Backlash (Winter's Wrath #1)

by Bianca Sommerland

  “Brave, I love you!” A woman screamed.

  Once his guards got him past the fervent mob, and Jesse and his crew helped security herd the fans off the stage, Brave picked up the mic. His gruff laugh filled the arena. “I don’t want you all to have to go, since I just got here. You wanna play nice so security won’t haul you out?”

  The fans cheered and spread out behind the barrier. They still reached out for Brave, but none tried to get closer.

  Security took their places on the other side of the barrier and Jesse motioned for the crew to head backstage.

  Brave smiled broadly. “Sorry I’m late. Had to do a fucking interview, but since I’m here now, you ready to rock?”

  Screams and cheers gave him his answer.

  He picked up the mic and sauntered across the stage. “We have this pre-show routine we do to get warmed up that we’ve never let anyone see before. So no recording. This is just for you.” He paused as the fans got noisy again and put up his hand to quiet them. “Each of the guys will start up a song—has to be classic rock. Or at least old shit.” He grinned. “The rest of us have to guess what the fuck he’s playing and join in. It’s a hot mess when we all guess wrong, but it’s fun.”

  “No cheating!” Connor shouted into his own mic. “You all can’t give us hints.”

  “Fuck that!” Brave countered. “Cheat to win, motherfuckers!”

  Hollering and holding up devil horns, the fans clearly agreed with Brave. Jesse shook his head as security shifted a bit closer to the barrier like they were expecting trouble. All three of them were good men, retired soldiers Skull had called in when Cole had given the green light to hire protection for the band, but they had no experience with metal fans.

  If they were nervous already, he couldn’t wait to see how they’d handle the show. They’d done fine at smaller venues, but an arena was a completely different beast.

  “You probably all know our drummer, Tate, was fucked up for a bit. He’s still sore—poor baby—but he’s been splitting shows with his drum tech and taking his meds like a good boy—”

  “We love you Tate!” A few girls called out.

  “Aww, aren’t you sweet?” Brave winked at the girls. “Anyway, he’s gonna tough out the whole show tonight, so how about we let him go first?”

  As the enthusiastic ruckus died down, Tate began a steady thump on the bass drum. Every other member of the band bowed their head, listening closely. When he tapped his sticks together to the same beat, Jesse was pretty sure he knew the song, but it wasn’t until Tate added the symbols that he was sure.

  Alder joined in with the guitar part and then it couldn’t be more obvious.

  Black Betty, by Ram Jam.

  Which had come out before most of their audience was born, but they still managed to sing along with Brave as he started his own gritty rendition of the oldie.

  Next up was Connor. He didn’t challenge anyone when he strummed the first few chords of When I Come Around, by Greenday.

  The audience shouted out the lyrics before any of the band bothered joining in.

  When the last note trailed off, Brave sighed loudly into the mic. “You guys aren’t even trying! Malakai, don’t disappoint me.”

  Malakai smirked. The notes he played sounded repetitive. Familiar, but some songs were tough to nail down without the other instruments. When Tate guessed and came in with a beat, Malakai stopped, held up his hand, and shook his head.

  Then continued with those same notes.

  Damn it, I know this song. Jesse’s brow furrowed. He was pretty sure he’d played this song before.

  But for the life of him, he couldn’t figure it out.

  “Ah, fuck me!” Alder laughed and came in with an entirely different set of notes.

  Laughing, Malakai leaned close to his mic. “He’s got it.”

  Old Time Rock ‘N Roll, by Bob Segar. Which should have been obvious, but Malakai hadn’t started with the part usually covered by the piano, which Alder had just played.

  As the song came together, Brave gave Malakai a thumbs up.

  When it ended, he turned to Alder. “You’re up, bro.”

  Alder stared at Brave like he’d spoken some foreign language. Probably because Brave never called him ‘bro’ without being cold or sarcastic.

  Rubbing his fist over his lips, Alder shook his head. “You never get to have fun with this. Let’s see what you got.”

  They held each other’s gaze for a few seconds before Brave inclined his head. Something was up, but Jesse wasn’t sure what. It had to be big if Brave was suddenly being decent to his brother.

  But as the professional he was, Brave didn’t let the silence last long. He cleared his throat and looked at Jesse. “Can I have some water? Fucking dry in here.”

  From the side of the stage, the drum tech, Derrick, scampered over with a bottle of water. He rushed off the stage before Brave could even thank him.

  Drinking half the water, Brave’s gaze trailed over the crowd. He held up the bottle.

  Predictably, all the fans’ hands shot up, shouting for his leftovers. Which happened at every single show. Jesse still thought it was weird.

  Brave tossed the open bottle into the crowd, spraying half of them before a girl snatched it out of the air and poured it over her thin white T-shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra and all the guys around her cheered.

  “Very nice, sweetheart.” Brave licked his bottom lip provocatively. “Come see me after the show.”

  Jesse pressed his eyes shut, refusing to let the invitation bother him. Brave wouldn’t fuck the girl. She was too easy.

  He ain’t fucking you much either, loser.

  Grinding his teeth, Jesse leaned against the barrier, hoping the band would finish up with the pre-show soon so he could get their shit out of the way for the opening band.

  Mic in hand, Brave stepped up to the edge of the stage. “All right, bear with me. I haven’t done this in a long time.”

  He wet his lips again, whistling softly, the notes coming out clearer as he gained the confidence he usually showed in everything he did. But Jesse didn’t think it was the whistling that threw him off.

  The song showed a different emotion than Brave ever brought on stage. Sadness and regret. Both feelings he tended to mock as too emo for any of Winter’s Wrath’s music.

  And he still hadn’t sang a single lyric.

  Coming in with a muted trill on the symbols, Tate swayed a little, as though hearing the rest of the music even before Alder joined with the opening chords, strumming softly.

  Patience, wasn’t one of Guns N’ Roses most popular songs, so very few of the fans knew it, but as Brave sang, they took out their phones, holding them up like people had once done with lighters.

  Skull stepped up to Jesse’s side. “He’s got them calm. We need to talk.”

  Backstage, Skull told him why Brave had really been so late. The band wasn’t to be told anything, but since he and Jesse were working so closely with the new security, he’d thought it was important to give Jesse all the details.

  Pacing between the empty guitar cases and crates of audio equipment, Jesse laced his fingers behind his neck, trying to fucking remember how to breathe. If he got his hands on the psychopath stalking Brave, he’d kill him. Beat him to a lifeless, bloody pulp. He didn’t even care if it would land him back in jail. The fucker was a dead man.

  But the cops hadn’t found him yet and the son of a bitch had followed them halfway across the goddamn country. Not that difficult, since their tour was posted online.

  “We’re canceling the rest of the shows.” Jesse stopped pacing and turned to Skull. “If this could happen in Vegas, and at a huge place like this, what’s next? Even with security, keeping Brave safe at the smaller venues is gonna be impossible.”

  Skull shook his head. “Cole will never—”

  “Fuck Cole!” Jesse slammed his fist into the closest solid object he could find. A huge metal support bar. Which sliced his knuckles op
en. The pain steadied him as he stared down at the blood dripping onto the floor. “Singers don’t live very long working with him, now do they?”

  “You can’t blame Cole for what happened to Valor, Jesse.” Skull glanced disapprovingly at Jesse’s bloody hand, but didn’t comment on it. “That boy dug his own grave long before he died.”

  That was an odd thing to say about a man who was regarded as a hero by the entire fucking music world. Jesse frowned at Skull. “What are you talking about? He thought the whole band would freeze to death if he didn’t go for help.”

  “That’s the story,” Skull said with a nod.

  “But not the truth?” Jesse wasn’t sure why he bothered asking Skull. If the man hadn’t shared the information in the three years they’d worked together, he wasn’t going to do so now.

  “Not my truth to tell. Ask your man.” Skull shrugged when Jesse arched a brow at him. “Maybe he’ll be ready to talk about it. Maybe not. Either way, go get that fucking hand patched up. You’re making a mess.”

  Saluting with his undamaged hand, Jesse went to find the EMT. Who wasn’t happy to see him. He cleaned and bandaged Jesse’s hand, grumbling the whole time.

  The show went well. The after party was wild, as usual, but all the guys—and their one girl, who didn’t touch a single drink—made it out in one piece.

  He got everyone to the hotel and dragged both his and Brave’s suitcases to the room he was sharing with the man, whether Brave liked it or not.

  Brave didn’t protest. He simply collapsed on the bed and dropped his arm over his eyes.

  Jesse sat beside him, considering whether it would be underhanded to dig while Brave was piss drunk. If he was honest with himself, this was probably the only time Brave would speak openly about anything he considered unpleasant.

  “Brave?” He figured he should make sure the man hadn’t passed out. He’d lost track of the amount of whiskey Brave had tossed back while pretending to have fun with members of the other bands. He’d done a good job of avoiding his own band mates once they left the stage.

  Brave grunted, squinting at him with his hand shielding his eyes. “What the fuck do you want?”

  “What happened tonight? Before the VIP show?”

  “If you’re bringing it up, you already know.” Brave covered his eyes again. “If you’re staying in here, turn off the fucking light and go to sleep.”

  So much for that. Jesse sighed, figuring he’d try again tomorrow. After pouring a few pots worth of coffee down his boyfriend’s throat. He stood and started toward the light switch.

  “Wait. Actually, we do need to talk.” Brave forced himself to a sitting position with a groan. “This thing with you and me? It’s not working. Sorry.”

  Hand hovering over the light switch, Jesse went still. Then let out a rough laugh. “Go to sleep, Brave. You’re not dumping me while you’re drunk.”

  Brave shrugged, pushing off the bed and stumbling across the room to grab the ten dollar water bottle off the minibar. “Fine. I’ll do it again in the morning.”

  Jesse switched off the light and went over to the second bed. He shed his clothes, climbed under the covers, and closed his eyes. Brave would forget the whole conversation in the morning. Then maybe he’d get some answers.

  Only, Brave didn’t forget. He was cold the next morning when he told Jesse it really was over. They’d had fun and all, but he missed his freedom.

  To make things even better, Cole didn’t have to argue to keep the tour going.

  Brave wouldn’t even consider canceling a single show. Even if it killed him.

  Which he informed the entire band when the subject was brought up by his brother.

  If Jesse thought Brave had been heartless with him, it was nothing compared to his words to Alder, when the youngest Trousseau brother dared imply it wasn’t worth the risk.

  “What are you worried about, Alder? No one’s after you. With me out of the way, you can have your perfect fucking life. Use that fancy degree; teach little assholes how to play music. Have a dozen kids with your sweet bitch.” Brave sneered at Danica as he spoke. He managed to block the punch Alder threw at him. “Actually, either way, I think you better start considering what you want. You can be replaced, you know.”

  “Cut it out, Brave. We’re doing the shows.” Malakai stepped between the brothers. “No one’s being replaced.”

  “You all can be, you know.” Brave shook with rage, glaring at the men who’d been at his side for years as if none of them meant a thing to him. “Anyone else have anything to say?”

  No one did. Not that Jesse blamed them.

  One thing was very clear. To Brave, the music, the fans, and what he’d created was all that mattered. From what Jesse had heard of Valor, he’d been the exact same way.

  And if Brave continued the way he was going, he’d meet the same fate as his older brother. Without being remembered as a hero.

  Despite how hurt and angry he was, Jesse would still do everything in his power to protect Brave. He just had to figure out how the hell he was going to shield the man from his worst enemy, which wasn’t the stalker.

  The biggest threat to Brave was Brave himself.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Saturday morning, Danica was jolted awake with her phone buzzing against her cheek. She lifted her arm to reach for it and groaned as all the muscles in her body seized up on her. For some reason, she’d had a restless night, tossing and turning in Alder’s bunk, feeling every single bump in the road. Alder had been up with Malakai for a while, working on a new song they were writing. She wouldn’t blame his absence for how sore and tired she was, but damn it, she liked it a lot more when she could.

  Squinting at the phone, she smiled, relaxing back onto her pillow as she answered. “Good morning, Grandpa.”

  “Morning? Are you sick, Danica?” Her grandfather huffed, speaking softly to someone before bringing his attention back to her. “I’m sorry, I’ve been told you’re allowed to sleep in on your birthday and I shouldn’t fuss over you. But you would tell me if you were sick?”

  “I would, I promise.”

  “Good girl. Oh, and happy birthday. From Mary too.” His voice softened, like just talking about the woman made him smile.

  Danica loved hearing him like this. She always worried about him being alone, but he wasn’t anymore. “Thank you, Grandpa. It’s weird that I slept in. What time is it?”

  “Almost noon. And why would it be weird?” His tone went hard. “Those boys don’t bother you, do they?”

  “They try not to, but there’s only so much space on the bus.” She also wasn’t a heavy sleeper. Since either one of the band members, or the roadies, often drove through the night, there was almost always someone sleeping in the bunks. The guys tried to be considerate, but the odd laugh or cupboard doors opening and closing or…well, anytime Tate decided to pick up his sticks, took pure exhaustion to ignore.

  She hadn’t reached that point until last night. As much fun as dancing was, she’d had to start working new muscles and they weren’t happy with her at the moment. Slacking on her yoga routine had been a bad idea.

  “Well, I hope you have a great day, my girl,” her grandfather said, sounding happy again. “Mary made you a pair of mittens and a hat. I bought you some proper winter boots so you—why are you glaring at me, woman?” He went silent. Then snorted. “She’s not happy that I told you about your presents. You haven’t seen them, so act surprised.”

  Danica laughed, her throat tightening a little, because she missed him. She’d see him again soon, but all her birthdays for the past two years had been spent traveling somewhere. His habit of telling her what her presents were before she opened them hadn’t changed since she was a kid, which was nice and familiar. The gifts were always practical and he liked telling her how useful they would be.

  She swallowed hard, taking a moment to make sure her voice sounded normal so he wouldn’t worry. “I’ll be surprised. And I’m sure I’ll love everyth
ing. I’ll see you in a few days?”

  “I’m looking forward to you coming home. Your damn cat keeps perching himself on Mary’s shoulder like he has a right to be there. She doesn’t mind, but he gives me this look when I try to move him.” Her grandfather snorted. “He’s claimed her and we have to put him in his place.”

  “If he’s claimed her, you know she’s an amazing person. Cat approval is the only approval that counts.”

  “I suppose so. Not that I needed him to tell me how amazing she is.”

  Awww! She couldn’t wait to see her grandfather with Mary. He sounded like he was falling fast and hard.

  “Give her a hug for me. I love you!”

  “Love you too, ikwesens.”

  Once she’d hung up, Danica grabbed the sweater she’d stuffed under her pillow—actually, one of Alder’s hoodies that she’d claimed—and pulled it on. With all the zigzagging across the states, she was never sure about the temperature. Some days were warm, while others dipped close to freezing. The one time she’d wondered out to the front lounge in a tank top and boxers in the middle of Nebraska had taught her a hard lesson.

  Leaning over the side of the bunk, she listened, surprised she still didn’t hear anyone.

  The bus was very quiet. Unnaturally so.

  Then she heard Tate. “Can we get her up now?”

  They know how to whisper? She grinned as she lowered herself to the floor. Well, that was sweet of them. She’d tried not to let how tired she was show, but not much got by Alder.

  She hopped off the bunk and stepped into the lounge.

  The entire band and all the roadies were crowded in there. Black and gold streamers were strung everywhere and someone had hung up a pink banner that read ‘Happy Birthday’.

  Tate spotted her first and a huge smile spread across his lips. “Happy birthday! I made you breakfast!”

  He gestured to the table where there was a huge stack of pancakes, all different colors, with icing drizzled over them and two sparklers, which Tate quickly lit.

  “Happy birthday!” All the men in the room shouted.