Victory RUN 1

by Devon Hartford

  The stage manager walks by and says, “Did you get locked out?”

  “Oh!” I gasp, surprised by his arrival. “Yeah.” I give him a girlish damsel in distress smile out of habit. When in trouble, flirt. Err, wait, that’s what almost got me in trouble with Brown Eyes a minute ago. I flatten my damsel smile into a more respectably ‘nun in trouble’ smile.

  The stage manager lifts a huge key ring which is attached to his belt by a chain and sorts through keys until he finds the right one and slips it into the lock and twists the knob. “There you go,” He smiles.

  And there I go, right into the mouth of madness.

  Chapter 18

  VICTORY

  “You can’t kick me out!” I shout, on the verge of hot tears. I hold them back. I’m not crying in front of my band. I never have, and I’m not about to start now.

  Scott, Rex, Bobby, and Suit Guy, whose name I have learned is Brent Ransom, stand together on the far side of the green room, a united front. Scott has just spent five minutes explaining to me why things aren’t working out with the band. Well, not explaining. More like dismissing me with way too many words.

  “You can’t do this, Scott,” I plead.

  “I’m not kicking you out, Vic,” Scott says flatly, “I’m leaving the band. And I’m taking the name Skin Trade and my songs with me.”

  “Wait, what?” I say, totally confused. “How is that any different?” I demand. If he takes the name and the music, the fans are going with him. The fans I’ve worked hard to help cultivate. Sadly, hard work doesn’t count. Song ownership does, and the fact that Scott is the voice of Skin Trade. I have nothing to bargain with here except loyalty. I hope Scott can appreciate that.

  I say, “We started Skin Trade together, Scott. This is our band. You and me and Rex and Bobby.”

  Scott shrugs his shoulders.

  I say bluntly, “Scott, you can’t quit. We’ve built up a following. I’ve put my heart and everything I have into this band.” I’m begging now, but it’s all I have.

  My eyes dart between Rex, Bobby, and Scott. I don’t even look at Brent Ransom.

  A minute ago, Scott explained that Brent works for Tantalus Records, the biggest hard rock label there is. Brent looks like he knows as much about hard rock as Josh Groban. He’s also the devil incarnate as far as I’m concerned. Scott revealed that Brent came out to watch the show tonight. To see Scott. Not Skin Trade. Scott. Now he’s offering Scott a record deal. Not the members of Skin Trade as a band.

  Scott.

  My head is on spin cycle trying to make sense of this. My chaotic thoughts bang and thump around inside my skull like a wash load of knotted wet bed spreads spinning out of control.

  From what I’ve gathered, Scott knows Brent Ransom quite well. I don’t think to ask how damn long they have been besties behind my back.

  I say to Rex and Bobby, “You guys are okay with this?”

  “It’s up to them,” Scott says.

  “What?” I blurt, “You mean Rex and Bobby can vote me in or out?” If that’s the case, I’m not worried. They’ll totally vote me in.

  “No,” Scott says. “They can stay with me. If they want.”

  I can’t imagine why Rex and Bobby would, not after this show of loyalty from Scott. I’m sure me and Rex and Bobby can replace Scott in no time. We’ll write our own songs. Fuck Scott and his “Fuck.” t-shirt.

  Gnawing at my gut is the very real fear that finding a vocalist with star potential is nearly impossible. Even in Hollywood. Think of all those amazing vocalists on all the talent TV shows you never hear from again because they fade into obscurity after one or two albums. The reality is that I need to keep this band together, or I run the risk of fading into obscurity myself.

  I glare at Rex and Bobby and blurt, “Well?”

  They both look embarrassed. I’ve never seen them look embarrassed. They avoid eye contact like they’ll explode if our eyes meet. Maybe they will. If I can manage to channel the overloading rage inside me, I’m going to slice everyone in the room in half with the lasers I plan to shoot from my eyes.

  I can’t believe Rex and Bobby are abandoning me too.

  Sheepishly, Bobby says, “It’s good money, Vic. How can I say no?”

  Now he’s calling me Vic too. I shake my head at him, “By saying no, dumbass.” I’m so pissed right now I wonder if I’m going to explode. I wasn’t able to shoot lasers out of my eyes at Bobby just now like I’d hoped, thereby releasing the pressure pounding in my head. I’m going to have a wicked migraine in about three minutes. I can feel it.

  Bobby whines, “You know I’m practically broke, Vic.”

  “Don’t call me Vic,” I growl.

  “Sorry. Victory, you know I’m tired of eating Ramen noodles and Pabst for dinner every night.”

  I snarl, “So quit buying the Pabst, and spend the extra cash you save on mac and cheese. I’ll throw in a carton of orange juice for you every week so you get your vitamin C.” I’d offer to cook him gourmet four course dinners on a nightly basis, but I don’t have any extra cash to spare. He’s not the only one on a Ramen diet. I can’t even afford OJ for myself.

  Bobby looks away.

  “It’s just business,” Rex says meekly. “I need money. I’m tired of hiding my truck every night from the repo guys.”

  There’s no way I can make truck payments for him. I know he’s at least two thousand in the hole. I say forcefully, “Get rid of your truck. I’ll drive you wherever you need to go.” I’ll totally be Rex’s chauffeur if it means keeping the band together. “All you have to cover is gas money.”

  Rex glances at Scott for guidance.

  Even with his mirrored shades hanging from the collar of his black “Fuck.” t-shirt, Scott’s entire face is a mirror. He’s as stone faced as a statue. Not the handsome Greek ones. One of those evil statues of a demon or a gargoyle in a graveyard.

  “I thought we were a band!” I shout. “I thought we made a pact to stay together no matter what! I’ve promoted this band like my life depended on it! How can you guys throw me away like this?!” I’m nearly hysterical.

  I can’t believe my entire world is coming apart before my eyes. Bobby and Rex are like my brothers.

  But Bobby and Rex are silent.

  Correction, were like my brothers. They’re kissing me goodbye as they plunge the knife into my back.

  “Sorry, Vic,” Scott sighs, bored by my tirade. “Things change.”

  I snort a laugh and scoff, “I guess they do.”

  After an infinite moment of utter disbelief, I can see that the three of them are going to go through with this. Rage rockets up my throat. I’m about to slice Scott to bits with my tongue when I’m stopped short. If Scott has so little loyalty that he can go behind my back and force me out of the band, what does that say about our relationship as boyfriend and girlfriend? Can I assume Scott and I are no longer an item?

  What the fuck?

  I don’t even want to ask. I’m so done with Scott. I shoulder past him to grab my guitar case. Scott’s eyes suddenly widen like he thinks I’m going to smack him. I totally should. But it wouldn’t change anything.

  I suddenly realize I don’t even have my guitar. I left it outside in the hands of Brown Eyes. He has really thrown me off balance tonight. I would never hand my guitar to a stranger in an alley and walk away. But I did. I need to get my head examined.

  First, I need my guitar case. I grab it and strut toward the door of the green room, my heels clacking pistol shots on the concrete floor. After I rip the door open, I turn and shout, “Good luck finding a replacement guitar player, you fucking pricks!”

  Scott smirks at me, “There’s as many guitar players in Hollywood as there are aspiring actresses. I bet every guy at our show tonight plays guitar.”

  At that exact moment, Brown Eyes leans his head into the doorframe, holding my Fender Strat in his hand.

  “See?” Scott smirks. “Here’s a guitar player now.”

  A barra
ge of fresh guilt assaults me as I lock eyes with Brown Eyes. It surges over me in a big nauseous wave. I suddenly wonder if Scott is pissed at me because he saw me flirting with Brown Eyes during our show? Is that why he’s pushing me out of the band? I wouldn’t put it past him. Talk about passive aggressive. Good thing Scott didn’t see me out back with Brown Eyes a minute ago. I feel ashamed of my behavior.

  Scott studies Brown Eyes with an amused look. “Shit, Vic, I bet this guy plays guitar better than you do. Hey, buddy, you play guitar?”

  Wow. Scott’s not even waiting until my ashes are cold to start dancing on them.

  Brown Eyes says to Scott, “Sure. Why?”

  “I’m auditioning guitar players next week,” Scott replies. “You’ve got a good look. How good are you?”

  Brown Eyes looks into mine and smirks, “I can give her a run for the money.”

  I’m suddenly hot all over, once again.

  Brown Eyes’ sultry gaze has cooked my brain and burnt out my entire nervous system. My legs shake and my fingers quiver. Heat blooms in my armpits. I swallow with a dry click. I couldn’t speak if I tried. I’m going to collapse if I don’t relax and take a deep breath. But I can’t. Brown Eyes is so ridiculously handsome, my lungs won’t work. Flashing through my mind are the words, “He stole my breath away,” which is totally stupid, but a fact in this instance.

  Get a grip! I shout at myself. Quit acting like a gushing little girl!

  I blink my eyes forcefully and break eye contact with Brown Eyes. Nagging at the back of my mind is that image of his eyes burning into mine while my cock shaped Fender headstock is poking up between us.

  I inhale to clear my head, but instead of a smooth expansion of my ribs, my breath comes in a series of skipping hitches. I probably look like I’m in the middle of a spasming orgasm to anyone watching the loose lipped slack jawed look on my face as my eyes are magnetically drawn back to Brown Eyes against my will. I can’t help myself.

  I don’t want to stop looking at him.

  Scott says quizzically, “Hey, isn’t that your guitar, Vic?”

  I tear my gaze away from Brown Eyes and watch Scott’s eyes narrow suspiciously.

  I hazily realize that I’m totally incriminating myself acting so gaga in front of Scott. My attraction to Brown Eyes has to be the most obvious thing in the room. If Scott didn’t pick up on it before, he will now. Any second Scott is going to level a stiff finger at me like we’re at a witch trial and shout, “She’s the guilty one! Adulteress!” I’ll be wearing a big scarlet A sewn to my outfits until my dying day.

  I laugh nervously and yank my guitar out of Brown Eyes’ hands. Panicked, I say to him, “Thanks! You can go now!”

  Brown Eyes is confused.

  So am I.

  Looking for distraction, I hastily stuff my Fender inside its case and latch it shut.

  Then I watch the wheels turning in Scott’s head. He stares at Brown Eyes for several seconds before saying, “You were the guy doing all the air guitar in front of the stage during our show, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Brown Eyes grins innocently. “But I play for real. When are auditions?”

  Does Brown Eyes not realize I’ve been kicked out of my band? Then my heart stops short. Is it possible that Scott might replace me with Brown Eyes? The idea makes me want to vomit.

  I’ve got to get out of here before I crumble in front of everyone.

  This is not my lucky day.

  Chapter 19

  KELLAN

  Wow, today is my lucky day.

  I guess the guys in Skin Trade decided they needed a second guitar player? I have no doubt I’ll nail the audition. I have a feeling me and the Guitar Goddess will make a great team.

  My mind is alive with possibilities as I gaze at her gorgeous face.

  Over the years, rock has seen many legendary guitar duos: Rudolf Schenker and Matthias Jabs of the Scorpions, Dave Murray and Adrian Smith of Iron Maiden, James Hetfield and Kirk Hammett of Metallica, Zacky Vengeance and Synyster Gates of Avenged Sevenfold, Danny Daggers and Chainsaw of Wild Child.

  But never a notable guy-girl duo.

  Maybe me and the guitar goddess will be the first. It’ll take a ton of work. We’ll be joined at the hip 24/7. It doesn’t hurt that she’s smoking hot. I will gladly lock hips with her. Front to front, front to back, back to front, back to back, whatever works. The positions are endless.

  I throw some smolder at the Guitar Goddess, gazing into her eyes. I notice her killer cleavage popping out of her studded leather bra in the bottom of my vision. It takes everything I have not to stare at her chest when she’s standing only a foot away.

  I tear my eyes away from hers and say to the lead singer, “Name the time and place, and I’ll be the first and last guy you audition.”

  Nobody says anything.

  Am I missing something? I glance at all the faces in the room. Everyone looks uncomfortable.

  Yeah, I’m missing something.

  Band drama?

  “Hey, buddy,” the lead singer growls at me, “you done drooling over my girlfriend?”

  Girlfriend?

  Shit.

  I was right all along.

  She needs a new boyfriend.

  Good thing I showed up when I did.

  Chapter 20

  VICTORY

  Scott scowls at Brown Eyes, then says to me, “You know what, Vic? Why don’t you go home with this guy. You couldn’t stop looking at him during our entire set.”

  My jaw drops. “Shit, Scott. Is that what this is about? Are you kicking me out because some random guy was checking me out at one of our shows?” I say it with utter disbelief.

  Scott arches a self-satisfied eyebrow, “Random? What the fuck is he doing carrying your guitar around for you? Is he your roadie?”

  “What? No! I was outside waiting for you to tell me you’re kicking me out of our band! This guy asked me about my guitar.” That’s when the bomb in my brain goes off. “And like it fucking matters?” I’m furious. “You kicked me out. Were we going to keep dating while you replaced me with another guitar player? Or have you already picked out the choicest of your Skin Slaves to be your new girlfriend?”

  Scott’s inscrutable face breaks into a grin.

  “I knew it!” I shout. “You’re seeing someone!”

  He doesn’t deny it.

  Now I’m as mad as a hand grenade. If I had one, I’d pull the pin, toss it in the green room with Scott, Bobby and Rex, and pull the door shut. Too bad I don’t have a grenade. But I do have…Brown Eyes.

  I look up at him. I’m so angry, I probably look like a rabid hyena, but I don’t care. “Hey, you,” I say to him.

  Brown Eyes is confused.

  “Come here,” I say as I reach up and grab the back of his neck and pull his face down to mine.

  He doesn’t resist.

  Suddenly I’m kissing Brown Eyes to make Scott jealous.

  And the room disappears.

  I’m floating in the clouds and expect at any moment for angels to start strumming harps while singing church music.

  His lips are so soft. I wasn’t expecting that. He looks so hard, I’d thought maybe his lips were made of steel, or something equally masculine. He has a hint of beard stubble and it tickles the inside of my upper lip. I giggle girlishly, spiraling away into the moment.

  His tongue slips into my mouth and I taste him. Sweet, tangy, yummy. I inhale deeply and smell this mandsome guy. His scent slides down my spine, tumbles around in my stomach until I’m glowing, then flutters up my chest. Whoa.

  This is kissing.

  All other kisses before this one were clumsy fumbling and sloppy puppy dog tongues. I’m talking about every guy I’ve ever been with. Including Scott. They were puppies. Now I’m kissing a man.

  Finally.

  It rocks.

  Who knew?

  Am I still breathing? I don’t know for sure.

  His hot tongue plunges into my mouth with savage des
ire. I’m vaguely aware of him pulling me closer. His muscled chest pushes into me, forcing me against the doorframe. I barely notice it, my head is still floating in bright white clouds of pure ecstasy. But I notice his chest. It’s massive, muscled, manly and pressing into me with hot need.

  Yes, I’m wet.

  Damn, where am I again?

  I feel Brown Eyes caressing my cheek with his hand. A hand that plays guitar like a master. He also seems to be playing me like a master as his hand glides down the curve of my jaw to my neck. I quiver and shiver in his hands as more raindrops of pure pleasure drizzle down my cheek, my neck, between my breasts, and finally settle in my belly like a jelly bean spell. I’m candy all over and I want this amazing man to lick every inch of my body until he gets to my soft center.

  Sweet revenge.

  “Ahem,” a voice coughs.

  Where am I again? Am I in public? I’m not entirely sure if I’m wearing clothes or completely naked. What’s going on?

  I open my eyes.

  Brown Eyes’ face is inches from mine. He looks…melted. It’s the only word I can think of to describe his dark chocolate eyes.

  Melts in your mouth, not in your hands. No, that’s wrong. I melted in his mouth and in his hands. And I want more!

  “Ahem!” Scott coughs again.

  As my senses return, I take stock of myself. Back on planet Earth? Check. Clothes? Check. Super hot guy two inches from my face? Check. If only I could figure out what was bothering me so much a minute ago. Everything seems perfect now. What was the problem again?

  “I guess that settles that,” Scott says.

  What is he yammering on about? I don’t know.

  Then I notice I’m holding my Fender in one hand and the case in the other.

  I forgot.

  Scott kicked me out of our band.

  I glare at him.

  Scott glares back and grumbles, “How about I leave your stuff outside the apartment and you can pick it up in the morning? After you spend the night with your new boyfriend.”