by Brooklyn Ann
It didn’t seem practical for her to waste her money on a room. If she was a guy, he would have invited her to stay at his house with the rest of them. But her being a woman made that awkward. With two of them trying actively to get in her pants, and with his own attraction to her, increasing their proximity would only add more complications to getting this album made.
At least she’d seemed to be ignoring Cliff’s and Roderick’s advances. But, neither of them had really gotten started.
Grinding his teeth, Klement got back to the topic at hand. “Thrashfest is just a festival, not a whole tour. It’ll be a good starting point for her.”
Roderick shrugged. “Sounds reasonable.”
Cliff gave a reluctant nod. “Fine. But if we get booed or laughed off the stage, I’m kicking both your asses.”
“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Klement said. “Besides, you wouldn’t dare risk your pretty face.”
The singer laughed. “Good point. Now, can we take a break from talking about work and go smoke some weed?”
“Okay.”
But no matter how many bowls they smoked, Klement couldn’t stop thinking about Kat.
Those thoughts had little to do with work.
Chapter Four
The moment she sat down on the motel bed, her phone rang. Kat looked at the caller ID and grinned.
“Hi, Kin.”
“How’d it go?”
Her friend’s curiosity oozed from the phone, and Kat drew out a suspenseful moment of silence before she spilled the news. “I got the job.”
“Well, I knew that. Klement wouldn’t have had you come all the way to Colorado if you weren’t going to get it.” Kinley laughed. “I meant, how did it go with the guys?”
“They’ve all been really nice. Klement even invited me to his house to jam with them after the first session.” Kat couldn’t hold back her excitement. “That’s when they said I got the job. Well, so far only for the studio. They’re not sure if they want me onstage with them yet.”
“And Cliff?”
Kinley’s voice had taken on a teasing tone, and Kat frowned. “He’s even hotter in person. And he flirted with me! But…” She trailed off doubtfully.
“But?” Kin prodded.
“Okay, don’t laugh. It turns out that he’s not quite the paragon I imagined. I mean, he stole my solo. And he has bad breath.” A suspicious rhythmic sound reached her ears. “Hey, I told you not to laugh!” But her own words broke off in a chuckle.
Her friend’s unmuffled laughter echoed over the line. “I’m sorry, it’s just that…if anything was going to get you over your crush, it would be him stealing your solos.”
“It’s against the code!” Kat said hotly. “Richard used to do the same goddamned thing. That’s why I broke up with him.”
Kinley’s laughter halted. “That’s not why.”
Despite the warmth of the room, Kat shivered at the truth. No, she had broken up with Richard because he was an overbearing, controlling prick. He’d tried to keep her isolated from her friends, discouraged her dreams of a music career, and had drunken temper tantrums where he broke things and called her names.
“At least I don’t hit you,” he’d used to say…until he did.
Kat changed the subject. “How are you and Quinn?”
“Wonderful.” Kin’s voice was breathless with infatuation. “I’m considering proposing.”
Kat laughed. “Isn’t that his job?”
Kinley was always trying to rebel against her femininity. She’d hated being a woman so much that it was like a chip on her shoulder—until she met Quinn.
Kat’s friend sighed. “He already did last year, remember? And the way I acted, I can’t blame him if he’s reluctant to do it again.”
When Quinn proposed, Kinley had assumed he wanted her to ditch her music career and become a housewife. She’d called him a sexist asshole and stormed off.
“How’s it going with Viciӧus?” Kat asked, changing the subject.
“Great! I actually wrote some solos, and they’re going to put them on the album!” Kinley’s voice sobered. “And it looks like I’m going to be joining you guys for Thrashfest, though not under happy circumstances.”
Kat’s chest tightened. “What happened?”
“Curt had a relapse.”
Her friend’s sorrow was tangible even over the phone.
“Oh.”
Kat paused and considered for a moment how their two lives had been changed by the shenanigans of two successful musicians. Curt had been Lefty’s best friend and fellow cocaine addict. He’d checked into rehab immediately after Bleeding Vengeance’s Lefty died of an overdose beside him, which is when Kinley stepped up and finished the tour with Viciӧus in Curt’s place. She’d also been with them in the studio, helping record the new album. But while her relationship with the lead singer of Viciӧus was cemented, her position with the band remained ambiguous. So, Kinley’s experience was like Kat’s. Stepping into the shoes of a legend was terrifying, especially since the fact that they were already known for their website made them subject to all sorts of scrutiny from the metal fanbase.
Kat took a deep breath and asked the question that had weighed in her gut the moment she’d got the job with Bleeding Vengeance. “How are the fans treating you?”
“Oh, some of them are still calling me Yoko and threatening to boycott the band until Curt comes back.” Kinley sounded tired. “I get called a cunt, a talentless whore who should get my ass back in the kitchen, blah blah blah.”
Kat cringed. “Shit, that sucks.”
Kin’s voice lightened. “Yeah, but you know what? I’m not taking it as hard as I used to. Did you know that Viciӧus had another lead guitarist before Curt?”
“No way.” Kat couldn’t recall hearing that, but then again, Kinley had always liked Viciӧus better than she did.
“Yeah, he left before their first album released. He even has some writing credits on it.”
“Oh? What happened to him?”
“He decided he didn’t like metal and joined up with another band to do some sort of Latin project,” Kin answered. “Anyway, some people are still trashing Curt and wanting that guy back. Hell, some are praising me and saying Curt sucks. There are so many different opinions, I can’t please everyone, and eventually I stopped giving a shit.”
Kat felt a wave of relief. She remembered how devastated Kinley had been when she read the online commentaries about her temporarily joining Viciӧus.
“So,” Kinley said. “How did the rest of it go? Aside from Cliff’s solo-bogarting and bad breath? What did you think of Roderick and Klement?”
Kat paced the small motel room, smiling at the memory of meeting the guys in Bleeding Vengeance. “Roderick seemed nice. And I love his accent.”
“Yeah, all the ladies do.”
“And Klement’s a lot taller than I expected.” Kat closed her eyes and relived their first in-person encounter, trying to find the right words to describe him. “He kinda looks like a geeky Viking.”
Kinley burst out laughing. “A geeky Viking? I guess that fits.”
“Yeah. Anyway, he’s definitely as neurotic and bossy as people say, but with only good intentions. He also seems to work harder than the other two, so I guess he has a right to be picky on the details.” Kat flopped on the bed and described her impression of his house, his guitars, and his determination that the band stay away from anything harder than booze or weed. Only after rambling for nearly ten minutes did she stop. “Sorry. I’ve been such a chatterbox!”
“I understand. And I’m excited for you.” For a moment Kinley sounded like she was about to laugh again. “But, I do have to go. I need to finish up my post on the site before Quinn and I start packing for the tour. By the way, I checked the site after you texted me. That new comments thingie is working great. Tell IT Guy thanks for me.”
This time, Kat bit back a chuckle. Kin avoided talking to IT Guy if she could help it. “I will.”
As reading her mind Kinley said, “And thank you for dealing with him for me. He drives me crazy. Anyway, I’ll talk to you soon. And just remember, you’re an amazing guitarist and you deserve to be where you are. Don’t let anyone convince you any different.”
After Kin hung up, silence flooded the motel room like a cold draft, washing away the closeness and warmth of talking with a friend. Once more Kat was alone in a strange city, thousands of miles from friends or family.
She shivered and rolled off the bed to grab something long-sleeved from one of her bags of clothes. She’d packed for a month, just in case. The purple cashmere sweater helped a bit, with its familiar smell and soothing texture. Kat reminded herself that she was here for a good reason and that she deserved to be here, like Kinley said.
Firing up her laptop, she browsed for news in the metal world that could be good material for the blog. When she saw an article about Thrashfest, which Kinley had mentioned, she couldn’t resist clicking the link. God, she’d forgotten all about the two-day festival that was coming up in three weeks. Held exclusively at the Alpine Valley Music Theater, it featured the titans of metal. Though, not all of them played thrash metal. Dante Deity, an icon of power metal, was one of the headliners, and there would be a few punk and death metal acts in attendance as well. Kat and Kinley had attended since its inception. When they were seventeen, they’d ended up hitchhiking with a bunch of older metal-heads. When their parents found out, they were grounded for a month.
Looking at the site, Kat saw Kinley was right. Bleeding Vengeance hadn’t dropped off the roster, and the comments section was going crazy about it, speculating on who would be their guitarist. Why hadn’t Klement and the guys mentioned this? Were they checking out other guitarists? Or were they considering letting her join them onstage?
Her stomach churned. Metal fans everywhere were still mourning Lefty’s death and arguing about who would be the best man to join Bleeding Vengeance. How would they react when they found out she was with them in the studio?
She tried to repeat Kinley’s words, I can’t please everyone. I stopped giving a shit.
With shaking hands, she closed her laptop and opened her guitar case. The only way she’d have to worry about outcries from the fans would be if she proved herself worthy of joining the band.
Plopping back on the bed, she practiced tomorrow’s songs.
***
From the window of his hotel room, Richard watched Kat pull into the lot. For a moment it seemed that she glanced in his direction as she headed to her room, and he held his breath, not exhaling until her head dipped to her purse and she dug around for her key card.
Fury returned. While she’d been at that log mansion, he’d called the recording studio, pretending to be a producer wanting to schedule a band for sessions.
“I’m sorry,” the desk guy told him. “But Bleeding Vengeance has reserved the place until the sixteenth.”
Bleeding fucking Vengeance?
Richard and Kat had first gotten together when they found out they had the same favorite band. He’d even been amused at all the posters she had—except for one. A close-up of a shirtless Cliff Tracey held the honored position in her bedroom, over the door to the hall. He’d always covered it with a towel when he came over, vowing that once he convinced Kat to move in with him the damn thing was going in the fireplace. Instead, she’d broken up with him, and now she was spending time with more than just a poster.
At least that hadn’t been Cliff’s mansion she was at. A little more research on Google had revealed that the place belonged to the bassist. Richard was pretty sure the guy was a fag. During all of the appearances and shows Bleeding Vengeance had done, he’d never been seen with a chick. Still, it was grating enough knowing that she had somehow managed to get a job with them in the fucking studio—a job that ended with her being invited to the bassist’s house.
Richard leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing as a disturbing thought surfaced.
Bleeding Vengeance needed a new guitarist. She wasn’t in the band, was she?
He shook his head. No, it took a man to play their riffs. Kat was damn good for a girl, but there was no way they’d let her on a stage. She was probably even only in the studio because one of them wanted to fuck her.
Probably Cliff.
Unless… Richard froze. Maybe she’d already been fucking Cliff. Maybe that’s why she’d broken up with him in the first place. He didn’t for a minute believe her bullshit story about him scaring her with his yelling and not wanting to be like her mother. He wasn’t even convinced that it was because he’d hit her. Really, it was only that once, and he’d been drunk and she knew that she’d pissed him off. He’d apologized until he was out of breath. He’d even bought her a dozen roses. No, there had to be another guy involved, and it looked like that guy was in Bleeding Vengeance. The band had been in Spokane only a year ago, when they’d opened for Viciӧus.
His fists clenched, and he punched the windowsill. “I knew it!”
The bass player with the fancy rustic mansion might be gay, but everyone knew that he was the real authority behind the band. He was also, by all accounts, an anal perfectionist. So he wouldn’t take kindly to Kat disrupting their schedule by not showing up at the studio tomorrow.
Richard smiled, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a knife.
Chapter Five
“Son of a bitch!” Kat groaned as she lugged her guitar out to her car. Morning sunlight glinted cheerfully off the rim of the rear tire. It was flat as a pancake, and she had to be at the studio in twenty minutes.
Her curses became a rhythmic mantra as she popped the trunk for the jack and spare. Only her second day on the job and she was going to be late. That would not reflect well on her. She was so stressed at the prospect that she had the wheel almost fully jacked up before realizing she’d forgotten to crack the lug nuts loose.
“Shit!” she panted and lowered the jack.
Hands trembling, it took her a little longer than usual to put on the spare. Though, at least she had a full-size tire instead of those stupid doughnuts that you couldn’t take over twenty five miles an hour. It came in handy as she sped down the Denver streets, eyes darting back and forth from the racing dash clock to the rearview mirror, checking for cops. The last thing she needed was a ticket.
Her phone buzzed and chimed the bass line for “Bring out your Dead,” the ringtone she’d set for Klement when he first began sending her music files, but she never could manage to drive a stick and talk on the phone at the same time, so she let it ring, tension mounting with every thrumming note.
A thousand worst-case scenarios played in her head as she pressed her foot down on the accelerator. He was probably pissed that she was late and not answering. What if he yelled at her? What if he thought she was irresponsible? Oh, Christ, what if he fired her? What if, what if, what if…? The shriek in her mind was deafening. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel as she felt a low-grade panic attack surfacing. And she’d forgotten to take her Xanax, too.
She practically cried in relief as she pulled into the studio parking lot. The dash clock read ten-eighteen. She was over fifteen minutes late. Her stomach roiled. She’d always been OCD about punctuality. It seemed Klement was, too.
Dread prickled her spine as she saw him pacing back and forth in front of the studio, his phone in his hand. Digging into her purse, she pulled out her medicine and checked the seat for a bottle of water. Finding none, she got out and checked the back seat.
“Thank God,” she murmured as she glimpsed a half-full bottle on the floorboard. The water was warm and her hands were filthy from changing the tire, but she didn’t care. She needed to take her pill now, before she went into full freak-out mode.
Klement’s voice rumbled behind her. “What took you so long?”
The pill bottle slipped from her fingers and clattered to the asphalt. She turned and watched as he bent down, and his long fingers curled around the bottle. E
yes narrowed, he read the label.
“What are these for?”
His fist moved forward. Kat’s eyes squeezed shut, and her arms flew up to protect her face.
“Hey,” Klement said softly. “Relax, I’m just giving them back to you.”
She opened her eyes, face burning with embarrassment as she took the medicine. “I have PTSD,” she said, barely above a whisper. “The Xanax helps my anxiety.”
Raw compassion glinted in his eyes. “Shit, that sucks. What from?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
The response had been automatic, yet part of her had a strange urge to tell him.
He gave a respectful nod. “I’m sorry for asking. That was probably insensitive.”
She dismissed the apology with a wave. “I’m sorry for being late.”
His gaze dropped to her grimy hands. “Car trouble?”
She nodded and wiped her palms on her jeans. “I had a flat. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I thought I’d get it fixed in time.”
“No problem. I figured something happened. You’ve always been— I mean, you’ve always seemed punctual to me.” He ran a hand through his long, golden hair, looking suddenly shy. “So, take a few deep breaths, take your Xanax, and we’ll get your session going.”
He picked up her guitar case and headed toward the building, slowing his long strides so she could keep up. When they got inside, Cliff had his phone in his hand and was ranting to Roderick about something he’d read off it.
“Can you believe this motherfucker?” He jabbed the air with his finger, punctuating his ire. “He says my voice sounds like a rabid Saint Bernard. And that I should have died instead of Lefty.”
Roderick whistled. “Man, that’s cold.”
Klement shook his head. “You’re still going on about that guy? I told you, he’s a troll. Don’t feed him.”
“But he’s talking shit on every site. Especially on Metalness. I mean, what the hell is his problem?” the singer whined. “C’mon, Klem, can’t you track him down and give him a virus or something?”
“Possibly, but it’s not worth my time. Besides, your fans will defend your honor.” He handed Kat her guitar case and fiddled with a button on his shirt. “Just stay off the Internet for awhile.”
