The Sirens of Catalunya, Pt. 01

An erotically charged thriller about an exceedingly talented man who, along with the women he's forbidden from loving, winds up in the crosshairs of a malignant foe who will stop at nothing to harm them...

Before the fateful day when his longtime friend thrust the weight of the world onto his shoulders, Izzy was living an uncomplicated life which featured nothing more exciting than attending every concert he could while trying to keep his recording studio afloat. Overnight, he found himself as the manager of an impossibly talented band comprised of three beautiful young women who were on the brink of achieving life-changing fame and fortune.

After spending the better part of the following decade shepherding their rise to international stardom, Izzy finds himself increasingly struggling with the fact that he cares far more deeply for the alluring young women than he should. Certain his attraction could only lead to ruin; he forces his feelings down deep while focusing all his energy on safeguarding the women he's grown to love.

Everything changes one terrifying evening when the band's plane crashes deep the Great Smokey Mountains. Suddenly petty arguments with the label, or fending off handsy fans, fade into the background as Izzy and the band fight for their survival. As the conspiracy which caused the crash is slowly unraveled, Izzy finds himself dealing with the dual challenges of defending the women he would die to protect while keeping hidden his forbidden desire (a task made harder by the forced proximity thrust upon them as they run for their lives).

The last thing he expects is to discover that his feelings are not quite as unrequited as he had always assumed.

Author's Note:

I've split this novel into four sections for publication here. All sensuality (on page or otherwise) takes place between characters who are eighteen or older.

One

"Don't worry... 'bout a thing... because every little thing's... gonna be all right!"

Inigo 'Izzy' Catalunya nodded his head in time with the music coming from the obviously bored ensemble playing the same thirty-minute set for the third time since their shift had begun. He watched the guitarist with a shrewd eye; unable to prevent himself from noticing when the artist flubbed the second bar of the bridge. A quick look around as the band reached the end of the tune allowed Izzy to take in the luxurious resort located at the southern end of Riviera Maya. The sun was blistering despite the rain which had awoken him several hours prior, and the ocean was just close enough for him to hear the crash of the surf and feel the sea breeze on his face.

The resort was intentionally uncrowded, the designers having made the conscious decision to offer a modest number of cabanas (available for sky-high prices) rather than the more common approach of profit via oppressive capacity. This suited Izzy and his charges just fine, even if it did mean that the band he had been watching was playing for an audience which could be counted on one's fingers (most of whom were far more interested in imbibing mass quantities of fermented sugar rather than watching live music).

Izzy was dressed in a flowing Hawaiian style shirt and loose-fitting cargo shorts topped by a faded, wide-brimmed canvas hat. The ensemble did an admirable, if not wholly effective, job of concealing his bulk. He was not a small man, standing a bit over one-hundred-eighty centimeters, and he had spent more of his thirty-seven years than not failing to keep his mass under one-hundred kilograms. His outfit was unremarkable in the tropical environment, but Izzy was still sweating buckets thanks to the fact that the only changes he would have made to his clothing before facing a snowstorm was swapping his flip-flops for hiking boots and (possibly) grabbing a jacket.

He doffed his hat and made an effort to re-tie his long brown hair into a ponytail that did not look like a man-bun while still allowing his neck to enjoy the breeze. He managed to tuck most of his mane into his hat and proceeded to the bar to collect a soda. He honestly would have preferred to stick with water, but an experience from a regrettably memorable trip to Monterey in his mid-twenties had left him forever wary of unbottled liquids in Central America. The bartender once again tried to tempt him with a cocktail, or even a beer, but he politely refused.

Izzy retook a seat near the stage as the reggae band gave way to a more traditionally calypso group. He appreciated the constant offerings of live music, even if the performer who was a permanent resident in his soul commiserated with how miserable a gig playing for disinterested tourists must be for those on stage.

Moments before Izzy reached the point where he would do permanent damage to his teeth, so hard was he grinding them in response to the breathtaking lack of voice talent on the band's lead singer, he spotted a familiar figure hurrying in his direction with a worried expression on his face.

Leaping from his chair, Izzy raced to meet Oscar, his longtime associate. As he reached him, Izzy anxiously hissed, "What's wrong?"

The look in the diminutive, but sturdy, man's eyes only heightened the dread which was rapidly expanding in Izzy's gut as he replied, "Sofi just called me. They think they saw a guy in a tree outside their private terrace. They think it's him."

"Oh, fuck," Izzy spat as he hurried in the direction of the resort's most exclusive cabanas at a high rate of speed. As he jogged across the pool deck, he patted himself down briefly before extracting his phone. As he did, he saw that he had multiple missed calls from his charges. He cursed himself for his proclivity for live music, as his imagination exploded with all manner of possible disasters which his lack of awareness had likely caused.

Oscar fell into step beside him without difficulty even though Izzy had a dozen centimeters on him (and the latter was moving surprisingly quickly for so large a man). Oscar was the type of man few people could overlook, due in large part to the fact that only a natural disaster could prevent him from spending at least an hour a day in the gym. As he caught up, Oscar huffed, "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to rip that mother-fucker's throat out."

"Ok," the smaller man replied evenly. "Any thoughts for how you'll dispose of the body?"

"Who gives a shit? Listen, I need you to wait outside once we get to their cabana. Don't let anyone in. Including, and most especially, the miserable bastard who likely caused this shitshow."

Oscar nodded, their relationship being sufficient that he had no need to ask for clarification as to the specific bastard to whom his boss referred. As they approached the structure in question, Oscar peeled off and made himself inconspicuous in the thick foliage. Without even slowing, Izzy pulled a keycard from his pocket and unlocked the door to the cabana.

As the door opened, he heard a panicked scream from inside and he broke into a run. Reaching the main living area, he spotted a woman with long dark hair clad in a very skimpy bikini racing into one of the bedrooms.

"Liv!" Izzy shouted. "It's just me."

The door opened and he spotted a pair of large, soulful blue eyes peering out at him suspiciously. At length, she replied in heavily accented English, "Are you alone?"

"Of course," he replied quickly. "Oscar's outside. He told me what Sofi said."

Liv exited the bedroom and walked quickly over to Izzy. She was the youngest of his charges at twenty-five and was of average height. She had a slim build, with one notable exception, and her dark brown hair reached nearly to her waist when worn down. He did not fail to notice the way that she positioned herself so that his bulk stood between her and the cabana's rear, where the supposedly private patio was located. Nor could he fail to notice the frankly pathetic job her bikini did of obscuring her bustiness. He pushed that observation down, hating himself for making it in the first place.

He looked in the same direction as Liv and said, "What's going on?"

She stood on her tiptoes and looked over his shoulder, pushing her famous endowments into his back (a move that neither the wisps of Lycra comprising her top, nor the thin layer of polyester that was his shirt, did much to dampen). "He is still out there, as far as I know. Ali wanted to take her top off to entice him to come closer..."

Izzy's eyes grew wide with terror, and he pleaded, "Please tell me you talked her out of it."

"It was actually Sofi," Liv replied worriedly, her accent fading the longer she talked. "But she remains convinced it will work. However, she had not yet revealed her tits as of a few moments ago when I came inside."

"Sofi's out there with her?"

"Yes. But she came in and put more clothes on a little bit ago. That is what I was doing when you..."

He gave her an apologetic glance. "I'm really sorry for bursting in like that."

"You know we always want you here, Izzy. You're one of us."

He grimaced inwardly, his gut roiling with self-loathing, but he managed to set that aside. He said, "Why don't you go get dressed. I'll see if I can spot this asshole."

She hugged him tightly from behind and hurried into her room. He groaned softly at the realization that she had not bothered to close the door before she whipped her bikini top over her head in advance of hunting through her suitcase; her dizzyingly large, and alluringly jiggly, breasts on full display for anyone in the living area. He was momentarily transfixed at the sight; his mind simultaneously screaming at him to both flee with all possible haste, and to never move from that spot.

She glanced up and said, "Everything ok?" He nodded dumbly, to which she just smirked and gestured to the left with her head before saying, "The others are out there."

"Right," he muttered as his feet finally started moving him in that direction.

The moment her nude perfection was torn from his view, he felt a wave of shame crash metaphorically into him. He shook his head angrily and hurried toward the terrace, his responsibility for protecting his charges overriding his urge to punish himself for abusing their trust.

He reached the sliding door to the terrace and peeked through the filmy curtain. Outside, he spotted Ali and Sofi laying on loungers and looking like they did not have a care in the world. The former was a taller than average woman of twenty-seven with an athletic build and long, blonde-highlighted brown hair which was currently held in place via one of the variety of incantations human females learned in their youth to place their hair out of harm's way. She wore a bikini which matched Liv's in all but color and left nothing to the imagination. The latter was a petite woman of twenty-six with shoulder-length brown hair worn in a high ponytail. She wore cutoff jean shorts and a midriff-baring T-shirt bearing the logo of a band with whom Izzy had performed in his youth. Both had very light skin which stood in stark contrast to the fact that he knew with certainty that they had spent the last three days doing little besides sunbathing.

He knocked quietly on the glass, prompting Sofi to look around slowly. Her eyes widened briefly, and then he could see her sigh in relief as a small smile crept across her face. He beckoned her inside and took a step back, lest their quarry get spooked. She waited a few moments before announcing the need for more booze and standing up. She proceeded through the door and immediately raced to Izzy, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you for coming!" she yelped.

He chastely hugged her in return, wrapping his arms around her but keeping his hands hovering centimeters from her bare back. Sofi was significantly shorter than either of her companions at one-hundred-fifty-seven centimeters, leaving her high ponytail of brown hair level with Izzy's chin.

He whispered, "You know I'll always be there for you. All of you. I'm just gutted I didn't notice my phone ringing. I was sitting by the pool, listening to..."

"I know," she replied playfully. "Live music. We knew you could not resist getting your fix." He merely shrugged helplessly in response, prompting her to add, "Maybe we should thank this asshole when we catch him. He might have saved you from a terrible sun burn."

Izzy's features hardened and he growled, "I think I know exactly how I want to thank him."

"No," Sofi replied firmly. "You are not to get yourself arrested for beating someone up. Especially when all he is doing is looking."

"He's doing far more than that."

"Thousands of people look at us every day, Izzy. Many of them likely have lust in their hearts. That does not make them evil."

He muttered, "I disagree," bitterly. After all, he seethed inwardly, why should he not hate the masses for engaging in the same repugnant act he loathed himself for doing.

Sofi stepped back and pulled her midriff over her head to reveal yet another color of micro-bikini. She shoved her cutoffs down and kicked them onto the couch before saying, "I'm going back out there. The guy is in one of the taller palm trees at two o'clock as you face the door. I suspect you have all the time in the world to capture him. There are no branches, or whatever you call it on that kind of tree, within eight meters of the ground. I cannot imagine how he managed to get up there."

Liv poked her head into the room. "Should I go out as well?"

"You go out there with tits on display like that, and the poor bastard will faint dead away and fall out of the tree."

Liv stepped fully into the room. Izzy made a valiant effort at not looking in her direction, as he had little doubt she was still topless, but he failed miserably. Liv smiled shyly at them and said, "If you think it would help?"

"No!" Izzy growled, far louder than he intended.

Liv's smile faded and she seemed to fold in on herself as she murmured, "Oh. Ok."

He groaned. "I'm not upset at you, Liv." He stabbed a finger toward the sliding door and added, "This is all that shithead's fault. You can dress however you like, wherever you like. But for you. Never for him."

After a pregnant pause, Liv said, "I will go get my swimsuit back on."

Izzy protested, "I thought you were changing because he was making you uncomfortable."

She smiled brightly. "That was before you were here!"

She scampered back into her bedroom as Sofi slid back onto the terrace, leaving Izzy alone with the knowledge that he was almost certainly even more of a miserable bastard than the man currently peeping on the three young women who trusted him implicitly to protect them, and whose trust he so frequently found himself abusing.

Two

"A most excellent good morning, sir!" the chipper desk clerk boomed without relaxing his effusive smile. "How may I be of service to you?"

"I need an axe," Izzy snarled. "Or a machete. The rustier the better."

The resort representative's smile faded, and he glanced around furtively before whispering, "I'm sorry?"

"I don't much care what it is, so long as I can use it to chop that sick, twisted, sonofabitch's head off."

The clerk's features went flat, and he firmly said, "We aim to cater to all our guests' needs, señor. But we cannot condone..."

"What?" Izzy snapped when it became clear the clerk had no intention of finishing his sentence. "Out with it."

"We cannot condone murder, sir."

"Do you condone a stalker getting onto the property and accosting some of your guests? Is that what you condone? Because that's what fucking happened."

"I'm sorry?"

"You fucking well better be," Izzy exploded.

The clerk's features hardened, and he said, "And what is your cabana number, sir?"

"Forget it!" Izzy snapped before walking away angrily.

He stalked back in the direction of the cabana, furiously trying to think of an alternative to chopping down the tree containing the Peeping Tom. He had left Oscar in a position from which both the stalker and the door to their cabana could be surveilled inconspicuously and gone in search of the means to permanently end the invasion of his charges' privacy. This task was all the more critical considering the sinking suspicion in Izzy's gut that the man in the tree was the same man who had been growing more bold in his stalking over recent months. What had started as uncomfortably lurid comments on social media had grown into worryingly specific requests for totems which frequently included details he could only have known if he was keeping them under near-constant vigil.

Izzy rejected immediately any notion of contacting the authorities. He knew they would be able to easily retrieve the offender, but he also knew that such action would almost certainly become fodder for tabloids, and their online successors, within hours. He knew that he must think of a way to, not only put a stop to the current peeping, but also permanently end the threat from the stalker. This task was made all the more difficult because he had promised he would not place himself in legal jeopardy in the process.

As he walked, he spotted one of the resort's many foot paths which led toward an area not intended for guests. They were designed to be inconspicuous, but they were not hard to spot as they lacked the opulence of the guest areas. He proceeded down the path to find himself in an area obviously used by the groundskeeping staff.

"Jackpot," he muttered as he started rifling through an open storage locker.

He came up empty in his search for an axe, or a rusty machete, but he did find a medium sized bow saw which was likely used to prune smaller trees around the property.

He shrugged. "I guess that'll do," as he scooped it up. For good measure, he added a coil of sturdy looking rope before rushing back toward the scene of the crime. When he had the tree in question in sight, he paused next to the alcove where Oscar was keeping watch.

"Head inside and let them know they can stop distracting him."

Oscar nodded and said, "Ok. You want help with him after?"

"I think I've got it. Just wait by the door. And don't let anyone in."

"Got it," the smaller man grunted before hurrying off.

Izzy strode boldly up to the tree and stood beneath the man who was obviously aware of his presence, but only willing to occasionally tear his eyes from the sight on the private terrace.

Shaking the saw threateningly, Izzy growled, "Are you going to bow to the inevitable, or do I have to cut it down?"

"You wouldn't dare," the man yelped in an unsettlingly high voice.

"Are you fucking kidding?" Izzy huffed. "I'd much rather cut the damn thing down and have you break every fucking bone in your miserable fucking body when it crashes to the ground." He placed the saw against the bark of the tree and added, "What's it going to be, numb-nuts?"

The man declined to answer, instead focusing back on the terrace.

Moments later, Izzy heard Oscar's voice call out, "Hey, Izzy said to tell you... Oh my God! I mean... I didn't see anything!"

He heard Sofi cackle and say, "What is wrong, Oscar? Never seen a girl in a bikini?"

"Izzy said you can go inside now," Oscar announced after a noticeable pause.

"No!" the man in the tree screamed.

Izzy glared at him. "Show's over shithead. You going to climb down, or would you prefer the massive pain and suffering route?"

He waited several long moments, causing Izzy to shrug and start sawing. At last, the man groaned, "Fine. I'm coming down."

Izzy stood clear in case the man slipped, not wanting anything to come between the stalker and the harsh reality of the unforgiving earth. Regrettably, the descent was uneventful. Once the man was within arm's reach, Izzy gripped his belt and yanked him to the ground. The stalker was just a few centimeters shorter, but notably thin. Izzy lifted him clear of the ground, likely giving him quite the wedgie, and shook him menacingly.

"Empty your pockets."

"No," the stalker replied with too much confidence.

Izzy whacked him on the back of the head with the handle of his saw and growled, "Yes."

The man wailed in anguish, but dutifully emptied his pockets. On the ground, Izzy spotted a phone, wallet and a key card for the same resort. Izzy then noticed a camera strap around the man's neck, the device to which it was attached being still hidden from his view by the man's slouched posture.

"The camera too," Izzy muttered. The man hesitated, leading to Izzy adding, "If you think I'm shy about using your head to find out exactly how much damage this saw can take, by all means continue to defy me."

"Fine," the man conceded, leaning forward to carefully place the camera, complete with an absurdly sized telephoto lens, on the ground.

"Now lay face down," Izzy instructed.

This time, he got less resistance. Once the man was prone, Izzy tightly bound his ankles together. He then passed the rope around the man's waist to lock his legs in a bent position.

Confident the stalker could no longer escape, he said, "Ok. Get on your knees."

"What are you going to do?" the man asked shakily.

"It's not what I'm going to do, shit-heel. It's what you're going to do."

Izzy walked over to the base of the tree and picked up a rock the size of his fist. He tossed it on the ground at the stalker's feet and said, "Smash 'em."

"What?" the man asked, clearly horrified.

"Smash all your equipment. You're not done until there are no pieces larger than a fingernail."

"No," the man replied defiantly as he wielded the rock like a weapon.

Izzy immediately swung the bow saw, catching the knuckles of the man's hand with the end and opening up a wicked looking gash. The man dropped the rock and howled in pain. Izzy merely glared at him and waggled the saw.

"I swear I never hurt them," the man whimpered. "I love them."

"If that were true, you'd never have done this," Izzy spat. "Destroy it! Or watch me call the cops. You and I both know there's plenty on there to get you thrown into a Mexican prison for a decade."

"You'll let me go if I do it?"

"I won't call the cops if you do it," Izzy clarified.

The man let out a weary sigh before timidly bringing the rock down on the lens of his camera.

"Come on," Izzy chided. "No half measures, sir."

The man smashed the lens more forcefully on his second attempt.

Izzy said, "Better." He then had a flash of inspiration and added, "You know what? I've changed my mind."

"Thank God," the man breathed.

Izzy scooped up the phone from the turf and held it out to the man, saying, "Unlock it."

"What?" the man asked in horror.

"Fine," Izzy groaned. "Then just give me your passcode."

"No," the man whispered, his head started to shake from side to side in an almost manic fashion.

Izzy brought his hand down on the top of the man's head, using strength born from decades of moving equipment to hold him still. He held the phone up to the stalker's face long enough for the facial recognition to unlock the device before releasing the man.

"Thanks a lot," Izzy replied as he changed the passcode before pocketing the phone. He then snatched the remaining items from the ground as he raised his voice. "Hey, Oscar! See about finding us a wheelchair, yeah?"

"On it," Oscar barked before hurrying away.

Izzy returned his attention to the stalker and said, "While we wait. How about you attempt to convince me that I shouldn't turn you over to the cops anyway."

The man started blubbering about how he could not be held responsible for his actions; that it was actually the band members who were to blame for being too alluring. Rather than give in to the urge to use the saw to carve a warning to all future women who might cross his path into the man's forehead, Izzy pulled the phone from his pocket and started digging. It took only moments to find the social media apps where dozens of posts related to the band were favorited and frequently commented upon. One post in particular caught his attention. It had been posted the day they arrived at the resort and showed the band sunning themselves on the beach. It was a wide shot with several landmarks clearly visible in the background. He felt the heat of all-consuming hatred boiling up within him, threatening to spill over. The man in front of him noticed the abrupt change and blanched as he beheld Izzy's expression.

"Look man, I swear. I won't bother them again. Just please don't kill me."

"You will not speak unless I tell you to," Izzy seethed. "We're going back to your room."

The trip was a slow one, made all the more aggravating by the man's constant whimpering and constantly being made to wait due to other guests being present in corridors. When they arrived in the efficiency suite, Izzy tied the man firmly to a chair before collecting his passport and computer to go with the wallet and phone he had already acquired. The entire process was accomplished to the soundtrack of the man blubberingly pleading for his life.

Before departing the room, Izzy walked over to the man and bent over until scant centimeters separated their noses. He waited several long beats as he felt the dread threaten to overwhelm his adversary before he said, "I'm not going to kill you," he paused to check the passport in his pocket, "Rick Lati of Charlestown, Massachusetts. But if I ever see your face again, you'll wish I did." Izzy waited until the silent count of sixty, never moving a muscle, before adding, "Do you believe me?"

"Yes!" Rick Lati gasped desperately. "I swear I'll never bother them again."

Izzy growled, "See that you don't," before whirling and walking purposefully from the room.

Upon entering the hall, he hurried toward the cabana while desperately trying to calm his raging emotions. Despite his recent behavior, he was in fact a decidedly non-violent person. In the whole of his life, the number of fights he had been in numbered in single digits (and none of those had been his idea). He had the size, and appearance, of a bouncer but he was by nature an artist. The only reason he could come up with for his behavior was the rage which had exploded within him upon discovering that the three people he had sworn to protect no matter the cost had been threatened.

The challenge he had now was finding a way to temper that rage before he confronted the man who he had just discovered was to blame for the band being placed in danger in the first place. After all, he mused bitterly, it would not do for the manager of one of the music industry's most popular upcoming bands to publicly accost, and potentially permanently maim, the infamous father of the band's three sisters.

Three

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We've reached cruising altitude, and we expect a smooth four-hour flight to Atlanta. Just sit back and enjoy the ride."

"All right," the man to Izzy's right spat angrily. "We are in air. Now tell us why we cut vacation short."

Izzy turned to regard the man beside him. They were of similar height and weight, although Gustavs 'Gus' Zarina was a decade older than Izzy with long unnaturally black hair and a Van Dyke beard. Gus had the hard eyes found so often in men with direct memory of life behind the iron curtain (having been born in Latvia and spent his entire childhood living under the heel of the USSR). This stood in stark opposition to his obviously expensive clothing and jewelry. He also lacked the stoicism typically associated with northern European men, his behavior instead frequently oscillating between boisterous and oafish.

Izzy took a calming breath before replying, "We left early, sir, because of you."

"You are daft," Gus replied in very heavily accented English. "I was one who insisted we stay."

"Yet you posted a pic of the band on the beach from the day we arrived. A picture I told you should have been deleted."

"So? Picture generated thousands of likes. It was very sexy, no?"

"That's not the point, dammit. It was exploitative. And it was creepy as fuck."

"Why?" Gus replied with a gleeful smirk. "How do you say... is no such thing as bad publicity. Besides, we are trying to build following, yes? Both for girls, and for band."

Izzy wondered how adjoining rows were not complaining to the stewardess about the noise his grinding teeth must have been making. He managed, barely, to contain his temper, saying, "It is one thing to build their following. It is something altogether different to post what amounts to a giant notice on the internet of where they can be found. We caught a stalker in a tree outside their cabana, for fuck's sake."

"No one was hurt. What is big deal?"

"It traumatized them, you thoughtless asshole. As did the picture you posted, incidentally. It was tantamount to pornography."

"Why? As I said, was very sexy. Besides, could not see nipples or bush. Not that any of them have bush."

"Fuck," Izzy hissed. "That's officially the creepiest thing I've ever heard. And that's saying something. She's your daughter, for Christ's sake."

"They are all daughter," Gus proclaimed loudly.

"Not if you keep this shit up," Izzy grunted.

"What?"

"Nothing. Listen, I took down the post. Obviously. And I've reset all their social accounts. Additionally, I've asked the band not to restore your access. I painted this as a necessary security measure. But if you push me on this, Gus, I'll explain to them why the man who'd been stalking them for three months managed to find them at a remote resort in Central America."

"Who cares! They will listen to me, no matter what you tell them." He thumped himself in the chest and added, "I am father."

"You keep telling yourself that," Izzy muttered disconsolately before rising to seek the temporary refuge of the lavatory.

The remainder of the flight was an exercise in both patience and restraint. Gus had obviously not taken a word Izzy had spoken to heart. He spent several hours typing a document which was unambiguously a plan for a social media campaign for their upcoming tour, and which involved collaborations with several companies notorious for exploitation. Their hasty departure had prevented them from returning in the same fashion as they had arrived (wherein they had bought out the entirety of the first-class seats to ensure a measure of privacy). The band members had thus donned what they called their 'disguises'. Loose fitting outfits which, at least to a degree, concealed their alluring bodies; no makeup; and baseball hats. They also kept their distance from one another, much as it pained them. It did not hide the fact that they were attractive young women, but it usually prevented onlookers from associating them with their alter egos as internationally renowned recording artists.

Once they landed in Atlanta, Izzy led the group through baggage claim to a waiting car which whisked them to the private terminal. Once their luggage caught up with them, they took off for another five-hour flight to upstate New York.

The sun had long set by the time they reached their ultimate destination. Once they were checked into their upscale hotel in Syracuse, Izzy started to allow himself to relax. During the second leg of their journey, he had gotten each of the women alone and reiterated the need to keep Gus off their social media accounts. They had accepted his request without objection, promising they would do anything he asked of them. He had no doubt the slimy bastard ran several unsanctioned accounts and he again considered possible strategies to separate the man from the band Gus had come to view, wrongly, as his personal creation.

The truth, as was so commonly the case, was quite a bit more complicated. The band which would become Siren had started as something for three young women to do together instead of video games. Led by the ridiculously talented Sofija and encouraged by the profoundly driven Alise, the pair had drawn in the infamously reserved Olīvija. It quickly became apparent that their natural chemistry acted as a supercharger for their synchronicity when playing together. They posted their first music video, then billing themselves as Sirēna, covering a popular hard rock song on the internet three months after their first jam session. This despite the fact that Alise had previously only been a recreational guitar player, and Olīvija had never even touched a bass, prior to that fateful evening. Their abilities grew in step with their popularity and within two years their videos (now of entirely original songs) were getting millions of views. This led to them playing clubs in their native Jūrmala, despite the fact that they were all still in high school.

Their big break had come when a touring musician with a large social media following had been bored while passing through their city and gone for a drink in the establishment where they were playing. Sofija had recognized him immediately as Bowen Lloyd, universally regarded as one of the greatest living rock drummers. He had left the progressive metal band he founded to make his own way and spent his time hopping between various super groups. Bowen had stood at the front of the stage for their entire set, experiencing their music with unrestrained joy. The gig became their largest ever as the crowd gradually swelled to capacity based purely on Bowen's social media posts between songs.

After the show, he approached them while they packed up and offered to help. He was a small, prodigiously tattooed man with long hair and a braided goatee, but he was eminently gracious and tactful despite his fame and talent. After the last case had been loaded, he had offered to buy them a drink. They had politely refused since they were not permitted to so much as eat in the establishment, to say nothing of the fact that they all had homework to finish. He had relented but had given them his number and urged them to contact him.

He had become their mentor in absentia, in addition to being an ardent public supporter of their work. With the visibility he gave them, their popularity had exploded. Gus, who had had little to do with any of the then girls prior to their meteoric ascent, quickly swooped in and assumed managerial control. He insisted the band become more international. Sirēna had become Siren and each of the girls had adopted a less provincial nickname. Bowen had suggested their original names would make them seem more exotic. Gus, however, saw their rise as merely a platform on which the band, and by extension himself, could cash in on what he felt was their true gift: their looks. When the band began, Liv was a gawky girl of fifteen and tiny Sofi could still be mistaken for a child despite being a year older. Fast forward three years and the band was now comprised of a sultry vixen of a lead singer/guitar player, a petite explosion of energy on drums and vocals and, the pièce de résistance, the now infamously endowed bassist.

Gus took it as an article of faith that the band's popularity was due entirely to their looks rather than their musical abilities. He insisted their path to riches went through the UK and America and began booking them on chat shows and for fashion events. He hired beauty consultants and personal trainers. The girls accepted everything he told them, having no basis for refusing his direction other than Bowen gently pleading with them to focus on their music.

Things came to a head the summer following Sofija's graduation (she being the middle of the three girls who were separated by one year each). They had played a festival in Edinburgh in front of over forty-thousand people. They were offered a record contract by three different labels and Gus leapt at the one with the largest signing bonus. Fortunately, Bowen had also attended the show and managed to get their attention before they signed. He took them to dinner and introduced his 'old friend' Izzy, who had been living in northern England at the time and once spent a summer touring with Bowen. Their mentor urged them to hire Izzy as their manager, promising he would look out for their best interests rather than trying to exploit them. They eventually agreed, and Izzy had been their manager ever since.

The band had only discovered later that Izzy had previously never managed anything but a steadily failing recording studio. He suspected that Bowen had pushed him on the band for want of a better option, the hugely talented drummer having instantly spotted the fact that Gus would lead them to ruin (or worse). The only reason Izzy had not loudly objected when Bowen first proposed the ludicrous scheme was the profound level of respect he had for the man. Overnight, Izzy had gone from running a run-down recording studio in York to negotiating a multi-million-pound contract with an A/R representative.

Somehow, Izzy had managed to always avoid catastrophic failure whilst managing the band, albeit barely far more frequently than he would have preferred. Siren's popularity, and commercial success, had grown steadily and Izzy had managed, for the most part, to prevent Gus (who had appointed himself promoter when Izzy replaced him as manager, and still took a ten percent cut of the band's proceeds) from exploiting their looks any more than was necessary. Yet, as the aborted vacation had once again proven, it was a constant fight. Izzy knew that Gus, himself now a millionaire many times over, would never let go of the belief that money was being left on the table. Izzy had frequently confided in Oscar, the band's lead roadie and self-appointed bodyguard for the last five years, that dealing with Gus was like being in league with a puppy. He always seemed effervescently happy. But if you turned your back on him, he was capable of sowing catastrophic levels of mayhem in a shockingly short period of time.

As Izzy sat at the desk in his hotel room, sipping from an overpriced bottle of water, he stared at a web page on his laptop that had, for all practical purposes, become his home screen. Ever since he had first gotten wind of the possibility of a stalker, he had been considering the need for heightened security. Oscar did an admirable job protecting the band when they were in public, but it was clear they needed something more. He knew that his contemporaries would have hired the firm he was considering without a second thought, passing the exorbitant cost onto their clients. But that had never been Izzy's style. In his mind, the band deserved far more of a share of the proceeds for their art than they actually collected. Despite their protests, he only took two percent as the fee for his services. This was due in part to the frankly offensive cut Gus still insisted they give him, but it was also a matter of personal conviction. Izzy had, as near as makes no difference, no expenses after letting the lease on his apartment in England lapse and moving his possessions into storage. The band was his whole life. He lived where they lived. When they took a break from touring, he would find a low-cost, long-term hotel in the area in case they needed him. This allowed him to do things such as chartering a private plane at the last minute to make their unplanned return to the States as painless as possible, or hiring a digital security firm which charged seven figures, without burdening them with the knowledge that such behavior would, for all practical purposes, leave him penniless.

Four

"All right Toronto. All the way from behind the Iron Curtain. Put your hands together for the beautiful ladies of Siren!"

Izzy growled audibly in response to the intro and would have given the MC a piece of his mind had the obviously brain-dead fool not departed stage left. He muttered, "They were born long after the fall of the USSR, you moron."

As for the 'beautiful' comment in the intro, Izzy had little doubt where that had originated. As the band took the stage, he could see more of Gus's handiwork in Liv's midriff-baring top and Ali's skin-tight leather pants. The ladies were unquestionably beautiful, and certainly had no aversion to dressing alluringly at the proper time. He recalled with perfect clarity a night roughly a year after he had made their acquaintance when he had run into them just as they returned from a nightclub. To say their outfits left nothing to the imagination was an understatement, featuring agonizingly short skirts and wispy tops held in place by nothing more than sheer audacity.

On stage, however, they preferred to dress in a fashion more befitting their music. Ripped jeans and faded t-shirts were far more their style than stripper clothes masquerading as high fashion. He once again tried to think of an excuse to build in twenty or so private minutes pre-show where they could focus. And, if needed, discard whatever foolish garments Gus had tried to foist upon them.

Izzy's musings were interrupted by a touch on his elbow. He turned to find a familiar, if not altogether welcome face, smiling up at him. He nodded in her direction before turning back to the stage. Phoebe Knight had been a constant source of frustration for him for the last half-decade. She was the A/R representative for Siren, meaning every conversation with her had the potential to become a negotiation. He had also, on one very drunken night at the conclusion of a tour four years earlier, thrown caution to the wind and spent the night with her. It was an experience she had made clear she was not opposed to repeating, but one which he had regretted instantly.

"They look amazing tonight!" Phoebe called out over the thunder of Siren's opening number.

Izzy leaned down to her ear. "They sound even better!"

"Heard you guys had some excitement recently south of the border."

"It was that stalker who had been... well... stalking them for the last few months. He showed up at their resort. We caught him before he got too close to them, but it still scared them pretty bad."

"Sounds like it. I presume that's the explanation for the security Mr. Zarina hired?"

Izzy growled at the mention of Murdock, the overbearing buffoon Gus had hired in an attempt to wheedle his way back into the band's social media accounts. The man was little more than a third-rate bouncer, constantly coming up with new and frustrating ways to waste the band's money while he ate everything in sight. Izzy desperately wanted him gone, but he knew he could only fight simultaneous battles on so many fronts. The fact that Izzy had taken the initiative to hire a digital security firm which promised to put a stop to the stalking permanently was something which he had not yet found the right opportunity to share with the band.

"What are you doing here?" Izzy eventually replied.

"I came to see you. And the band. It's been too long since I've been out on the road."

Izzy was grateful the conclusion of the band's second tune drowned out the sound of his derisive snort. Phoebe came from what he referred to as the new breed of record executives: people with a long line of degrees, but no sense for the music business beyond its capacity for generating revenue. More damning, she had no perceptible appreciation for music of any kind. To her, this was a way to accumulate wealth and power. Mentioning art to her was a sure way to elicit a glowering glare (if not outright demeaning laughter).

He gestured to the band and said, "How are you liking it?"

"It's great," she gushed. She waited a long beat before adding, "Have you talked to them about playing the song we sent them?"

Izzy quirked an eyebrow at her dismissively. "Of course not."

She frowned. "Why not? It's scoring really high in our testing."

"Sofi is one of the most talented lyricists working today. Certainly the best among people who perform their own stuff. And they're all really talented at writing music. Why on earth would they play someone else's work?"

Phoebe raised her hands defensively. "It was only a suggestion."

Izzy turned back to the show, trying to concentrate on the performance rather than allow himself to obsess over the list of artists he wanted to throw in Phoebe's face questioning if she would also try to get them to perform songs they did not write. Just as he finally managed to calm himself and start to enjoy the show, he was again interrupted by his companion.

"How are you doing, Izzy?"

He shrugged. "Fine. The tour's going well and they're writing some really great stuff for the next album."

"I said, how are you doing? It seems like those girls make you work all the time. Surely you deserve some time off."

He shook his head decisively. "They don't make me do anything. It's an honor and a privilege to do anything I can to help them. And they're not girls. They're amazingly talented women."

"That's very noble of you," she replied agreeably. "They're lucky to have you." She slid her arm through his and moved closer to him, pushing the swell of her notably large breast against his elbow.

He peered down at her with a questioning look. "What are you doing?"

She pulled even closer, mashing her tits together beneath her alluringly cut blouse. She smiled coquettishly. "Just being honest."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Was our night together really so miserable, Izzy?"

"It was a mistake. Let's leave it at that."

She laughed. "You certainly seemed to enjoy yourself."

He heard the roar of the crowd rise in the background as the band finished their set. Just as they finished taking their final bow, he felt a firm tug on his elbow. He grunted in surprise and scrambled to keep from losing his balance, but Phoebe kept the pressure up and managed to pull him down for a kiss just as he heard Ali call out from behind him.

"What the fuck!"

***

The walls of the hotel's endless hallway seemed to shrink around him with each step Izzy took. He was reminded of several heavy metal songs which dealt with the topic of a man awaiting his execution. He had been summoned to one of the hotel's meeting spaces via a terse text message from Ali ten minutes prior. More worryingly, none of the members of the band had replied to any of his calls or messages since the nauseating scene with Pheobe the previous evening.

Izzy entered the meeting room committed to not making excuses. He knew he was about to be fired. The combination of the pressure the label was applying, and the scene they had witnessed the night before, left little doubt on that front. In his hands, he held a manila envelope containing twenty-one handwritten pages with details on the band's financial and legal situation which he had spent the night preparing.

"Morning, Izzy," Sofi said brightly as he approached the center of the room.

Izzy looked up in confusion to the circular table where the band was seated along with Gus. More from habit than anything else, he replied, "Good morning."

Sofi smirked at him and said, "Crazy show last night, am I right?"

He sighed. "About what you saw with Ms. Knight..."

"You mean the Succubus?" Ali quipped with a playful look. "I think we got off stage just in time. Otherwise, she might have eaten your soul."

"You're not angry?"

"Why would we be angry?" Liv asked softly. "She was obviously molesting you."

Izzy looked around questioningly. "Then why the hush-hush meeting?"

Sofi's face grew somber, and she said, "Something happened last night."

"I know. I have no idea what Ms. Knight was trying to do..."

"Something else happened, Izzy."

He sat down heavily and looked around the table anxiously before saying, "Is everyone ok?"

"We are fine," Ali replied. Her eyes then flitted to Gus before she added, "But there was an incident with a fan at the signing event backstage."

"What sort of incident?"

"Murdock decked a guy."

"Why?"

"Because he believed man had weapon," Gus replied firmly. "Is what he is paid to do."

"It was a pen," Sofi snapped. "Only a moron would mistake that for a weapon."

Izzy dropped his head into his hands and whispered, "How bad was it?"

"It was nothing," Gus replied diffidently.

Sofi glared at him. "He broke his nose."

"And sprained his elbow," Liv added.

Ali added, "Not to mention that the dude was basically Sofi's size."

"Shit," Izzy groaned. He turned to glare at Gus. "He just had to do it in Canada."

"Is no problem," Gus replied with a dismissive wave. "Gave him some merch. Took photo with girls. Problem solved."

Izzy stabbed a finger in Gus's direction and said, "Did he sign a release?"

"What is release?"

"We're so fucked."

"What are we looking at here, Izzy?" Sofi asked worriedly.

"If he files suit, we could be taken to the cleaners. I'll make some calls and find a local lawyer we can trust. We'll reach out to this guy and figure out what it takes for him to sign a release."

Gus laughed. "You are making mountain out of nothing. When we will talk about true problem?"

Izzy looked around the table helplessly and huffed, "Something else happened?"

"He's just talking about the fact that Ms. Knight pulled him aside after she inspected your tonsils to complain about the next album."

Izzy shook his head. "That woman is relentless." His gaze scanned around the table, taking in the morose expressions of the band. He added, "She's also wrong. She's never managed a band before, just pop artists."

"She makes good point," Gus interjected. "Album sales are failing. As are ticket sales."

"They're not failing."

"I think he meant falling," Ali offered.

Izzy leaned forward. "It's natural for sales to fall off a few months after the release. That's just how things work in this business unless you're one of, like, five artist who literally make billions of dollars a year whether they release anything or not. However, my research indicates that your next album's sales will be even stronger. As for concert tickets, I think that's just a facet of how long this tour has lasted. If we hadn't already sold all those tickets, I would have cancelled the remaining shows. You guys need a break." He sighed wearily and pointed at Gus before adding, "And, I'll remind you, the tour extension was the label's idea." He turned back to the band and concluded, "We just have to stay in the pocket. Finish the tour. Take a break." He glared at Gus and said, "One not interrupted by a stalker." He offered a shrug. "Then, after you've had a while to decompress, we'll head back into the studio. You've already written more than enough songs for the next album. We'll be in and out in less than a month. This time next year, you guys will be playing in the biggest theaters. Up and coming groups will be knocking your door down asking to open for you. I've also got some possibilities for major festivals next summer."

Gus thumped the table and barked, "Phoebe says youth are uninterested in heavy metal."

"Oh, its Phoebe now?" Sofi retorted bitterly.

Izzy returned the older man's glare. "They're not," he lifted his fingers in air quotes, "heavy metal. They're a rock band. A damn good one. As I said before, Ms. Knight only wants to change Siren because she doesn't understand rock and roll. And because she's stupid."

Liv looked thoughtful. "Are you sure, Izzy?"

"As certain as I am that you guys are a once in a generation rock band. It would be a crime to let yourselves be convinced to become a group that's indistinguishable from a million other pop bands when you have a legitimate chance to become legends."

Five

"I don't understand why we're doing this," Liv hissed as Izzy climbed toward the rear of the passenger van immediately following the band's show in Asheville, NC a week later.

Izzy glanced at each of the band members in turn before saying, "Murdock says he's got reason to believe this is safer."

Ali fixed him with a steely gaze. "What aren't you telling us?"

He looked around to confirm that the van's other passengers were still occupied with stowing the gear before leaning toward the band and whispering, "He believes there's another stalking situation. It sounds somewhat farfetched, but we can't afford to be too careful."

Liv sank back in her seat. "I just don't understand why we can't take the bus."

Sofi took her hand comfortingly. "Hey. It's going to be ok. I promise I'll stay with you the whole time."

Izzy smiled at their closeness and hoped for a calm flight for Liv's sake. The stunning bassist had mostly conquered her fear of flying, but it was still liable to crop up from time to time. Especially when she was feeling anxious: such as when the newly hired security chief abruptly announced moments after she walked off stage that their travel plans needed to change without warning.

As he started to climb into the row in front of the band, he heard Liv whisper, "Will you sit next to me?"

He looked around in confusion since Sofi was already seated at Liv's side. He then spotted Liv's hopeful expression. She patted the bench by her side for emphasis. He quirked an eyebrow and said, "You must be joking."

She looked up at him morosely. "Please?"

He nodded his assent and carefully sat in the cramped space beside her. She smiled her thanks and leaned her head on his shoulder as the van made its way out of the venue. Izzy took a moment to study Murdock, the newly installed security chief sitting in the front seat beside the driver. At first blush, the man certainly looked the part. He was in his early fifties with greasy salt and pepper hair and a handle-bar mustache. He was a stocky fellow, standing a bit taller and weighing a bit less than Izzy. He dressed in what Izzy suspected was clothing designed to convey both professionalism and competence: suit pants with an open-collar dress shirt covered by a vest (all in varying shades of dark grey).

Between Murdock and Izzy, the remaining bench in the van held two occupants: their omnipresent lead roadie and their insufferable A/R rep who insisted on joining them to 'discuss options for their next album'. Oscar and Phoebe were seated as far apart as possible, with the former eyeing the latter in a manner not unlike the way a recently gorged lion would look at an antelope.

As the van pulled into the small commuter airport, Izzy her a groan from Ali who had been uploading a post to social media about that evening's performance. "Don't tell me that's our plane."

Izzy's gaze followed that of the guitarists to spot a small, twin-prop airplane parked on the tarmac with its running lights on.

"Shut up," Sofi hissed angrily. "Liv's already worried enough."

Ali looked back to smile reassuringly at Liv. "I'm sure it'll be fine. And then, when we land, we'll have a movie night." Her final words were emphasized by air quotes and elicited an embarrassed snicker from Liv.

"I'm holding you to that," the bassist replied softly.

As the band boarded the plane, Izzy noted wryly the fact that no one had inquired after Gus's presence. The band's erstwhile manager had volunteered to ride the bus, along with the equipment, through the night to their next show. He had reasoned that someone should be on hand to act as a witness should this new threat try something. The fact that Izzy's frequent nemesis with respect to the band's future was so quick to abandon them when they were facing a threat only served to further his hatred of the man.

Izzy watched as the band's overnight luggage and coats were carried on board while the pilots busied themselves with readying the plane. He looked outside to find Murdock speaking animatedly to one of the ground crew. The latter finally gave the former a dirty look and hurried off toward one of the few buildings scattered around the airport.

Spotting Izzy, Murdock offered him a strained smile and headed in his direction. "You guys all set on board?"

Izzy shrugged. "Still not entirely certain what we're doing here. Seems pretty farfetched that a stalker would have tried to hijack the bus en route through the mountains."

"That's because you haven't seen my intel. As we say in my business, the threat is real."

"If that's the case, why'd you let Gus stay on the bus?"

"I can't make any of you do anything. He said he'd prefer to keep an eye on the equipment. I told him he was being a fool, but he was insistent. You might have noticed he can be somewhat stubborn."

"Indeed," Izzy allowed. "But I don't want to make this a regular practice. They don't like flying if we can help it. We've got a weeklong break after the next show. If you can't help the cops neutralize this threat before they have to travel again, then we'll have to start talking about postponing shows."

Murdock nodded confidently. "I feel quite certain we'll get this taken care of long before then. Why don't you climb aboard while I get us cleared to depart. We'll be in Chattanooga in no time."

Izzy entered the plane to find it cramped, but otherwise quite nice. The seats certainly suited him better than commercial airlines. He also found it fascinating that there was no separation between the pilots and the passengers, giving it a feel very much like the van they had just departed. He approached where the band was seated in the rear to find them apprehensive, but not worryingly so. He took a seat in the penultimate row and had just started buckling himself in when he felt someone take a seat beside him. He glanced over to find Ali regarding him with a playful expression.

"Everything ok?" he asked haltingly.

"Sure," she replied brightly. She then leaned close and whispered, "I just wanted to protect you from the Succubus."

Izzy glanced up to find Phoebe regarding him with annoyance. He turned to Ali and said, "That was hardly necessary."

"Why? You protect us from all sorts of things. It wouldn't be right if we didn't occasionally return the favor."

"Yeah, but you pay me to do it."

"So?"

"It's like I always tell you. You girls are the talent. You've earned every perk imaginable and then some. I'm just a management stiff."

"There's so much wrong with that," she retorted heatedly. "First off, please never again refer to us as girls. I grant you that we are younger than you are, but we are women, Izzy. We know you're not denigrating us when you use that term, or implying we are somehow incapable, but other people who use that term do think that way. And referring to us as the talent is barely an improvement when it comes to suggesting that we don't have agency in either our lives or our career."

"I wasn't..." Izzy began, but the words died on his lips when he spotted Ali's glare.

"We don't object to enjoying the fruits of our success, within reason. No one knows better than you how hard we've worked to get to where we are, and how hard we're working to take the next step. We've certainly earned occasional perks, as you call them. But none of what we've achieved would have been possible without you."

Izzy looked at her in amazement. "That's absurd. The day I met you, you ladies had just walked off the stage after playing in front of tens of thousands of people."

"You know very well we were so far down the bill of that festival that we didn't even make the poster. Last time we played that gig, we were fourth billed. That was your doing. Face it, Izzy. You're as big a part of our success as any of the three of us."

"But..."

"Certainly more than dear old dad. He just wants to turn us into porn stars."

Izzy allowed himself to laugh at her quip before responding, "That might be a bit of an exaggeration."

"Did you see the outfits he wanted us to wear on that awards show gig? Liv's boobs were basically hanging out and you could see Sofi's nipples from Venus."

Izzy shook his head sadly. "I thought I'd managed to eighty-six those before you guys saw them."

"Nope," she replied, popping the 'P'. "There was also the time we were in that old school theater in Boston where the locks on the doors didn't work so great. He burst into our dressing room with his phone at the ready. Only the fact that Sofi threw her shoe at him kept him from getting a pic of Liv topless. I swear, that creepy bastard won't rest until he has a pic of her boobs he can sell to the tabloids."

By the time she finished speaking, Izzy was shaking with rage to such a degree that he completely failed to notice the fact that they had taken off. "I'm going to gouge his fucking eyes out."

Ali snickered. "Settle down, dude. We handled it."

"You should have told me."

"I told you we handled it. Oscar found us a gizmo you can wedge against the door to keep anyone from opening it."

"I should have been there."

"Izzy," she said warmly. "It was fine. I only mentioned it because we were talking about what a creep my quote, unquote, father is." She snickered before adding, "Besides, you know you can see Liv's boobs whenever you want. She flashes you way more often than me or Sofi do. Hell, you probably see her tits more than I do at this point."

He shook his head angrily. "The fact that something nearly happened only underscores my point. None of you should be wasting any time on my behalf. For goodness' sake Alise, you pay me to keep things like that from happening."

"We don't pay you nearly enough for all you do." He started to object, but she again silenced him with a look and added, "So you'll let us do nice things for you whenever we want. Without complaints."

He waited a long beat before dropping his head in defeat and saying, "As you wish."

"Let's not act like you're heading to the gallows here." He looked at her and smirked, prompting her to add, "How is it that you're one of two people on the planet who can use my full name without angering me? And the only one who doesn't make me feel like you're reprimanding me?"

He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "I'm not sure."

She bumped his shoulder with her own. "Well don't abuse the privilege."

He smiled. "Never." He glanced over his shoulder and asked, "How's Olīvija?"

Ali laughed out loud and replied, "She and Sofija are just fine, Inigo."

Now it was Izzy's turn to laugh, something which drew the attention of both Murdock and Phoebe. He ignored them and settled back into his seat to, if not enjoy, then at the very least tolerate the remainder of the flight. Outside his window, he could spot few signs of humanity as they flew just above the rolling mountains of western North Carolina.

Ali's head had just touched his shoulder as she lost the fight to stay awake when he heard the engine outside his window sputter for the first time.

Six

"What was that?" Liv's voice called out worriedly.

Izzy's natural inclination to reassure her died on his lips as the engine coughed noisily.

"What was that!" Liv repeated, her voice rising to a shout.

Izzy peered forward to where the pilots looked to be anything but relaxed as their hands frantically danced over the controls. Glancing outside also told him nothing. Beyond the lights at the end of the wing, he saw nothing but the vague outline of the Appalachian Mountains beneath the waning crescent moon hanging low in the cloudless sky.

He once again opened his mouth to offer calming words but was interrupted when the starboard engine cut out altogether. A scream pierced the quiet shock of the cabin, although Izzy quickly realized it came from Phoebe rather than one of his charges. Pandemonium quickly broke out, led by Murdock loudly proclaiming that he knew what to do.

Izzy quickly took stock of the situation before unbuckling and getting to his feet. Ali looked at him worriedly but said nothing. He ensured he had the attention of his three charges before leaning close and whispering, "I want you three in the back row. Buckle up as tightly as possible."

"But..." Ali protested.

"No!" he thundered. "We don't have time to talk this out. Do as I say."

He feared for a moment that her willful spirit would win out over her trust in him, but she finally nodded and slid back to her original seat in the rear and buckled in. Izzy tore the seat cushions from the seats in the penultimate row and handed them out.

"Hug these to your chest and bend at the waist. Lean against each other for support." He started forcing the backs of the seats on the aisle ahead of them forward, heedless of the damage he was doing.

"What about you?" Sofi sobbed from her spot next to Liv who was visibly shaking in terror.

He ignored her and stumbled toward the front of the plane where Phoebe was anxiously clawing at Murdock, who was pointedly ignoring her as he barked orders at the pilots. "Turn to the northwest! I know this area. There's an airfield there."

"Shut the fuck up," the pilot snarled as Izzy felt the sudden cessation of the plane's omnipresent vibrations.

"That's the last of it," the copilot reported tersely.

"Chloe, look for someplace flat. And for God's sake, keep those Maydays coming."

"Roger that," she replied. Her head resumed scanning their desolate surroundings as she began speaking again, "Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is General Aviation flight Sierra Romeo November One Three Zero. We're dead stick at two thousand meters AGL, sixty-five klicks west by northwest of Bryson City. Suspect fuel system failure."

"God dammit," Izzy whispered fiercely as he turned and hurried back toward the band.

Upon reaching them, Liv looked up at him with terror plainly written on her face. Sofi reassuringly pulled her close as her eyes rose to meet Izzy's, "What's going on?"

He bit back the impulse to promise them everything would be ok, recognizing immediately that any temporary reprieve they may be granted could never justify violating their trust. "There's something wrong with the fuel system. The pilots are looking for someplace nearby to land."

"What?" Liv shrieked. "We're in the middle of fucking nowhere."

"I know," he replied distractedly, his attention split between emptying the overhead bins and glancing out the windows. Once he had their luggage shoved under the now empty row of seats, he took the seat next to Ali.

He barely had time to get his safety belt buckled before he felt the craft lurch violently to the starboard.

Izzy heard the pilot grunt, "Fuck," in advance of Phoebe screaming again.

He looked around in hopes of spotting something helpful through the windows, but he was horrified to find Liv standing in the aisle on wobbly legs.

"Liv!" he gasped as he yanked her into his lap. "What are you doing?"

"Please don't let me die, Izzy," she whimpered. "Not now."

"I've got you, honey," he whispered into her ear as he hugged her close.

Another crash shuddered through the fuselage, this time yawing the plane to port. This was quickly followed by a sharp drop in altitude. The noise in the cabin was deafening, but Izzy did not miss the desperate prayer that escaped Liv's lips.

Izzy felt the next crash through his spine as their descent was brought to an abrupt halt.

"Oh my God," Ali yelped as he felt her hand grip his bicep firmly.

If anything, the noise in the cabin only increased as the plane bounced along the ground. Izzy's inner ear was sending him a barrage of signals about their movement, and he had the sense that they were constantly on the verge of beginning to tumble. He knew they were at the mercy of the laws of physics. Shouts echoed from all around him, but Izzy's biggest concern was for Sofi, who he could no longer see. He knew Ali and Liv were at least relatively safe as both were still holding onto him for dear life.

With devastating suddenness, their forward motion was arrested, and an unnatural calm descended over the cabin. It was all Izzy could do to prevent Liv from being ripped from his arms by her momentum. He heard a grunt escape from her lungs in response to the herculean effort it took on his part to keep from losing his hold of her. At the same time, he felt something scream in protest from within his left shoulder and his right knee jammed painfully against the seat in front of him. All of this was ignored once he knew they had stopped moving. He carefully deposited Liv in Ali's lap and leapt from his seat to check on Sofi.

"Thank God," he whispered when he found her staring up at him worriedly, apparently unharmed.

He took a step to check on everyone else, but once again halted when his inner ear reported a decidedly unsettling movement. Looking outside the windows revealed little because the cabin lights were still on. The motion repeated and Izzy realized it was a feeling not unlike being on an oceangoing craft. He rushed forward past Phoebe, who was repeatedly patting herself down as though she could not believe that she was unharmed, and Murdock, who was grumbling darkly about the pilot's failures.

Locating the aforementioned pilot, Izzy nearly lost the food he had managed to scrounge hours before in the band's dressing room just before they went on stage. The flyer was slumped unmoving over the control column, but Izzy could still spot the blood pooling at his feet. The window beside the pilot was ruined and Izzy wondered if one of the jolts he had felt during their crash was striking a tree nearly head on. Looking to the copilot, Izzy found her shaking her head slowly as her hands moved without apparent purpose over the controls.

Izzy was able to discern that what he initially thought was incoherent mumbling was in fact her endlessly repeating her mayday call. He gently reached out and gripped her shoulder. She started violently and looked around anxiously, her eyes wide in terror. Before he could speak, her gaze fell upon the pilot and she moaned, "Oh, my God! Wyatt!"

She reached for him, but her safety belts held her in place. She scrambled to unbuckle herself but, in her mania, she was unsuccessful. Izzy took a moment to peer through the forward windows and his fears were realized. They had unquestionably come to a halt in a body of water. More worryingly, the water level was nearly to the top of the plane's ruined nose and rising quickly.

He gripped the copilot's shoulder tighter. "We've got to get out of here."

"But Wyatt!" she shouted desperately.

"We've got to get everyone out!" he retorted just as loudly."

He then felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Oscar standing behind him. He felt a small measure of relief upon spotting the calm expression on his companion's face. The latter nodded to the copilot and said, "I'll take care of her. You take care of the band."

Like a wild stallion slipping his tether, Izzy turned and raced toward the back of the cabin. He vaguely perceived an impediment to his progress, and heard a profane complaint from Murdock, but he only had eyes for the three women in the back row with terrified expressions on their faces.

"What's happening?" Ali asked calmly as she continued to stroke Liv's back reassuringly.

Izzy began working to extract their luggage from where it was jammed under the seats as he grunted, "We've got to get out of here."

"Why?" Liv asked with a tremor in her voice. "Is the plane going to explode?"

This brought Izzy up short, and he said, "Um... I don't think so. But I do think it's going to sink."

"What!" Sofi barked. "How?"

He shrugged. "I guess that last crash was us hitting the water. I don't know how deep it is, but water was coming in through the cockpit windows." He stared at them for a minute before raising his voice and saying, "Get up! We've got to get the fuck out of here."

This spurned them into action, and he quickly found himself surrounded by three young women still dressed for a hard rock show. He ignored how they huddled against him and waited for him to save them, focusing instead on retrieving their belongings.

He focused on Sofi. "I need you to find out if there's a door in the rear of the plane." He then turned to Ali and said, "Go with her. See if you can find anything that will help us after we get out of this thing. Food. Water. Blankets. Anything you can find."

Liv then asked in a tiny, almost childlike, voice, "What about me?"

He smiled reassuringly at her. "I need your help getting your stuff unstuck."

She nodded grimly and went to work on the seats on the starboard side of the cabin. Izzy eventually stopped trying to disengage the locking mechanism that he had apparently ruined prior to the crash and resorted to using the brute strength born of a lifetime of moving his considerable bulk through the world to wrench the seatback out of the way. His injured shoulder protested loudly, but he had no intention of allowing anything to stand in the way of the band returning safely to civilization.

While yanking the third of four seatbacks out of the way, a particularly agonizing lance of pain shot through his shoulder and a tortured gasp escaped his lips.

"What's wrong?" Liv asked worriedly.

He shook his head and grunted, "Nothing," as he went to work on the last seat.

"That didn't sound like nothing."

"It can wait until I get you three, and your stuff, to safety. Ok?"

After a pause long enough that he grew convinced that she would object, Liv finally relented and nodded wearily.

They were interrupted as Sofi returned. "I found a door, but I'm pretty sure we'll sink if we open it. I think we should use the door over the wing and then try to crawl along the top of the plane. We'll have to swim to get to land, but I could see it out of one of the windows back there. It isn't far."

"Right," Izzy responded with more confidence than he felt. "Let's do it."

He proceeded the trio to the door situated over the port-side wing and reached out to grip the emergency release. Before he could yank the handle, a large, tattooed hand came down on his forearm.

Izzy looked up to find Murdock glaring at him with unconcealed fury. The latter snarled, "What are you doing?"

"Getting us the fuck out of here."

"No," the older man insisted. "We wait here for the recovery team."

"Have you not noticed that we're sinking?" Izzy shouted in Murdock's face. "You do what you want." He gestured toward the rear of the cabin emphatically. "We... are leaving."

He jerked his arm away from Murdock's grasp and turned to find the members of the band standing behind him, laden with their belongings. He opened the door and climbed out onto the wing into knee-deep water which was uncomfortably cold. One at a time, he helped them hop up onto the spine of the plane, doing his best to keep them out of the water. He quickly realized the effort was futile when the water level rose a few more centimeters and started pouring into the open hatch.

He looked up at the trio of women he had sworn to protect and pointed to the shore a few dozen meters distant. "You might as well make for dry land. Stay together and do your best to keep your luggage dry."

He turned back to the hatch to find Phoebe staring up at him expectantly. It took several frustrating moments for him to assist her with climbing out, along with her belongings. He started to again attempt to reenter the fuselage in hopes of assisting Oscar with the copilot, but his path was once again blocked, this time by Murdock.

"Let's go," Izzy grumbled urgently.

When the doorway was finally cleared, he dove back inside to find that the cabin was halfway submerged. Oscar had managed to get the copilot out of her seat, so Izzy gestured for him to deplane and then helped feed the nearly catatonic woman through the hatch. Oscar wrapped an arm around her and leapt into the water, leaving Izzy alone with the likely dead pilot. He took several seconds to feel for a pulse to ensure they weren't leaving a man behind, but he found no trace of life. Izzy quickly scanned around the cabin but found little beyond wreckage. He spotted that the band members had already grabbed his bags, so he made for the exit. As he stood on the wing, the plane seemed to settle slightly and then start sinking much faster. Seeing no alternative, Izzy dove into the icy mountain water and started paddling toward shore with his one good arm.

Seven

A cacophony of voices greeted Izzy as he climbed shivering from the water. The noise was relatively evenly split between asking questions to which there were no answers and shouting baseless accusations. He swiped the frigid water from his clothes and looked in the direction of the band, who were huddled together a few meters away.

They grew quiet as he approached them. As he opened his mouth to inquire as to their wellbeing, Ali said, "Are you ok?"

He dismissed her question with a frustrated shake of his head. "You might be in shock. That can sometimes mask any injuries. You need to check each other to make sure..."

"Izzy!" Ali snapped. "We're fine. What about you?"

"Thank God," he whispered reverently. He then took a moment to study them. They were trying to hide their discomfort, but they were obviously chilled to the bone. Their clothing was soaked, not that the outfits they wore on stage provided that much protection from the elements in the first place. Sofi was the most sensibly dressed in low-rise black leather pants, low-profile canvas shoes and a T-shirt. Ali wore knee-high soft leather boots (which were, as near as makes no difference, moccasins on steroids) with ripped jeans and a barely-there top (which was little more than a sports bra emblazoned with the logo of a band which had gone the way of the dodo before she was born). With the exception of her black leather boots, Liv was the worst prepared for the cold. She wore fishnet stockings beneath a short tartan skirt. Her heather-colored top had more coverage than Ali's but was made of material flimsy enough to easily spot the outline of her bra beneath.

He tore open their suitcases, praying they had proved water resistant, as he said, "You must be freezing."

"Izzy," Ali repeated tersely.

An irritated groan escaped Izzy's lips as he opened the first suitcase to discover that their clothing was soaked. He quickly rifled through each bag, digging through mounds of frilly underthings and skin-tight leather in hopes of finding something they could use to warm up.

He was distantly aware of Sofi's voice joining Ali's in the chorus of repeated shouts of, "Izzy!" but he ignored them as he tore his own bag open. He was relieved to find his own items only marginally soaked. He yanked a few of his signature shirts loose, giving thanks that he detested synthetics (which, ironically, would have been worthless in his present circumstance despite nearly giving him heatstroke the last time he had made the mistake of wearing one on an August day in Mississippi).

His mind raged against the fact that he did not have the foggiest idea how to keep everyone alive, thanks in part to his decision to quit scouting before he reached his teens. Even relatively mundane concepts like starting a fire and identifying dangerous plants and animals were far beyond his capabilities.

Izzy's thoughts were torn from spiraling out of control by Liv's soft pleading, which impossibly cut through the deluge of shouting taking place around him. "Izzy, please come back to us."

As the words percolated through his mania, he turned to regard her worried expression. She smiled upon seeing the recognition in his eyes and reached up to pat his cheek affectionately before adding, "We need to know that you're ok."

"What difference does that make?" he replied reflexively. "I need to get you ladies warmed up. You're practically naked and its freezing."

She offered him a small grin. "I think I'd be warmer if I was naked. At least then I wouldn't have all this cold water pressed against me." Her smile then faded, and she added, "But you didn't answer the question. We know you were injured."

He shook his head and muttered, "It's nothing." He belatedly remembered the shirts he had found and extended them in her direction. "Put these on. They'll do a better job keeping you warm than those ridiculous costumes."

"But then how will you keep warm?"

He offered her a wry grin. "I've got ten times more natural insulation than all three of you combined. I'll be fine." He frowned helplessly at her reluctance and added, "Please, just take them."

At length she nodded despondently. She then took a peek over his shoulder before moving a half step to her right and quickly stripping off her top. His eyes widened as she reached back to unclasp her bra.

"I'll... um... turn around."

"Don't," she hissed as she shucked her bra and began squeezing it out. "They'll see!"

"But..." he sputtered as he averted his eyes.

"Would you relax?" she huffed. "You see us naked all the time. It's no big deal."

He managed to avoid embarrassing himself further as she put her bra back on after she finished wringing it out. She then donned his offered shirt before repeating the wringing out process with her skirt, apparently deciding that her thong and stockings were too thin to merit such attention. Her boots presented more of a problem, but Izzy managed to convince her to take a pair of his socks.

Just as he thought salvation was at hand, he found that Ali and Sofi expected him to provide a similar shielding service for them. He tried to attenuate his shame by turning away after the fiery lead singer had changed, but Sofi was firing a barrage of strategies at him regarding how they could make fire. He was baffled at her seeming wealth of knowledge, but she explained it away by pointing out that she had once gone down a particularly deep survivalist rabbit hole on a video sharing site.

Once they were changed, he turned back to the remainder of the group to find that Oscar had managed to revive the copilot and was desperately trying to stem the flow of blood from a gash on her forehead. Izzy cursed himself, both for not noticing the wound earlier and for not doing more to help Oscar. The thought that there were several able-bodied adults, other than his charges, available to assist never entered Izzy's thinking.

With a soft, "I'll be right back," to the band, he hurried to his compadre's side and said, "How bad is it?"

"I can't seem to stop the bleeding. She's also got a broken leg, but that can wait because it's not compound."

Izzy looked to the pilot, whose face was rapidly losing color, and said, "Where's the first aid kit on board?"

"Overhead bin. Starboard side. Aft."

"Right," he replied resolutely. He turned to Oscar and gripped his shoulder before adding, "Be right back."

He rushed to the water's edge and dove in as soon as it was knee deep. Ignoring the icy water, he stroked strongly toward the mostly submerged plane. Upon reaching it, he found that the hatch through which they had departed was now fully underwater, but the plane no longer seemed to be sinking. He took a lungful of air and dropped beneath the surface to slip through the hatch. He surfaced inside the plane to find a small pocket of air near the cockpit. He realized he had no means by which to light his way and cursed his months younger self who had decided to stop carrying a flashlight in his kit because 'all I'll ever need is my phone'. The blacked-out interior of the cabin reminded him of stories he had heard about thrill seekers who got their adrenaline high from cave diving. Their biggest fear was always getting lost in the endless underground caverns while their air slowly ran out. With this in mind, he took a moment to get comfortable with his surroundings and internalize the thought that he would be fine as long as he followed the ceiling between the overhead bins to air.

Taking another deep breath, he swam toward the rear of the plane. It was an easier proposition in theory than in practice thanks to the debris which floated freely in the cabin. Upon reaching the rear of the plane, he smashed his wrecked shoulder into the open door to the lavatory. The pain refocused his efforts, and the realization of what the door represented caused him to redouble his commitment to keeping his mouth and eyes closed tight. He fumbled around with the overhead bins and just managed to get the correct one open before he felt panic start to rise as his air began to run out. He swam carefully back toward the lifesaving air supply, using the seats to guide his way. Just as he felt the first vestiges of terror grip him after being submerged in the dark for so long, he reached out and his hand came in contact with something which was unquestionably not the seatback of the cabin's front row. Rather than being hard and covered in cheap fabric, it was soft and supple, covered by what felt suspiciously like lace.

The inexplicable sensation he encountered combined with his panic to cause him to expel the last of his air in fright. All sense of place was gone in an instant and he was adrift in the pitch-black interior of the plane with no hope of finding life-giving air before his luck finally ran out. More than any other sensation, his mind was overcome by the guilt at knowing he had failed the women he had sworn to protect.

Just as he resigned himself to the void, he felt a yank on the back of his shirt and quickly found himself bursting into the air pocket.

"Izzy!" Ali yelped desperately.

He coughed mightily as he fought to catch his breath but eventually managed to gasp, "What are you doing here?"

"Helping you!"

He took another breath before rasping, "Are you insane?"

"I'd ask you the same question."

As he took a few additional deep breaths, his terror at nearly drowning was supplanted by the realization of what had happened just before the aforementioned almost-suffocation. He hissed, "But why are you naked?"

"Are you serious!" she shouted. "You nearly drown, and you're worried about the fact that your hand grazed my tit? Jesus, Izzy. Listen to yourself."

"Do you think I've forgotten a single one of the fans who dared to cop a feel? Of any of you? You all know that I have a dossier which I submit to every venue where you play which contains the dozens of men who aren't permitted within one-hundred meters of your shows. I would never..."

She growled in frustration and snapped, "Is this really the place to talk about this? Obviously, you're not them. You're the man we trust more than any other person on this planet. You're also the crazy bastard who's going to get hypothermia and likely go into shock and die if you don't get the fuck out of the water and get dry. Please come back to shore and let us help you. We can't lose you, Izzy. We care about you too much."

He accepted her comment about their trust in him with little fanfare. It was something they had shared with him countless times throughout the years. Her parting statement, however, was something altogether different. But as he opened his mouth to retort, he was given reason to believe the woman floating centimeters from him, almost certainly in nothing but a bra and tiny thong, had developed the ability to read minds.

She shouted, "Later! Right now, we need to get the fuck out of here."

"We need the medical kit. The copilot is in a bad way."

"Where is it?"

"In the rear-most overhead bin. On our left."

"Fine. We'll get it together, then. So long as you promise to let us help you get warm afterward."

He nodded despite the fact that he could not see so much as her silhouette in the cabin's inky blackness. Feeling foolish, he added, "Very well."

She reached for him blindly, her hand sliding across his chest before making its way down his arm to lace her fingers with his own. She said, "Stay with me."

He gripped her hand firmly. "Let's go."

Eight

A modest fire lit the other six survivors as Izzy and Ali climbed from the water with the former carrying the medical kit. During their swim, he had tried to convince her to take his shirt to protect her modesty, but she had merely laughed in response. She flitted past him toward where Liv waited with her clothes, heedless of the fact that her bra did little to conceal anything (and her wispy thong did even less). A growl rumbled in Izzy's throat as he spotted Murdock's eyes following Ali's progress hungrily.

Before Izzy could come up with the most appropriate means to remove Murdock's eyeballs and toss them in the fire, he was reminded of why he had returned to the water by Oscar's desperate muttering. He hurried over to where his friend was still trying to stem the flow of blood and slammed the case to the ground to pry it open. He studied the copilot and found that, thanks to strips of Oscar's now ruined shirt, the bleeding had slowed considerably. He pulled out several rolls of gauze along with sterile pads and powdered disinfectant.

"We're going to have to get all that shit off her and clean it. Otherwise, it's likely to get infected."

"Damnit," Oscar muttered.

Izzy found some closure strips and held them up. "Think these'll do the trick? Or will we need to figure out a way to stitch her up?"

"It's not that deep. It's just bleeding like a motherfucker."

They worked in sync to remove the soaked remnants of Oscar's shirt before liberally rinsing the wound with some bottled water. The last of Oscar's shirt was brought into use to dry the area before they used the strips to close the wound as carefully as possible. This slowed the bleeding enough that they could coat the area in disinfectant and then bandage it carefully before wrapping it tightly with gauze.

Job done; they turned their attention to her leg. A bit of careful prodding suggested it was not a full break, so Oscar declared they need not worry about resetting it. They used the medical kit to immobilize her leg as much as possible and then set about the problem of her worsening hypothermia. Deciding freezing to death was worse than the fact that she might never forgive them for the violation, they stripped her to her bra and panties before struggling to dress her in some clothing from Oscar's suitcase. By this point, the fire had grown large enough to give off some heat, so Oscar volunteered to stay with her and keep her as close to the warmth as possible.

Turning his attention back toward the band, Izzy found them huddled on the opposite side of the fire. Content that they were in no immediate danger, he turned his attention to finding suitable shelter.

Walking into the woods, he began building elaborate mental plans to fashion structures which would provide both warmth and protection from the elements. Glancing upward, he gave thanks that the skies were clear. He knew, however, that such good fortune was unlikely to hold out for long. His grand ambitions soon evaporated with the realization that the woods he had entered were mostly comprised of smaller trees which resulted in none of the long, perfectly straight poles he had been envisioning. Momentarily defeated, he scooped up as much as he could to serve as firewood before returning to the crash site.

As he approached, he scanned their surroundings. He had been away from the fire for long enough that the stars gave plenty of illumination for him to see that they were in a gorge surrounded on both sides by what he guessed were some of the Appalachian's tallest mountains. The body of water in which the plane lay mostly submerged appeared to be little more than a smallish river, barely twenty meters wide. Izzy suspected only the steep valley in which they found themselves could have led to the water being so deep. He stopped along the edge of the woods and scanned around the mountains, wondering if there were any caves, or even shallow alcoves, which could be used for shelter.

His attention was pulled from his surroundings by the sound of Liv calling his name, a twinge of panic evident in her shouts. He began running toward the light of the fire, his eyes scanning around for possible threats as he crashed through the underbrush. As he neared, he saw Phoebe standing before the seated band. Behind her, Murdock stood glowering at the plane.

Izzy stumbled to a stop upon reaching the clearing and nearly tumbled into the fire. He quickly rolled to face the band and gasped, "What's wrong?"

Phoebe glared at him and snapped, "You mean, besides crashing in the middle of nowhere?"

He ignored her and turned to Liv before asking, "What happened?"

"Nothing," she huffed. "I was just worried about you."

Izzy jerked his head in Phoebe's direction and pressed, "Why was she standing over you like that?"

"I don't know. Maybe because she thinks she's in charge?"

"Don't be preposterous," Murdock barked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Phoebe and Izzy asked in unison.

"Obviously none of you have the first fucking idea what to do in this situation."

"And you do?" Phoebe shouted.

"Of course," Murdock replied disdainfully. "Unless anyone else here was a Ranger." He said the last with his gaze boring into Izzy.

Izzy did not flinch under the older man's glare. He simply said, "I can't help but notice you've just been sitting on your ass so far. Is that what your Ranger training taught you?"

Murdock bowed up, but before he could speak Liv's soft voice said, "Izzy?"

He turned to her without hesitation, the glowering head of security forgotten immediately. He knelt and repeated, "What's wrong?"

She reached out to grip him by the shoulders. "You are what's wrong. You're running around like a maniac trying to do everything at once. That's on top of the fact that it's freezing out here and your clothes are still soaked."

He shook his head firmly. "It's fine. I need to figure out a way to..."

"No," she cut him off gently, yet still with enough authority that he fell silent instantly. "You need to get some dry clothes on. Now."

He sighed. "Fine," and headed toward his suitcase. He scooped up a few items and looked around for the closest bit of cover so he could minimize his time away from the band. He heard something behind him and turned to find all three women standing there with expressions ranging from worried, to angry, to mischievous. He glanced around suspiciously before asking, "What?"

"We're here to preserve your innocence," Ali replied with a smirk. "We wouldn't want that evil woman to see anything she shouldn't."

He shook his head angrily. "Don't be absurd. I'll just step into the woods over there."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Sofi interjected. "Just do it here. Liv and Ali can shield you from innocent eyes while I hold your stuff to keep it dry."

"But..."

"But nothing. Just do it, Izzy." She offered him a devastating smile before softly adding, "Trust us."

He nodded dumbly and waited for them to turn around. Sofi was the last to do so, finally giving his body a lengthy look before turning partly and holding his clothing where he could grab it. He changed as quickly as possible, pointedly ignoring the fact that it was impossible to completely protect the band by hiding his loathsome nakedness from them.

Once he was done, Sofi turned back to face him and said, "Was that so bad?" He merely sighed in response, prompting her to add, "You'll notice I didn't pitch a fit when you watched me change."

"But I didn't," he sputtered. "I was just trying to..."

"Izzy," Liv interrupted softly. "She's fucking with you. What will it take to convince you to trust us as much as we trust you?"

"I do trust you," he objected weakly.

"Then believe us when we say we're not offended by anything you do. Or see. Or hear."

"Or touch," Ali added.

Sofi turned to face her. "Excuse me?"

"Izzy got a handful of my tit inside the plane."

"Ooh!" Sofi called out playfully.

"In his defense, it was completely dark in there. There's no way it was intentional."

Liv smirked. "Not that you'd have complained."

"What?" Izzy gasped.

Liv stepped forward to pat his chest, saying, "Don't worry about it."

Izzy looked away from the band as shame bloomed within him. Long had he struggled against their playful teasing, but he had never allowed things to go so far. He could count the number of times he had touched any of them outside of what was required for formality on the fingers of one hand. Early on, he had recognized the burden they carried as attractive young women who frequently found themselves interacting with strangers. Fans, especially young men, all too often decided that their backstage pass gave them the right to 'innocently' pat an ass or 'accidently' graze a tit. Izzy had vowed that he would always be the one protecting them from such groping. He was furious that he had become the groper.

He felt as though the world was collapsing around him as the events of the previous hour started to really hit home for him. He wobbled slightly as his vision grew dim and he felt the distinct sensation of riding on a rickety ride at a county fair. He took a clumsy step back, trying to maintain his balance, but he stepped on a stone and his ankle rolled. Just as he started to pitch over backwards, he felt strong arms grip his shirt. He shortly found himself seated with a body on either side of him and a bottle of water being placed in his hand. He took a deep breath, followed by a few dozen more, before forcing himself to open his eyes again.

He found Liv and Sofi surrounding him while Ali tossed more wood onto the fire. He paused in the motion of taking a sip of water and said, "Where'd you get this?"

Liv gestured toward the fire with her chin. "Ali had it in her bag."

He closed the bottle demonstrably. "We should save it for you three."

Sofi groaned, "Would you knock it off with that shit? It's so annoying."

"What are you talking about? We have to conserve our resources."

"Perhaps, but conserving doesn't mean 'Izzy goes without'. Besides, there are, like, a hundred bottles of water on the plane. We can just swim back out there once the sun comes up and get some more. Same with food."

He nodded dumbly, although he did not drink any more water. Instead, he changed the subject. "I assume you've all checked to see if we have service here?"

"The only phones which survived the lake have zero bars."

"We should shut those down to save battery. Maybe I can climb one of those mountains tomorrow and get signal from there."

"You aren't going anywhere by yourself," Sofi said firmly.

He sighed wearily. "Let's just see what we can figure out when the sun comes up. Or when the copilot comes around."

There was a brief silence before Liv asked, "Is the pilot dead?"

Izzy nodded. "I'm afraid so. Once we get back to civilization, I'll find out if he has any family who we can do something for. Those two saved us tonight."

Ali walked over to join them and sat on the other side of Sofi. She snatched the water from Izzy's hand and took a long drink before saying, "What does everyone think?"

"Izzy thinks we should all try to hike to the top of one of the nearby mountains to see if we can get a signal."

"I said, me," he complained weakly.

Sofi elbowed him in the ribs. "And I said you're out of your goddamned mind if you think we're staying here with him," she gestured toward where Murdock was lecturing Phoebe on how the fire should have been built.

"Point taken," he conceded. "Let's just wait and see what the morning brings us."

Liv asked, "So what do we do until then?"

Izzy shrugged weakly. "I do whatever it takes to keep you three from getting hypothermia. Then, once the sun comes up, we figure out food and water."

Ali reached across Sofi to swat him in the chest. "How about we all keep each other warm, Mr. Selfless?"

"As you wish," he replied somberly as he felt Liv and Sofi squeeze tight against him.

Nine

To Izzy's way of thinking, dawn took its sweet ass time in arriving. Thanks to the lack of power, he was unable to avail himself of his CPAP machine. Had he realized he would become dependent on the device to the point where he was incapable of sleep without it, he never would have allowed himself to be talked into getting one in the first place. The night had been unquestionably chilly, but had thankfully fallen short of worryingly cold. Despite this, every dry article of clothing had been called into service by the time the first rays of sunlight crept over the mountains to the east.

Looking around their makeshift campsite, he sent a scowl in the direction of where Murdock was sleeping fitfully near the dying fire with his leather jacket pulled tight around him. Phoebe was wearing at least three layers and had taken up station on the opposite side of the fire. Oscar, wearing a new shirt which he had been forced to put on wet the prior evening, had pulled the copilot against his body to keep her warm after Izzy helped him drag a log into place to use as a backrest. The pair were using an emergency blanket found in the medical kit to retain a small measure of warmth. Izzy had spent several hours trying to come up with a better strategy to keep the band warm besides them all snuggling up to him as though he were little more than a sentient radiator, but it was for naught. By the time there was finally enough light for him to distinguish the letters on the plane's tail, he was leaning against a tree with Liv and Ali on either side of him and tiny Sofi in his lap. All three were wrapped tight against him in a desperate effort to stay warm.

Izzy had spent the endless night trying to come up with a plan to address their situation. He knew that the cool weather they were encountering was very nearly the best-case scenario considering it was already autumn and neither bruising thunderstorms nor early freezes were unknown in this part of the country. To his way of thinking, their options broke down into three broad categories.

The first was that they stayed put, Robinson Crusoe style, and did what was necessary to survive until they were found by a rescue party. He had little doubt that their absence had been noticed, and efforts were likely already underway to locate them. The trouble was that, outside of espionage thrillers, the use of satellites to quickly locate something as small as a private plane within the boundaries of the country was effectively unheard of. This left more traditional methods of searching, such as low-level overflights or brave souls just striking out into the wilderness in hopes of getting lucky.

The second option was to simply pick a direction and start walking in the hope of finding some degree of civilization, at least enough to call for help. This had the obvious drawback of being profoundly risky since they had no intel on their whereabouts. It was possible the copilot knew their location with reasonable accuracy, but even that would be of little help without a frame of reference. He had waking nightmares about everyone perishing in a doomed venture in the wrong direction when a ranger outpost had existed just a few klicks away from their present position.

Blending these options was the suggestion he had made the night before: he would venture forth from the crash site, not to escape but to gain more information about their position. It was not outside the realm of possibility that they could find cell signal merely by climbing out of the gorge in which they had crashed. Even failure to find a place from which he could call for help, there was the possibility that he could spot evidence of civilization which could give them a direction in which to head for their escape. The biggest drawback to this strategy came in the form of the three women currently pressed against him in a desperate bid to leverage his unfortunate size to keep from freezing. He was loath to either leave them behind or force them to make the trek. There was also the matter of the severely injured copilot.

A soft sigh puffed from Sofi's lips as the tiny drummer squirmed closer in what he could only assume was an effort to get warmer. Since he had an arm around both Liv and Ali, he was unable to do anything to prevent the woman in his lap from burrowing further into his chest. She had begun her sleep with her back to him but had rotated over the course of several hours until her head was resting on his chest and her diminutive derrière was pressed tight against his groin. He began to suspect she was dreaming, based on the incoherent mumbling and the jerky movements of her body. This idle musing was quickly replaced by panic as his awareness of both her nearness and her femininity spiked. He felt himself growing hard beneath her, yet he was trapped. The only way of dislodging her would be to remove their only source of warmth and it was still quite cold. He squeezed his fists tight on either side of Ali and Liv, digging his fingernails into his palms in an effort to distract himself, but it was to no avail. He next resorted to sharply biting the inside of his cheek. This produced a pronounced coppery taste in his mouth but did nothing to attenuate his subequatorial swelling.

Self-loathing exploded within him in response to his lack of control. Despite his commitment to sacrificing everything to protect the women surrounding him, he suddenly found himself desperately wishing he had perished in the crash. From the moment he met them, he had feared that his attraction to, and affection for, these women would be inevitable. In his mind, they were perfect in every possible way: endlessly kind; staggeringly talented; agonizingly beautiful. He had sworn to do anything in his power to both protect them and ensure their success within weeks of meeting them. Soon after, he knew his fondness for them went deeper. He had sworn to bury such feelings deep down and to never, ever, let them see the light of day. It was part of the reason he went out of his way to avoid contact with them at all costs, and to shut down any attempts on their part to establish a rapport outside of what was strictly required for his job.

Left with no alternative, he resorted to repeatedly slamming his head into the tree at his back. The pine tree had regrettably thick bark which served to cushion the back of his skull from the welcomingly damaging wood beneath. He soon discovered that the movement of his body brought into sharp relief the agonizing juxtaposition of women adhered to him between their taut musculature and their soft, supple breasts. A weary sigh escaped his lips in response to the realization that he had found a new way to fail those he cared about most.

"What's wrong?" Liv whispered softly.

He shook his head angrily as he contemplated methods of castrating himself without dislodging the drummer nestled in his lap.

"Izzy?"

"I can't," he stammered helplessly.

"Ali! Sofi! Wake up!"

"No!" he protested desperately.

Sofi stirred in his lap and mumbled, "What is it?"

"It's Izzy!"

Sofi's back immediately straightened so she could see his face. This caused her to push her backside even more firmly against his groin. She gazed up at him with a level of compassion and concern which he knew he could never, would never, deserve. Her hand rose to his cheek in a futile attempt to meet his eyes. When this failed, she tried to shift around to look at him more squarely. As she rotated in his lap, he saw her eyes widen in horror and he knew his shame was complete.

Ali gasped, "He's been sitting in the same position all night. He must be in agony."

"I don't think that's his problem," Sofi whispered as she pulled away from him.

She stood and smoothed out her motley collection of clothing before extending her hands to Ali and Liv. She opened her mouth to say something more, but Izzy was already working to stand on his own. Ali's guess, while far from the most pressing problem, was not entirely off base. His legs and backside felt like an army of fire ants had taken up residence overnight and burrowed deep beneath his skin before going to work. He felt agonizing bolts of pain lancing through his lower extremities every few seconds and was barely able to get himself moving despite his resolve.

Standing made the problem significantly more pronounced, and a sensation one hundred times worse than typical pins and needles radiated throughout his legs and hips. He stumbled toward the water in a way that made him appear to be on the tail end of a bender, but he was desperate to escape the women he had failed so catastrophically. Reaching the water's edge, he plunged into ankles deep water and was forced to awkwardly crawl toward the plane. He had no plan in mind beyond escaping from the voices calling out behind him in what he knew must be outrage after Sofi had reported his assault.

The water was soon deep enough for him to swim, and he thrashed toward the plane with only the dimmest outline of a plan in mind. The first rays of dawn provided enough light for him to make out some details of the terrain around the crash site. The river in which the plane sat had only a nominal current. The far bank was only a few meters beyond where the nose of the plane sat just below the surface. They had mistakenly gone to the more distant shore the evening before since the aircraft had traveled most of the way across the river before grinding to a halt.

Memories of Sofi's comment from the prior evening about the likely stockpiles of food and beverage in the plane gave him purpose. He dipped his head to swim through the hatch without slowing and he quickly set about finding everything of value inside the plane. He started with the overhead bins which weren't submerged and thankfully found a small raft. He pushed this through the hatch before yanking the handle to inflate it. Harvesting a few of the oxygen masks dangling from the ceiling, he tied them together to make a rudimentary rope which he used to keep the raft from floating away.

Izzy worked quickly to empty the overhead bins and load up the raft. He could not discount the possibility that someone would come after him, even if it was just Murdock coming to dispense justice after hearing word of his behavior. It took him less than five minutes to load enough supplies in the raft that he worried it risked capsizing if the payload grew any heavier. He knew the current would push the raft to the shore he had just departed as soon as it was set loose, so he snapped one of the oxygen lines in two and sent the container on its way.

He then turned his attention to the cockpit. Ignoring the grisly sight of the pilot's mostly submerged corpse. He dug through the cramped cockpit in search of a physical map which might prove useful. Coming up empty, he began searching for any tools which might be usable. However, during one of his trips back to the air pocket aft of the cockpit, he heard the unmistakable sound of someone, or several someone's, approaching. He looked around anxiously for escape but saw shadows on the other side of the hatch. For want of a better strategy, he ducked into the lavatory.

He closed himself in the pitch-black space just in time. He could hear muffled voices coming from the main cabin, at least one of which belonged to Ali. He was unable to conceive of why they would be back on the plane, unless there was something missing from the supplies he had collected. Rather than confronting them, Izzy once again took the path of the unworthy and waited in the fetid bathroom until the voices faded.

Once the coast was clear, he slipped back through the hatch. However, rather than surface beside the plane in clear view of their makeshift campsite, he held his breath and swam beneath the plane and toward the opposite shore. Climbing from the water, he quickly dashed into the cover of the woods. On his shoulder was his backpack, which he had located beneath the seat where he had been sitting during the crash. Inside was a cell phone in a guaranteed waterproof case (which he had acquired with the specific thought that he might one day find himself in a situation where the only thing which could save the band was his phone). He desperately hoped it would still work when he reached the peak north of the crash site so he could call for help and fulfill his final duty to the band.

Ten

The undergrowth was impossibly thick, hampering Izzy's progress as he fled the crash site. Having grown up in the south of England, Izzy's primary interactions with nature had involved things like rain, fog, rain, snow, and (occasionally) rain. By comparison, the wilds of the Great Smoky Mountains were choked with magnolias, dogwoods and other small hardwoods to go along with the towering pines. Beneath the canopy were omnipresent vines and shrubs, many of which he suspected were poisonous. He tried to ignore it all, using the strength born of a lifetime of being overweight to bulldoze his way up the mountain.

He crashed through a bramble of thorns and felt the detached sensation of the skin on his shins being rent asunder. Despite the wounds, Izzy's only concern was reaching the summit. After a few hundred meters, the terrain shifted dramatically as the slope became steeper. He quickly discovered that the reduction in undergrowth was a curse in disguise and soon found himself awkwardly climbing the hillside which rose one meter for every three he moved forward.

Izzy slipped on a bit of rock that was unexpectedly wet and pitched forward onto his face. He tasted blood in his mouth and felt moisture on his chin. He wiped it away dismissively and picked himself up to keep going. The woods surrounding him seemed oddly still, but it was hard for him to hear anything over the sound of his own wheezing.

He continued pushing ahead until he found himself faced with a nearly shear wall of rock. With no alternative, he looked around for the first time and discovered he had stumbled into a narrow canyon with dozen-meter tall walls on three sides. Even considering his diminished mental state following the crash and a night without sleep (to say nothing of the incident with Sofi and the fact that he had spent an extended amount of time in a chilled mountain stream), he still retained the wherewithal to recognize that he would have to backtrack in order to continue his journey to the summit.

Upon reaching the mouth of the canyon, he thought he heard voices on the wind. This drove him to move even faster toward the summit which he knew was to his north, but which he could no longer see. It took him some time to find a place where some trees had found purchase. He used these like rungs of a ladder to make his way, albeit far too slowly for his taste.

Soon, the voices which had started as barely perceptible were now quite evident. He could make out both Ali and Sofi loudly calling to each other, although he could not make out what they were saying. In his mind, their approach was tantamount to disaster and filled him with a sense of impending dread which was normally reserved for the last act of a horror movie.

Spurred on by the terror he had no interest in trying to explain, his movements grew even more manic. Several times he started to slip or stumble, only to press on through sheer force of will. Neither snarl of underbrush nor copse of trees could slow him down in his unyielding desire to reach the summit and call for help.

He soon found himself in another blind canyon, but the sounds of the voices behind him were too loud to backtrack again, so he decided to start climbing. The way up was nearly impossible thanks to the crumbly sedimentary rock. As often as not, a handhold would snap off the moment he grabbed for it. It was only the narrowness of the crevice he was trying to ascend which allowed him to continue climbing. He was able to use the acute angle of the converging walls as something of a ladder, not unlike some of the preposterous physical competition shows the band watched when they were bored.

As though called forth by his own subconscious, Liv's unmistakable voice called out below him, "Izzy!"

"No," he hissed fiercely as he redoubled his efforts.

Abruptly, he found himself without a handhold. The crevice through which he climbed had opened up into a sheer cliff face. From his vantage point, he could see the wide gorge below him. Viewed through another lens, it would have been breathtaking. But all Izzy saw was a devastating lack of evidence of humanity.

"Izzy!" another voice rang out, this time the unmistakably powerful voice of Siren's lead singer. "Please come down!"

He risked a glance down to see the three women he had betrayed looking up at him with terrified expressions. Impossibly, they were less than three meters below him despite the fact that he would have sworn that he had climbed at least ten times that distance. As he turned back to the rock face intent on continuing his climb, he saw something remarkable on the opposite side of the gorge. But, as he turned to get a better look, his grip failed him for the last time and the cruel mistress of gravity finally had him in her unrelenting grasp. The last thought he had before he slammed into the ground was the desperate hope that he would not crush any of the women standing below him.

***

Izzy's first sensation as he returned to consciousness with the speed of a mid-winter thaw was something cool touching his lips. This pleasant sensation stood in stark contrast to the rest of his body which was in varying stages of agony. Attempts to explain his pain led him to recall, in fits and starts, the events of the preceding twenty-four hours. Memories of the crash helped inform why his shoulder, and his knee, throbbed so insistently. Recollections of repeated trips into the icy stream explained the dreadful shivering, not to mention his still damp clothing. As the replay came to its agonizing conclusion, he was reminded of his shame, and his assault, and his failure.

A haunted, "No," escaped from his lips as he relived the nightmare come true.

"Izzy!" Liv gasped from just above him.

He tried to turn away, to escape, but her strong arms held him fast.

She continued, "Please wake up!"

"No," he repeated despondently.

Ali's voice came from nearby to his left, "Do you think he got a concussion?"

Sofi, from his right, said, "I doubt it. You and Liv broke his fall for the most part."

"Fuck," Izzy hissed as he tried again to escape.

This time he succeeded in rolling away from what he now realized must have been Liv's lap. He rolled, not without difficulty, to his knees. He looked at the band through bloodshot eyes, fully prepared for the revulsion and anger he expected to find in their expressions. He was not prepared, however, to see worry and affection. He glanced around to find that they were still in the narrow canyon into which they had chased him. He looked back at them and took a moment to study them. They were still dressed in the motley combination of their performing clothes and his borrowed shirts, sweats and socks. He tried to stand but his knee buckled, forcing him to sink back into an uncomfortable crouch.

Liv frowned. "Please, Izzy. Just sit down. We'll take care of you."

He shook his head tiredly. "I can't. I have to find help. I have to save you. That's all that matters." He looked at each of the band members in turn before adding, "You're all that matters."

She shook her head. "How exactly do you propose to do that in your condition?"

"Keep going until I get a cell signal, or until I find someone."

Ali groaned. "So, in your mind, it is a perfectly reasonable strategy to go off hell-bent in search of rescue with no regard to your own well-being?"

"Of course," he replied reasonably.

"That's so stupid!" she exploded.

He stiffly said, "You're welcome to your opinion, Ali. But, in my mind, the only thing that matters is you three returning to safety."

She glared at him. "And I suppose, in this fantastical dream scenario you've concocted, you'd just ride off into the sunset... never to see us again. Or perhaps you'd prefer the alternative where you really do just drop dead like Denzel at the end of Man on Fire?"

"There is no fantasy, no dream scenario. There isn't anything beyond getting you to..."

"Safety," Ali finished angrily. "And it never occurred to you that, despite the fact that we're obviously weak little girls who have no capacity to help ourselves in any way, we might have some opinions on how you, the great and powerful man, go about saving us?"

He deflated and muttered, "It's not like that."

"Then tell us, oh wise one, how is it?"

He tried, but ultimately failed, to meet her gaze. He resorted to softly replying, "You know very well what I've done. And why I can never be trusted to be around any of you again."

"What?" Liv shrieked.

He finally managed to stand. He gazed out into the gorge below and said, "I'm so very sorry. To all of you. You deserve so much."

"Wait!" Liv shouted as he tried to pick his way past them. "Where are you going?"

"I spotted some hikers on the opposite ridge. I'm going to head in that direction and see if there's a trail there. If so, there could be shelters. If it's well maintained, we'd likely only have to wait a day or two for someone to happen past. Then we'd know which is the fastest way out."

"Great!" Ali exclaimed. "We'll all go together."

He sighed, his gaze moving in the direction of the notably silent Sofi even though he was unable to meet her eyes. He ultimately looked back at the ground and said, "That's not a good idea."

"Why not?" Liv challenged.

"I can't be near you," he replied resolutely. He began heading toward the trail he had spotted before adding, "It's not safe."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ali shouted.

Izzy kept moving without looking back.

"Stop!" Sofi thundered loud enough that he could hear the echo from the opposite side of the gorge.

Izzy came to a halt, but remained facing the vast emptiness before him which so perfectly reflected his soul.

"What the fuck is really going on, Izzy?" Sofi continued through gritted teeth. When he failed to respond, she added, "Is this about the fact that you woke up with a hard on? Because, if it is, that's pretty fucking stupid. That only happens to most every guy on the planet between the ages of twelve and a hundred."

He gritted his teeth painfully. "Perhaps, but that's not what happened."

"How so?"

"I didn't sleep."

Her angry visage faded, and she said, "Why not? Was it because of us?"

"Of course not," he replied quickly. "I just can't sleep without my, 'too fat to sleep' machine."

"Don't say that, Izzy," Liv murmured quietly.

Sofi continued, "I feel terrible that you didn't get any rest. Especially after all you did yesterday... all you do every day. But what difference does that make for what we're talking about?"

"Because it wasn't... morning... wood."

"And?"

"I assaulted you, Sofi. I'm no better than those scum bags who grope you backstage, or who try to break into your hotel rooms."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" she shouted angrily. She then stood and stalked up to him, poking him hard in the chest. "Do you honestly think it bothers me if you get aroused because a woman is grinding on your dick? Do you think it would bother any of us?"

"But..."

"We get naked in front of you all the time! Hell, you've walked in on us doing things that would fucking destroy us if it got out." she continued loudly. "Do you think we allowed that to happen because we're uncomfortable around you?"

He remained still, recognizing that no good could come from any possible reply he could make.

"Do you think we do it to make you uncomfortable?" she continued, more pointedly.

"No," he replied quickly. "None of you would ever do anything like that."

"So, what's the problem? I'm sincerely asking, Izzy." She looked back to where Liv and Ali stood nervously beside each other before turning back to him. "You three mean the world to me. All of you. I'd be devastated if I lost any of you. So, please, tell me what's really bothering you. Because nothing that happened between us this morning, or ever, has bothered me in the slightest."

"Same for me," Liv piped up quietly.

"And me," Ali said firmly. "You're the tits, Izzy. And I don't just say that because you felt me up last night."

Liv slapped Ali's arm, hard. "Not the time."

"Oh, I disagree," Ali retorted confidently. "The whole point is that he's one of us. He's fundamentally incapable of doing anything to upset us. Right?"

Liv nodded. "That's very true."

Ali turned back to Izzy. "I joke about you fondling our tits or rubbing that impressive bulge against us the same way I would kid with either of them," she finished, gesturing to Sofi and Liv.

"You did not assault me," Sofi added resolutely.

Ali approached the two of them. "Or me."

Liv joined them, wrapping Izzy in a tight hug. "Or me."

"When did he fondle you?" Ali asked with a chuckle.

"I'm giving him permission for the future, since according to someone, I'm an unredeemable trollop who can't stop flashing my tits."

Sofi reached out to cup one of Liv's very full breasts and mock-pouted, "Does someone feel unappreciated?"

"Shut up," Liv grumbled as a blush rose to fill her cheeks.

Sofi pulled Izzy's chin down. "Please tell me you believe us."

He sighed wearily before saying, "I'm sorry."

"No. I don't want another of Izzy's patented apologies. You did nothing wrong."

"There was the part where he ran off on us like a moth headed to a candle," Ali interjected playfully.

"He thought he'd done something unforgivable," Sofi pointed out. "Obviously it was patently ridiculous, but we can't discount his feelings in the matter." She regarded Izzy intently. "Do you believe us?"

He looked down at the hopeful expressions of the three most important people on the planet. In their eyes, he saw no hint of the anger, revulsion and loathing he had been directing at himself for the preceding several hours. Instead, he could only perceive affection. He also knew that their inherent goodness meant that they were incapable of deceiving him.

"Please?" Liv interrupted his thoughts with a quiet whisper.

As though she had performed a mystical incantation, he felt the massive weight which had ridden astride his shoulders for as long as he could remember fall away. He let out a long breath before looking down at her and offering a small grin.

Her smile bloomed and she hugged him tightly before whispering, "Thank you."

"Hey," Ali teased. "Go easy on him. We just got him to agree to not abandon us in the middle of nowhere. Maybe wait until we make it back to civilization before you rub your tits on him."

Copyright © 2024 Jake Lazarus

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This is a work of fiction.

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