by Sarah Dosher
His voice rang through the calm bar and every eye was turned, hanging on his every word. His voice was light and rough, his words ran together, just barely clear enough to understand.
Take her now; you need her more than I
She hasn’t ever truly been mine
Strike your claim; it’s been too long
I’ve been fighting, but you’ve won
There’s no way, don’t hide your eyes
Unused, unwanted, unclaimed
Some of my earliest memories were of me, sitting cross legged in the middle of my dad’s studio, intently watching the faces of musicians as they poured their heart and soul into their gift. My dad used to say, if the fans didn’t feel like they’d lived an entire lifetime in his shoes after he performed, then he needed to find another job. “Maybe an accountant,” he’d joke, “they don’t need emotions.”
Music has always been the driving force in my life. It soothed my fears when I was overcome, and guided the way when I was lost. I looked to music like a religious man looks to his God – and it had yet to let me down. If Deacon’s face wasn’t covered by the darkness, I knew I would see every emotion evoked by his words. Music was easy, life was hard. Each haunting syllable he uttered crawled deep into my soul.
“Holy shit, are you crying?” Willow shrieked from beside me, and then laughed.
I touched my cheeks and felt wetness; I hadn’t even realized I was crying. I wiped it away before turning to look at her.
“No, I wasn’t crying. Are you crazy?”
“Bullshit Elizabeth, you were freaking cryin’ and don’t try to deny it.” She pointed her finger in my face and shook her head at me.
“Whatever, c’mon.” I said, looping our arms together and heading toward backstage. “Do you, or do you not, want to meet Duke?”
“Damn right I’m gonna meet him; gotta meet him before I can make him put a ring on it.” She said with a laugh.
Chapter Two
Eli Blue
I could hear Willow laughing like a girl in heat from the main dressing room. She’d gotten her wish for the evening, and hunted down Duke, even though he’d been surrounded by girls at the time. I didn’t stick around past introducing myself and setting up a meeting tomorrow afternoon with the band to discuss business - I had my own personal mission.
I had a feeling regret would probably be the only thing I’d gain from this encounter, but I was determined to meet Deacon Chastain - the mystery man that owned a guitar identical to my dad’s, and could play it almost as well. A shiver ran through my body thinking back to the sound of his heart wrenching voice in my ears.
“What the fuck are you doing in my dressing room?” That same voice, only much more angry, shouted from the doorway.
My head jerked in his direction and connected with achingly beautiful eyes. They were the color of a clear sky on a summer afternoon; the clearest blue I’d ever seen, and I instantly knew I could lose myself in them forever.
“I asked you a question. Stop staring at me like you want to hump my leg, and answer me.”
I turned to look behind me, in case someone else was in the room with me. Nope, it was just me.
I stood from the couch and took two steps toward him. I politely stuck out my hand, “Deacon? Hi, I’m –“
“I couldn’t give two shits who you are.” He snapped and shoved his way past me to the huge mirror hanging across the room. “The whore lounge is next door.”
“Umm, the what?” I asked because I knew I had heard him wrong – or at least I hoped.
“You heard me! The whores aren’t allowed in my dressing room, so get the fuck out!”
I stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyebrows were pressed together causing an ominous scowl to cover his entire face. He stared directly into his own eyes. I could read them, “You played your ass off, but it wasn’t enough.” I’d seen that look many times, sometimes on my dad and sometimes on myself – the look of unbridled disappointment.
I finally let my gaze fall on the rest of his face, and oh what a nice face it was. His jaw was strong and sharp; it was covered with dark stubble that made me wonder how rough it would feel under my tongue, against my body. His shaggy brown hair brushed into his eyes as he leaned forward, pulling his black shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor.
His back was covered in an ornate black tattoo that trailed down one arm as it connected with various inked designs. I clenched my hands into fists as my fingers ached to run along its edges. He reached high over his head and I watched as his muscles stretched then rippled perfectly back into place. He let out a low growl causing my stomach to clench and a low whimper to slip from my lips.
He looked up, caught me staring, and once his eyes met mine they never deviated.
“Hmph, guess you don’t give up easy, little one.” He said tauntingly, as he spun around and strode toward me in three huge steps, as if invisible strings connected us, pulling him to me.
“Umm, I, no…” I stuttered.
“Shh.” He breathed as he placed one long finger over my lips; it smelled exactly how I remembered my dad – sweat mixed with metallic from the guitar strings. “I guess if you want it that bad, I’m willing to give you a little taste.”
He pushed my back against the wall, leaning his body into mine. I gasped and put my hands on his shoulders to push him away, but once my hands touched his warm flesh I lost all strength. I felt my body mold into his, as he ran one hand down the length of my body before cupping my ass.
“Is this what you want? You want my body on yours, my hands on all the places that should be sacred?” He whispered in my ear. His breath felt like fire burning my skin.
He lifted my leg, wrapping it around his hip and pressed into me. “Does my dick feel like what you wanted? Are you imagining what it would feel like as I ram it into you?”
I gasped, and he pulled back to stare down at me. I don’t know what he saw, but softness flashed in his eyes for only a split second. I could feel the tears welling as I struggled to contain my emotions. With all my strength, I jerked my leg out of his grasp, and he let it go without a fight.
“What the hell is wrong with you, asshole? I’m not one of your whores you can molest anytime you feel like it.” I continued to lock stares with him, but could feel the sweat starting to bead on my face as my strength waivered.
“I don’t keep whores, so if you’re looking to get fucked tonight you’re in the wrong room. You belong down the hall.”
“I’m not a whore, and I’m not looking to get fucked tonight.” The lie rolled off my lips faster than I could stop it. True, I hadn’t started out the night looking for anything other than a new band to possibly work with, but my body suddenly seemed to desire something else.
“You might not be a whore, but you’re definitely feigning for it. I can smell the need all over you.”
He ran the tip of his nose from my collarbone, up my neck, stopping just below my ear to nip at my flesh with his teeth. “You want it so bad you can’t force yourself to push me away, even though you’re trying hard to convince me you’re not like all the other girls backstage right now.”
Every inch of my body was humming so loud, I was sure he could feel the vibrations. My mind was screaming for me to stop, but I felt my head lean closer, craving his warm breath. He let out a deep laugh that sent chills through my body as he crushed even harder against me.
“Maybe I could rethink my ‘no whore’ policy for just one night – just for you.”
“You really like calling me a whore, don’t you?” I snapped.
“You don’t seem to be doing anything to convince me otherwise.”
He ran his hand from my knee, up my thigh, pushing my short skirt out of the way. When his hand brushed my center, my ass left the wall as I pushed myself into him – yearning for his touch.
I heard a gasp come from the doorway. “Oh shit, my eyes! I did not need to see that.” Willow shrieked.
“Awe fuck, se
riously? No girls from the shows, like, well ever, and then we finally get Eli Blue Savage interested in our band, and you have to go try and fuck her against the wall before she even signs us.” Duke said from behind Willow.
Deacon took several steps away from me, and the same scowl from earlier reappeared on his face.
“What?” he said confused. “Who are you?”
I offered my hand for him to shake, like I’d tried to do the minute he walked into the room, “Hi, I’m Eli Blue.” I said with a smile.
He swatted my hand away forcefully. “No you aren’t. I know what Eli Blue looks like, and you’re definitely not her.”
Willow and I both laughed.
“No, you know what Eli Blue used to look like, what I wanted everyone to think I looked like.” I grabbed a hand full of my dark hair and held it out for him to see. “This is what my hair really looks like, that bleach blonde shit was just for show; my mother’s doing in the pursuit of making her teenage daughter a star.”
“It really is her, man.” Duke added softly.
Deacon put his hand on my chin and lifted my face so our eyes connected again. He glared at me for an eternity before finally releasing my face.
“Fuck,” he muttered and then disappeared down the hall.
***
Deacon
Eli-Fucking-Blue, you’ve got to be kidding me. How in the hell did I get myself into shit like this?
When I first saw her in that tight-ass black dress, with those fucking killer heels, lounging in my dressing room, I knew she was different. At the time I didn’t give two shits because I’d just finished playing one of the crappiest sets of my entire life - but I still knew. She didn’t carry herself like the whores normally trying to sneak into my dressing room so they could rub against the dick of the lead guitar player – because to them, and pretty much everyone else, that’s all I was.
Women complained about being just another notch in a guy’s bedpost, but as a guy that spends his life devoted to music, that’s all I ever was to them. Not one of them cared about me; they craved the status symbol and bragging rights - so yeah, I let the testosterone take over sometimes and willingly took what they so vehemently offered. Probably not as often as many of the other musicians I knew, but when tits and ass are constantly thrown in your face, I don’t care how honorable a man wants to be, eventually he’s going to break. Don’t you worry about those women, though. I guarantee they were satisfied when we parted ways.
There are three types of musicians – first is the type that plays music so they can snort, smoke, and fuck anything they lay their hands on. The second type’s focus is the music, but they sometimes get distracted by shiny objects shoved in their face. And the final type isn’t fucking good enough to ever have to worry about getting laid. I am the second type; music’s my entire life – the reason I fucking draw air into my lungs and force it back out. The feel of the guitar under my fingers is better than the smooth velvet of nagging women any damn day. But I am still a man with needs that I relieved every now and again; the need kept me moving forward each day, just as much as the music ever did.
I should have known to shut my freaking trap when Eli tried to introduce herself the minute I walked into the dressing room. Whores were only ever interested in me for one thing, and they never started a conversation with pleasantries, least of all names. They did all their talking with their hands and tongues; words weren’t necessarily a top priority for a band groupie.
But once I had Eli pressed firmly against the wall, every nerve ending in my body begged to enter her and I knew, without a doubt, she wanted me just as badly. I looked deep into her bright green eyes and could almost hear them begging me for salvation. Granted, I’m a bastard who could never save her from anything, and although what I have hanging between my legs is pretty damn fabulous, I can guarantee it will not bring salvation to any of womankind. The only thing I might be able to save her from was herself, save her from having anything to do with my sorry ass.
But the way her body squirmed under mine and her eyes were begging me to take her and never let go, the more I thought maybe I could – maybe I could give her a small piece of the redemption I’d spent years searching for myself. When my hard-on pressed firmly against her pussy, I knew I was done for, even with clothes blocking where I really, really fucking wanted to be – I still knew. I looked at her blushed cheeks, and her soulful eyes, and knew my life would never be the same. I just wasn’t sure if it would be a one-night life changing experience, or one that changed me forever. Truthfully, I wanted that change, I needed to become someone I wasn’t. Because that guy was a certified bastard that seriously needed his ass kicked, and that’s exactly what I got when Duke and his “flavor of the night” walked in the room. A verbal ass kicking that consisted of three short, simple, yet sweet, words – Eli Blue Savage.
At the time, I didn’t believe for a second she was Kirk Savage’s daughter; maybe a lunatic that used it as an excuse to gain access backstage, but no way in hell was she THE Eli Blue. I’d recognize her, wouldn’t I? But when I looked into her eyes again, deeper and past the desire and yearning, I saw the man I’d idolized for half my life looking right back at me; the same eyes I’d first met, all those years ago, when she was so young – same, exact fucking eyes.
I left the show and climbed on my Harley. I spent so much time playing music these days I didn’t get to ride it much, and after the encounter with Eli, I needed to feel the wind ripping against my skin. Blood was still rushing through my veins so fast I could hear it echoing in my ears and see it pulsing behind my eyes.
Kirk Savage was a rock god, no shit, he really was. The term gets thrown around a lot by lame assholes that wouldn’t know the difference between a Jimi Hendrix riff and the shit played on top-40 radio, but in the case of Kirk Savage, it’s the God’s honest truth.
Thanks to Eli, I’d been able to meet him not long before he died. I wondered if she remembered that night, or if I was just a fleeting echo that melted together with all the other fans she’d met in her life. Now, I found her again, and given the chance, I was going to figure out a way to repay her for the life she’d given me. No matter what I had to do, I wasn’t going to let her go so easily this time. And that’s when my heart made up its mind; when the door slammed shut on any escape for me – I’d never be able to cut her loose now, she was going to be mine.
Chapter Three
Deacon
Not a single day goes by I’m not haunted by the first time I laid eyes on her, so many years ago. Sweet, innocent – everything I’d never been allowed to be. It was merely a fleeting moment in her life, but it was the night that forever changed me.
I was seventeen, she was twelve. But you’d never have guessed that by looking at her, the only telling sign was that I could have used the top of her head for an armrest, she was so freaking short. Long hair, bright green eyes, wearing a ratty t-shirt with her father’s face covering the front – at the time I didn’t have a clue she was his daughter.
I was at a concert, hoping to sneak backstage to meet Kirk Savage, a man I’d idolized since spending years living in a home with a drugged out foster parent that lived and breathed him. Kirk was everything my foster dad wasn’t, I stopped looking to the fatass lounging on the couch for guidance, and turned, instead, to a man that seemed to have it all – including a kick ass blue guitar.
Dodging every overgrown security guard I came across, I finally made it backstage, but got lost in the winding halls that didn’t seem to lead anywhere –I figured the damn event centers were probably built this way on purpose. I was just about to say fuck it and head home when I heard the familiar click then whoosh of a zippo lighter. I peeked behind a black curtain and saw her perched on top of some old stage equipment opening, striking, then closing the lighter.
She glanced up at me, but didn’t seem fazed by my presence at all.
“Hey, you know your way around back here?” I asked her.
She didn’t sp
eak, she just nodded.
“Can you tell me where Kirk Savage’s dressing room is?” I asked, a little embarrassed at how desperate I sounded.
“Maybe.” She said like I’d just forced her into the most boring conversation she’d ever had, “But even if I do, you’d never get in without my help.”
“Your help? And how will you help me?” I was definitely skeptical.
“I just will.” She countered.
“Then get me in, if you think you can.”
She looked at me, stood from her perch, and walked toward me. “What will you give me if I do?”
I laughed, “Stop playing games; can you, or not?”
“I can, doesn’t mean I will, though.” She was teasing me and trying to play me at the same time, but I had one mission in mind and if she’d help me accomplish it I’d willingly give her anything.
“Just tell me what you want from me in return.”
“You have to keep me company for the next few hours, then I’ll take you to him. It’s so boring back here I’m about to lose my mind.” She said and her eyes lit up.
“What if he leaves before then?”
“He won’t.” She said, sure of herself, but I didn’t know if I could trust her.
“C’mon,” she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me down one long dingy hallway to the next, and then to the next, until I didn’t have a freaking clue if I was still in the same building, or not. The further we traveled, the more people appeared, which I took as a decent sign we were headed in the right direction. We finally reached a section of the hallway that was filled to the brim with half naked women I assumed were just itching to meet Kirk.
She stopped, leaning against the wall across from a group of very eager women. Pulling out a baseball cap she had folded in her back pocket, she stuck it on her head and pulled it low.