Bite (A Music Romance Story)

Chapter Four - Asher

ASHER'S POV

I forget how much I loathe the paparazzi sometimes. You'd think that because there's a higher volume of celebrities and famous people lurking around in LA that the paparazzi would be less invasive there, but you'd be wrong. Even a simple stroll down to a cafe will warrant me hiding behind my usual get-up of black hoodie, shades (and sometimes a mask to cover up my mouth). But even then, they're so used to you trying so hard to blend into the shadows that they'll still be able to spot you from a mile away.

Today, I'm reminded of how bad they can get, even out of the state.

About a dozen of them that'd been waiting outside the neighborhood gates run up the car as we pull in, with security trying to push them back so we can get in but with little to no avail. A few of them bang their fists against the bulletproof windows, trying to get my attention, and I retreat further into my hoodie, looking anywhere but at them. It takes us a few more minutes to get through because at least five of them are blocking our route to the house.

"I'm sorry it's taking a while, Mr. Reed." The driver mumbles apologetically.

"It's fine," I say. "It's beyond your control."

Eventually, the security manages to hold them back long enough for the car to slip through the gates. Both the driver and I breathe a huge sigh of relief. When we reach the house, I make sure I'm out of view from the paps before shrugging out of my hoodie and shades, and head to the living room where I know everyone has gathered. As soon as I walk in, Freddie's eyes are on me, glaring daggers at me, as if I'd committed some kind of murder.

"Where were you off to? I specifically told everyone not to leave the house until we've figured this out," Freddie scowls at me when I join the rest of the band on the couch.

Grayson has a pillow over his head, Sam is on his phone and Sebastian is balancing a plate of bacon on his legs. He pops a thick strip into his mouth, unfazed by the tension in the room, as he watches me take the empty space beside him.

"That's why I was out," I say, glancing at Freddie. "I was figuring it out."

"Well, there's no point. Because we found out who it was that ratted your location," Freddie says, laying an arm on the edge of the couch.

"Who?" The four of us ask in unison.

"It was Dr. Zeus," Freddie mutters.

No fucking way.

"What?" Grayson rises from the couch, throwing the pillow aside. Even Sebastian is shocked, a piece of bacon still dangling on the edge of his mouth as he tries to process the information.

"You gotta be kidding me," I groan. "How?"

"Well, you know how we all thought he got held up by a recording session with the Getaways?" Freddie says and we all nod. "Well, he lied. He's actually in prison."

Sebastian scoffs, making a dramatic show of rolling his eyes. "Now's not the fucking time to run sit-com lines with us, Freddie."

"I'm being serious!" Freddie says, exasperated. "There was a police raid in some club and he was caught doing meth, so he needed the bail money. TMZ got a tip about him working with us for the album and persuaded him to give up our location."

"That snitch," Grayson sneers.

"That blows," Sam adds a more sympathetic note. "But I hope he's alright."

"Don't worry - I assure you guys that our PR team will be on top of this," our manager says with smooth confidence. "And we hired some extra security so no press will be able to sneak past the main gates. You'll be safe. For now. You'll still be able to roam around this neighborhood, but always make sure you've got security on you while you do. And try not to leave this neighborhood. It's a small island. And we can't control everything that happens out there."