by RB Hilliard
“The band has to pay back the two million you fronted us when we signed,” I finished for him.
“Exactly.”
As far as I was concerned the solution was simple. “Fire the specialist. No one would ever know she was here.”
Blane threw up his hands in defeat. “I can’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because it isn’t up to me.”
“What do you mean it’s not up to you? It’s your fucking label!”
“No it’s not!” he shouted.
I fucking knew it! “You have approximately three seconds to explain,” I warned.
“Six months ago I got in over my head and lost the label.” He said the words so fast I almost missed them…almost.
“You lost the label.” I repeated, hoping I’d misunderstood. He nodded, yes.
Fuck, fucking Blane!
I was trying hard not to lose my shit. “Gambling?” I managed to get out.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Clenching my fists I took a step toward him. Seeing the fury on my face, he quickly stepped back. Smart man. “Please tell me you didn’t bet the label, the future of my band, at a poker table, Blane? Please tell me I’m wrong.” I was shaking I was so angry.
His shoulders slumped and he let out a defeated sigh. “Not exactly. I owed a lot of money and asked Dad to bail me out.”
I felt like hurling. “Please tell me you didn’t?” I rasped.
“As collateral, Dad took the label,” he weakly said.
“For how long?”
He shrugged.
“Fuck!” I shouted, and picked up the coffee table and hurled it across the room.
“But I have a plan,” he stammered.
Ignoring him, I asked, “So Kirkland’s the one who doesn’t want to investigate, right?”
“He doesn’t want any negative publicity.”
“Kirkland sent me to rehab?”
Blane flinched. “He thought it would do you some good.”
“Someone tried to fucking kill me, Blane, and instead of investigating you let him send me to rehab. How in the fuck was that supposed to be good for me?”
“I tried to stop him but you know Dad, he’s old school. With Maximum Impact and Deconstruction both still in litigation he’s being extra cautious right now. The industry is cracking down and he doesn’t want to lose his investment.”
Within the past six months the music world had been rocked by several drug related deaths. Miles Miller was the drummer for Maximum Impact, and a good friend. I knew he was heavy into the scene but had no idea how heavy until he turned up dead in his hotel room. The same happened to the lead singer of Deconstruction, Jay Lassiter. I didn’t know Jay as well but respected his work. Both of these, plus the incident with our former drummer Dale, had apparently sent Kirkland over the edge.
“I’m working on getting the label back, I swear,” Blane said.
Until then Kirkland fucking Hamilton II owned my ass. I was well and truly fucked.
Chapter Six
Nothing Is As It Seems
Mallory
Grant was lucky I didn’t yank that beer bottle out of his hand and bop him on the head with it, the smug ass. First chance I got I was contacting the rehab facility and asking for his file. Something wasn’t sitting right with me and I was hoping his file would give me some insight, or at least some answers.
“The boys need to head down to the stage!” a voice called out.
Noise erupted everywhere as people began spilling out into the hallway to watch the band walk by. Not wanting to get trampled I sidestepped into the first doorway I could find. In a parade like fashion Nash and Chaz passed by first. Chaz was smiling and Nash was high-fiving and joking with everyone. Next was Luke, who kept stopping to give autographs. Last was Grant. He’d changed into a pair of dark jeans and black combat boots. The sleeves of his charcoal Henley had been ripped off. Vibrant tattoos covered one of his shoulders and trailed down his arm and I wondered why the other was left bare. Hank and Sampson flanked him on both sides. Unlike the three other band members who were hamming it up for the onlookers, Grant was doing just the opposite. With his head tilted down he appeared to be deep in conversation with Hank and completely oblivious to the people chanting his name as he passed by. The threesome was almost to me when Grant’s head lifted and his eyes locked on mine. A cocky grin spread across his face and I was relieved to see normal sized pupils staring back at me.
“Good luck,” I mouthed, and immediately wanted to kick myself for acting like a lovesick groupie.
With a nod of acknowledgement he dropped his head back down in order to hear what Hank was saying. I raptly watched with the rest of the crowd as the band continued their forward march down the hall. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t affected. As the crowd of obnoxiously squealing women around me proved, everybody was affected by Meltdown, and especially by Grant Hardy. The second Marcel gave the go ahead the crowd broke into a mad rush. Like a swarm of angry bees they began pushing and shoving their way to the side of the stage to fight for the perfect spot to watch the band perform their magic.
Blane stepped up beside me and held out his elbow. “Ready to experience it up close and personal?” he asked. I didn’t trust Blane Hamilton as far as I could throw him, but for better or worse he was my boss for the next five months. Ignoring his outstretched elbow I started down the hall after the crowd. A few seconds later he caught up with me. “I realize you’re uncomfortable with the situation, but I need you to trust that everything is going to work out just fine.” We stopped at the bottom of the steps leading onto the stage and he motioned me ahead while he spoke to security. When I reached the top of the steps I paused to get my bearings. Between the stage lights, flashing cameras and deafening roar of the audience, my brain was driven into sensory overload.
“Good evening Houston!” Grant shouted into the mic. My eyes snapped to the stage and I was immediately star struck. Grant Hardy was one fine looking man. “I said good evening Houston!” he repeated. This time the crowd exploded into a ball of white hot noise and I clamped my hands over my ears.
I felt a tug on my arm and turned to see Blane laughing at me. I glared at him which made him laugh harder. “You’ll get used to it,” he mouthed, but I wasn’t so sure. This was Meltdown we were talking about.
The crowd quieted to a dull roar when Nash began playing the opening chords to Chaz’s song. Earlier today at practice I’d watched Grant seem to struggle with the decision to change up the song list. I was happy to see him sticking to his decision to play Chaz’s song first. I was also happy to see him looking focused and sober. After the beer incident earlier I wasn’t sure what to expect. When the song was over Grant made Chaz stand and take a bow. The audience ate it up and I was right there with them.
The entire two hours Meltdown played I stood glued to the side of the stage. Grant Hardy had serious swagger, not to mention some mighty powerful sex appeal. Grant wasn’t the only impressive one, though. I was captivated and enthralled by how good the band was as a whole.
After a second encore I shook off my Meltdown trance and glanced around for Blane. When I couldn’t find him I gave up and followed the crowd back down the stairs and into the room where we’d eaten dinner earlier. As I waited for the guys to appear I realized how tired I was. It had been a long day and I needed some time to myself. After thirty or so minutes of waiting, I went in search of someone who could drive me back to the hotel and ran into Marcel in the hall.
“Hey, if you don’t mind I’m ready to go back to the hotel and crash,” I told him.
“Clear it with Hank and I’ll take you,” he responded, before hurrying the opposite direction down the hall.
“Okey dokey,” I said to myself, and started for the dressing rooms. Dressing room #1 was wall to wall people, most of whom were scantily clad women. I immediately spotted Chaz and Luke in the crowd but no Hank. When Sampson squeezed by I snagged his arm and asked if he’d s
een Hank. He told me to try dressing room #2. I was beyond happy to do so as the stench of perfume wafting through such a confined space was beginning to make my head hurt.
In the hall I took in a few cleansing breaths before going on the hunt for Hank. After a few minutes of searching it occurred to me that most of the doors weren’t labeled. How in the world am I supposed to find dressing room #2 when the doors aren’t labeled? I passed by a partially open door and thought I heard people talking inside so I peered in. It took me a minute to realize that I’d walked in on a couple having sex. The girl moaned loudly as the guy pumped away like a jackrabbit. Poor girl. I quickly backed out of the room and proceeded to the next door down. This time I definitely heard voices. Not wanting to walk in on another couple going at it like bunnies I raised my hand to knock. When I heard shouts coming from inside, I quickly lowered it. It sounded like people fighting. Not wanting to get involved I turned to walk away. Someone shouted again and I recognized Grant’s voice. Stepping back up to the door I gently pressed my hands against it. It opened far enough for me to hear the conversation without being seen. I quickly realized they were talking about me.
“Fire the specialist. No one would ever know she was here.”
“I can’t.” The other person said. It sounded like Blane but I wasn’t sure.
“Why the hell not?” Grant asked.
“Because it isn’t up to me.”
“What do you mean it’s not up to you? It’s your fucking label!”
I thought it was Blane.
“No it’s not!” Blane shouted.
I gasped and slapped my hand over my mouth to keep them from busting me eavesdropping. What does he mean it’s not his label?
“You have approximately three seconds to explain.” Grant sounded seriously angry.
“Six months ago I got in over my head and lost the label.”
“You lost the label.” Grant repeated. A second passed and I thought he said something about gambling. The next sentence I heard loud and clear. “Please tell me you didn’t bet the label, the future of my band, at a poker table, Blane? Please tell me I’m wrong.”
“Not exactly. I owed a lot of money and asked Dad to bail me out.”
“Please tell me you didn’t?” Grant pleaded and I felt sorry for him.
“As collateral, Dad took the label,” I barely heard Blane say.
“For how long?” Grant asked. I waited to hear the answer but it didn’t come.
How long? Don’t go quiet now! I wanted to scream.
Grant shouted, “Fuck!” and I nearly jumped out of my skin when something slammed against the wall.
Thank goodness I stepped back into the hall when I did because seconds later the couple from next door appeared.
“Hey there, what are you doing all the way down here?” a familiar voice asked. Thankfully Nash was too busy straightening himself back up to notice my surprised expression. The girl standing next to him looked like she was about to fall asleep on her feet.
“Hi Nash, I didn’t see you standing there.” The image of him thrusting like a bunny popped into my head and I choked back a laugh. “I’m trying to find Hank. Marcel said he was in dressing room two but the rooms aren’t labeled.”
“You’re standing in front of two,” he pointed to the room Grant and Blane were currently in, but if you’re looking for Hank, he was at the back door.”
“And that’s where exactly?” I asked.
“Down the hall on your right, you can’t miss him,” he answered. I thanked him and promptly took off down the hall. As I rounded the corner I glanced back and saw Grant and Blane standing in the hall talking to Nash and the girl. So Blane no longer owns Happenstance. I wasn’t sure exactly what this meant but I knew I didn’t like it. Blane Hamilton was a liar. If he lied about this, what else was he lying about? I kept walking until I spotted Hank. He was deep in conversation with Marcel.
Marcel held up a set of car keys and smiled when he saw me. “I was just about to find you,” he said.
I smiled. “To take me back to the hotel, I hope?” I was now both mentally and physically exhausted, not to mention confused. Nothing was as it initially seemed and I had no idea what to make of it. I said goodbye to Hank and followed Marcel out to the Suburban. We were halfway back to the hotel when I remembered my purse.
“Oh no, I forgot my purse!”
“You want me to turn around?” Marcel had just started to warm up to me. I hated to make him go all the way back. “Or I can always call in and have Hank bring it back when he drives the group back later,” he offered. I felt bad for asking Marcel to turn around but I really disliked the idea of leaving my purse behind. As if sensing my unease, he said, “I promise to personally make sure it gets to your suite this evening.”
“You don’t mind?” I asked.
He smiled. “Not at all.”
As I got ready for bed I thought about the day I’d had. Something told me my life was about to be turned upside down. I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and asked, “What have I gotten myself into?” I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer.
Chapter Seven
Introducing The Narc
Grant
“Management wants to see us in fifteen!” I heard Luke shout from somewhere in the suite. I cracked my eyes open and quickly closed them again. Management could suck it. The bed next to me dipped and I felt warm breath on my face. Fuck! I tried to recall last night’s activities. Other than drinking a shitload of booze, I couldn’t. After a minute or so of complete silence, I decided I’d imagined it and, like a dumb ass, opened my eyes back up.
“Last night was the most amazing night of my life. Do you think you could get me and my friends VIP tickets for tonight’s show, because if you could that would be great. There are seven of us. There were ten but Suzy’s mom wouldn’t let her come, Jenny had cramps and I’m not sure what happened to Marnie. I mean I understand if you can’t, but I would so appreciate it if you could,” the voice on the pillow next to me yammered.
You would think I’d learned my lesson by now. Grant plus booze equals snatch. I loved pussy as much as the next guy but more and more these days it ended up like this. Slowly, so not to jar my aching brain, I turned to see what the cat dragged home, or should I say dog because that’s exactly what I was, a fucking dog. Long, dark hair framed a petite face and a pair of big brown eyes. At least this one was attractive. The last girl who ended up in my bed looked like Nash’s uncle Stan. I waited for my dick to take notice but all he did was lie there partially engorged from the need to piss. As she chattered away at me I pictured slamming my cock between her plump, pink lips to shut her up. My traitorous cock still refused to budge. Fucker. This girl didn’t want me, none of them did. She wanted Grant Hardy, lead singer of Meltdown. I bet if I let out an oily fart and asked her to lick my anus she’d stick her tongue out and wait for me to spread my cheeks. When had I become so jaded?
After Blane’s little confession last night I didn’t return to the hotel. I should have. Instead I turned to the bottle, which in turn led me to…
“What’s your name?” A look of hurt appeared on her face and I felt bad for asking.
“Don’t you remember? We had a whole conversation about it last night. Becki with an i instead of a y because my mom loved the movie Valley Girl, remember?”
I tried to recall last night’s events, again, and finally gave up. I had no recollection of her or the conversation. “Well, Becki with an i instead of a y, how about you leave me your contact information and after I talk with management someone will call and let you know about those tickets.”
“That would be great!” she shrieked. I tried not to flinch but damn she was loud. “Do you want me to order breakfast or would you like for me to give you a blow job?” Once upon a time those words would have been music to my ears. Now they just made me cringe.
“I appreciate the offer but I have to get going this morning. Raincheck?”
&n
bsp; She ran her hand over my now shriveled pecker and smiled. “How about tonight?”
“Luke!” I called out. A few seconds later Luke stuck his head in. When he saw Becki with an i perched in the bed next to me an evil smile appeared on his face.
I shot him the bird and he blew me a kiss. Then he addressed my issue. “Hey, sweetheart, how would you like to meet the rest of the band?”
“Wait, didn’t I meet everyone last night?” She bounced out of bed, which was a good thing because I was seconds away from losing my cool and kicking her out. She pulled on her dress and grabbed her shoes before turning to address me. “You sure you’re good because you, ah, kind of passed out before finishing last night.” Luke’s muffled bark of laughter from behind the door made me sigh. I was going to catch shit about this later.
“I’m good,” I assured her, “go ahead and meet the boys. Maybe I’ll see you tonight.” With a wave of her hand she was gone. Just in case she changed her mind, I bolted from the bed and locked the door behind her. Then I hauled ass to the bathroom to piss and scrub off last night’s stupidity.
Twenty minutes later Becki with an i was gone and I was dressed and waiting with the rest of the guys for security to come retrieve us and escort us down to the conference room.
“Does anyone know what this is about?” Luke asked. No one responded. Grabbing a bottle of water I washed down three pain relievers.
“You okay?” Chaz asked, and all eyes turned to me.
“I’m good. Thanks for saving me,” I told Luke.
“You should have seen your face when she told you your dick malfunctioned last night,” he teased. Everyone laughed, including Nash. It was good to be laughing with the guys again, even if it was at my expense. Hank and Sean walked in and the room instantly sobered. Hank shot me a look and I got the feeling I wasn’t going to like what was in store for us. We filed into the elevator, rode down three floors and filed out into the conference room, where Blane, Kirkland and Mallory were waiting. I couldn’t remember if Mallory was there last night or not. If she was, I’m sure I would hear about it. Once everyone was seated Kirkland stood up. I glanced over at Blane and noticed his clenched jaw.