Bullet Series Box Set Books 1-8

by Jade C. Jamison

  And Val and Brad just sat there, neutral looks on their faces. He hoped they weren’t seriously entertaining this guy.

  What really stressed Nick out was that this was the tenth person today, and none of them had been impressive. He supposed they didn’t need impressive; they merely needed competent. But this was Val they were talking about. She was finally getting her own band, and he wanted it to be perfect. He knew she and Brad did too. If it had been up to Nick, he would have demanded that Zane step in. That guy could play a mean bass with just his thumb—Nick was convinced of that. But Zane and Ethan had decided to create their own side project, a super hardcore heavier-than-heavy metal band that verged on the edge of death metal…or some shit like that. Fully Automatic would always be their main priority, and it was hard and heavy—but they wanted to go even darker and deeper, and Brad had mentioned one time—just one time—that they needed to make sure their band’s music was commercially viable. Ethan had blown up at that and spouted off that maybe he needed to break away and do his own thing. Well, it had led to hard feelings for a while until Brad asked them all to sit down and have a real chat…and he suggested that a side project might not be a bad idea.

  Ethan and Zane ran with it.

  And then Brad started thinking some more and talked to Val about starting a new band as well as an outlet for herself. It had been way too long since she’d been onstage and created something out of nothing. Val latched onto it and began writing—both lyrics and some music, since she’d started playing the guitar in her hiatus. Brad asked Nick if he’d be interested in playing the drums for her band, and he jumped on the chance. He loved Brad and Val and considered them great friends—family, even—so why wouldn’t he want to help?

  Now, though, he was questioning his state of mind. He understood the need for tryouts, but he was beginning to wonder why they hadn’t just put out a general call to people already in the biz. They knew a shitload of guys in bands. Surely one of them would love to work with them. Val was looking for something specific, but they didn’t know what, and maybe hiring an unknown was part of her game plan.

  Nick grabbed Brad’s pencil and, combined with his own, began tapping out a drum beat. He needed something to distract him from the awful shit in front of them. The one good thing about the whole deal? Brad had called a local hotel and rented out a conference room for the auditions. There was a restaurant and bar in the joint, so Nick could fetch refreshments now and then. They also wouldn’t have to worry about any of these losers knowing where Brad and Val lived. It was win-win.

  Val had said she wanted someone good, but she was hoping to hire a woman. She’d take a male bassist if she had to, but she was wanting a female. That was part of why they had done the open call and invited musicians to Denver, but the problem was that lots of locals, some of whom Nick was pretty sure had never played live before, had answered the call, and they were having to listen to those people’s pathetic attempts at making music.

  Nick was pretty sure he was gonna need therapy after this guy.

  Yeah, some vodka therapy.

  He tried to distract himself by going over the candidates thus far in his head. What was sad was that none of them were great. None stood out…and the few women he could call competent enough to do the job if push came to shove weren’t anything to write home about. They had one more day after this and then that was it, and if all the bassists trying out later were like what they’d had so far, he was ready to throw in the towel and tell them they didn’t need one.

  He knew this guy was coloring his feelings about the whole process. They could probably take one of the more competent people and train her well enough that she would work, so they’d have to let Val choose someone she’d be happy working with.

  Please don’t let it be this guy.

  The man finally put them out of their misery, hitting his last note. A clean bass line could be a beautiful thing, but what this guy had done was a travesty.

  And he must have known it. The look on his face mirrored what Nick was feeling inside. “Dudes, sorry about that. I know you have to get the next person, but I totally fucked that shit up. I just got over the flu, and I’m feeling kinda washed out.” Val smiled—one that Nick could tell was forced—and Brad nodded. “Any way I could maybe try again after everyone else has gone?”

  Val looked down at her notes and then back up. “We have your number. I can’t make any promises, but I’m willing to consider it. We just really need to get through all these auditions we have scheduled.”

  “I totally understand.” The guy pulled a black leather wallet out of his back pocket—yeah, it was attached to a wallet chain—and whipped out some cards which he promptly handed to each one of them. His bass was draped down his back—again, the guy had cool metal moves down to a T—but his playing ruined his bad ass image. “Just call if you could do me that solid and, if not, maybe something else will come up?”

  “Yeah,” Brad said and stood, shaking the guy’s hand. How Brad managed to always come off as cool and diplomatic, Nick would never know. He and Brad hadn’t always been friends, but he now considered the man one of his best. He’d trust the guy with his life. “Thanks for coming out today. We appreciate it.”

  Yep, the guy left feeling good about himself. Not that Nick thought he should. Nick felt like he should be lectured into never leaving the house until he’d practiced the shit out of his bass. That, or he should be told to give up and go wash dishes at Village Inn. He really shouldn’t have been allowed to touch a musical instrument. Nick was gonna have nightmares about the guy’s playing for months. He just knew it.

  Nah…there was always vodka therapy.

  The door closed and Val looked at both of them, her eyebrows raised. As much as Nick could tell they all wanted to talk about it, they’d agreed not to discuss any of the candidates while they were at the hotel. They didn’t know how tight the walls were and didn’t want to either hurt any feelings or get anyone’s hopes up falsely…but he felt a huge sense of relief when he saw the looks on their faces. Between Brad’s raised eyebrows and the frown on Val’s features, Nick knew that neither of them was seriously considering this guy anymore than he was. So he said, “Who’s next?”

  Val looked down at the clipboard next to her arm. “A woman named Sabrina Moreno. Says she’s played with a couple of local bands for a few years. One of ‘em’s called Scar Tissue. Either of you guys watch them play?”

  Brad shook his head. “No.”

  “Heard good things about them, though.” That was the one thing that bummed Nick out. Since becoming famous, they didn’t spend much time at the local scene anymore, and it had been their life when they’d first started out. It wasn’t that they didn’t like indie music. No, it was that—with the local metal crowd—he and his bandmates were easily recognizable. It wasn’t fair to the bands playing, the way the Fully Automatic gang would attract crowds, but it also detracted from any enjoyment they themselves would have had watching the show. There was no fun to be had anymore. Most concerts he watched on DVD or online anymore. It sucked. It was still good watching the bands, but it wasn’t the same. There was nothing like the feel of the crowd.

  He wasn’t going to bitch, though, because the feeling of being onstage feeling that energy and love live trumped anything he could have ever felt in the audience.

  “Well, at least it’s a woman.”

  Brad chuckled. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that. Are you adding all their phone numbers to your contacts?”

  Nick shook his head. “Oh, yeah. I’ve hit a dry spell. Need to start scouting out fresh pussy.” He rolled his eyes. “Now that you mention it, this is a brilliant way to do that.”

  Brad laughed again and then ran his hand through his long, dark hair, pulling it behind his head. Nick cleared his throat and took out a fresh sheet of paper. He’d already written notes evaluating the last guy and was ready to move on. He was glad the next candidate was a woman, though, because Val wanted a female on bas
s if at all possible. No sense wasting time with guys, especially bad players.

  There was a rap on the door, loud and demanding. Maybe it was a hotel employee. He wondered, because none of the other women they’d auditioned had knocked like that. That was a man’s knock. Val said, “Come on in,” and stood.

  The person entering, though? She was no man. Nick was glad he was sitting, because this woman would have floored him. Holy fucking hell. She had to be one of the sexiest women on the planet, and that shit he could evaluate in the space of five seconds.

  He knew his gaze was one of warm admiration, and there was no stopping it. She was dressed in black—a leather miniskirt over fishnet hose, and the right leg had a hole ripped out on the thigh (fucking hot), a snug black tank over a lacy red bra that peeked out, black gloves with the fingers cut off. But that was just what she wore. The woman herself oozed metal and it took everything Nick had to keep his cock at bay.

  Her long black hair flowed down to her shoulder blades. Nick’s gaze couldn’t stop admiring her from head to toe. Sure, she was wearing black but there was plenty of metal on her too—in her belt, all her piercings (which made Nick wonder what else was pierced that he couldn’t see), and her jewelry. Her makeup was dark, too, but it made her icy blue eyes that much more striking. The dark makeup made Nick wonder if she really was in her late twenties (which was what she looked like) or if she was a lot younger.

  No matter. Yeah, this chick was hot and definitely looked the part, but the last act had looked great too. The proof would be in the playing, and Nick wasn’t holding his breath. He’d been pretty underwhelmed by the talent they’d seen today.

  Val had introduced herself in the time it had taken Nick to give her a thorough once-over, and the woman said, “Yeah, my name’s Sabrina, but my friends call me Brina or Bri. My stage name is Sinna.” She flashed a smile. “Take that however you like.”

  Val smiled. “This is Brad and Nick, and they’re also going to be part of Val Hella on guitar and drums. We’re looking for someone who’s going to be a good fit.”

  Sabrina smiled. “I know you guys. I love Fully Automatic. Man, it would be an honor to play with you.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, was there anything specific you wanted me to play? If not, I’ve prepared something.”

  “We’re good either way.”

  The woman in black walked over to the amp and wasted no time plugging her bass in. It was a shiny blue and black number that appeared to be well-cared-for. Nick was waiting to hear the notes, though—he didn’t give a fuck if the woman took good care of her bass but couldn’t play for shit.

  But, just like before with all the others, it only took seconds for Nick to evaluate her playing. She’d tapped out a beat with her foot (a sexy knee-high black boot on it, too) and then began playing a bass line that sounded familiar. It wasn’t until she’d played for a little bit that he realized she was playing something from Last Five Seconds’ repertoire, only she was playing the melody instead of the usual bass part. Then she ripped into something else. Again, it took Nick a few seconds to place that it was a metal—and low-note—version of “You are My Sunshine.” Just as he thought he knew where she was going with it, though, she moved into another tune—hardcore, almost punk, with a thrash beat—and she played through what he was sure was an entire verse. When she got to what should have been the chorus, she switched to what probably was the true bass line (rather than the melody) and she sang. Or screamed, rather. Nick loved her voice—it was raspy and raw-sounding, like Val, only if Val had been gargling glass shards for the past month.

  He dropped his pencil to the table and sat back to bask in her noise.

  Yeah…he was smitten.

  He didn’t care who else walked in the doors. He planned to campaign hard for Ms. Sabrina “Sinna” Moreno. She had his vote. She handled her bass like the weapon it should have been. A good bass was never a nuisance, hardly noticed by listeners when it was being played, but integral—and something that would be missed by those same fans if it was gone. A good bass enriched the sound of a band, made it more robust, and also had a voice of its own. This woman got that, and Nick knew it was a matter of time before some huge band snatched her up.

  Why not them? Why not now?

  But, as per their earlier agreement, he didn’t say a word and tried not to show his enthusiasm, either. The deal was they’d discuss later—over dinner—what they thought about each prospective bassist, but they wouldn’t say a word until then.

  Nick stole a glance at his bandmates and found that he couldn’t read them for shit. They had the poker faces down really well—either that or they weren’t impressed.

  When Sabrina finished, Val told her they would call by the end of the week. That was Nick’s first sign. He hadn’t remembered Val making any promises like that to any of the other folks who’d tried out.

  So, at dinner that night, they knew they were halfway through auditions. They had another day of tryouts the following day and then they could make their final decision.

  Nick had to bring it up then, though. He said, “I don’t know how you guys feel about it, but Sabrina blew the competition away.”

  Val smiled and gave him one of her indulgent looks—Nick could tell. She lifted Hayley up onto her lap and said, “She was good, yeah, but we might have someone godlike walk in tomorrow. I don’t want to close myself off to the possibility.” Little Hayley, a mirror image of her dad Brad, wiggled in Val’s arms until she could turn around and look her mother in the face. Val looked through her shiny blue-green eyes at her child and kissed the little girl on the forehead.

  Val’s son Chris, a little guy just about ready for school, sat between Nick and the nanny, cute blonde-headed Gracie. Nick and Gracie had hit it off shortly after Brad and Val had hired her. They hadn’t known each other long, but it felt like they’d been friends for a lifetime. Gracie was quiet and demure but always laughed at Nick’s stupid jokes. She was a hell of a boost to his ego. A sweet kid and a good friend. He knew she hung out with some real party animals after hours, and he’d threatened more than once to beat the shit out of them if they ever did anything to Gracie. She’d once called him her guardian angel, and he gladly accepted the title but told her to swear she’d never repeat it in front of others.

  That, too, had made her giggle.

  Nick loved that woman’s laugh—it was hearty and full of life. In spite of the fact that Nick considered his bandmates to be solid close friends, he was starting to think Gracie was his best friend. He got the feeling that she felt the same.

  He smiled at her before he said, “Yeah, I know there could be someone else who’s even better. But—for now—does it hurt to acknowledge that the woman was kick ass?”

  Brad nodded. “She was very good.”

  “Thank you.”

  Val shot him a look—part playful, part watch it, mister. “Yes, but we’re not done yet. We have just as many people trying out tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, and if they’re as lackluster—or as shitty—as what we witnessed today, then I definitely think Ms. Sabrina’s got this in the bag.”

  Gracie said, “So you might have someone already?”

  Brad said, “We auditioned quite a few people today, but the woman Nick’s talking about, this bassist who’s played for a few local bands, really did smoke the rest of the competition.”

  Val grumbled. “I’m sure her looks didn’t hurt.”

  Nick laughed. “Yeah, I’m a visual creature. I find looks stimulating…but she would’ve ruined the image in an instant if her playing had sucked. I mean…look at Metal Mike. He totally would have fit right in with the band, but he was awful.”

  “Metal Mike?”

  “Yeah, you know…the guy who played right before Sabrina.”

  “Oh…Les something or other. Yeah, nice guy. He seemed pretty rusty, though.”

  “Rusty? You’re too kind. I don’t think he’d know an E string from a hole in the ground.”

  Brad shook hi
s head. “That might be true, but the guy himself had said something about having a hard day and asked for another chance.”

  “No. You only get one chance. You fuck that up? Get back to the end of the line.”

  Gracie raised her eyebrows. “Harsh.”

  It was then that Nick remembered he was in the presence of children. He would die if he heard the F-word tumble out of Hayley’s tiny heart-shaped mouth. “Sorry.”

  “We’re used to your harshness, drummer boy.”

  Nick couldn’t help but grin at Gracie. “No, I meant for the four-letter word…in the presence of children.”

  Chris cleared his throat and said, “Daddy Ethan said I can’t say bad words till I’m older. Like a driver’s license. I have to learn it and earn it.”

  Everyone around the table laughed, even though Val looked like she was only half amused. Nick settled back and ate the deli fried chicken and mashed potatoes, basking in the warmth of these people. These folks right here—they were his family, his life, and they meant more to him than they’d ever know.

  Chapter Two

  FINALLY, THEY’D MADE it through all the warm bassist bodies, and Sabrina still put the rest of the candidates to shame. Val continued to act reluctant to name her as the band’s bass player, though. She wanted to put the woman through the paces. She called Sabrina and invited her to a jam session in their studio, a building on Brad and Val’s property where they did a lot of the initial recording for Fully Automatic—and soon Val Hella—as well as their practice sessions.

  It was a Saturday afternoon in early summer. The kids and Gracie played in the backyard between the house and the studio, and Brad and Nick were setting up and getting ready while Val waited in the house for Sabrina to show up. Nick had made sure to look a little more metal than usual. Most of the time, he’d kick back in a t-shirt and jeans unless they were onstage, but he wanted to look the part for Sabrina. He still wore jeans and a Carcass t-shirt, but he made sure to wear the wallet chain and biker boots instead of sneakers. He’d considered pulling his now-long black hair back in a ponytail like he often did when the weather was bordering on hot, but he thought having it long and flowing was more metal. He even thought about lining his blue eyes in black and knew that was pushing it. Bad enough that he’d painted his fingernails black the night before. He usually only did that when they were on tour or sometimes he’d bother if they were filming a video, but he wanted to send a message.