The band members looked at one another not quite sure what had just happened except they now had a manager who had promised them impossible, unbelievable success, and they didn’t have to spend one single quid.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Nigel said, and the rest of the band members groaned in derision.
They pelted him with sweaty towels until he gave in and laughed, encouraged by his mates’ enthusiasm at the prospect of fame and hard-earned success.
Thom opened a lukewarm bottle of lager and raised it high. “It’s a poor substitute for champagne but it’s still a fitting toast to Metal Urge’s chance for infamy and fortune,” he grinned.
The others followed suit and they shouted “Cheers” and clapped each other on the back, relishing the camaraderie they had all but lost.
While they celebrated their good fortune, Trevor hurried Maggi and Deanna out of the club and into a waiting cab, impatient to get home and make some calls. He intended to invite some friends in the music business to an “introduction” party in a few weeks and then arrange for a few flashy tarts who fancied themselves “groupies” to serve as entertainment for his new cash cow, Metal Urge. He would wine and dine the naïve lads with cheap liquor, cheap food, and even cheaper women. He considered plying them with drugs for a moment but decided against it. That would be the final step in assuring the band’s loyalty to him; but only if necessary.
Trevor dropped Deanna off at her flat, but held onto Maggi’s hand kissing it tenderly, coaxing her to stay with him. She grinned at him and waved goodnight to Deanna as she relaxed into her boyfriend's embrace. Trevor gave Maggi a kiss while thinking about all of the interesting toys he had at home and what each of them could do to willing, or better yet, unwilling flesh. He hoped his lady wouldn’t mind playing rough tonight because he didn’t want to hurt her…not much anyway.
****
Maggi had been uncharacteristically quiet the past few days. Dark circles ringed her eyes, making them appear bruised as she stood in the kitchen staring out of the window. Turning abruptly, Maggi left the kitchen and wandered aimlessly through the small flat like a bewildered specter searching for something familiar, touching knick knacks and picking up books, fanning their pages without looking at them.
Deanna watched her friend pick up yet another book so she went to her, pulled the book out of Maggi’s hand, and gently squeezed her fingers. “Are you okay?”
A single tear rolled down Maggi’s cheek and she looked at Deanna, lips trembling. “He hurt me, D,” Maggi began to weep, sagging against her friend.
She led Maggi to the couch and sat down pulling the weeping girl into her arms and rocking her tenderly.
“Inside,” Maggi sobbed against Deanna’s shoulder. “He hurt me inside.”
After putting Maggi to bed, Deanna paced the living room fighting the urge to call the police. She wasn’t sure Maggi would cooperate even though Trevor had crossed the line from rough sex to sadism and deserved to be in jail. Maggi didn’t have to go into detail to fuel Deanna’s imagination regarding the pain and humiliation she had suffered at the hands of Trevor Hampton. The bastard was sicker than she had even imagined and she was furious, wanting nothing more than to see him suffer for what he had done to the woman who loved him. Maggi swore she would break it off with him, but Deanna didn’t believe her. She feared Trevor would lure Maggi back with simpering regrets, declarations of undying love, and the false promise that he would never, ever hurt “his lady” again.
Chapter 6
It was the night of Trevor’s party for his newest musical acquisition, and just as Deanna had feared, Maggi insisted on going which left her no choice but to go with her. The stubborn girl had refused to discuss her horrible experience or her promise to dump Trevor since the night she broke down and told Deanna what he had done to her. She was acting as though it had never happened. She watched helplessly while Maggi spent hours in her bedroom, ditching classes and missing work while she talked on the phone to Trevor. How could she forgive him? It frightened her to think that the two of them might be involved in some kind of sick game. No, that couldn’t be it; she had seen the shock and pain in Maggi’s eyes. She had to accept the fact that she would never understand the hold that the demonic Trevor Hampton had on her friend.
Grudgingly, Deanna stood at the mirror and put her earrings in, realizing that even though she would see Nigel Guilford tonight, she wasn’t the least bit excited. She was so caught up in Maggi’s drama and denial that she couldn’t focus on what might prove to be her only chance of meeting him. Though it was against her better judgment, she still wanted to meet the incredibly sexy singer. Turning from side to side, she gazed at her reflection in the mirror and let out a dismayed breath. Despite being dressed to kill in a blue satin halter dress that made the most of her attractive, petite figure, its deep sapphire color complimenting her soft, porcelain skin and luminous blonde hair, the fabulous dress did little to improve her frame of mind. Part of her, the selfish part, resented Maggi for ruining the evening she had anticipated for so long. She tried to tone down her disappointment by remembering the surly, inebriated guy slouching against the bar a few weeks ago but all she could envision was his lithe, lightly muscled frame clothed in form-fitting leather. And his face…that incredibly beautiful face: skin that begged to be stroked and caressed, lips that begged to be kissed. Breathing in deeply, she felt her own lips burn with need as she imagined pressing them against his perfect mouth; so soft and pliable, so wonderfully sweet. “Damn you Maggi Atwell!” Deanna fumed.
As if on cue, Maggi opened Deanna’s bedroom door and stuck her head inside. Her eyes opened wide in amazement when she looked at Deanna’s sexy outfit. Maggi ran inside and hugged her before declaring that she looked so gorgeous she was sure to be the center of attention tonight.
She pulled out of Maggi’s embrace and studied her friend for a moment.
“What?” Maggi laughed, pretending to check her own outfit.
“Be honest,” Deanna began, “How can you act like…?”
Maggi’s demeanor changed instantly. Her voice turned ice cold and vaguely threatening. “Leave it alone, D. It has nothing to do with you so just stay out it.”
****
The tomb-like atmosphere of Trevor’s mansion located in the high-class London community of St. John’s Wood didn’t surprise Deanna one bit. It was tastefully decorated with expensive antiques, and beautiful accouterments but it was as cold and unpleasant as its master. Gazing at the ostentatious wealth surrounding her, Deanna recalled Maggi’s account of Trevor’s unhappy childhood.
Lonely and apparently unloved, he spent hours alone dreaming of ways to prove himself worthy of his indifferent parent’s affections. After they died in a suspicious car accident, Trevor inherited the entire estate and family fortune as their only child and heir. Bored with travel, drugs, and gold-digging whores---the curse of the idle rich---Trevor embarked on a quest to “find himself.” One night, while drinking himself into oblivion at a club in Sheffield, Trevor heard what he could only describe as “mind shattering noise” that very nearly gave him a nosebleed. Thus began his love affair with heavy metal and the band with the bollocks to piss off every punter brave enough to sit through their show: Beastrage. Trevor was thrilled that his decision to become involved in such drivel would have his parents spinning in their graves: if their bodies hadn’t been completely obliterated in an explosion of metal and motor oil that is.
Evidently, Deanna pondered while sipping a rather cheap tasting wine, Metal Urge had left Beastrage in their dust, steam-rolling over The Beasts’ hope of being Trevor’s premier heavy metal band. She found herself smiling with delight at the thought of the group she had once intended to avoid like the plague grabbing old Trev by the balls and twisting them until he was shamelessly begging them to hire him as their manager. “Good job boys,” she laughed to herself before wondering if Trevor’s inherent evil would insinuate itself into the band member's lives ultimately destroyin
g them. The thought sent a tingle of dread down her spine. She quickly swallowed the last of her wine in an attempt to banish it. A moment later Deanna watched Maggi glide past, clutching Trevor’s arm. Maggi glanced at her and Deanna turned away in disgust. She was “staying out of it” alright. Maggi was an adult so come what may, she wasn’t ever going to get entangled in that drama again. If she had the money she would move out of the flat and out of Maggi’s life for good.
She wandered through a couple of vast, lavish rooms checking out some of the most expensive looking pieces of furniture and art while searching for another glass of the inexpensive wine Trevor had so graciously provided. At least it took the edge off. She plucked a glass from a passing waiter’s tray and turned, her eyes meeting the dazzling hazel eyes of Nigel Guilford as he stood before her in all of his studded leather glory. “Hi,” she stammered, unable to believe that the beautiful singer was within touching range. He smiled, and her knees turned liquid, threatening to buckle and dump her unceremoniously on the floor.
“Hi,” he said his smile widening. “So, you’re a Yank.” He sounded surprised.
Deanna nodded, unable to speak as her entire body went inexplicably numb. Due to her utter panic, she failed to notice that Nigel was also struggling to find something to say. The gorgeous vocalist was just as nervous as she was.
“Can I get you a drink?” he finally asked, wincing when he realized she was clutching a glass of wine to her chest.
“I’ve got one, thank you,” she smiled.
They stared at each other and then at the glass in her hand before starting to laugh.
“I’m not very good at this I’m afraid,” Nigel grinned, embarrassment darkening his fair skin.
“Oh, you’re perfect…uh, perfectly fine.” Deanna blushed and felt his warm hand on her arm. “I’m Deanna Darmody,” she offered as he steered her toward a large overstuffed sofa.
“Nigel…” he began.
“I know who you are,” Deanna smiled over her shoulder at him.
“Well, Deanna,” he said, pronouncing her name Deanner which sent little prickles of delight all over her body. “I’d love to hear all about the States. I’ve never been.” Nigel cleared his throat to cover his feeling of complete ineptitude. He was eager to chat up the petite blonde who had unwittingly starred in his steamiest fantasies numerous times in the past few weeks. After giving her lovely figure the once over, he couldn’t believe he had convinced himself that he never wanted to meet her. She was so beautiful it made his heart pound and his groin throb to think of what might happen between them tonight...if he was lucky.
As they talked neither of them noticed Thom McCordy watching them from across the room. A skinny redhead in sequined hot pants was massaging his inner thigh, becoming more insistent, but he ignored her. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the stunning blonde wasting her time on Nigel. If only she could see that Nigel would take what he could get before tossing her aside like so much rubbish. The redhead pulled Thom’s face to hers and licked his lower lip, trying desperately to be seductive. He pulled away from her thinking that she would be much more to Nigel’s liking. It was true that he had advised Nigel to get laid but not with a girl who would be absolutely gutted when he walked away sated and indifferent. It was so obvious that the little blonde had already fallen hard for the bastard. It was obvious in her posture as she leaned in close hanging onto his every word, huge green eyes sparkling as they travelled over his face and body. Perfect teeth gently nibbled luscious pink lips as she imagined the way Nigel would feel against her naked flesh, the way he would taste in her mouth. Disgusted, Thom pulled away from the redhead to go in search of a drink. He couldn't stomach watching Nigel move in for the kill like a cobra hypnotizing a tasty rodent for its next meal. Glancing back over his shoulder at the pair who appeared to be so happily cocooned in their own little world, he felt bad karma settle over every member of Metal Urge and shivered.
Trevor finally gathered the members of Metal Urge and made formal introductions to a group of suited men, some sucking on foul-smelling cigars that he had provided. He seemed completely in his element, and for the first time, the musicians felt that they had made the right decision in hiring him. These were the kind of men on the corporate side of the music business that could make or break an unknown band, but they obviously respected Trevor’s instinct. In no time at all, Trevor’s impassioned spiel had procured enough financial backing to more than pay for Metal Urge to cut a record. The suits insisted the band work with a top-notch producer named William “Wild Bill” Dennison, and they assured the lads that their music would hit the airways as soon as a single was released. Any band worth its salt had heard of the legendary producer; an ex-patriot American who made England his permanent home some twenty odd years ago. It was rumored that Wild Bill refused to work with anything less than seasoned, successful super-groups, but these men had inside connections, and evidently Wild Bill had agreed to make an exception.
Trevor looked at each of the incredulous band members, more than satisfied that they were well and truly his. Even the suspicious lead singer had stars in his eyes. These lads, along with Beastrage, would make him a boat-load of money, and he was becoming rather desperate and his debt unmanageable. No one suspected that he was in dire straits, not even the stuffed shirts puffing on over-priced Havana’s. If they had the slightest inkling of the monkey on his back, they wouldn’t have risked one quid to finance his new metal band or his escalating heroin addiction. He refused to use the heavily cut and corrupted rubbish sold on the street corners of the East End, craving only the purest poppy cultivated in the notorious Golden Triangle of Southeast Asia. It was becoming increasingly expensive and risky to get his hands on. While he anticipated the soothing poppy filling his veins, his guests began to leave, some of the suited men inviting a tart or two to leave with them.
Trevor wanted Maggi to leave too.
He was hurting and needed a fix badly. He only shot up in the places on his body that no one was likely to notice like the large veins on his feet and hands, so Maggi was none the wiser. Not that he expected the silly bitch to catch on. She wasn’t the brightest bulb in the lot, but she had a certain sweet, devoted innocence, and she was obedient. That was what attracted him most of all.
After a long, passionate kiss, Trevor coaxed Maggi out of the front door, feeling sick from the taste of cheap wine on her tongue. He barely made it to the bathroom before retching violently into the fine, French porcelain sink.
****
Deanna was standing on the sidewalk, admiring a chromed and shining Harley-Davidson motorbike while Nigel stood on the street next to it pointing out all of the work he had done on the bike with obvious pride. She turned at the sound of Maggi’s disappointed voice coming from Trevor’s doorway feeling extremely frustrated that Maggi wasn’t spending the night with the loathsome jerk. She had already made her mind up to sleep with Nigel tonight---if he wanted her. Immediately she felt an unwelcome pang of guilt but quickly dismissed it. It was completely out of character for her to have sex with a guy she barely knew but this was the man who had captured her imagination in such electrifying and pleasurable ways. Her fantasies of him had provided more satisfaction than any of her brief, awkward backseat fumbling with high school boys: not that there had been many of those. A part of her feared that her inexperience would turn him off, but if she got the chance to do half of the things she imagined doing to his delicious body, he couldn’t be that disappointed. She turned back to Nigel who was watching her with a slight frown.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, not at all, I was just distracted for a moment.” She smiled at him and he stepped up onto the curb to stand beside her.
Placing his hands on his hips, he looked down at her dress and shrugged. “I’d like to take you for a ride, but I don’t think you’d be comfortable on my motorbike in your lovely blue dress.”
“Oh, really?” she laughed, pulling the dress up until it almost touched
the top of her thighs.
He grinned at her and straddled the motorbike’s heavily padded seat. She settled on the seat behind him, sliding her arms around his waist, his warmth stirring her imagination. The musky, animal scent of his leather jacket made her heart pound in anticipation of what the night held in store for her and the gorgeous singer.
Nigel started the bike, gunning the engine a couple of times before Deanna shouted “Wait a minute!” in his ear, making sure that her lips brushed against his earlobe. He switched off the engine and noticed Trevor’s girlfriend, Maggi, walking up to the bike with eyebrows raised.
“Going somewhere?” She asked Deanna, crossing her arms, looking puzzled and annoyed.
Deanna wrapped her arms even tighter around Nigel’s waist and said “Let’s go.” She glanced back at Maggi and shouted as the bike began to roll “Don’t wait up!”
When Nigel pulled up in front of Deanna’s flat to drop her off it was almost six o’clock in the morning. After they left the party he had taken her on a grand tour of London, riding for hours, enjoying the wind on their faces and the freedom of seeing the city at their own pace. It was a balmy night and people were jostling each other about on the crowded sidewalks relishing the unseasonably warm weather as they drank lager and tea outside of overcrowded pubs and cafes.
They stopped at a small, quiet café in Kentish Town near Deanna’s flat to avoid the throng. Conversation came easily for them as they drank their tea and shared a large scone. Unaware of the time, they were still laughing and talking when their waiter advised them that the café was closing to prepare for the morning breakfast rush.
Metal Urge Page 3