Wheels of Fire (Hollywood Demons Book 3)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  He lets out a groan. “I bet you look hot in a leotard.”

  “Not the point.”

  “Mallory, you can do anything you set your mind to. I believe that with all my heart.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I don’t think it hurts to find out more. Meet with the production company.”

  “I’ll have to take dance or choreography lessons.”

  “You’ll nail it. I have no doubt.” He’s quiet for a few seconds. “If you don’t trust Marilyn, maybe it’s time for you to find a new agent,” he suggests, echoing my thoughts from earlier today.

  “I trust her to find jobs for me. She’s well-connected that way but she’s almost too eager to have me accept anything that lands on her desk.”

  “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. She wants her clients earning money.” He pauses. “You might need a lawyer to look over these kinds of contracts, though. Someone to negotiate royalties and stuff. That really helped us out when we signed our first record deal.”

  A lawyer hadn’t occurred to me yet. Most days, I still feel like an impostor in this business. Like a child prancing around in her mother’s high heels and makeup. Not a professional who hires other professionals. “I’ll ask around.”

  “Did you ask Pamela about the job? Has she ever been offered something like it? Would she do it if she had the opportunity?”

  “I wanted to talk to you first. Besides, I don’t trust her. She’ll probably make fun of me.”

  “She better not,” he growls. “Have you at least told her you’re home?”

  “Not yet. But we have a big scene together this week so I might hang out with her tomorrow to work on it after the table read.”

  I don’t bother telling him about the tabloid. It’ll only piss him off and there isn’t much we can do about it anyway.

  “Shit. Hang on.” There’s a muffled noise as if he’s holding his hand over the receiver for a few seconds before he returns. “Dinner break’s over. I gotta go.”

  “You didn’t eat dinner?”

  “I wanted to talk to you more. I’ll grab something for the bus.”

  “I miss you.”

  “Miss you too, little dove.”

  My throat burns from holding back the emotions bubbling up as we say goodbye.

  Chapter Five

  Chaser

  Talking Andrew out of tonight’s show was a pointless effort. He’s worried about disappointing the fans. I seem to be the only one concerned it’s too soon. Everyone else is eager to get moving and making money again.

  Unfortunately, tonight the fans aren’t as eager to see Kickstart as they have been at every other show on this tour. When our crew lowers the banner with our name and logo, loud booing ripples through the crowd.

  Bottles and garbage fly onstage, nearly missing the roadies hurrying to set up our equipment.

  “What the fuck?” Jacob says, watching from the side of the stage. “What’s Louisiana got against us?”

  “Motherfucker,” Alvin grumbles, glaring at Jacob.

  “Guessing they still think I shot Andrew.” Amazing I have to point out the obvious to Jacob. To say I’m still grouchy over the whole incident doesn’t begin to cover our situation.

  “Who kicked your puppies?” Andrew asks, slowly joining our unhappy gathering.

  “Shouldn’t you be resting until you go on stage?” I ask.

  He dismisses my concern with a flick of his wrist and I flip him off in return. Asshole.

  “What’s going on?” Andrew peeks out at the crowd.

  Alvin and I stare at each other, neither of us wanting to state the problem. Jacob wanders back to our dressing room. The whole situation’s awkward as fuck.

  Darren’s grim as he approaches with my guitar to set me up for our show. “Rough crowd tonight,” he mumbles.

  “Yeah.”

  Ever the professional, Alvin marches out to his drum kit first. Instead of his usual excitement, his head’s down, as if he’s approaching a firing squad.

  Since I’m not guilty of a damn thing and I’ve always been a defiant motherfucker, I stomp out on stage chin up, staring straight out into the crowd.

  A beer bottle sails through the air, slamming into my thigh. It hits the stage with a loud clink but thankfully doesn’t shatter.

  “Motherfucker!” I shout, kicking it off the stage. Probably not the smartest move.

  “Watch it!” one of the security guards yells at me.

  “Watch the fucking crowd, asshole!” I shout back.

  “Who’s ready to rock out with my favorite band!?” Andrew screams into one of the mics.

  I turn and find him storming our stage, coming straight for me. Before I can properly brace myself, he hooks an arm around my neck and hugs me to his side. “This badass motherfucker right here saved my fucking life!”

  The crowd does this strange gasp-cheer thing.

  “That’s right,” he continues. “Which one of you rowdy motherfuckers can scream ‘thank you, Chaser’ the loudest?”

  The building shakes with the roar of a couple thousand fans yelling their gratitude.

  Embarrassed as fuck, but relieved Andrew probably saved us from one hell of a shitty show, I tip my head and raise a hand to acknowledge their cheers.

  “Woooo!” Andrew shouts, pumping his fist in the air.

  “Andrew! I love you!” a girl screams.

  “Show me your tits!” he shouts back.

  He slaps my back a few times and runs off stage.

  No more beer bottles are thrown at us. I glance back at Alvin. At least the going to the morgue look has been wiped off his face. He shrugs and pounds his bass drum a few times. His signal to Garrett and Jacob to get their asses out here.

  Garrett strolls out, waving to the crowd. He throws me a wide-eyed what the fuck face.

  Jacob runs on stage screaming into his mic. We launch into a rambunctious version of “Hammer to the Heart.”

  The rest of our show is tight. The audience probably can’t tell but we’re tense. Rattled by the earlier jeers. Jacob keeps his banter to a minimum. My guitar solo’s short and perfunctory. Call me a moody creative, but I’m not feeling it tonight.

  At least by the end of our set, we’ve won over the crowd. We take a bow and wave. Chants of “Kickstart, Kickstart, Kickstart” follow us off the stage.

  Andrew’s sitting on a metal folding chair off to the side. First time I haven’t seen him jumping around or running up and down the hallways before his set. I hold out my hand and he grabs it, pulling me down for a hug.

  “Thanks for doing that,” I say, slapping his back.

  “I feel so fucking shitty about all this,” he says against my ear. “I’ll make it right. Every night if I have to.”

  “Not your fault reporters have nothing better to do.” I can’t believe I’m trying to make him feel better about the situation.

  Jacob backs away as if he has no culpability in any of this fuckery.

  “You ready to go on?” Alvin asks, slapping Andrew’s shoulder a lot more gently then he would’ve a week ago.

  Andrew hesitates, glancing at the stage and then back at Alvin. “Yeah. Would you mind sticking around? If I can’t finish, do you think you could take over for me?”

  The request sends Alvin into a state of shock where he can’t come up with a coherent answer.

  Andrew seems to misread the situation. “I’ll get you paid—”

  “It’s not that.” I slap Alvin’s back to knock him out of his panic trance.

  “No, I mean, yes. I can do it,” Alvin answers quickly. “I pretty much have your whole set list memorized.”

  “Thanks.” Andrew blows out a breath. “Huge relief. I should’ve asked you sooner so you could’ve practiced…never mind.” He glances down the hallway to where Kyle and Boner are waiting to go on stage. “They wouldn’t have showed up for a practice anyway.”

  “I got you.” Alvin straightens up and adopts a more reassuring tone. “But I’m sur
e you’ll be fine.”

  “Thanks, bro.”

  Vinnie joins us and Andrew explains his contingency plan.

  “Cool. Thanks, Alvin.” He roughs his hand over Andrew’s head. “You’ll be stellar, lil’ rock star.”

  I slap Alvin’s shoulder and lean in. “You’ve got this.”

  He nods at me.

  “I’ll be back,” I promise. No way will I let Alvin freak out all alone while he waits to see if he gets called to stand in for one of his idols.

  I stop in our dressing room and find Jacob with a mug of tea and jar of honey. “You all right?”

  He turns and shrugs, then points to his throat. I take in his appearance. Sweaty and shakier than normal after a show. I suspect his condition has more to do with heroin withdrawal than vocal issues.

  “Need anything?”

  He points to his arm and mimes shooting up.

  “Not happening,” I growl.

  I get a shrug and a nod in response, which isn’t all that reassuring. He must sense my mistrust because he holds his hand out. “I’m okay,” he rasps. “I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

  “Good, because Alvin might need to fill in for Andrew tonight. He needs our support.”

  “Give me a few.” He gestures to the tea.

  The bathroom door swings open and Garrett strolls out, a half-dressed blonde following behind him. He smirks at me and I lift my chin.

  “Hey, Chaser,” the girl coos.

  “Hey.” I turn back to Jacob. “Fill him in?”

  Jacob starts some complicated sign language type gestures that seem to equate to “our drummer is filling in for their drummer.” Satisfied the two of them won’t leave the arena, I return to Alvin.

  “You all right?” I ask.

  He leans in close. “I’m freaked the fuck out.”

  “Knowing Andrew, he’ll want to finish the whole show. But it’ll make him feel better if he knows someone can take over.”

  “It’s the least we can do after…everything.”

  “None of that shit’s on you and me, brother.”

  He cocks his head. “Isn’t it?”

  “How do you figure?”

  Before answering, he does a quick scan of the surrounding area. While it’s crowded, no one’s paying attention to us. “We have to keep a closer watch over Jacob. If he looks like he’s about to fall, we need to catch him.”

  “How’s that work long-term?” I’m not trying to be a dick. I genuinely want to understand Alvin’s thought process. “We can’t help someone who doesn’t want our help.”

  “I think we should get him to see a doctor about his throat. Maybe hire a vocal coach to go on the road with us.”

  Why hadn’t that occurred to me? Kyle doesn’t have one but we’ve played with other bands who kept a vocal coach around. While we’re not rolling in money, yet, we’re certainly making enough to cover that expense if it means we preserve Jacob’s voice.

  “Let’s talk to Thom about it before we approach Jacob,” I suggest.

  He holds out his fist and we tap knuckles. “Deal,” he agrees.

  At least it finally feels like we have a plan.

  Mallory

  “How was the show?” I ask Chaser as soon as he calls.

  “Fucking horrible at first.”

  He gives me a rundown of the rocky beginning and how Andrew saved the night.

  “Is he going to have to do that every night?”

  “Probably. At least until word spreads and people stop believing the stupid gossip.”

  “I didn’t want to say anything but, yeah, half the tabloids here are running a story about our torrid love triangle.”

  “Fuck,” he mutters. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s, really.”

  “Well, that’s not exactly true.”

  “How is Jacob?”

  “Off the junk for now. Seems like this incident scared him straight but I don’t know…” He trails off and pain wraps around my chest. I wish I could be there for him.

  So, I tell him exactly that.

  “Hearing your voice helps. I miss you,” he rasps.

  “I miss you too.”

  He groans and I can almost picture him stretching out on his bed. “I can’t stop thinking about waking up with your mouth around my cock.”

  My breath hitches. “Really?”

  “Fuck yeah.”

  “I can’t wait to do that again,” I whisper.

  “You’ll get your chance soon enough.”

  Chapter Six

  Mallory

  It’s been a busy couple of weeks—busting some moves for the strange Jazzercise video, a handful of random auditions, and filming the increasingly weird Shallow End storylines. I am so ready for some alone time with Chaser.

  “Let’s go!” Pamela yells.

  “I’m ready!” I rush out of the dressing room, almost knocking her over.

  “We’re going to miss our flight.”

  Somehow, my flight to New York to meet up with Chaser ended up being a girls’ trip with Pamela. I guess she’d been planning to visit Andrew for the final show all along. No one told me we’d have to fly out together.

  All my luggage is already in her car so we can go straight to the airport when we’re done filming for the day.

  “I’m so excited!” Pamela squeals as we hit the freeway. “I haven’t been to New York since I was a little girl.”

  “You must be excited to see Andrew too.”

  She lifts one shoulder. “Sure. It’s always weird after he’s been on tour for a while, though. You know?”

  I can only imagine. I wonder if she packed a can of Lysol to spray over his nether regions.

  A thousand times, I wanted to tell Pamela what I’d witnessed on my last visit—Andrew nailing groupies backstage by the bucketload. But his warning that Pamela already knew but didn’t want to be confronted with the information kept my mouth shut. Things are tense enough when we work together. Half the time I get the feeling she doesn’t even like me. Telling her about Andrew’s unfaithfulness won’t improve our relationship. At least that’s the excuse I keep giving myself for being a coward.

  I’m almost tempted to give her the advice I was once given—make him wear a rubber—but I doubt that will be appreciated either.

  Instead, we talk about the episode we just finished filming.

  “I’m so happy we’re on break. Landon keeps asking to suck my tits between takes.” She pulls a gagging face. “I want to knee him in the balls every time I see him.”

  “Eww. He’s old enough to be your grandfather.” Thank God I rarely have any scenes with him.

  “I know.”

  “Have you complained to anyone about it?”

  “No way. You know who will get kicked off the show if I make waves.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” But even as I voice the complaint, I know she’s right.

  “That’s Hollywood. Hell, that’s everywhere.” She parks the car and turns to me. “You’re not a nervous flyer, are you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Good.”

  We unload our bags together. She huffs at my luggage. “How long are you staying in New York?”

  “At least a week. We’re going to visit his family.” My mouth turns up. I’m actually looking forward to seeing Stump. I think I miss him more than my own father.

  “You’re from New York too, right?”

  I nod, uncomfortable talking about my origins. “We’ll probably visit my dad too while we’re here.” As much as I don’t relish another prison visit, I can’t be so close and not see my father.

  Thankfully, she doesn’t pry for more information.

  Chapter Seven

  Chaser

  My need to see Mallory is a fever creeping over my skin. I’m irritable all day waiting for her, bummed she won’t get in until late tonight.

  I’m even more annoyed that I agreed to wait to go to the airport so Andrew and I
could pick up the girls together.

  When Andrew’s finished with his set, he lopes off the stage, high-fiving everyone he passes. He takes his sweet ass time. When he finally makes it over to me, I’m ready to snap.

  “We need to get going,” I remind him, taking a step back as his sweaty stench clogs my nostrils. “You plannin’ to take a shower?”

  “Nope. Pheromones. Pamela digs it.”

  “I don’t think that’s the same…you know what, never mind. Let’s go.”

  He stops at his dressing room door. “Give me two minutes.” He holds up two fingers and shoves them in my face in case I can’t count that high. “Stashed a little hottie in here for a post-performance BJ.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  He disappears inside the room and I stare at the door. Am I really waiting for this asshole to get a blowjob from some random chick, while his girlfriend is waiting for him at the airport? And worse, delaying getting my hands on my own girl?

  “Motherfucker.” I slam my fist against the door and stalk away.

  Jacob walks over and slaps my shoulder. “When Pamela breaks up with him, make sure you send her my way.”

  Next to him, Garrett chuckles. “What? You think she’s gonna sniff his dick or somethin’?”

  I spear my fingers through my hair. What was I thinking, agreeing to go with Andrew?

  Fifteen minutes later—not the two he promised—he bounds out of his dressing room, sweatier and more disgusting looking than before—if that’s possible. “The fuck is wrong with you?” I snap.

  He gives me that wide-eyed innocent puppy face that makes me want to punch him every single time. “What?”

  “We’re going to be late.”

  “Nah. We’ve got plenty of time.” He turns and strides down the hallway to the closest door, his bodyguard, Benny following. “Let’s go.” Andrew waves his hand over his shoulder.

  I have to jog to catch up with him. Sure, now he’s eager to go. In the parking lot, he stops at a shiny, black stretch limo.