Kissing Vicious

by Brooklyn Ann

  “Shouldn’t you be chatting with your fans?” Gaffer’s amused voice pulled him from his ruminations.

  “I will in a minute.” He winced at his defensive tone and lit a cigarette. “I just wanted to check in on our new crew member.”

  The road manager grunted. “The girl’s a trooper. I mean, she was hopeless at operating the mixers when I tried her out with that, but she busts ass with the grunt work and is a damn quick learner.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that.” Quinn continued to watch her. “Whoever she worked for before must have been real small time.”

  At his words, Kinley flinched as if slapped. He felt a momentary pang of embarrassment for talking about her as if she weren’t there, but it was quickly overshadowed by confusion at her extreme reaction. She herself admitted the band she worked for were nobodies. Why take it so personally then?

  “I never asked her who she worked for before.” Quinn tried to sound nonchalant despite his sudden curiosity on the matter. “Well, I did, but she never gave me a clear answer. Did you ever talk to her about that?”

  Gaffer shook his head and gave Quinn an odd smile. “No. Maybe you should.”

  Unbidden, his gaze returned to Kinley.

  She was packing up his guitar. That was supposed to be Phil’s job. But she handled his Fender with such care that he didn’t mind. She placed the Stratocaster in its case with the reverence it deserved. With long, delicate fingers, she stroked the instrument like a lover. Shivers ran down his spine as he imagined her touching him like that.

  “Is she having problems with the rest of the crew?” He refrained from asking the real question: Had any tried to climb in her bunk yet?

  “None of them were thrilled at first to be working with a chick, but most seemed to have adjusted. Especially with her being so easy on the eyes.” Gaffer chuckled. “You playing guardian angel?”

  Quinn shook his head, about to retort, when another roadie approached Kinley with an obvious leer. Grinding his teeth, Quinn moved forward to put a stop to it.

  Gaffer seized his arm, holding him back with bear-like strength. “You have to let her handle herself.”

  “But—” The protest died in his throat as he watched her do just that.

  Kinley eyed him with a cold glare, but her voice remained calm and professional. “I told you I’m not interested.”

  The roadie shrugged and moved on, but then Phil charged up to her with a sneer. “What are you, some kind of dyke or somethin’?”

  She shook her head. “I’m as straight as the pole your mom dances on.”

  With that epic comeback, she returned to her work as the rest of the crew burst into laughter. Phil’s face turned an alarming shade of crimson. His mouth gaped and moved soundlessly like a dying fish.

  “See,” Gaffer said merrily. “I told you she could handle them.”

  But as Quinn saw the rabid fury in Phil’s eyes, he wasn’t so sure.

  ***

  The back of Kinley’s neck tingled as she wrapped the patch cords, winding them over and under so they’d remain flat when unrolled. On the pretext of moving her braid over her shoulder, she glanced up to see Quinn Mayne standing in the shadows of the industrial speaker cabinets, watching her with an intensity that made her shiver. That man was far too good looking. And why was he staring at her anyway?

  Was he still mad at her for insisting on taking this job? Or was she doing something wrong? She knew she wasn’t supposed to handle his guitar, but Phil was busy hanging out with Bleeding Vengeance. She’d heard he was related to the bassist somehow. Her neck ached with the effort to keep her eyes pointed straight ahead and not to turn and ogle him.

  Gaffer approached with his clipboard, grinning as he kept track of the gear. He looked like he was amused by her efforts.

  “What’s so funny?” She wiped her brow, unable to hide the irritation in her voice.

  “The other boys are busting their asses trying to keep up with you.” Gaffer chuckled from behind her as she started rolling up more patch cords. “Damn, Kin, I’m so glad I hired you. The crew’s never worked so hard.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re happy.” She inclined her head toward Quinn, who was still standing there frowning at her. “He certainly isn’t.” She tried to hide her glum tone. What the hell was he doing here? Why wasn’t he on the bus with his groupies?

  Gaffer followed her gaze and laughed again before bending down and lowering his voice in a conspiratorial tone. “Yeah, he really didn’t want a pretty gal like you on the road. I had to scare him with the possibility of a sexual harassment and discrimination lawsuit to get him on board.”

  “You did what?” she practically wheezed as her throat locked up in humiliation. Christ, no wonder Quinn was pissed. Nobody should be coerced like that.

  “Yup.” He nodded proudly. “He wasn’t happy. Either way, it doesn’t matter how he feels about it. Except for the drum and guitar techs, the band has no say in who I hire.”

  “Um, I better get these loaded up.” Looping the coils of cords over her shoulder, she strode off to the truck before she did something stupid. Like punching the road manager.

  Tossing the cords in the corner of the compartment with the rest, she darted around to the side of the cab and leaned against it. Burying her face in her hands, she muffled a growl. Gaffer was wrong. The band should have a say in who handled their equipment and who they had to be stuck with on the bus. The fact that they’d been all but blackmailed into taking her on made her gut twist in humiliation. Here she was thinking the band agreed to her being a roadie because she did a good job when Gaffer gave her a shot. Her arms dropped to her sides in resignation. She was such an idiot.

  “You okay?” Quinn’s voice made her jump with a startled yip.

  Irritated with the girly noise she’d made, she snapped, “No, I’m pissed. I thought I was hired after I proved myself on the job that first night, not because you were scared of a fucking lawsuit.”

  “Well, what else would you expect?” His tone was infuriatingly reasonable, as if he were talking to a child throwing a tantrum.

  She spread her hands wide in the universal “duh” gesture. “I don’t know, maybe having a job based on my own merits?” Her eyes suddenly prickled with unshed tears. It wasn’t fair. Would her gender always prevent her from being seen as a capable human being? Shoulders slumped in defeat, she bit off her tirade. ”You don’t have to deal with my unwanted presence any more. I’m packing my stuff and I’ll be out of here as soon as I can get a ride to the nearest bus station.”

  Blinking back the tears, she turned away from him before she did something unforgivably girly like crying in front of him.

  Quinn seized her arm and pulled her closer. “No.”

  “Excuse me?” Outrage at his aggressive behavior coupled with heat at his touch churned her belly with conflicting emotions.

  He withdrew his hand like he’d been burned. “I’m sorry. I mean, please don’t leave because of that. You really are here now on your own merits. You did prove yourself. Gaffer says you’re doing a good job. He doesn’t want to lose you.”

  “Yeah, but you do.” She didn’t know why she said that out loud. The last thing she wanted was a pity party. Despite that logic, her mouth continued to run away from her. “You’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t want me here. And I don’t want to be inconveniencing someone I’ve looked up to for so many years.”

  He raised a brow but didn’t bother denying the fact. “It didn’t seem to bother you before.”

  “Well, maybe I’m tired of you standing around, glaring at me all the time.” She frowned up at him. And tempting me with the urge to walk up to you and kiss you.

  Quinn crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not glaring, and I really do appreciate the work you do. I just have other concerns.” He looked like he would elaborate, but then he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, it doesn’t matter how I or the rest of the band feels about it. We have no say on the hiri
ng and firing of our road crew. That’s Gaffer’s call.”

  “Yeah, he reminded me of that.”

  He laughed at her words, a husky, velvety sound that made her tremble with renewed desire. “Yeah, he enjoys reminding everyone of that. So I don’t want to hear another word about you ditching us without Gaffer’s say-so.” Reaching out awkwardly, he smacked her lightly on the back like she really was one of the guys. “Now let’s head out. It’s time for the fun part of the job.”

  “What’s the fun part?” she asked dizzily, knocked off balance by his sudden kindness and charm.

  “The party. There’s a couple cold kegs waiting for us in a reserved area of the campground.” He gave her another one of those smiles that turned her belly inside out and headed off to finish the meet and greet with his fans.

  Kinley watched the muscles in his broad back moving beneath his shirt as he walked away. Now that he was speaking to her with respect, talking to her like she was a person, it was even harder to view him in a solely professional manner.

  She reached into her pocket to call Kat, and laughed when her phone rang the second her hand closed over it. Obviously her friend was dying to find out how things were going.

  “Hi Kat,” she answered.

  The voice that replied made her regret not checking the caller ID first. “What is this I hear about you taking off with some hotshot band?”

  “Hi Dad,” she said weakly.

  “Did you get tired of your silly Internet thing and decide to become a groupie for real?” he continued his tirade.

  “Dad—”

  “What would your mother think, squandering her inheritance—?”

  “Dad!” she shouted, flinching at the mention of her mom. “I’m not a groupie. I got a job as a roadie.”

  “A roadie?” His scorn permeated the airwaves. “Don’t tell me you’re going back to grunt work. Damn it, I don’t see why you can’t get a decent job as a secretary. I told you my company would give you a shot. Or better yet, find a husband and settle down. You’re not getting any younger.”

  “I’m twenty-three.”

  “Your mother was eighteen,” he protested, as if this fact proved his point. “And I keep telling you, if you’re that desperate for money, you are welcome to come back home. God knows I need help around the house, especially when your brothers come home on breaks from school.”

  Oh no, not this again. “Good-bye, Dad.” Kinley pressed the end-call button so hard her phone creaked in protest.

  Her hands shook so much that she had to fumble to get it back in her pocket. She made a beeline for the tour bus, needing a drink like never before.

  Nothing she did would be good enough for dear old dad. Because she was never going to compare to her mother—that perfect epitome of womanhood. To hear him talk, Sarah Black was a saint. What didn’t help is that Kinley’s memories of her mom made her inclined to agree.

  Mom always had a serene smile, never a hair out of place, and she smelled like jasmine. Dinner was on the table at six every night, and even though she worked constantly to keep the house immaculate, she always found time to kiss wounds, help with homework, and sing lullabies to Kinley and her brothers.

  Kinley was eleven when a car accident claimed her mother’s life. Though she was struck nearly comatose with grief, she grew to almost loathe her mom, as her father demanded that Kinley take over that role. Suddenly there were diapers to change, meals to cook, beers to fetch, and endless chores.

  She would have run away from home if she hadn’t met Kat in a school-mandated support group for kids who’d lost parents. Kat’s stepdad had died from smoke inhalation after pulling his wife and daughter out of their burning house. First the girls bonded through mutual grief. Then, when Kat invited her over after school, they bonded over music. The day Kinley first heard heavy metal was immortalized in her memory.

  They’d sprawled on Kat’s bed, which was simply a mattress on the floor, and sifted through her stepdad’s music collection, one of the few things to survive the fire.

  “Listen to these guys.” Kat pulled out a CD featuring a skeleton in a tuxedo standing near a nuclear warhead. Megadeth was emblazoned on the cover. The moment she pushed play, Kinley was entranced at the symphonic guitars, the snarling vocals, the pounding drums, the throbbing bass, and the harmonious savagery of each song.

  The euphoria settled so heavily in her soul that when she got home and her father screamed at her because dinner was late, she only nodded placidly and started a casserole, humming “Peace Sells” as she cooked.

  From that day on, music became her escape. It saved her from impotent rage and soul crushing despair countless times, like when she’d asked if her brothers could help with the chores and Dad had scoffed, insisting that taking care of the house was woman’s work. Or the time he refused to let her go see Pantera with Kat because that wasn’t something fit for a lady.

  Lady and girl became bad words to Kinley. She spent hours locked in her room, blaring her favorite bands and playing air guitar until the futile rage ebbed away. Eventually, she and Kat got real guitars, fully intending to become the next big metal band.

  Each night, she prayed to God to turn her into a boy, even more fervently when her body changed and the blood flowed.

  That particular prayer ebbed away when, at the age of sixteen, Kat snuck Kinley away to her first concert—and she laid eyes on the front man of the opening band. The moment she beheld Quinn’s godlike beauty and heard his rich and powerful voice, hot and cold shivers raced up her spine, and her belly swirled with the strangest warmth. She stared at him, enraptured, until he left the stage. Even then she had trouble focusing on the headlining band.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Kat had asked after the show as Kinley walked in a daze to the concessions stand where T-shirts and posters were being sold. “Ah,” she said as Kinley bought a wall poster of Quinn Mayne.

  Hormones may have won out, she thought grimly later as she gazed at the poster on her wall and practiced her guitar chords, but at least they didn’t stop her from focusing on her dreams. If anything, Quinn functioned as an imaginary muse. Having a girlish crush on him at least was safe.

  That former sentiment pulled Kinley from her reminiscing. It wasn’t safe anymore.

  Her gaze found Quinn in the crowd. Dressed in a ratty King Diamond T-shirt and ripped jeans, he still managed to look godlike. Her belly turned over like she was sixteen again. It wasn’t fair.

  Before anyone caught her staring, Kinley grabbed another beer and pulled out her phone to call Kat. She needed to chew her partner out for spilling the beans to Dad. A smile tugged her lips. And she had to tell Kat all about the Gorge show.

  Chapter Six

  The party at the Gorge campground was a hedonistic affair. Bonfires blazed, booze flowed, beautiful women, barely clothed and eager to please, flocked to the bands and crews, and drugs were available for the asking.

  For some reason Quinn couldn’t seem to take his usual pleasure in the rock star debauchery. The sense of ennui that had been nagging at him became a living, haunting thing, along with a sense of something else, some need that refused to define itself in his mind.

  Quinn disengaged himself from a pair of bombshells who could have been a guaranteed threesome as Kinley once more caught his eye.

  She’d been milling around the outskirts of the party for awhile, looking out of place and somewhat lonely. For a brief time, she’d stand near a group of people, soaking in the conversation with inquisitive interest, only to wander off when no one invited her to contribute.

  He’d seen this dynamic before. If a woman wasn’t an industry professional or the wife of a band member, they were seen as objects of pleasure for the band and crew.

  For those who hadn’t noticed Kinley’s crew badge, she’d be seen as a groupie with a surprising lack of makeup and too much clothing. For the ones who did, she still remained an outsider. After all, they couldn’t really discuss all the nice tits in the crowd wit
h a woman, especially one who worked circles around half of them. Still, that didn’t stop a few from making advances, which she coolly rebuffed.

  At least she hadn’t beaten anyone up yet. His half smile faded. Maybe she wasn’t the rabble rouser he’d taken her for. How far did Harry provoke her? How long did she have to put up with his shit before being forced to fight back?

  His little sister couldn’t have fought back. Not against that many. No one could have, not even Kinley. That thought grew even more disturbing as he watched her retreat into the shadows.

  Someone had to keep an eye on her, for her own good.

  Quinn found her, beer in hand, talking on the phone in a quiet corner. The conversation simultaneously softened and animated her features. Gone was the diligent automaton with the stiff upper lip and defensive posture. In its place was a beautiful woman, rife with enthusiasm interspersed with glints of mischief.

  Something the person on the phone said made her smile. And then she laughed, an uninhibited, joyous sound that sent chords of longing thrumming through his soul.

  Who was she talking to? Who had elicited such liveliness from this serious creature? A friend, relative—or a boyfriend?

  Thoughts of the latter gave him an odd twinge of discomfort. Oh hell, was he jealous? She was an employee, for Christ’s sake. Quinn ran a hand through his hair. No, he thought as he watched her put away her phone and go back to skirting the edges of the party. He just felt sorry for her.

  It wouldn’t hurt to give her some company. He grabbed two more beers from the cooler before heading in her direction.

  Kinley must have been lost in thought because she jumped when he approached.

  “Quinn. What’s up?”

  “Not much. How are you enjoying the party?”

  “It’s amazing. I think the bonfires make it rowdier than the usual.”

  “How many have you been to?” he asked with genuine curiosity.