9781488051265

by Reverb (epub)

  Once there, he found one of the roadies from Two Times Strong’s crew lingering outside the building, looking uncomfortable in a way David knew all too well. The signage was very gendered, there was no family restroom, and one of the venue security guards was eyeing the poor kid.

  David walked up to him. “Hey, don’t worry about that dude. I’ll head in with you.”

  Kid started and turned, looking at David’s badge. His had Eric on it. “Shit. Um. Okay.”

  He clapped Eric on the back and they made their way to the men’s room.

  “Must have had a giant sign over my head, huh?” Eric’s neck was red, and David twinged sympathetically.

  “Eh, been there, done that, mastered the stand-and-pee.”

  Now that made Eric’s head whip around. “No fucking way.”

  “Way,” he said, like it was still the ’80s. They went in and did their business in peace.

  Most of the venue staff were polite and respectful to him and to the other various members of crews, though. Yeah, maybe some of the “regular joes” thought they were strange, but this was a fucking concert venue. They’d likely seen it all.

  His main concern was safeguarding Mish. With all the entrances and exits, he wasn’t sure they could keep Mish’s stalker out of the restricted areas if he wanted to waltz in. Anyone could be charmed, and it only took one lax member to look the other way while someone snuck in where they shouldn’t be. Never mind that they couldn’t keep the guy out of the venue if he bought a damn lawn ticket.

  In theory, it shouldn’t be that big an issue, but in practice, Mish had been attacked in a crowd, so the shithead knew he could get to her.

  He’d already caught one would-be fence jumper trying to climb in, and pointed him out to venue security. Groupies were also hanging at the back gate as the crews unloaded. David watched them for a while, but the crew and the venue security kept them in check. It was all normal concert stuff, but also shit that could hurt the band.

  He headed back down toward the stage where the crews had finished unloading the equipment for both bands. There’d be two sets of sound checks and then they’d get the stage prepped for the evening’s concert. Two sets of everything existed. There were two crews with a careful plan for the placement of equipment so that Two Times Strong’s setup could be removed and loaded while the Twisted Wishes crew set the stage after the opening act.

  The band had discussed what would happen on tour, but seeing all the chaos in person before the start of rehearsals gave David a taste for the intensity that would be this assignment, even without guarding Mish.

  God, that conversation this morning. Holding her hand. What Faith had noticed. They were definitely heading in the direction of hooking up, and god, that was such a bad idea.

  This damn band. He liked them all too much, and yeah, he wanted Mish. Probably would let her take this where she wanted it to go. Entirely the wrong thing to do, but he couldn’t help it.

  Well, no. He could. He was an adult, but one that was tired of being alone, even if that was his natural state of being. If Mish wanted him, he wasn’t about to say no to her, regrets or not. He was enough of a professional he could keep from being distracted, couldn’t he?

  How much he was lying to himself, he didn’t know. Twisted Wishes hadn’t even played a concert yet, and David already had a hard time not sinking into the music.

  Didn’t help that Mish had worn jeans, fucking killer boots, and a bright green T-shirt that clung to her in all the right ways to sound check. She’d danced and played and even sung a little into the mic—ostensibly to check the levels—though Mish would sing with Ray, not behind him, tonight.

  Luckily, when they were on stage, David could relax. Only so many entrances and they were all covered.

  All he had left before the concert was the meet-and-greet, where the band would hang out with a couple dozen fans who practically vibrated with excitement. They’d set them up in a bar area away from the stage. Good location. They could control the flow of traffic. Check for wristbands. The VIP experience folks who worked for the band were efficient and friendly. Among the fans, there was a good mix of ages, races, and genders—a lot of rainbow everything given that it was the start of Pride month. Helped him relax a little.

  The guy stalking Mish? Had to be straight and white. The sheer amount of hubris told David that. He was probably in his late forties or early fifties, given his speech and text patterns, at least according to David’s forensic linguistics buddy, Salha. He’d sent some samples to her for a profile.

  No one seemed nervous in a way that wasn’t also coupled with excitement. No malice or slippery feelings among the VIP guests. The hair on the back of his neck didn’t stand up. Everything felt good.

  A stirring in the crowd made David rotate to watch Adrian climb the short flight of stairs into the bar, cell phone out and his Twisted Wishes all-access badge bouncing against his crew T-shirt. The tee stretched tight over his chest, making him look more bouncer and less social media expert.

  He also had quite a few fans swooning, despite not technically being part of the band. But everyone knew Adrian Doran belonged to Domino—that had been all over the internet last year. Though, after watching the practices, David had a feeling the whole “belonging” thing swung in the opposite direction. Dom melted when Adrian was around.

  Would be interesting to see how that played out in concert.

  Turned out, Dom in public wasn’t the soft-spoken, demure man David had encountered during practices. Domino Grinder was—quite literally—something else. Loud and brash, though he wore the same smile. His glances at Adrian were steady, steely, and sinful. It was as if Dom had turned the extrovert dial up to eleven. Adrian merely smiled back at his lover and filmed the rest of the band entering.

  David’s breath caught in his throat. Mish was wearing the same jeans, shirt, and boots combo as before, but now sported a loopy silver necklace with some kind of glass bauble, and a silver-and-turquoise ring on her right hand. They shone in the sunlight as she, Ray, and Zavier followed Domino into the shade of the covered bar area.

  She flashed him a smile that was brighter and warmer than the sun as the band filed to the chairs that had been set behind a folding table. Each had a mic, but it was Ray that started them all off.

  “Hey there! How ya doing?” There was more than a little Jersey boy in Ray’s voice, which was fitting for the venue—they couldn’t be too far from where most of the band grew up.

  The fans were nervous and quiet.

  “Oh, come on now,” Domino said as he swept his gaze over the crowd. “You can do better than that!”

  This time, there was laughter and some clapping. Ray smiled, and laid down the ground rules for questions and answers, and they were off, talking and interacting with the fans. There was an ease to all the band members as they joked and answered questions, and the laughter came more freely from the fans, their smiles wider.

  None of the questions were inappropriate. Some were interesting, including one that asked each for a favorite memory of touring.

  That was a question David couldn’t answer. All he had were these moments right now, and though they were brilliant, he had a feeling they’d be eclipsed. Probably as soon as Twisted Wishes took the stage.

  Someone asked Mish about her childhood, and she laughed. “Oh, there’s not much there to tell.” There was a tightness to her smile. “Dirt poor. Moved around a lot.” She took another question.

  David turned that answer over in his head. He’d run simple background checks on all of Twisted Wishes, and that mostly jived with what he’d learned of Mish. There wasn’t anything about her before she’d begun her career as an entertainer at dive bars and clubs in the years prior to when she’d met Ray Van Zeller. In the area where she’d grown up—the Poconos—class disparity could be large. With the types of jobs Mish had held, no way she was a
child of one of the Manhattanites who owned a big weekend house in rural Pennsylvania.

  No known enemies. None of them had any, notwithstanding their former manager, who knew better than to come anywhere near Twisted Wishes, given the no-contact part of his plea deal. That fucker’s focus had been on Ray, not Mish.

  The meet-and-greet went on, with a question thrown to Adrian about whether he’d join the band. “No, I have no musical talent at all. I’m lucky I can hum a tune.”

  Then they set up for individual photos with the band. That set David’s teeth on edge, but in the end, nothing happened. The line moved fast, everyone had fun, and no one tried to cop a feel. The members of Twisted Wishes all left with smiles on their faces and the fans looked more than a little starstruck.

  David followed Adrian out. “That went well,” he said.

  “Yeah, it usually does.” Adrian glanced at his phone, then pocketed it. “Really wasn’t worried, to be honest, even with the emails.”

  That was interesting. “Any particular reason why?”

  Adrian slowed as they made their way back behind the stage. “Because the rest of the band was there. And the fans. This guy interacts with her—or tries to—on an individual level. All the other people would have been competition.”

  Adrian was smart, for sure. The theory was a decent one. “Could be. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “So, I’m on your team now?” Adrian sounded amused.

  “Aren’t we all on the same team?” David caught Adrian’s gaze. “You’re the front line. You see what comes in. Your opinion counts, too. And yeah, you’re on my team.”

  Somehow, Adrian managed to look both pleased and worried at the same time. “I don’t like it, though. Seeing that shit.”

  David sighed. Yeah, same. “Still, your insight gives me something to think about.” A second set of eyes and a good mind were never a problem.

  Right before they made their way to the backstage area, Adrian put a hand on David’s shoulder and pulled him to a stop. “Glad I can help. And use me if you need muscle. I’m not a brawler, but I know what I look like.”

  He chuckled at that. “Especially in a tight T-shirt?”

  Lo and behold, the smile that touched Adrian’s lips was slightly embarrassed. “Don’t tell Dominic, but I enjoy being his boy toy.”

  “I bet he knows.” David slapped Adrian on the back. “Come on, I want to know what the game plan is for tonight.”

  * * *

  Usually before the first concert of a tour, Mish found herself so full of excitement, she physically itched to get out on stage, as if her bass and the audience had her roped in and were pulling her out to play. She belonged there with Ray and Domino and Zavier, with the music and the beat and the screams of the fans.

  Tonight was different, though. Ray’d run her through vocal exercises—they’d been doing that since they’d decided to sing together. Now they’d finally do that, in front of a very unsuspecting audience. Yeah, she itched to get out there, but deep in the pit of her stomach lay something she hadn’t experienced in a while.

  Nervousness. Stage fright.

  She stared back at her reflection in the dressing room and finished putting on her makeup. Maybe it was bolder tonight. Dom wasn’t the only one who crafted a persona for the stage—they all did, just not to the same extent that he had created Domino.

  That shy girl who’d sat by her mother’s side in the hospital wasn’t the one in the mirror. Hadn’t been in a very long time. But a hint of who she’d been was in her eyes now, and Mish didn’t know why.

  “You okay?”

  Mish started at David’s voice, even though he’d spoken softly. He stood next to her station, his sunglasses hooked on his T-shirt again, this time a Twisted Wishes one in red. The color suited him.

  “Honey, I’ve been doing this for years.” Not exactly an answer to his question, but she had a feeling if she lied, he’d know.

  “True.” A smile touched his lips. “But you’re getting to do something you’ve wanted for a long time tonight.”

  It shouldn’t have been an issue. “I’ve sung before.” Her mom had always said she had the voice of an angel.

  There it was again, that flutter in her stomach. Shit. Mish sorted through her lipsticks and ignored the emotions. And David. “Dom, honey, Blood Blue or Violet Massacre?”

  Dom, at his own station, craned his neck around and rolled his eyes. “With that skirt? Please. Blood Blue.” He waved a hand.

  She could have gone either way, but Dom had an eye for color and makeup. Hell, half the time he gave her tips. She put on the blue and half watched David from the corner of her eye. He was looking at her skirt, which was leather and electric blue.

  The violet would have popped against her sleeveless top, which was short and purple. When she ran out on stage with the band, she’d wear a short white jacket over it, but that wouldn’t last long. Her boots were white to contrast against the black net stockings that had rhinestones scattered here and there.

  The rest of her makeup pulled the starkness of both those colors up to her face and mixed it with the others. Once she finished with her lips, she realized that Dom had been absolutely correct—the blue was the only choice. The violet would have been too much, and none of the other colors in her arsenal would have worked as well.

  She didn’t know if she was still replying to David, or speaking to herself. “I’ve sung before.” This time her nerves were rock steady when she met David’s gaze.

  His stare raked over her. “Damn, you are something.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t say that, I know.”

  “Darling, I appreciate a man who appreciates me. These boys see me all the time, and they ain’t interested anyway.”

  “I appreciate you,” Marcella said from across the room, humor in her voice.

  “Yeah, but you have a no-dating-the-band policy.” She winked at Marcella.

  The other woman laughed. “You bet I do. Bands are trouble. So much trouble.” Her smile fell to something friendly. “Besides, pretty sure I’m not your type.”

  Mish was pretty sure of that, too. Not that Marcella wasn’t into women—Mish was almost certain she was, but she never got the vibe that Marcella was all that attracted to her in particular. Still, Mish enjoyed teasing Marcella anyway.

  She fucking enjoyed teasing all of them.

  Her eyes strayed back to David. This one, too, with his dark eyes and hair and intense stare. “I’ll be fine,” she said, finally answering his original question.

  Seriousness had settled onto David. “I have no doubt. I know we’ve joked about it, but you really are rock royalty, Mish.”

  She spied Ray smiling in the reflection of his mirror.

  Okay. She liked David. “You’re a charmer.”

  “I don’t know about that.” His expression was sly. “I’m too unvarnished not to tell the truth.”

  “Unvarnished.” She laughed. “You know, I’d kiss you on that cute cheek of yours, but then you’d be stuck with a big old blue lip print, and everyone would know where you got it.”

  He offered his cheek anyway, and she patted it. “Maybe later, honey.”

  “Can’t wait, darling,” he drawled.

  “Hey,” Ray said, breaking into the conversation. “You guys keep that up, and there’s gonna be rumors.”

  Marcella rolled her eyes. “There are always rumors about the band, Ray.”

  “Yeah, but they’re usually about Adrian and me,” said Dom—and this was more Dominic than Domino. “Though I don’t wish a boy toy rumor on you, Mish.”

  She waved away Dom’s words.

  For his part, David’s smile never wavered. “I’m gonna go check the stage out.”

  Ray got this look, then shook it off. Mish knew the source, they all did, except David. He’d seen Ray, too, though. “What’s up, bos
s?”

  “Sometimes I like to watch the opening band perform from the side of the stage, but we shouldn’t tonight.”

  “Not on opening night, no,” Zavier echoed. They were both wearing black leather—Ray a vest and Zavier those tight pants of his. “We’d make them even more nervous.”

  David rocked his head ever so slightly, a gesture Mish had learned to interpret as him having an opinion or suggestion. She wasn’t disappointed. “You could go watch toward the end. Wouldn’t throw them off, and would show support.”

  “Someone give that man a job,” Marcella muttered. “He’s smart.”

  A burst of heat swept through Mish, coupled with something that felt like possessiveness. “He has a job.”

  David held up he hands. “I do. And I’m going to go do it. I’ll scope out a spot good for viewing.”

  “As out of sight of the audience as you can get it,” Ray said.

  David waved a hand above his shoulder on the way out of the room. When the door clicked shut, Mish let out a breath. “He fits in too well.”

  “He fits in just fine,” Zavier said. He was wearing lipstick—violet to her blue—and his lips were curved into a knowing smile. “You know it.

  Yeah, she did. She decided that wasn’t a problem.

  After putting a few finishing touches on her makeup and waiting for the rest of the band to get their act together, they made their way to the back of the stage. Two Times Strong was ripping through one of their better-known songs, taking it to a higher level.

  Their lead singer, Lane, was genderfluid and had one of those voices that was like honey and light itself. It wasn’t any wonder Ray enjoyed listening to the band, given the tones and timber of the words when they danced with the music. Two Times Strong’s style was a little different from Twisted Wishes—lighter and more airy—but having them open made so much sense. Another band not afraid to be who they were. Another singer who defined the sound.

  Except tonight, on the stage, Mish would be lending her voice to Ray’s vision. More than lending. She took a pull of water from a bottle one of the crew had handed her earlier.