Kissing Vicious

by Brooklyn Ann

  “See you tomorrow, when we’re back on the road,” he said as he handed over her laptop case and backpack.

  “Yeah,” she managed weakly.

  He gave her a quick nod before striding off to the hotel like he couldn’t wait to get away from her. Kinley stared at the monstrous tour bus. It was bigger than a Greyhound.

  “C’mon.” Gaffer brought her attention back to the forefront. “I’ll show you your bunk.” He scratched his beard, suddenly looking awkward. “Look, if there are any problems with the guys, let me know, okay?”

  She bristled at his solicitous tone. “I can handle it.”

  He laughed, undaunted at her ire. “I’m sure you can, but try to leave them in good enough shape to do their jobs. Deal?”

  She couldn’t help but return his smile. She held out her hand and shook his. “Deal.”

  Every inch of Kinley’s skin itched from the scrutiny of the other roadies as she entered the back of the tour bus. The rank odor of BO permeated her nostrils, making her eyes water. Gaffer had been right about it being smelly.

  Her new coworkers continued to stare, tracking her every move.

  “You got Harry’s old bunk,” one said while the rest chuckled.

  Once she threw back the blanket, she understood the reason for their laughter. The bunk was littered with crusty socks and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what they’d been used for. A sour stench, worse than the BO, emanated from the area.

  Kinley refused to quail before them. “It’s a good thing I recently got my tetanus shot,” she quipped for their amusement.

  One of the guys laughed. “Think you can handle sleeping there?”

  “What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.” Cursing under her breath, she grabbed two plastic grocery bags from the wastebasket. Using one as a glove, she retrieved the bunk socks and tossed them in the other bag. With that repulsive chore completed, she threw the blanket back over the bunk. There was no way she was getting near those sheets.

  Pulling out her phone, she searched for the nearest Laundromat. She would get this bedding cleaned first thing in the morning. Hell, maybe she’d just buy new.

  “You can sleep in my bunk,” one of them offered.

  “I don’t mix business and pleasure.” Kinley frowned at the screen. The closest Laundromats were closed and didn’t open until six in the morning. “What time are we headed out?”

  “I think around ten. Depends on how late the groupies keep ’em up.”

  A sudden image of Quinn Mayne with skanky bimbos frolicking in his lap struck her with the force of a baseball bat. Bile filled her gut as white hot rage engulfed her heart. She sucked in a breath and cursed herself. Why the hell should I care? That’s what rock stars do, for Christ’s sake. But thank God they’re in a hotel and not here.

  One of the roadies raked his gaze across her body and licked his lips. “You can keep me up.”

  “No thanks.” Kinley set an alarm and curled up on the bunk using her coat as a blanket. She kept her pocket knife clenched in her fist in case the guys got any ideas.

  “Damn, you’re a cold bitch, aren’t you?”

  “Careful man,” another said to the pervy one. “Did you hear what she did to Harry?”

  Kinley pretended to sleep, though with the stench of the bus, the pain in her hands, and her raging emotions, such a thing would be impossible.

  Despite his cold, autocratic attitude, even just the thought of Quinn Mayne made her fill with heat. It was gonna be hard to be one of the guys when he made her feel like such a girl. But she would die before he ever found out she was attracted to him. And she vowed to work circles around the rest of his crew.

  Chapter Four

  Quinn struggled to concentrate on jamming with Curt as they neared The Gorge in George, Washington.

  As the bus pulled up beside another nearly identical bus, Gaffer cursed. “Damn, I was hoping we’d beat them.”

  Quinn smiled and opened a notebook, making a check mark next to the list of gigs. “Bleeding Vengeance and crew score another point, but we’re still in the lead.”

  “We need to be, and not to win the silly game you and your crew have going on with theirs,” Gaffer said sternly. “You’re the headliner. You need to be done with the load-in before they can start.” Getting up from his seat, he went to the back of the bus to gather the crew.

  Tony sighed before stretching and rising from his seat. “Whatever. Let’s get this show started.”

  Quinn lingered behind the others as they piled off the bus, watching Kinley make her way down the steps behind Phil. She had her head down and her hands in her pockets, trying to look tough, but from the fine tremble in her arms, he could tell she was nervous. The bruise on her face from her fight with Harry had darkened to an angry purple. His fists clenched at the sight of it, a primal wave of protectiveness coursing through him.

  How had her first night gone? Had any of the road crew harassed her? He eyed the other roadies and was somewhat reassured at their lack of black eyes and split lips.

  Fighting the urge to hang back and reassure her, Quinn quickened his pace, ignoring Gaffer’s questioning look.

  He’d looked at her website last night, but she hadn’t posted anything since before she came to the concert. Giddy enthusiasm had emanated from her every word, making him feel a twinge of guilt for postponing their interview. Still, he wanted to see what she posted next.

  Bleeding Vengeance waited backstage, eyeing Quinn’s band smugly. “We beat you again,” Cliff Tracey, the lead singer, said.

  “We’re still ahead,” Quinn replied.

  “Your roadies still better hustle.”

  Oblivious to the singer’s posturing, Curt rushed forward to greet the guitarist, Lefty Swanson. Curt and Lefty were best friends and inseparable when not touring. As touching as their friendship looked, Quinn couldn’t help but think it was bad for Curt. Every time he and Lefty hung out, Curt did way more coke than usual. Sure enough, both took off to the dressing rooms, rubbing their noses in tandem.

  Quinn, Brand, and Tony greeted the other three members of Bleeding Vengeance. Roderick Powell, the drummer, high-fived them all and Klement Burke, the bassist, chattered amiably before asking if they wanted to smoke a bowl before their sets.

  They fell silent as the roadies filed inside with the gear.

  Cliff’s dark eyes widened as he stared at Kinley. “When did you get that one?” Licking his lips, he added, “I’d love for her to handle my equipment.”

  Resisting the sudden urge to punch Cliff in the face, Quinn cleared his throat and answered, “We hired her after the Spokane show. Harry didn’t work out, so she stepped in.” He didn’t elaborate.

  Klement eyed him speculatively, as if he knew that Quinn was leaving out a huge chunk of the story. Unsurprising, since the guy was a certified genius—the undisputed brain behind the band.

  Instead of pressing him for more information, the bassist glanced at Kinley and nodded. “She looks like a hard worker, and smarter than your last one,” he said with no desire in his voice. “How’s Phil working out?”

  Phil was Klement’s sister’s nephew by marriage and had high dreams of a rock ’n’ roll life. Bleeding Vengeance already had a guitar tech, but Quinn’s had quit to get married, so he took Phil on as a favor to his friend and colleague.

  Quinn scratched the back of his neck, weighing his words. “Honestly, I don’t think the kid’s going to make it. He’s too short tempered and can’t get my guitar tuned the way I want it. I’m trying to give him a fair shot, but…”

  “It’s all good. That’s all I promised my sister. Just let me know when you’ve found a replacement for him. I’ll pay for his ticket home. And I still owe you one.”

  The bassist stalked off to talk with the house sound engineer, doubtless to nitpick on the mix settings. Quinn pitied the guy, though he had to admit, since touring with Bleeding Vengeance, Viciöus had never sounded better.

  Quinn followed the re
st of Bleeding Vengeance behind the stage area, wondering which one he should get for Kinley to interview. Cliff and Roderick were definitely out. He wouldn’t trust them alone with her for a second. He put off the decision. He should probably let her interview him before any of them. After all, he’d been scheduled with her first.

  ***

  Kinley’s heart raced as she scrambled to keep up with the rest of the road crew. Then she froze, breath caught in her throat at the site of the Gorge Amphitheater. The main stage rested before the Columbia River Gorge, sunlight from the river shimmering on the metal stage and the canyon walls beyond. The Cascade Mountains reigned off in the distance like a magical land.

  She’d been to a few shows here, but by the time she’d arrived, the area around the stage was always packed with fellow fans. Now, with only the tour buses and the trucks with the gear, the grassy hilled region surrounding the stage was incredibly vast. And the canyon, holy shit. She stared, breathless, at the magnificent vista.

  Gaffer’s voice barked into her consciousness. “Yeah, I know it’s pretty, but you can gawk later. It’s time to get to work. The audience will start showing up soon.”

  Ashamed, Kinley straightened her spine like a soldier coming to attention. A sigh of relief escaped her when she realized Gaffer wasn’t scolding only her. The rest of the road crew had also remained frozen in awe at the sight of the gorgeous venue.

  She’d never done an outdoor gig before. She felt a momentary pang of dread at the prospect of being rained on, but thankfully the sky was cloudless and pristine blue. There was a nip in the early May air and she shivered, wishing she’d brought her hoodie. Following the others, she headed to the trailer to start unloading the gear.

  The cargo truck had backed up near the entrance and parked beside one of several long shed-like structures on either side of the stage. Kinley hadn’t noticed them during her previous visits. Her attention had been focused entirely on whatever band was playing.

  When she and the crew began unloading the truck and hauling the gear inside, she saw that the sheds were pretty much the same as the backstage areas at indoor venues. There were even walled-off sections to serve as the bands’ dressing rooms.

  And speaking of bands, Bleeding Vengeance stood in the center of the room, chatting with Viciöus like old pals. As they had departed just before Kinley got started on the job back in Spokane, she hadn’t seen them in person yet, aside from on stage. She couldn’t help but stare, though she told herself she was only taking mental notes to share with Kat. Bleeding Vengeance was her friend’s favorite band.

  Cliff Tracey, the singer, gave her a dazzling smile meant to make her melt. Kinley remained unaffected. Cliff was Kat’s crush. Seeing Cliff standing next to Quinn, Kinley decided Kat was crazy. Quinn was way sexier. Just looking at him made her heart flutter. She struggled to tamp down the sensation. Now that she was working for him, she had to get over her silly crush on the guy.

  Cliff said something to Quinn, and the drummer tipped her a wink before turning back to his colleagues. The bassist glanced at her and then said something to the others. Kinley had the disturbing sensation they were talking about her.

  Praying they weren’t mocking her, she lifted her chin and forced her concentration on her work, refusing to look in their direction until they departed for whatever served as the green room here.

  Her focus only faltered once, when Klement passed her and approached Joe, the head sound tech, and another guy who must be Bleeding Vengeance’s sound engineer to discuss the EQ channels and other settings on the mixing board.

  In rapid-fire technical jargon, the bass player proceeded to direct the sound guys to make a dizzying array of adjustments and tweaks, cutting off all arguments with a stream of logic that had both men nodding sullenly and obeying. Once everything was to his satisfaction, the bassist nodded and strode off.

  Kinley closed her gaping mouth and shook her head. Dude sounded just like tech support for their website. She always made Kat talk to the guy because she couldn’t understand half of what he said.

  Joe sighed and scratched the stubble on his chin. “Goddamn, that guy is such a pain in the ass. I mean, I know he’s right, but Jesus!”

  The other tech nodded. “At least you don’t have to deal with him for every show. I swear, if he was able to be in two places at once, he’d be running all the mixers and on stage playing bass at the same time.” He paused, considering. “At least he always has good weed.”

  Some of Bleeding Vengeance’s road crew stepped in to help with the load-in while the rest held back and watched. The two crews exchanged stories about what it was like working for the bands while bantering amiably about which band was better. Aside from a few curious glances, Kinley was pretty much ignored, so she stayed on Gaffer’s heels taking direction as to where she could be the most useful.

  With an outdoor venue, wiring up the amplifiers, mixers, and PAs was a little different, but between Joe’s and Gaffer’s helpful instructions, she felt fairly confident she pulled it off. They were ready for the sound check just as the security guys and the food and beer vendors arrived.

  Kinley stood on the stage for a moment, gazing out at the vast hilly grassland that would soon be filled with thousands of fans. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself on stage holding her guitar, playing for a crowd this size.

  “Incredible, isn’t it?” Gaffer said beside her.

  Dragging herself away from the daydream, she nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s time for us to get out of the way so Bleeding Vengeance can do their load-in.”

  As the crew for Bleeding Vengeance began hauling in their gear, Kinley offered to help. All scornfully refused—except for one who said he could use help with the equipment in his pants. Rolling her eyes, she cleared out of the way and occupied herself with watching the parking lot fill up with eager fans.

  Joe tapped her on the shoulder. “Hey, Kin, come help me up here.” He pointed at one of the raised pavilions behind the mosh pit.

  “You got it!” she said eagerly and followed the sound engineer up the hill and under the roped-off area surrounding the lower one. She didn’t care what Joe wanted her to do. From there she could see the whole stage unencumbered.

  Bleeding Vengeance’s sound engineer was already behind the mixing boards, looking hassled as Klement stood over his shoulder making adjustments to the sliders.

  “Don’t touch anything,” he told them sternly before his mood abruptly shifted and he pulled out a pipe with a grin. “Wanna puff?”

  Kinley shook her head, but the sound engineers eagerly nodded. Once they finished smoking, Klement departed to get ready for the show. Two men in security uniforms escorted the bassist back to the stage as fans began to fill the area below the pavilion.

  “What do I need to do?” Kinley asked Joe.

  “Gaffer wants you to get better acquainted with the mixing boards, so when Viciöus goes on, I’ll show you the system. For now, we can kick back and watch the show.”

  A lighting technician came in then and she watched him set up.

  When Bleeding Vengeance mounted the stage, it was all she could do not to cheer along with the crowd. Cliff greeted the audience with a roar as Klement ripped into an insane bass riff that was so fast, his fingers were a blur. Lefty matched him riff by riff. There seemed to be something magical about The Gorge—this performance was even better than the Spokane show. She wished she could record a video on her phone and send it to Kat. That probably wasn’t allowed. But maybe she’d get a chance to interview one of them.

  By the time Bleeding Vengeance finished their encore and took their bow, Kinley’s adrenaline was through the roof. Viciöus took the stage and she bit back a gasp. Like a Greek god, Quinn overpowered her consciousness. It took every bit of her will to concentrate on what Joe was explaining to her about how to operate the mixing board. The thing was three times the size of the ones she’d used at bar gigs—and a million times more complex. She learned a few thin
gs, but most of it went over her head. Kat had always been better at this sort of thing.

  Too soon, the show was over.

  Chapter Five

  Yet again Quinn found himself watching the roadies load up the gear. Well, one roadie in particular. Kinley moved across the stage with sleek grace as she double-checked the amp hookups. He watched her hook up the speaker cords, a blissful smile curving her lush lips as she tapped her foot along to the rhythmic chanting of the crowd in the stadium.

  Despite the grueling work, she loved this—it was clear. She loved it as much as anyone who lasted in the business.

  To his relief, she seemed to be keeping to her word. Last night, she’d posted her interview with Tony and made no mention that she was now working for his band.

  Quinn ran a hand through his hair and sighed. She was working out better than he’d expected. Hell, she was working out better than most of the roadies he’d known in his career. And she was infinitely more fascinating.

  Their gazes met and immediately a spark of desire shivered through his form. He knew he should look away, but like a magnet, she held his attention.

  He frowned. Why was he so interested in her anyway? Chicks had been throwing themselves at him since the first time he stood on a stage with his guitar. Now that he was a millionaire, before taxes anyway, he could take his pick. A-list actresses had flirted with him, for Christ’s sake. Yet he hadn’t taken them up on their offers lately. In fact, it had been awhile since he’d taken anyone up.

  Maybe it was just ennui. For the past twelve years, he’d placed all his focus on putting together a killer band, writing songs to top the charts, being a mega rock star, and living the dream of sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll.

  Now that he had all of that, where was there to go? The next album, of course, he answered himself while shunting away the other implications of the question.

  Maybe Kinley reminded him of where he’d started. Seeing the determination evidenced in her hard work and the sheer hunger in her eyes made him remember his own. The question was: What did she hunger for? Surely not being a manual laborer.