Diminished (Winter's Wrath Book 2)

by Bianca Sommerland

  When he fell in love, it would consume him. He got addicted to things. To ideas.

  He hadn’t reached that point with Brave.

  Malakai realized he still hadn’t answered Brave. “She is worth it.”

  “And what about us?” Brave smirked when Malakai frowned at him. “To save her, will you play my game? Can you handle it?”

  “Can you?” Malakai still had his hand on Brave’s neck. He tightened his grip, pulling Brave close. “You’re not the man you were. This isn’t your game. Not really.” He leaned in, brushing his lips over the wound he’d caused. “Still want to play?”

  “Bring it.” Brave let out a low growl, pressing against him. “I always want to play.”

  “But this isn’t about you.” Malakai ran his fingers over the raw flesh of Brave’s scalp. “And I’m doing this because I think you get that.”

  Resting his head on Malakai’s shoulder as though it had all become too much, Brave laughed.

  “I really do.”

  Sound check went fast. VIPs weren’t happy, but they were promised time after the show to hang out. Made things better.

  Next came an interview with a blogger who roasted bands—AKA ridiculed them for laughs—on his YouTube channel, pulling in more money from his huge following than most musicians he interviewed made in a year.

  Malakai had never watched him, but Jesse warned them he wouldn’t be nice. His thing was awkward questions, sarcasm, and randomly jumping up to shout insults.

  Bigger bands begged for spots on his show. Fans loved him.

  That he’d asked to be here tonight was cool.

  But after five minutes Malakai hated the fucker.

  “Legit question from twitter.” The man, ‘Trebble Joe’, jumped up on his seat. “Danica Tallien is fucking two men. She’s teased about it. Hands up if you’re one of them.”

  Tate raised his hand.

  Trebble Joe gaped at him. “You’re doing that hot piece of ass?”

  Alder growled. Brave held him down.

  “No. I wish.” Tate blinked at the camera. “I have a question.”

  “Go for it.” Trebble Joe winked at the camera. “We’re listening.”

  “What are you on? Is it legal? Can I have some?” Tate blew Trebble Joe a kiss. “That’s all.”

  Thrown off, the blogger stared at Tate. Then rubbed his crotch. “I’m on tons of dick. Whose are you on?”

  “Anyone who asks. But I like flowers first.” Tate rubbed his lips. “And candy. And cookies. I’ll suck your dick for cookies.”

  This interview wasn’t going at all like the blogger had planned. He plopped on the sofa next to Tate and pouted. “I don’t have any. But can you tell me something?”

  “Sure!” Tate made a happy sound as Skull walked over and handed him a box of cookies. “Our man, Skull! He’s the best!”

  “You have a new girl.” Trebble Joe leaned close to Tate. “And you saw her naked. Is she easy?”

  Now he dies. Malakai moved to stand. Releasing Alder, Brave reached over to grab his arm.

  Leaned close to whisper in his ear. “Give this asshole nothing.”

  Tate blinked. “New girl? Naked? And I missed that? What’s her name?”

  Trebble Joe was visibly annoyed. He had no good material to show his fans. He tried again. “You saying you didn’t see her naked?”

  “Who? Am I supposed to remember?” Tate laid on the sofa, resting his head on Alder’s lap. “I’m confused. And bored.”

  Alder patted his head. “Not sure who he’s talking about either.”

  “The new girl!” Trebble Joe made a cutting motion with his hand when they all gave him blank looks. “Come on. You know who I mean.”

  ‘Time’s up!” Jesse sounded way too pleased about ending the interview. “Thanks for coming. You’re welcome to watch the other bands side stage, but I’m afraid my guys need to get ready to open their act.”

  “They gave me fucking nothing!” Trebble Joe ranted as Jesse led him away. “Give me something I can use!”

  “You’re interviewing the tour manager. That’s pathetic. Get a grip, man.” Jesse led the man backstage. “And you didn’t even ask Brave about his hair. You’re a horrible reporter. Sad.”

  “Did you just quote Trump?”

  “No comment.”

  Once the YouTuber was out of hearing, Tate rolled onto the floor, clutching his stomach and laughing. “Did you see him? He’s so pissed! He brought up Trump!”

  “Not going there.” Alder rubbed his hands on his thighs. “Look, I’ve had some time to think. And this crazy little drummer boy was right. Which is kinda scary.” Alder grinned at Tate’s huff. “We’re in this together. The band doesn’t get split apart. I’m sorry I went off like I did.”

  “It’s all good.” Malakai bowed his head as Alder pulled him in for a hug. “Think we should get Brave back to the hairdresser before she murders us all?”

  “Hells yes!” Alder reached out, tipping the hood Brave had worn during the interview back. “I’m sorry. I love you, but… Damn.”

  “I should have just shaved my head.” Brave started walking fast toward the greenroom.

  Alder hurried to catch up with him. “I’m glad you didn’t. With the way you butchered your scalp you’d have ended up with brain damage.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You mad I’m the pretty one now?”

  Brave stopped short. Eyed his brother. “You’re doing perfume ads. We all know how pretty you are. Go put on some blush and fuck off before I ruin your ‘Bucky with the good hair’ do with my fist.”

  “As opposed to Bucky fought a weed wacker look?” Alder held his hands up when Brave lunged at him and Connor held him back. “My bad. You were going for Brittney-Spears-changes-her-mind-mid-shave.”

  Tate slipped up to Malakai’s side. Spoke softly from the side of his mouth. “Are they fighting?”

  Was hard to tell. Brave wasn’t struggling too hard to get loose. For the first time in weeks, Alder was smiling. Laughing. Sure, at Brave’s expense, but he’d never done that before.

  The two didn’t joke around. Or give one another a hard time.

  Malakai grinned and ruffled Tate’s hair.

  “They’re acting like brothers.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brave didn’t know how Alder put up with all the primping. A little black around the eyes, sure. But apparently, the gash on his cheek looked better with some concealer to hide the bruised flesh around it. And the cut above his eye too. And since his hairline was all fucked up, they’d just cover it, and his entire neck, with black body paint.

  If they make me look glam metal I’m not setting foot on that fucking stage.

  The jacket they’d found to pull his ‘new look’ together was all right. Leather styled like armor at the shoulders, with straps across the chest. A pain in the ass to put on, but he liked the feel of it. He had his usual black jeans and knee length boots—these had thick straps along his calves that match the jacket.

  Fine, he wasn’t all fashionable, but he loved his boots. He brought about ten on tour and had a few dozen more at home. Danica teased him once that he was more obsessed with footwear than any model she knew.

  She may be right.

  About twenty minutes later the hairstylist, Kali, who’d resumed grumbling about his hair the second he returned to her tender care, patted his shoulder with a weary sigh.

  “Well, you don’t look like a toddler came at your head with a pair of scissors anymore.” She turned his chair so he could look in the mirror. “What do you think?”

  Checking out his hair he nodded and stood, giving her a quick hug before she yanked open the black barber cape she’d covered him with. “Looks great. Going for a Brandon Lee in The Crow style?”

  “Actually, I was thinking River Phoenix from The Thing Called Love. Only edgier.” Kali fussed with his hair. “I haven’t seen The Crow.”

  “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” He laughed a
s she shoved him toward the door. “Thanks, babe.”

  Letting out a little huff, she followed him. “Would you call Reese ‘babe’?”

  “Nope.” He winked at her. “She ain’t as sweet as you.”

  Kali snickered and shut the door behind him.

  Humming under his breath, Brave made his way to the greenroom. He had some time to chill before they hit the stage and with his improved look, maybe the rest of the band would stop worrying about fan reactions. Sure, they’d talk. That was the point.

  But no one would worry he’d gone off the deep end.

  Tate spotted him first. He hopped to his feet, stepping up to Brave to stroke his freshly shaved jaw. “Ooo, soft. You’re so purdy.”

  “Thanks.” Brave brushed Tate’s hand away. Went to the bar in the corner to grab a beer, surveying the room as he twisted off the cap. “Where are the girls?”

  “Danica’s stylist is still working on Shiori. Sophie’s rejected every outfit they’ve tried so far.” Alder sipped his own beer, eyeing Brave thoughtfully. The edge of his lips quirked. “Your new image Joker from The Dark Knight?”

  Brave gave his darling brother a one finger salute.

  Malakai chuckled. “You need your eyes checked, man. He could totally pass for Eric Draven.”

  “Who?” Tate grabbed a cookie from the tray on the table and stuffed it in his mouth.

  “The Crow.” Malakai frowned at Tate’s confused look. “Really?”

  Holding his beer to his lips, Brave stared at Malakai. He wasn’t sure what shocked him more. That Malakai remembered the main character from the movie, or… Did he just compliment me?

  No way. He was pointing out the obvious.

  Snapping his fingers, Malakai arched a brow as Brave blinked at him. “Wake up, Draven. You look good. Now can you pass me a beer?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Brave took out another beer, handing it over, wondering if he should finish his own. He must be hearing things. “You calling me Draven now?”

  “Sure.” Malakai smirked at him, taking a long swig, then licking his bottom lip. “You still calling me Grimm?”

  Not sure if I should. He shrugged, swallowing hard as he watched Malakai trace his thumb over the lip he’d just licked. What the hell was up with the guy?

  If Brave didn’t know better, he’d think Malakai was flirting. Which shouldn’t faze him. Fuck, Tate did more than flirt. Even Connor had his suggestive moments. He’d fooled around with them both out of boredom.

  But Malakai was different. He didn’t play games.

  He didn’t have to.

  Guys and girls threw themselves at him. He found the closest, semi-private area and did his thing. The few times the band had partied hard and gotten naked with groupies in a shared hotel room, Brave noticed how detached Malakai was with his lovers. They enjoyed every fucking minute—if the moans were anything to go by—but Malakai’s eyes, his tone, were always cold.

  His eyes weren’t cold now.

  And was it getting fucking hot in here? Brave brought his hand, cool and moist from the beer bottle, up to rub the back of his neck.

  Alder snorted. “Well, that didn’t last long.”

  Huh?

  Malakai stood, grabbing a handful of napkins off the table, a knowing smile on his lips. “You made a mess.”

  Keep looking at me like that and I’m going to.

  “Your hand.” Malakai grabbed his wrist and Brave’s stomach flipped. Lowering his voice, Malakai pressed the napkins into his palm. “Pull yourself together.”

  Glancing down, Brave’s face heated even more. He’d forgotten about the paint on his neck. His entire hand was covered in black. He scowled and tried to rub it off. His hair stuck to the sweat slicking his face.

  He brushed it back.

  His stupid brother practically fell over laughing. Tate choked on his cookie. Connor slapped Tate’s back, snickering.

  Rather than join in, Malakai sighed and picked up a fresh napkin. “You’re making it worse. Hold still.”

  “I can fucking do it.” Brave stepped back.

  Latching onto one of the straps on his jacket, Malakai jerked him forward.

  The laughing from the guys stopped short.

  “How about you let me show the guys we can get along.” Malakai’s lips thinned as he studied Brave’s face. His gaze settled on the patched-up skin on his cheek. “Please.”

  The ‘please’ did Brave in. He held still as Malakai carefully wiped his cheek, trying to ignore the painful swell of his dick in his tight jeans, hoping the man didn’t notice.

  “Shit, this stuff doesn’t come off easy.” Malakai paused, glancing over his shoulder at Tate. “Pass me the vodka.”

  “Vodka?” Brave’s brow furrowed, wishing Malakai would fucking finish and back off. “I don’t mix, dude.”

  “Mix? You haven’t even started your beer.” Letting out a soft laugh, Malakai poured a bit of vodka on the napkin. “Remember when we had all that paint on us for the video? You all used some kind of oil to take it off, but I got an allergic reaction. So I used alcohol.”

  “Smart.” Brave relaxed as Malakai fixed his face. He’d always admired how sharp the other man was—resourceful and all that, which came in handy when they’d been managing the band on their own.

  And in situations like this.

  The door opened and Jesse stepped into the room. “On in five.” He blinked at Brave and Malakai. Looked over at Alder. “Should I be worried?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Alder speaking up made Brave realize all the guys had gotten real quiet.

  He caught them staring from the corner of his eye and sighed. “Nothing to see here.”

  Jesse gave him a level look, then inclined his head. “He’s right. Come on, we’ve got a sold-out show. Over a thousand people.” He held up a hand when Brave’s eyes narrowed. “Our Security detail is ready and the venue has its own guys. I spent an hour talking with the owner and assured him you’ll all stay on stage. This place has a good reputation, and after the last show, he needed some guarantees that we wouldn’t fuck that up. So don’t, okay?”

  “We’ll be good,” Tate said, sweetly, chomping down another cookie with a smirk.

  Which clearly didn’t reassure Jesse at all.

  Dabbing at one last spot on Brave’s cheek, Malakai turned to face their tour manager. “No fighting and no telling fans to fuck shit up. We got it.”

  “Good.” Jesse hesitated, eyes on Brave. “They did a good job.”

  “Thanks.”

  Lips parted, Jesse gave him and Malakai another once over, then backed out of the room, letting the door shut behind him.

  A few minutes later, the band headed to the stage. Everyone was in a good mood. Except for Alder, who kept shooting Brave dirty looks. If he was pissed about Jesse giving Brave a second glance, he could work that out with his man.

  Brave didn’t have time to worry about his brother’s jealousy. As soon as Tate ran out to take his place behind the drums, the crowd went wild.

  Connor and Malakai followed, the three of them starting up the opening of Fallen Star. Alder walked on stage, picked up his guitar, and flashed a broad smile as he cut in with the familiar chords.

  Brave sauntered up to the mic and thrusting devil horns high. He grabbed the mic, growling as screams rose all around him. As he sang the world narrowed to the lyrics, to the rhythm, to the beat pulsing through him. What he looked like didn’t matter. All the shit the band had to deal with was nothing but a scribble on the side of a page filled with words bleeding out from his very soul.

  This was one of the first songs he’d written after LOST disbanded. Months after Valor died, when he still thought his future was fucked.

  He lived for the music. Lots of bands talked shit, like they felt the same, then sold out, producing songs that appealed to the masses. Softer, with repetitive beats. Catchy stanzas with zero substance. The words were easy to remember, kinda like pop music.

  Some even got
turned into pop music, earning the bands royalties. Money and fame, the grand prize, right?

  Fuck that.

  Winter’s Wrath was hardcore, intense, and that wasn’t going to change. He’d heard a few covers of their songs done soft, but the best of those amateur musicians somehow managed to express the depth of the lyrics. Bring out the undertone of anger, or sadness, or defiance. He’d messaged a few to tell him how much he enjoyed their work.

  Their replies were awesome. Every single one was excited to hear from him and asked if he’d mind them selling their covers. Without hesitation, he gave them the green light.

  Imitation is the best form of flattery and all that.

  But the real fans weren’t satisfied with imitation. They wanted Winter’s Wrath. They sang along, screamed his name, and reacted to every word with the emotion he’d hoped to inspire.

  “When the blazing sun is gone,

  So very long before the dawn

  Your tiny light comes from on high,

  We whisper wishes as you die.”

  The final notes trailed off and he let the fans repeat the chorus one last time. Stepping forward, he looked them over.

  “How the fuck we doing tonight, Kansas City!”

  Wild cheers flowed around him. This wasn’t the biggest city they played in, but after a long span between events here, many had come from far and wide to see Winter’s Wrath. Exciting and humbling.

  But they didn’t want his thanks. They wanted all the attitude he brought to every performance.

  And he had no problem giving it to them.

  “Not much to do around here, but you all ain’t boring. You make your own fun, don’t you?” He let out a low laugh into the mic. “I see some hot ladies in the front row, but they’re being real quiet. Are the ladies here wild or what?”

  On cue half, the women in the front row lifted their shirts, some flashing black bras, others bare breasts. And the roaring response was deafening. This wasn’t a shy group. Everyone appreciated the display.

  “Beautiful.” Brave drew out a growly sound of approval. A soft sigh escaped a few red lips. “Now for the most important question…” He paused and the whole crowd leaned forward as one. “Where are my S.L.U.T.S?”