Post by Leese on Jul 30, 2023 0:30:22 GMT
July 30th, 2023
1:15 AM
Target Center
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Mark was the last one to leave the venue, as he often was. The other guys had showered, changed and headed back to the bus almost as soon as the show had finished a couple of hours ago to get their drink on. As he closed the door behind him, he spotted two guys over by the rail that surrounded the bus, clad in the new Critical Acclaim tour hoodies and ski-masks. He waved to them and then held up a finger, letting them know he’d be there in a minute.
He pulled his travel case over to the bus and then opted to leave it in front of the door rather than taking it on and having to come back out again. It wasn’t unusual for fans to wait around until the early hours of the morning to try to catch them. He wanted to just get on the bus and play Zelda, but there were only two of them from what he could see so it wasn’t going to delay him for long.
“Awesome show!” One of the guys shouted as he saw Mark heading in their direction.
“Thanks.” Mark smiled as he walked over to them. “Thanks for coming.”
“Can you sign this for me?” the other asked, holding out a copy of the setlist from the show that night along with a marker pen.
“Sure,” Mark said as he took the pen from him and uncapped it. As soon as the Sharpie touched the paper, he had the wind driven out of him as one of the men landed a solid punch to his stomach and then brought his knee sharply up into his groin. The other man grabbed him by the shoulder and waistband of his jeans as he doubled over and threw him to the ground, before both of them dragged him around the side of the building. One looked around to make sure they were out of view of any of the windows on the tour bus while the other buried a boot into Mark’s ribs as he pushed himself up onto all fours. He fell onto his side and swung his leg, attempting to sweep the foot of his attacker as he threw his next kick.
A female voice cut through the air. “If you fight back, the tour is over.”
He knew that voice. It made his blood run cold. He didn’t have much time to process where she’d appeared from, but he caught sight of Chelsea walking towards them through the onslaught of boots he tried to protect himself from. It was no use. Before he knew it he had his back against the wall - literally - with nowhere to go. The kicks kept coming until Chelsea spoke again.
“Alright, that’s enough,” she said, before another boot caught Mark just below the sternum, causing him to cough as he tried to sit up. “He’s had enough!”
As Chelsea’s voice rose, the men listened and halted their attack. Mark leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and took some deep breaths, then wheezed out a laugh. “Is that all you got?”
As soon as the words left his lips, one of the goons dived down and threw a solid punch to his head. Mark felt the skin above his eyebrow split beneath the knuckle.
“HEY!” Chelsea yelled, grabbing the guy’s shirt and pulling him back. “I said enough!”
She watched Mark dab at the cut that had opened with his hand and sighed. She’d specifically told these guys to not leave any visible marks on the singer. She didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention but she knew he wouldn’t tell the truth publicly anyway. As long as they didn’t completely smash his face in, it would be fine.
“Don’t try to act tough, Mark,” Chelsea said. “I know I’m one of only two people you truly fear, but unlike him, I don’t want you dead.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he wheezed.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please,” she scoffed. “I’m the reason you’re still alive, remember? If I wanted you dead, you would be.”
He said nothing and his silence told her that he knew she was right, at least in part.
“I tried to be nice, to be patient, but it didn’t work.” She shrugged. “Guess Kam is gonna have to learn that you made his baby sister get an abortion after-”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Mark snapped, cutting her off. “You’re a sick, evil bitch.”
The same man who’d split his eyebrow rushed forward again, this time with his knee. It connected with the same eye - lower than the punch had - and the back of his head hit the wall.
“Leave him alone!” Chelsea ordered as she shoved the guy in the chest. “Enough!” He stepped back obediently and Chelsea turned back to Mark, crouching down in front of him.
“You know how to make this all stop, Mark,” she said softly, reaching out and brushing her hand down his cheek, wiping away the blood that was running down his face. “Make it happen…” She ran her index finger gently over the cut on his brow, circling it around to the swelling that was already starting to show beneath his eye, “...or tell the truth.”
Her hands found their way to his shoulders and she leaned in, pressing her lips to his. He stayed perfectly still until she pulled back, then turned his head away from her as she stood up again. “Just know that I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t want to see you hurt.”
“Right…” Mark grumbled.
“I could never hurt you as much as he did, just remember that,” she said as she started to back away; the two men she’d hired for this little job followed her. “He killed your sister. His own cousin. Took away your chance of having a niece or nephew. Think about whose side you’re on.”
Ryan, unbeknownst to everyone involved, had been around the far side of the tour bus, loading away the merchandise boxes into the luggage compartment. He’d heard the commotion going on and made his way to the wall of the venue, around the corner from where the beating had taken place, so that he could try to find out what was going on. He wasn’t stupid enough to try to stop it once he’d seen two guys (who were much bigger than he was) and Chelsea, so he just stood, and listened. When he heard the attackers start to leave, he tried to hurry back to the bus and remain undetected. He wasn’t quick enough.
Chelsea looked over at him and waved without breaking her stride. “Goodnight, Ryan.”
He said nothing as he watched them leave and then rounded the corner to where Mark was starting to get back to his feet. He made no attempt to offer him any help and just watched him.
“What did she mean?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“What?”
“When she said he killed your sister… What did she mean?”
Mark sighed. “Nothing. Forget about it.”
“That’s not ‘nothing,’ Mark, that–”
Mark cut him off, dabbing at the wound over his eye with the heel of his hand. “I said forget about it. You don’t need to know.”
“I’m not a little kid and I’m not stupid,” Ryan spat. “You don’t need to hide things from me.”
“There’s nothing to hide.” Mark sighed. “She killed herself. That’s it.”
Ryan knew there was more to it; it was obvious from what Chelsea had said and the way Mark was acting, but he knew he wasn’t going to get any answers. Not yet, anyway. He folded his arms. “Abortion?”
“Bullshit.” He lifted the bottom of his shirt up to wipe at the cut, revealing the red marks and bruises already starting to form on his stomach.
“Is there something going on between you two?”
“What? Look at me, Ryan.” He gestured to the now blood-smeared shirt. “Does it look like I’m even close to being on friendly terms with her? Fuck.”
“I saw her kiss you.” Ryan said firmly. “You didn’t object.”
“She’s fucking with me. I wasn’t gonna push her away with those guys waiting for her command. I’ve got a tour to finish. I’m not cancelling any more shows.”
“Right…” It seemed to make sense. “Are you OK, at least?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he replied. “Just… go get me some ice, then we’ll talk.”
1:15 AM
Target Center
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Mark was the last one to leave the venue, as he often was. The other guys had showered, changed and headed back to the bus almost as soon as the show had finished a couple of hours ago to get their drink on. As he closed the door behind him, he spotted two guys over by the rail that surrounded the bus, clad in the new Critical Acclaim tour hoodies and ski-masks. He waved to them and then held up a finger, letting them know he’d be there in a minute.
He pulled his travel case over to the bus and then opted to leave it in front of the door rather than taking it on and having to come back out again. It wasn’t unusual for fans to wait around until the early hours of the morning to try to catch them. He wanted to just get on the bus and play Zelda, but there were only two of them from what he could see so it wasn’t going to delay him for long.
“Awesome show!” One of the guys shouted as he saw Mark heading in their direction.
“Thanks.” Mark smiled as he walked over to them. “Thanks for coming.”
“Can you sign this for me?” the other asked, holding out a copy of the setlist from the show that night along with a marker pen.
“Sure,” Mark said as he took the pen from him and uncapped it. As soon as the Sharpie touched the paper, he had the wind driven out of him as one of the men landed a solid punch to his stomach and then brought his knee sharply up into his groin. The other man grabbed him by the shoulder and waistband of his jeans as he doubled over and threw him to the ground, before both of them dragged him around the side of the building. One looked around to make sure they were out of view of any of the windows on the tour bus while the other buried a boot into Mark’s ribs as he pushed himself up onto all fours. He fell onto his side and swung his leg, attempting to sweep the foot of his attacker as he threw his next kick.
A female voice cut through the air. “If you fight back, the tour is over.”
He knew that voice. It made his blood run cold. He didn’t have much time to process where she’d appeared from, but he caught sight of Chelsea walking towards them through the onslaught of boots he tried to protect himself from. It was no use. Before he knew it he had his back against the wall - literally - with nowhere to go. The kicks kept coming until Chelsea spoke again.
“Alright, that’s enough,” she said, before another boot caught Mark just below the sternum, causing him to cough as he tried to sit up. “He’s had enough!”
As Chelsea’s voice rose, the men listened and halted their attack. Mark leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and took some deep breaths, then wheezed out a laugh. “Is that all you got?”
As soon as the words left his lips, one of the goons dived down and threw a solid punch to his head. Mark felt the skin above his eyebrow split beneath the knuckle.
“HEY!” Chelsea yelled, grabbing the guy’s shirt and pulling him back. “I said enough!”
She watched Mark dab at the cut that had opened with his hand and sighed. She’d specifically told these guys to not leave any visible marks on the singer. She didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention but she knew he wouldn’t tell the truth publicly anyway. As long as they didn’t completely smash his face in, it would be fine.
“Don’t try to act tough, Mark,” Chelsea said. “I know I’m one of only two people you truly fear, but unlike him, I don’t want you dead.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he wheezed.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please,” she scoffed. “I’m the reason you’re still alive, remember? If I wanted you dead, you would be.”
He said nothing and his silence told her that he knew she was right, at least in part.
“I tried to be nice, to be patient, but it didn’t work.” She shrugged. “Guess Kam is gonna have to learn that you made his baby sister get an abortion after-”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Mark snapped, cutting her off. “You’re a sick, evil bitch.”
The same man who’d split his eyebrow rushed forward again, this time with his knee. It connected with the same eye - lower than the punch had - and the back of his head hit the wall.
“Leave him alone!” Chelsea ordered as she shoved the guy in the chest. “Enough!” He stepped back obediently and Chelsea turned back to Mark, crouching down in front of him.
“You know how to make this all stop, Mark,” she said softly, reaching out and brushing her hand down his cheek, wiping away the blood that was running down his face. “Make it happen…” She ran her index finger gently over the cut on his brow, circling it around to the swelling that was already starting to show beneath his eye, “...or tell the truth.”
Her hands found their way to his shoulders and she leaned in, pressing her lips to his. He stayed perfectly still until she pulled back, then turned his head away from her as she stood up again. “Just know that I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t want to see you hurt.”
“Right…” Mark grumbled.
“I could never hurt you as much as he did, just remember that,” she said as she started to back away; the two men she’d hired for this little job followed her. “He killed your sister. His own cousin. Took away your chance of having a niece or nephew. Think about whose side you’re on.”
Ryan, unbeknownst to everyone involved, had been around the far side of the tour bus, loading away the merchandise boxes into the luggage compartment. He’d heard the commotion going on and made his way to the wall of the venue, around the corner from where the beating had taken place, so that he could try to find out what was going on. He wasn’t stupid enough to try to stop it once he’d seen two guys (who were much bigger than he was) and Chelsea, so he just stood, and listened. When he heard the attackers start to leave, he tried to hurry back to the bus and remain undetected. He wasn’t quick enough.
Chelsea looked over at him and waved without breaking her stride. “Goodnight, Ryan.”
He said nothing as he watched them leave and then rounded the corner to where Mark was starting to get back to his feet. He made no attempt to offer him any help and just watched him.
“What did she mean?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“What?”
“When she said he killed your sister… What did she mean?”
Mark sighed. “Nothing. Forget about it.”
“That’s not ‘nothing,’ Mark, that–”
Mark cut him off, dabbing at the wound over his eye with the heel of his hand. “I said forget about it. You don’t need to know.”
“I’m not a little kid and I’m not stupid,” Ryan spat. “You don’t need to hide things from me.”
“There’s nothing to hide.” Mark sighed. “She killed herself. That’s it.”
Ryan knew there was more to it; it was obvious from what Chelsea had said and the way Mark was acting, but he knew he wasn’t going to get any answers. Not yet, anyway. He folded his arms. “Abortion?”
“Bullshit.” He lifted the bottom of his shirt up to wipe at the cut, revealing the red marks and bruises already starting to form on his stomach.
“Is there something going on between you two?”
“What? Look at me, Ryan.” He gestured to the now blood-smeared shirt. “Does it look like I’m even close to being on friendly terms with her? Fuck.”
“I saw her kiss you.” Ryan said firmly. “You didn’t object.”
“She’s fucking with me. I wasn’t gonna push her away with those guys waiting for her command. I’ve got a tour to finish. I’m not cancelling any more shows.”
“Right…” It seemed to make sense. “Are you OK, at least?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he replied. “Just… go get me some ice, then we’ll talk.”