Blow My Fuse (Hollywood Demons Book 2)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  “Did you happen to ask the suits for any advice on the sexual harassment lawsuit Mallory should slap on Davey?” I ask.

  The question startles Val out of her self-imposed calm. “Hardly. All anyone has to do is look at your video or the dozens of videos of her on stage every night.”

  “That’s just fucking great,” I snarl. “Playing a part for us means she deserves to have creeps like Davey come on to her? That’s what you’re saying, Val?”

  For a second, a brief glimmer of remorse flickers over her face. “No, I don’t think she deserves that. But that’s how Davey and his lawyers would make it look.”

  I nod, because she’s right. And maybe if this wasn’t so personal, I might have seen it the same way at one point in my life. Not anymore. It’s becoming crystal clear to me that honor and integrity are practically non-existent in this business.

  “We need you two at the arena by seven,” she continues.

  My mouth twists into a smirk. Can’t wait to share the news. “I sent Mallory home today.”

  Val sighs. “I suppose that’s for the best.”

  “Do ya?”

  “Don’t you think that was a decision the band should’ve made?” Jacob asks.

  Apparently, I didn’t punch this motherfucker hard enough yesterday.

  I push away from the wall and slap my hands on the table, leaning over to stare him straight in the eye. “Gee, I don’t know. Shouldn’t the band have made the decision to whore out my girlfriend for a few extra tour dates?”

  He slides his gaze to the floor. “I wasn’t trying to whore her out.”

  “No? What exactly would you call it when you lure her to a room where she’s alone with a half-naked old man who wants to fuck her in exchange for giving us some extra tour dates? A matchmaking arrangement?”

  He lifts his hands in the air and shrugs. “A mutually beneficial agreement?”

  “Have you always been this much of an asshole? Or did the little taste of fame get to you?”

  He pounds his fist against the table and winces—pussy. “Did you forget all the shit we did in the early days? All the work we put in? The endless walking up and down the strip, hustling to get even the shittiest bars to let us play? The sleeping in cars? Sleeping with girls we didn’t even like so we had a place to stay or so they’d buy us groceries? Forget that already, Chaser?”

  Val winces at that last part. Since I’m not in the mood to worry about her feelings at the moment, I ignore her. “Those were choices we made for ourselves with our eyes wide open.”

  “Well, Mallory was given a choice, and she chose you over one of the biggest rock stars on the planet.” Jacob’s voice rises to a mocking pitch. “It must be love. Isn’t that fucking sweet?”

  “You jealous, bro?” I sneer.

  He glares at me. “I thought it was a way to help us and her at the same time.”

  “If you were trying to be so helpful, why be sneaky? Why go behind my back?”

  He sits there with his mouth hanging open.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Enough,” Val says. “What Jacob did was stupid and somewhere deep down he regrets it. Are we all able to move on from this?”

  She turns her glare on Jacob, clearly waiting for him to recite whatever lines she fed him before the meeting.

  Finally, he glances up and meets my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  He explained his utterly bullshit reasoning. I didn’t buy it. So, yeah, now he’s genuinely sorry. Honestly, his excuses aren’t much different from Mallory’s analysis this morning. And I don’t think I was off the mark with the jealousy question.

  Surprisingly, he goes one step further. “I’ll apologize to Mallory when we get home. I hope she doesn’t hate me too much.”

  I shake my head. “Nah, she has zero respect for you now, but she doesn’t hate you.”

  He snorts. “Fair enough.”

  “Are we good?” Val asks.

  “I still don’t trust him.” I shift my gaze to Val. “Or you. But for now, we’re fine.”

  She coughs and looks away. “All right then.” Her voice takes on a stronger edge, and she passes her gaze over each one of us. “Let’s blow the roof off these last few shows. Rock those fans so hard they won’t even remember who Bloody Revolver is.”

  Garrett stands and lifts his arms over his head. “Fuckin’ A! Let’s do this, motherfuckers.”

  After the heated talk, I finally laugh and slap Garrett on the back. Val gives me a stiff one-armed hug, and Alvin thumps my back a few times.

  I’m not quite ready to hug it out with Jacob yet, but I slap his hand when he holds it up.

  While I’ve made peace with my band—sort of—I doubt the situation with Davey Revolver will be resolved as smoothly. I’m not sure how much lower the guy can sink, but I’ll definitely have to watch my back for the rest of the tour.

  Chapter Four

  Mallory

  I drag myself off the plane with a heavy heart. I’m so out of it, I get lost on my way to baggage claim but finally find my way there.

  “Mallory!”

  My groggy eyes scan the area, finally landing on Audrey waving frantically.

  “What are you doing here?” I rush over and accept her embrace.

  “Chaser called and asked if I’d come get you.”

  “He did?” I assumed I’d find a taxi, but I appreciate his thoughtfulness. I can’t imagine how big his phone bill will be when he finally checks out.

  “Are you okay?” She rests her hand on my shoulder and peers into my bleary eyes.

  “I’m exhausted.”

  “Let’s grab your stuff and get out of here.” She loops her arm through mine and leads me to the carousel.

  Thankfully, my luggage doesn’t take long to spit out of the chute.

  “You’re coming home with me,” Audrey announces on our way to the parking lot.

  Before I can protest, she holds up one hand. “I’m not at the apartment anymore. I’m renting a place on Walnut street. It’s got a guest room and everything. You’ll be safe there.”

  “Sounds perfect.” I wasn’t looking forward to explaining to Vickie, Holly, and Dorothy what happened in England.

  “You’ll tell me all about it tomorrow.”

  Unable to formulate any more words today, I simply nod.

  The next morning, sunlight streaming through the sheer white curtains wakes me. I stretch and blink. It takes a second to remember where I am and the incidents that landed me here.

  I wander into the living room, admiring Audrey’s place. It’s a lovely home with dark wood floors. The walls are painted in an eclectic variety of colors. Bright rugs, embroidered wall tapestries, and more gauzy curtains give it a bohemian vibe that suits Audrey much more than her previous white and beige apartment.

  “Morning,” she greets me when I find my way into the kitchen. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “Thanks.” I glance around the teal kitchen splashed with red accents. “I love the house.”

  “It’s cute, right? Most of the time, it’s nice and quiet too.” She gestures toward the front door. “There’s some asshole rocker a few streets over who throws loud parties, but other than that, it’s good.”

  I chuckle because I’m familiar with asshole rockers and their loud parties.

  For some reason, Audrey can’t stop grinning.

  “What’s up with you?”

  “Nothing.” She sways from side to side for a second. “I’m actually renting it from one of my…from a guy I’m seeing.”

  “Oh?” That seems like more personal involvement than Audrey prefers. “How is that working out?” I ask casually.

  “Not bad. It’s no big deal. He’s in real estate, so he has several properties.” She snaps her mouth closed.

  “What aren’t you saying?”

  She glances down and taps her perfectly red manicured nails against the counter. “He’s kind of asked to see me exclusively.” She takes a deep breath.
“I mean, asked me to see him exclusively.”

  “And how do you feel about that?” I ask carefully, afraid I’ll offend her.

  “He’s very kind.” Her mouth twists. “But it’s scary. That’s really not what I ever pictured happening. I figured I’d escort until I turned thirty-five, bank some money, then run off to Paris, bum around Europe, and finally settle down in Italy. Just me and fifty or so cats.”

  I chuckle softly. “But?”

  “I like him. A lot. He says he’ll move money into an account for me, so I feel secure about my future.” She pauses and quietly adds, “He says he’s ready to run away to Paris with me right now.”

  I sit back and blink. “Whoa. That’s…quite an offer.”

  “Yeah.” She looks up at me from under her lashes. “Do you think I’m crazy for considering it?”

  “Not at all.” I can’t help adding, “Just be careful.”

  She heaves out a deep breath. “Thank you.” She slaps the counter, signaling the end of that conversation and diving into another. “Enough about me. Tell me what happened. Chaser couldn’t talk long, and he said it was up to you if you wanted to share the details.”

  My lips twitch. Chaser never stops being thoughtful or worrying about my needs. Regret for leaving him settles over me again. “You know how they were opening for Bloody Revolver over there, right?”

  There’s a subtle shift in her expression. Her gaze darts away for a second before she nods. “I remember.”

  I recount the whole story for her. The amazing shows, the fun Chaser and I had exploring England, Jacob’s increasing annoyance with me—how did I not see that for what it was at the time? Finally, I end with Davey’s proposition, Chaser’s rescue, and our decision that it was safer for me to come home than finish the tour with them.

  “Wow,” she breathes out, absorbing my story. “That’s…intense, Mallory.”

  “Good word for it.” I force a laugh I’m not really feeling at the moment.

  “You’re lucky. Chaser cares for you so much. A lot of guys would have encouraged you to…you know, take the job. He probably risked everything—”

  “I know.”

  “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad.” She bites her lip and a bit of mischief glitters in her usually serious brown eyes. “If I tell you something, you have to promise not to repeat it.”

  Unsure of where this new direction in our conversation is headed, I shrug.

  “Davey’s a big…um, spender at my agency. And probably several other ones in town.” She touches her chest and quickly adds. “I’ve never been on a date with him. But I know one of the girls he sees a lot.” She tilts her head and studies me. “You guys actually look a lot alike.”

  “Creepy.”

  “Anyway, he’s boring, loves to talk about himself, and his massive ego is definitely not in proportion to his dick.”

  The laughter that bursts out of me is a welcome relief. Didn’t think I’d be able to laugh about this situation, well, ever. “Gross. Not surprised, but still, yuck.”

  She skirts the edge of the counter to join me on the other side and gives me a big hug. “I’m so happy you’re here. You can stay with me until Chaser gets back if you want.”

  “Won’t I be in the way?” I raise an eyebrow. She blushes when she gets my meaning.

  “Not at all.”

  I have to go back to the apartment to unpack and call my agent, but for now, I accept the offer to hide out at Audrey’s for a little longer.

  My gaze strays to the clock.

  I close my eyes and wish Chaser luck.

  My body may have made it home to the states, but my heart’s about to go on stage in England.

  Chapter Five

  Chaser

  Tonight’s show defines tense.

  Before sound check, we had another quick, slightly-less-awkward band meeting to go over the set list.

  We arrived on time and ready to go, but Bloody Revolver’s sound guys fucked around for so long, none of our equipment was properly checked.

  The crowd’s large. Easily one of the largest we’ve played.

  And we’ve been having nothing but trouble since the lights went down.

  “Revolver has a fucking death wish,” I growl, when my mic goes out for the second time. Jacob’s wasn’t working at all when we first took the stage. Fucker was screaming his ass off, and no one could hear him for about ten minutes.

  The confused looks and people pointing to their ears finally clued him in to the problem. We had to stop and get someone on stage to fix it.

  Basically, we look like a bunch of unprofessional dicks in front of a new-to-us audience.

  Normally, my solos last anywhere from five to seven minutes, depending on the energy from the crowd and what time we have to be off stage. I usually channel my emotions into a musical journey and lose myself in the music, but tonight, I’m not feeling any of it. I power through, but my playing feels uninspired at best.

  When we launch into ‘Candy Jar,’ I want to puke. I wish we’d cut it from the set tonight. My gaze wanders to the edge of the stage where Mallory’s usually waiting, and my irritation over the whole situation rises again.

  Playing has always soothed my chaotic soul, keeping my hands occupied and my mind focused. It’s where I reach a peaceful state, much like riding my bike. But tonight, I can’t find my center.

  Maybe the guys are off-balance, too. Jacob’s ragged voice lacks its usual soul. Overall, our playing’s choppy and clipped. It feels too loose, and thanks to the rushed soundcheck, out of tune.

  While I’ve noticed the crowds in the U.K. are generally more reserved than our audiences back home, tonight they’re barely even paying attention, further spiking my irritation.

  When our set mercifully finishes, I storm off the stage. “Fucking bullshit, Val,” I shout at her as I pass by.

  She hurries down the hall to catch up to me. “What did you expect?”

  “I’m not rehashing this with you.” I stop so fast, she almost trips against me. “Fix it.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  My fuse is short, threatening to blow any moment. “Your fucking job. Call the lawyers. Remind that asshole we have a contract. Do whatever the fuck it is we pay you to do.”

  She huffs and runs off muttering and cursing to herself.

  Still livid, I move out of the way of everyone hustling backstage and lean against the wall. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and rest my head against the concrete. Almost done. A few more shows and I’ll be on my way home to my girl.

  “That’s Chaser!” Someone shrieks. “That’s him!”

  The eager voices invade my moment and the corners of my mouth tip up.

  I set my fury over the shitty show aside and search for the source of the chatter. A cluster of fans jump and wave from behind a short metal barricade.

  The security guard who works for the venue holds one beefy arm out, keeping the fans at bay as I approach.

  “Ease up. I want to say hello.”

  “It’s on you, man,” he grumbles and steps back a few feet.

  “I love you, Chaser!” A girl thrusts a little white notebook with pink pages in my hand. Better than the underwear I was asked to sign earlier but still kind of odd.

  “Thank you for coming to see us.” I hand her the notebook and move to the next person. Quite a few people turned out for Kickstart; I spend the next twenty or so minutes signing everything from T-shirts to ticket stubs.

  “You were amazing! I love you!” A girl screams in my face when I finally reach the end of the line.

  “Thanks, sweetheart. What’s your name?” I ask as I scribble my signature on the liner notes from our first cassette.

  “Brenda.”

  “Well, Brenda, sorry the sound was so bad tonight.”

  The crowd eager to see me has thinned out, most of the people moving back into the main part of the club to catch Revolver’s set. Not this one. She’s intensely focused on me.<
br />
  “It doesn’t matter. I’m so happy I got to see you in person. This is just the ultimate…”

  Her voice trails off and the color drains from her face. Fuck, I’m not exactly skilled in CPR if she passes out.

  “Calm down. You all right?”

  She nods, but her skin’s still chalky and her hands shaky. “I never expected to meet you.”

  “You want to meet Jacob, too?” Girls always want to meet that little jackass.

  Her hands flutter in front of her chest, drawing my attention to the Kickstart T-shirt she’s sporting. Something about it lifts the gloom the last couple days have left on me. There has always been a reason I love music that goes beyond pussy, booze, and partying.

  “Can my friend Melissa come with me? She was too nervous to say hello to you.”

  I flash what I’ve been told is a charming smile. “Am I that terrifying, Brenda?”

  She blushes. “I don’t think so.”

  I try to remain as calm and normal as possible when her friend shyly walks over, so she doesn’t freak the fuck out too.

  “Enjoy the show?”

  She nods.

  “Looking forward to seeing Bloody Revolver, Melissa?” Yeah, Davey’s scum of the earth, but the fans don’t need to know about our personal beef.

  She shakes her head. “No, we only came to see you,” she answers in a soft voice. These two don’t look like our usual fans. They’re certainly not groupies. Way too quiet and over-dressed. Probably still in high school. But they’re sweet and genuine as I talk to them about their favorite Kickstart songs.

  “‘Cry it Out’ is my favorite,” the shier one says.

  That’s one I wrote most of the lyrics for and I’m surprised she mentions it since we never play it live.

  “I wrote that about a girl I knew in high school.” It’s basically an anti-suicide ballad. We recorded it before big power ballads were all the rage, and the suits have been after us to revamp it and re-record it, so they can exploit the shit out of it—something that pisses me off every time they float the suggestion.

  She nods. “I know. I read it in an interview you did.”