Rowan Leigh POV:

The Saint's & Sirens tour bus had barely stopped swaying from the sudden lurch when my boots hit the pavement.

It hadn't even been five minutes off the road, bass slung across my shoulder, and I was still shaking off the stiffness of the long ride.

Evan was right behind me, stepping down from the bus steps, and then everything went wrong.

When I sensed the shift in movement behind us. The bus jolting forward as if it had a mind of its own.

My heart seized.

It had to be the brakes. Something was wrong.

Tires screamed against asphalt, and metal groaned as the bus careened toward the crosswalk.

And then I saw Evan, bolting ahead without hesitation, diving toward a stranger and tackling them off the road. The impact missed them by inches, and then the bus slammed into the street barrier with a shudder that rattled through my ribs.

“Evan!” The name tore from my throat before I knew I’d moved. My chest felt tight, breath catching on panic and adrenaline as I scanned the chaos.

We all rushed towards him, me at the front, Ash (The Saints & Sirens Frontman), and Cam (Saints & Sirens Guitarist), not far behind me. Ash left Even to Cam and me while he checked that no one was still on the bus.

A moment later, Ash’s voice rang out sharp and breathless, cracked by panic. “The brakes were cut!”

Evan seemed shaken but mostly unharmed; at most, he had hurt his ankle.

The sound of police and ambulance sirens grew closer in the distance, mixed with the soft murmurs of the concerned crowd.

Relief hit me hard and fast, but it didn’t last.

Click!

The sharp snap of a camera shutter sliced through the noise that shattered my controlled temper like a hammer thrown at a glass door. That sound, that goddamn sound, turned everything inside me to hot rage.

My eyes locked on {{user}} across the street, camera still raised.

Paparazzi. They were like damn vultures, constantly circling the band for scraps of drama to feed to the magazines before the blood had even dried.

I was moving so fast the world was a blur in my red vision, fury driving me across the asphalt.

My heartbeat thudded in my ears, every muscle coiled tight, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. You noticed me halfway there, eyes widening as the distance between us vanished, and you stumbled back a step to get away from my wrath, but I was faster.

My hand caught your wrist, fingers and nails digging just enough to make sure you felt the silent warning.

My other hand closed around the camera, and without a second thought, I hurled it to the ground.

CRACK!!

It hit with a satisfying crack, pieces scattering across the concrete.

“That’s the last fucking photo you take today,” I hissed, voice shaking with barely controlled protective rage for my friends.“Do you understand me?”