Marley puts his hand firmly at her waist. "Your paws can stay in neutral territory. The idea is introduce me to the press as Soundcrush's new road manager. I'd prefer it if you didn't do it with your hand on my ass."

"I'd prefer that too, Brah," I tip my Perrier at him.

"Fine. How about just upper hip quadrant?" He slides his hand down her waist about four inches. "That looks classy but still suggestive. Everyone will wonder if I'm fucking my road manager, but no one will suggest it, because there will be no overt PDA. That will be a lot of traffic on the gossip blogs..."

I stare at his hand. It's right over her jasmine tattoo.

Marley laughs at me suddenly. "Why is your jaw angry poppin? You don't like the visual?"

I shake my head in irritation. "He's your date, you tell him where he can put his hands." I got no right to complain. We both know I'll be putting my hand on Arebella's body in similarly suggestive ways, hoping generate a shot so sexy that someone either some ballsy professional or some ignorant blogger will break her blacklisted status.

"Well, you don't have to over-do it, Leed. Between Madam's looks of love, Kat's promise ring making its first red carpet appearance, and Arabodie's break-up next week, we should generate plenty of press." Riley says helpfully.

I draw Marley out of Leed's embrace and into mine. "I have never looked so forward to being dumped."

"Are you daft?" Riley says. "You should definitely be doing the dumping. It's a win-win that way. Her fanbase is mostly female. It will gain her subconscious sympathy, but Arabodie shippers will also be secretly glad you are single. If she dumps you, you get the sympathy and she just looks...bitchy, like usual."

Marley glares at him. "That is a terrible idealogy—that a man can leave a relationship without public sanction but a woman is shamed for leaving her man."

Riley settles his glasses and shrugs. "I don't determine public opinion, Marley. I just utilize it for the best interests of my clients."

"Yes, but by reinforcing misogynistic stereotypes—"

"Now Dr Watkins, can we just focus on the happy fact that Riley actually just helped with our Arabella problem? That he's on board with my guilty need to get her career back on track?" I sway her a little as I kiss her bronzed shoulder. "It's a party. Let's not a have a management meeting tonight, yeah?"

She puts a hand to my face. "Sorry." She glance at Riley. "Sorry, Boss," she winks.

He waives his champagne flute at her. "Not at all. I welcome your input. It's why I hired you," he says. Then he shrugs at me, "But it's your label, Arabella is your artist, you play it how you like. You will send me a copy of Marcy's press release?"

"Of course," I tell him. "Thanks for the advice."

"My pleasure." He calls out to Strut. "Ladies, it's time to hustle inside and let me vet your acceptance remarks...we all know you have Best New Artist in the bag," he raises his glass at them then toward Marley and adds, "Don't let your lot linger here..."

"Cars are here in ten," she smiles. As he ushers Strut-who are all going stag, or all Riley's dates, it's hard to tell—inside, Marley turns to me. "Where is she, Bodie?" I note a tiny bit of tension in her voice.

"She's five minutes out." I rub Marley's back. "You've been incredibly understanding these last few weeks. This is the last night you have to put up with this. After this, it' strictly business. I swear."

"She's really going to let her Uncle manage her? You're only dealing will be as her record label?" Marley asks, nonchalantly.

"Yes." It surprised the hell out of me, when Bells suggested it, saying that she realized us working together closely would put more strain on my personal life, and that she wanted to bring Randall back on board to help with the practical management. Which leaves me to make the business decisions for her.

No doubt about that, I'm all for it.

"Well, it looks like she's found one parting way to annoy me," Marley says with a deep sigh.

I follow her line of sight and choke on my sparkling water.

Bell's dress is completely sheer except for a small amount of beading that vees between her legs and curls around—but not covering— her breasts. Nips are shining, and as she turns, we all see—so is her ass.

Jesus Christ.

I run a hand over my face. "There's a bright side here, Marley. Someone in the press is bound to break ranks on her media black-out in that. She'll have to be on the worst dressed list." I run a hand along her collarbone, "And you'll be on the best. You look like a star, baby. After tonight, everyone in Hollywood will know your name..." I grin at her. "Doc Gorgeous."

She slaps my pec.

"Goal," I whisper, biting her shoulder.

"Go deal with your trampy girlfriend," she hisses.

"Yes ma'am. Right after this..." I pull the box from my jacket pocket and snap it open.

Marley stares at the coordinating set of three diamond tennis bracelets. Tam helped me pick them out and also personally coordinated Marley's extravagant Harry Winston  loaner earrings. The bracelets balance the earrings for the red carpet but are delicate enough for Marley to wear every day, if she wants.

"Bodie...tell me those are loaners."

"They are yours."

Her face is is a fluid protest. I know what she wants to say. They are too expensive.

I never should have told her money was tight. She and I have a very different perspective on what that means at this point. I can definitely afford to buy my girl some pretty jewelry, I just can't drop ten million on a new LA compound without pulling a good bit of my money out of the market.

I put the box in her hands and begin fastening the bracelets to her wrist. "Now don't ruin this for me, baby. I have never given you a gift, do you realize that?"

"You bought me a house. And a Jaguar."

"Naw, shelter and transportation are necessities," I grin. "Bling? That's a gift. Be my gracious queen right now, okay? Not my adorable but neurotic little penny-pincher..."

She stares at me. I see it in her eyes, the second she decides. Not to argue about the extravagance. To give me the moment. To let me cherish her.

Her smile breaks beautiful as she holds out her wrist, admiring them. "Thank you. They are the most beautiful things I've ever worn. Well, besides you," she grins.

"Mmmmmm...that's a very nice thank-you," I kiss her lips lightly.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you, too," I say.

"Now go deal with your recording artist," she reiterates. I notice that diamonds have diminished Arabella from trampy girlfriend to recording artist.

"Yes, Doc Gorgeous," I tease, as I stroll away.

—————

We are the first performance of the night, so we are the first arrivals to the red carpet. We literally sweat our way down the media wall, because it's still mid-afternoon.

Leed and Marley go first, and Arabella and I bring up the rear. I can't hear Leed and Marley's comments down the line because Madam is just ahead of me and most of the press corp is screaming for their attention, but judging from the camera flashes up the line, Marley is generating a lot of interest.

Trace and Kat are right behind Leed and Marley and it seems like Trace spends about half his time holding up Kat's hand and kissing her, and the other half gesturing to his right at Marley who is a few feet away. At one point, he even breaks away from Kat and joins Leed and Marley. That's a brilliant move on his part because it puts the two Soundcrush "leaders" with our new road manager and gives Kat her own moment. She is a rising Insta-star in her own right and the press loves having solo shots of her.

In fact, all the couple pairings are maximizing our exposure. Having Leed bring Marley to the Grammy's was a great idea on Riley's part—the perfect intro for our new stage manager.

Over and over I am asked about Arabella's dress. At first I just say, "She looks beautiful." By the end I'm so pissed at these fucking entertainment journalists just trying to get a rise out of me and make me say something assholish, that I say start saying, "Her body, her choice. Why don't you ask her about her new recording contract?"

And just like that, Dharma Records becomes public. Shit. I might have jumped the gun on that.

My irritation fades quickly as we make our way in and Soundcrush is immediately whisked backstage for hair and makeup. We're in chair two hours, getting made over as Skid Marcs.

The best part of the night for me? The moments right before Dev and Mac's number begins—when all ten of us performers take a huddle.

"Big show. Big summer," Matt says. "Let's get up on it and ride the wave!"

"Ride the wave!" we all yell and break.

Leed slaps Matt on the back. "Look at you, making an ocean metaphor. We're gonna get you out there in the water yet."

"Hell no. Destiny is the only wave I wanna ride, Lawson," Matt grins.

Then we are all putting on our ear monitors and the show director is giving us cues and I wish to hell he would shut up so I can use my ears for what they are meant for—to hear the click track. I need it because The Siege has some voice overs and effects that we have to time to.

This is why I don't like playing a show when Andy is not with the front of house, because if Andy were on the board, Trace would have already told him to cut the director's mic.

We've practiced this performance relentlessly for three weeks. Everybody on this stage is a pro. We got it, Grammy guy.

Thankfully, he runs out of breath and the sound guy has enough sense to boost the click track and I'm beating my sticks as Adam blows Mac a kiss on her tower and it whirls into motion as Dev paces and mumbles to himself, getting a basic frame for his free-style.

God help him if his flow focuses on parts of Mac's anatomy that I know he hasn't seen...

And the pre-recorded synthesizers start and here we go.

And we don't stop. Twenty minutes of pure adrenaline.

For me, nothing but rhythm, except for the skit break where I'm conscious of not wiping sweat in a disgusting way because twenty million people on TV can see.

Then more hardcore old school head-banging.

Then Leed, taking that audience and making them his. Wading out among them, taking Ashlynn by the wrist and kissing her like he never plans to stop.

Except he does, because the show must go on.

At then it's over, and Staples Center crowd is on its feet, screaming. It's not forty thousand people in an arena show, but it is a bunch of jaded industry types that don't often lose their shit like this, so that part does feel good.

After a quick change in which three dressers basically give me a sponge bath and throw my tux back on, we are all waiting for the commercial break to retake our seats. Our night is made, our paycheck earned, and everyone has a drink in hand but me and Leed and Matt.

But that's okay.

I'm high as fuck right now. When we return to our seats, Lead switches so that I am now beside Marley. Fuck the camera pan, I did the media wall and I don't care if Bells and I are televised sitting apart.

It will just give Nick Swift something to talk about on her "The Signs That Arabodie Was Crumbling" video that I'm sure will air next week.

Marley, conscious of the cameras, gives me a warm smile but no contact. She puts her drink to her face so no lip readers at home can see her words.

"That was fucking hot. You were amazing. I want to show you just how proud I am."

I nod nonchalantly and turn to whisper in her ear, keeping a genial, appropriate expression as I say, "What do you think about finding somewhere private at Matt's? We've made a lot of love, but we ain't done too much fucking, yet, except for the one time on the drum kit. Tonight I would very much like to fuck you up against a wall in that dress. What do you say?"

"I say...yes. Always yes to you," she whispers, and I see her cross her legs like she's already aching for me.

It's sweet torture, sitting beside her and not touching her through the rest of the show.

After the final segment, Leed shouts to Ashlynn in the crowd and then he and Dev immediately disappear. I see Trace with Varrick Von once, and then I don't see him anymore. Adam is confused, but he doesn't show it in front of Mac.

"Where'd they go?" he mutters to me as we shuffle along with the herd of celebrities eager to get their party on.

"Don't worry about it," I tell him. "I think they are just doing a little reconnaissance operation on Varrick Von. They left us the fun part—escorting the girls. They'll call if they need us."

Marley and Kat come in the limo with Madam, Bells and I this time. Marley sits beside me. "Bells, do you want some champagne?" she offers as she pours for Mac and Kat.

Bells accepts with a smile, but then she gets busy on her phone. "Oh my god. I'm on TMZ! I haven't been on there in ages!"

Well, everyone is happy tonight.

Kat seems untroubled at Trace's disappearance, saying he had to see Varrick about some security issues for her, which he arranges separately from our Soundcrush details.

"He thinks Ben is distracted and maybe not a good fit for my detail anymore. I think Ben is not distracted when he's on the job, but I think my detail will make him travel too much this summer and he needs to be home more, so I'm okay with a change," she tells Mac.

"Makes sense. Leed went with him, I guess, because it's about Ben..." Mac muses.

Suddenly, I feel a pang of guilt. These dumbasses better not kill Varrick. My mother is fond of him.

I almost text him, but in the end I don't. I need to know, too. If he's straight up or if he's shady.

There's a red carpet and media wall at Matt's, so Arabella and I hold hands as Marley slips away.

I can't reconnect with her in the crowd. I see her once, and then again a little later and her gaze is heated but for damn reason she keeps slipping away as I get interrupted for a thousand bullshit conversations.

I do need to talk to Marcy about the way I've already announced Dharma. She and I have a long conversation about the press release she will draft.

"You need to get ahead of this with Moran," she warns. "Find him, tonight. If he hasn't heard, you tell him. You assure him you are all in with Soundcrush. You ask for a meeting to give full disclosure."

I spend the next hour searching for Moran and dutifully doing the damage control Marcy recommends.

No I can't find Marley anywhere. I wander the party for ages. I'm getting so damn frustrated that I swipe a drink take a couple of swallows, then put it down, regretting it immediately.

Goddammit, again, Bodie?

Now I'm gonna have to tell Marley that I broke my sobriety. I promised her. Every time. And that seems like the most important promise I've made her so far.

Adam rolls up on my left, rudely shutting down some club promoter's pitch to me by saying, "Later, man. Need my boy right now." He steers me away. "Where the fuck are Ashlynn, Marley, Mac and Kat? I can't find any of them."

I make a few rapid mental calculations. I think about what I know about Slade. I think about the way that we all confess things to Marley and expect her to sit passively by, only advising, not acting. I think about Jasmine and how she would feel if Ashlynn had confessed to Marley the things Varrick told me about Slade. I think about the many many recent phone calls in which Marley was talking to one of those girls and she casually walked out of the room, out of my hearing.

Shit.

I dial John Rourke. "Where is she, man?"

I mean Mac of course. She's always his primary, and she's the only one of the girls who has a dedicated security guard at this private party, where Matt's security is in force. "Good fucking question, Bodie," he growls. "She slipped me. Why the fuck would she do that? Mac's never one done that before."

"How long?" I ask.

He's silent.

"How fucking long, John?" Adam is tense beside me, waiting for the reply.

"Forty minutes."

I mouth forty to Adam and he rips the phone from my hand.

"And you didn't fucking call me? Goddammit! Find her! Right the fuck now. If you don't find her in five minutes call for some fucking back up!"

Adam's racing around looking for Mac. I'm following as he  pulls his own phone.

"Where the fuck are you man?" he says with irritation.

It's Leed calling. My worst fears are confirmed and in minutes, Adam is searching for a way to get our limo out of the complicated neighborhood valet system.

"Fuck that shit," I jump in a limo at the curb whose driver unfortunately wondered off for a smoke break. "Get in!" I yell at Adam and John.

"You just stole a vehicle. You realize that, right?" John Rourke tells me.

"Ain't the first ride I ever boosted in need," I tell him.

We are tearing toward Slade's condo. I yell at John and Adam when I learn that John is not armed tonight. In the parking lot of Slade's condo, I kick the locked glove box until I break it open and get lucky, finding a nine because security guys often double as drivers. Adam looks a little shocked when I pull out the gun and check the cartridge.

"Bodie, give me the gun—" John says. "Let me talk to the condo security--"

"Ain't no fucking time. I got this, just follow my lead."

When we stalk into the lobby of Slade's condo building, I pull the gun on the security guard.

"Do not fuck with me and do exactly what I say because I have no time for a bunch of back and forth bullshit. If you argue, I will shoot you in the fucking leg and take your keys, do you understand me? But it's been a minute since I was a real thug and shot somebody so I might get your dick instead, with the recoil and all."

Behind me, I hear Adam mutter, "Jesus fuck, Bodie," but otherwise he doesn't protest.

The security guard raises his hands.

"Take me to Viggo Von Schlater's unit and open it."

Two minutes later, Adam and I have confirmed his condo is empty and now we are emptying our wallets, giving the poor guard seven grand and change to not call the cops on us as we leave the building and haul ass toward Slade's house in the hills.

John looks over at me as he runs a red light. "Was that true, what you told him? You shot someone?"

"I've shot at people shooting at me. I  never actually shot anybody. But one time...I was directly responsible for a needless death. He...haunts me," I admit.

"I feel that," John says, and I remember he's been to war, just like Ben.

Adam is perfectly calm as leans up from the back seat and says, "I don't believe in ghosts. I think you should give me the gun.  Because if I had to, I'm pretty sure I can take a life to protect my own and sleep fine at night, leaving my judgment in God's hands. "

You know, I believe what Adam said is true. He's like that. Made of very strong stuff. But even so, I don't give him the gun. No since in both of us being murderers.

In the end, I don't need it either. By the time we get there, it's all but over.

Dev is lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

Marley is gone. At least she had the sense to protect our innocent one. She took Kat away before the police arrived.

I can't think about what comes next—because Dev is fading. He's running his mouth but his life is pouring out on the floor.

Motherfuck, the pallor on his face reminds so much of Cain Priestly, the moments before he died.

Matt is cussing at him to keep him awake and Mac is wailing at his side. Ashlynn standing in a state of shock and I know—I fucking know—that if he dies, they will never get over it. Marley either. They will blame themselves for the rest of their lives.

So I rip off my shirt and shove it underneath him—where the blood is pouring from a nicked artery as the bullet passed through—and I push that son of a bitch down hard, trying to create pressure to keep the rest of his blood on the inside.

He screams but I'm not gonna let him bleed out. John Rourke is thinking like me, and in about two minutes he's located a trauma kit from somewhere and he's taken over, trying to seal Dev's wound with much more skill than I have.

Then the EMT's and the cops arrive. They say he's going to be okay, but my hands are shaking and covered in his blood. I'm wondering around the house looking for a way to get the blood off me.

I know it's crazy but all I want to do is go the hospital with Dev. Just like Matt. It's something weird. Maybe because his blood is on my hands or maybe because of Cain Priestly, but I do not want to be here in this study with my band and our women and Riley, deciding how to manage this.

Ironically, Adam gets the gun after all—his gun from home. That was the weapon Slade shot Dev with. Mac brought it back on the private jet from Tennessee, when she went to pick up Lennon and the nannies. We all decide, Adam has to be the one to claim responsibility for the unlicensed weapon. Not Mac. No way. She's tough, but she's been through enough trauma tonight. I can't even stand the thought of her confined overnight for arraignment, considering her PTSD.

As soon as the police start taking statements and I have a moment to walk off while I wait to give mine, I call Marley.

She has a lot of fucking explaining to do.

Uh-oh. Who do you think it going to be more angry with Marley? Bodie or Trace?