The Mob Rush

Chapter 6: The Mob Rush

The safehouse lasted five days.

On the sixth, the real world came back in the form of a call from Marcus. Julian’s label was threatening a lawsuit if he skipped a promotional event downtown — full press, live stream, the works.

Kael pushed back hard, brought up the letter, the open threat. It didn’t matter. No lawyer cares about a stalker when there’s a contract on the table.

Now they stood backstage at a glass-domed outdoor plaza, and the quiet of the forest felt like a different life. Five thousand fans were pressed against the barricades, screaming, holding up phones and albums. The air was thick with heat and perfume and six hours of waiting.

Julian stood nearby, adjusting the cuffs of a red velvet blazer. His stage smile was back on — easy, arrogant — but his eyes kept flicking toward Kael.

Since the night with the guitar, something had shifted between them. The hostility was gone. In its place was something quieter, harder to name. Julian found himself tracking Kael’s every move, wanting him close. The solid presence of him felt like the only steady thing in the chaos.

“You good?” Kael stepped up behind him, voice low enough only Julian could hear. He was in full work mode — black suit, earpiece in, eyes sweeping the balconies above the crowd. The heat of his body brushed against Julian’s back.

Julian nodded, tighter than usual. “Yeah. Just stay close.”

“Not leaving your side.” Kael said it like a fact. “Fifteen minutes, cameras, then I pull you out. If I touch your shoulder, we move. No arguing.”

“No arguing.”

“Julian, thirty seconds!” a floor director hissed.

Julian took a breath, put his smile on, and walked out into the flashbulbs.

The crowd roared. It hit like a wall of sound, rattling the glass dome overhead. Julian waved and crossed to the podium.

Kael stayed just off camera, close enough to reach the stage steps if anyone made it that far. He didn’t like this venue. Too many angles. Too many blind spots. The barricades looked flimsy against that many bodies.

For ten minutes, it went fine. Julian answered questions, smiled, and worked the crowd.

Then everything went wrong at once.

A loud CRACK cut through the speakers, sharp as a gunshot.

Kael’s hand went to his holster and he stepped in front of Julian — but it wasn’t a gun. It was a barricade on the left, giving out under the weight of the crowd.

People gasped. Then the front row went down, and the crowd behind them surged over the fallen and toward the stage. Security vanished into the crush.

“Julian!” Kael grabbed him by the lapels and hauled him back just as hands broke over the edge of the stage.

Someone grabbed Julian’s ankle. He cried out, stumbling.

“Off him!” Kael kicked the hand away.

The crowd kept coming — not an attack, just panic, pure and dangerous, everyone reaching for him at once.

“Stage left’s compromised, fall back to the loading dock!” a voice crackled in Kael’s ear.

A camera on a crane, knocked loose by the crush, swung wild and came straight for Julian’s head.

Kael didn’t think. He tackled him, twisting mid-air to take the fall himself, and they hit the stage floor hard. Kael curled his body over Julian’s, shutting out the world.

Julian gasped, the air knocked out of him. Everything went dark under the weight of Kael’s chest. He could hear boots pounding past them, feel the stage shake under the stampede.

But all he could focus on was Kael — his heartbeat hammering against Julian’s ribs, the solid heat of his body, the smell of his suit, the hand clamped over the back of Julian’s skull to keep it off the ground. For a few endless seconds, Kael was the only solid thing in the world.

Kael grunted, sharp and pained. The camera had caught his shoulder instead of Julian’s head.

“Kael!” Julian’s voice cracked with real fear. He grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, trying to pull him closer, fingers tight against the solid muscle of his back.

“I’ve got you.” Kael’s voice was strained but steady, right at his ear. Warm breath brushed Julian’s skin. “Don’t move.”

Then sirens. Riot police forced through the crowd, clearing a path across the stage.

“Clear!” the earpiece barked.

Kael was up instantly, hauling Julian to his feet by the collar. “Run.”

They sprinted down the emergency stairwell, two more guards flanking them. Julian couldn’t feel his legs. He was running on Kael’s grip alone, the strong hand locked around his arm like an anchor.

They burst into the loading dock. The SUV was already running, the door open. Kael shoved Julian in and climbed after him.

“Go!”

The tires screamed out of the garage and into daylight.

Inside, the only sound was their breathing. Julian sagged against the seat, blazer torn, chest heaving.

He looked over at Kael.

Kael sat hunched forward, hands braced on his knees, jaw tight. His jacket was ripped at the shoulder. A line of blood ran down his neck from a cut behind his ear.

Julian’s stomach dropped.

“You’re bleeding.” His voice shook.

He slid across the seat without thinking, reaching out, his fingers hovering just above the cut. The space between them disappeared. Up close, Kael’s eyes were darker than usual, steady even through the pain.

Kael went still. He turned his head and looked at him. They were inches apart now, close enough that neither one moved. The air between them felt charged, heavy with adrenaline and something neither of them was ready to name.

Julian’s eyes dropped to Kael’s mouth for a second before snapping back up.

“You’re bleeding,” he said again, quieter this time.