by Brooklyn Ann
“Five. The last four were for interviews for Metalness, but the first was back when I was sixteen and won backstage passes to Megadeth.”
“That had to have been awesome! I love Megadeth! What was it like?”
The corner of her mouth lifted in bemusement. “What do you mean? You opened for them during Thrashfest. Surely you’ve met them.”
“Yeah, but not at sixteen when my goal in life was to learn their riffs.” And to keep his family from starving. “So what was it like?” he asked again.
“Not quite the orgy this is, but still an eye opener. It was cool to meet the band and hang out with them like regular guys.” Her gaze grew distant with nostalgia. “It was then that I realized I wasn’t content with just being a fan. I wanted to…to be part of that world.”
The longing in her voice found a familiar chord in his heart, reminding him how he’d felt the first time he picked up a guitar. He decided to give her the most helpful advice possible. “Without skills above grunt work, you might have a tough time getting another roadie job after the tour.” His next words came unbidden. “Want me to show you how to tune a guitar? If you pick that up, you’ll be a more valuable employee.”
“Right now?” Her eyes seemed to glow in the firelight. “S-sure, that would be great.”
Quinn fetched his acoustic and the electric tuner from the bus along with two camping chairs. Kinley set the chairs next to a nearby fire.
He showed her how to hook up the tuner and then plucked a string. “Okay, the E string is a little flat, just as I expected. See how the tuner needle is pointed a little to the right?”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded in agreement. Something in her gaze made it seem like she was humoring him.
Watching her long fingers, scraped up from hard work, wrap around the tuner, he couldn’t help wanting her to grip something else. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What the hell was wrong with him? He should have let Kinley walk away from the job—dejected but safe. The tour would have been so much more peaceful if he had. But the heartbreaking longing in her eyes, coupled with the fact that she was truly one hell of a worker, made him ignore all practicality.
“Now just barely turn the E peg counterclockwise…just like that!” He couldn’t hide his surprise. Most people took several tries to get it right.
Phil approached them, his face scrunched up in a disconcerting combination of suspicion and accusation. “Why are you showing her how to tune a guitar? She’s not replacing me, is she?”
I wish, Quinn thought. Phil was an obnoxious bastard, and barely mediocre. Instead, Quinn winked at Kinley before replying with what had become the slogan of the night. “No, that’s Gaffer’s call.”
Kinley laughed, a deep, throaty sound that made him stir with desire.
Phil, not getting the joke, frowned even more. He seemed extra fidgety tonight, crossing and uncrossing his arms and picking at a zit on his chin.
Quinn sighed. “I’m just giving her another useful skill.”
“I don’t see why a grunt needs to learn how to tune a guitar, or why she gets to have private lessons from you.” Phil’s voice switched from petulant to sleazy as his gaze raked down Kinley’s form. “Unless maybe—”
Gaffer seized the guitar tech’s shoulder. “You’ve been acting twitchier than normal all night. What are you on and who gave it to you?”
“Nothing!” He pulled away, looking like a twelve-year-old caught skipping school.
The road manager was implacable. “Go back to the bus until you come down. We’ll talk later.”
“Meth?” Quinn asked, unable to hide his dismay.
Gaffer nodded. “Pretty sure. I saw him hanging out with the house light crew and they looked spun as tops.”
“Find out if it was his first time. If it wasn’t…” Quinn didn’t need to finish the sentence. Tweekers weren’t allowed on his crew. Curt’s coke habit was enough to deal with.
“I’ll do my best, though it’s hard to tell with Phil.”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it. That guy is moodier than a—” He broke off, realizing Kinley wouldn’t appreciate the sexist analogy.
“Than a what?” she asked with a raised brow.
“Than a stockbroker going through a midlife crisis,” he improvised quickly.
Gaffer chuckled. “That’s a good one! I like that.”
Quinn looked up sharply. “You’re still here?”
The road manager gave Quinn a strange look before nodding at Kinley, looking abnormally satisfied. “I wanted to see how my new employee is working out. Besides, I think Phil needs some quiet time before I tear his ass.”
Perfectly logical, but for some reason, Quinn resented the old man’s presence. Maybe it was because he wasn’t used to teaching in front of an audience.
He shrugged and returned his attention to Kinley’s lesson. “Anyway, work your way down the strings and do the same thing. Clockwise if the tuner registers the note too sharp and counterclockwise if it’s flat.”
Nodding, she returned her attention to the guitar and tuner. Her mouth twisted in intense concentration as she finished tuning his guitar with deft skill. Gaffer nodded in admiration as he watched. Quinn felt an unexpected surge of pride at his pupil’s performance.
“How’s that?” she asked as she plucked each string and the tuner registered each note dead on.
“Damn perfect,” Quinn told her, impressed. “You’re a helluva quick learner.” Did she play guitar?
She beamed. “Thanks! Do I do it the same way for every guitar?”
Or maybe not. Even beginners knew the answer to that. Besides, if she knew how to play, she would have said so, wouldn’t she?
“No, there’s a different way for every type.” He took back his guitar, cradling the Fender Stratocaster with reverence. It had been his dream guitar since he was thirteen, and even after owning it for nearly a decade, he still feared he’d wake up broke and empty-handed.
Shaking his head to clear it, he pointed at the headstock. “See how the pegs are all on the same side? Well, with guitars that have them on both sides, you adjust the bottom strings the opposite way.”
“That makes sense.” She nodded, more enthusiastic than normal. “Is there anything else I need to know?”
“Yes, a ton of things. But now I need a cigarette.” He rose and handed her the guitar. “I'll be back in a few.”
He hid a smile as disappointment flashed across her features before she composed herself. Holding the guitar with as much care as he did, she packed it carefully in his case and carried it back to the truck.
“Damn, she’s a quick learner,” he said as Gaffer headed off to follow her.
Gaffer glanced at him over his shoulder, smirked, and kept walking.
Quinn shook his head as he took his smokes and lighter out of his pocket. What was up with Gaffer? He acted like he knew something Quinn didn’t. Quinn’s brows drew together. He didn’t like secrets.
Chapter Seven
As the Portland arena’s seats filled with Viciöus fans, Kinley stepped behind the large stack of speaker cabinets on stage left and rubbed her aching shoulders. Making sure no one was watching, she leaned until her back popped with a satisfying crack. She’d worked her ass off all week, but she’d die before letting anyone know she was tired. Not when she’d made it this far.
One of the other roadies came around the corner just as she finished stretching. “Show’s about to start, Kin.”
The lights dimmed and all thoughts fled as the band mounted the stage.
Kinley watched rapt with awe as they played barely ten feet from her. Despite this being the third show she’d helped set up, the thrill of being this close to her favorite band hadn’t worn off. The roar of the crowd and the pumping energy of the music made her pulse race, or maybe it was Quinn’s presence.
Though she’d been on the road with him for a week, she’d hardly spoken to him since the party after the Gorge gig, so the giddy effect of seeing
him had yet to wear off. Neither had the not-unpleasant tingle in her spine whenever she sensed his gaze upon her.
God, being so close to him gave her wicked dreams. One would think that hanging out with him at the party would humanize him in her mind, fade her hero-worship a bit. But seeing him as a person had the opposite effect. Seeing him laugh and smile, hearing the low melodious cadence of his voice, the earnest look in his eyes as he spoke to her, the subtle spice of his cologne, the feel of his warm hand—
Gaffer tapped her on the shoulder, jolting her out of her reverie. “I know it’s awesome to watch, but your job ain’t out here.”
She wiped the dopey smile off her face and hurried backstage. As she took her place next to the rest of the road crew, most of them gave her welcoming smiles with no sign of scorn. Satisfaction swelled through her being, banishing her sore muscles. She had proven herself. She was in.
Well, not with Phil. There’d been a misogynistic prick or two on every job site she’d worked on. Concrete workers and framers were the worst. Phil had nothing on those asshats. But every time she was working near him, Phil would give her a smug look and play blistering but off-key solos on Quinn’s and Curt’s guitars—as if to taunt her with the fact that she couldn’t touch them. Petty as it was, that got to her. She wished she could yank those glorious instruments out of his incompetent hands and show him how they were meant to be played.
So naturally, she was torn between laughter and pity when he broke a string on Curt’s B.C. Rich just before sound check earlier and was chewed out by the guitarist so bad the poor kid’s ears turned red. Biting her cheeks to hold back a chuckle, she’d darted away before Phil found out she’d witnessed his humiliation.
Aside from that incident, the show had gone off without a hitch. But it was still too soon to thank the metal gods. In less than twenty minutes, Razor Productions was going to be interviewing Viciöus for their upcoming documentary on thrash metal. The road crew had to ensure there were no fuck-ups.
“So, what are we loading first?” Kinley asked after they had hauled everything off the stage.
“Just the light equipment and most of the amps for now.” Phil’s voice was imperious. Obviously he was still grumpy about his tongue-lashing from Curt. Hell, maybe he was even still mad Quinn had singled her out for a tuning lesson. “The gear’s going into the green room. It’s gotta get hooked up again in case they want footage of the band jammin’.” He gave her an evil smile. “Why don’t you take care of that part?”
Gaffer snorted. “Don’t be an ass, Phil. That’s at least a four-man job. You take the amps and Todd and I will take care of the bass and drums.” He gave Kinley an inscrutable look. “You grab the guitars and I’ll put you in charge of guarding the room.”
“Guard duty.” Phil snickered.
Gaffer chuckled along with him before giving Kinley another odd look.
At first she thought the road manager was testing her again. It was a lot of weight to carry and a long way to the room. But Phil seemed to be the only one annoyed that Kinley wasn’t panting with exhaustion. His scowl deepened when she had both guitars hooked up and tuned before he had the last amp placed.
“Here, I’ll hook that one up.” She gave him a smirk. It was childish, but he’d been a prick since she started.
He snapped a retort but Kinley didn’t hear. She had Quinn’s Stratocaster cradled in her arms. It was almost a shame he played rhythm. This thing could wail if given a chance…
“We’ll leave you alone here.” Gaffer interrupted her musical fantasies. “Remember: No one but us or the band gets through the door until you’re relieved. Clear?”
Kinley nodded as her fingers lightly stroked the fine varnish on the Fender’s neck.
Gaffer’s expression softened. “We’re locking the doors and only Quinn and I have keys. So unless there’s a break in, your knuckles should be safe.”
Phil snorted. “Have fun being locked in, sweet cakes.”
She smiled angelically and spoke into the microphone for emphasis. “Have fun freezing your ass off loading equipment, pumpkin tits.”
Gaffer laughed as he shoved a scowling Phil off. He gave her another unreadable smile before the door closed and the lock clicked into place, leaving her alone.
What was Gaffer getting at with those strange looks and knowing smiles? Was he giving her a chance to prove herself at guard duty? The brief glow was killed by cold practicality. Or was he just trying to keep her out of the way so she didn’t embarrass the band during the filming?
She frowned. Likely it was the latter. Her chin lifted. Well, if this was a punishment, it wasn’t a bad one. She had at least an hour alone with the gear of her favorite band. She once again held Quinn’s Fender Stratocaster in her arms. Its polished weight filled her with nostalgic longing.
It had been torture feigning ignorance during her lesson with Quinn.
She struck a C chord and closed her eyes in bliss at the soaring note. What would a Megadeth song sound like on this? Biting her lip, she darted a guilty glance at the door before striking another chord. There was only one way to find out.
***
Quinn bid the interviewer and film crew good-bye, then met Gaffer, Phil, and Joe at the door, as the rest of the band took off for the bus and the beer cooler.
He yawned. “I’m glad that’s over. Thank Christ they didn’t want to do one of those fake jam sessions.”
Gaffer nodded as they started down the hall. “Yeah, but I had everything set up just in case.” He jingled a set of keys. “And I placed the room under guard.”
Before Quinn could reply, an intricate set of riffs teased his ears. He frowned. “Someone’s playing my guitar…and doing a damn good job with it.” He quickened his pace, following the music. The others trailed behind.
Irritation boiled through him that someone had dared touch his Fender without permission. The first suspect would have been Phil, but aside from the fact that Phil was walking behind him, whoever was playing was far more talented. Was Lefty messing around with it? The riffs didn’t match the guy’s style. In fact, it sounded like…
He blinked in disbelief. “It sounds like he’s playing Megadeth.”
“You don’t like Megadeth?” Gaffer asked with a note of concern.
Quinn shook his head. “What? No, they’re great. It just sounds strange coming from my Fender. Who did you say was watching the room?”
A chuckle sounded behind him as he reached the door. “You’ll see.”
Gaffer tossed him the keys, and as he turned the lock, the guitar hit an impossible crescendo of shredding riffs—and a powerful, feminine voice rang out.
Quinn’s eyes widened as he opened the door to the sight of his roadie wielding his guitar like a seasoned veteran. Kinley’s eyes were closed in apparent bliss as she sang the chorus in a rich, velvety voice. Her fingers danced across the Stratocaster’s frets with a perfect blend of fluid grace and controlled fury.
“Holy shit,” Phil breathed behind him, his hostility momentarily forgotten.
“Shhh,” Quinn admonished, not wanting to miss a second of Kinley’s performance.
Goosebumps prickled up his arms. She was a professional, he realized with awe. It wasn’t just her mind-blowing skill in playing the guitar or her practiced singing voice. Hell, her voice wasn’t even that special. She had presence, a presence that only came from experience performing in front of an audience. That much was obvious in every line of her body.
This was the source of her hunger: the music itself, not merely dwelling on the fringes of the business. She was part of it. It poured from her in a font of unchecked passion. He felt like he was seeing her first the first time. Her soul was bared to him and she was completely alive.
Just as she struck the last chord, Kinley’s eyes opened, widening as she met his gaze. Startled, she nearly dropped his guitar. Quinn’s heart stopped and didn’t resume beating until she steadied her grip on his most cherished instrument.
“
I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, cheeks crimson. “I just wanted to play. Are they going to be filming you now?”
“No, our part of the documentary is done. They’re interviewing Bleeding Vengeance.” He shook his head, unable to tear his gaze from her. “Kinley, where’d you learn to play and sing like that?” His voice came out harsher than he intended, revealing his sudden ire at the realization that she’d deliberately kept this secret from him.
Her blush deepened, but she ignored his question. “I’d better load up the gear.”
With astounding speed, she unhooked his guitar and carefully placed it back in its case, then hurriedly wrapped the amp chords. It was a sloppy job, nothing like her usual meticulousness. Quinn leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, watching her loop the cords over her shoulder, heft his guitar case with one hand, and reach for his microphone stand with the other. Did she really think she could escape so easily?
“Phil, give Kin a hand,” Gaffer ordered as he hefted an amp. The road manager gave Quinn another smug smile.
He’d known all along that Kinley could play, but how? Quinn vowed to find out.
Seizing the microphone stand from her grasp, Quinn leaned down to whisper in her ear. The green-apple shampoo she used, coupled with the sweat of hard work, made her smell like spiced cider. “After the gear is loaded, you will join me at the hotel. We need to talk.”
That delightful blush returned as she stepped back, holding his guitar case like a shield. “I…um…really have to work on my website.”
“Yes, your website.” He smiled wickedly and once more stepped closer, enjoying this little game of cat and mouse. “I still owe you an interview, don’t I?”
Kinley’s eyes widened and her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips. Quinn bit back a groan of desire.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Good, it’s settled then.” Before he succumbed to the urge to pull her into his arms and claim those lush lips, Quinn took the microphone stand and followed Gaffer out of the room.
Catching up with the road manager, Quinn glanced over at him. “How did you know?”
