Halo (Fallen Angel, #1)(32)

“Hey, man, you okay?” Jagger asked. “Need somethin’ for that hangover?”

“Uh, no. I’m good.” More like in a load of shit, but that was nothing I was about to share.

We started things out by working on the song I’d brought to them yesterday. It was easy to keep my distance from Viper, but stopping my brain from tracking his every move or thinking about last night on repeat? That wasn’t shutting off anytime soon.

It was after we’d come back from a quick lunch that I finally had to look Viper’s way. If he’d gotten the hint I was ignoring him, he never said anything. He was the same old Viper, cracking on the guys with his sharp tongue and focusing on the music. As a matter of fact, the only thing different was the way he didn’t invade my personal space…and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“I had an idea last night,” Viper said when we’d gathered back in the rehearsal room. He held a sheet up that had his barely legible scrawl all over it. “I think Halo’s song is great, and I think working on some tracks that are in the same vein would be a good direction for us to go. But what if we threw in one or two tracks that would sound more familiar to the fans that follow us over?”

“You got something in mind?” Killian asked.

Viper nodded and walked to where I stood behind the mic. It was the first time we’d locked gazes today, and as he stopped in front of me, my pulse sped up.

“Will you do the honors, Angel?” he said, holding the lyrics toward me.

I was still “Angel,” but the way he said it held none of the flirtatious edge it had before.

“Sure.” I took the ripped sheet of paper from him as he picked up his guitar.

“Something like this.” Viper played a few notes as I skimmed the words he’d written, trying to get a feel for them— Whoa. I blinked, reading them again. Holy fuck, the lyrics were filthy, in complete opposition to what we’d worked on that morning, and— Had he said he wrote this last night?

Viper’s face gave nothing away, but I knew mine had to. I could never hide the flush that came so easy to my skin, and definitely not when I knew exactly what this song was about. Or rather, who.

Me.

“What’s the song called?” Killian asked.

When I didn’t answer, Viper looked at the guys. “‘Hard.’”

Killian opened his mouth to respond, but then glanced at me and seemed to think better of it. “Right.”

“So I was thinking I’d start with this”—Viper played a guitar riff—“and then Slade, you’d come in with a fucking pounding beat. Like pure, headboard-banging sex, you feel me? And then Kill, the bass has gotta throb. Jagger, I haven’t gotten that far yet, but you’d know better than me what sounds good.” Viper continued to play and then nodded at me. “This is where you come in.”

“I can’t sing this,” I said, shaking my head.

Viper stopped playing. “Sure you can.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What’s the problem, Halo?” Killian frowned.

“I think it’s too risqué for our angel.” Viper’s lips twisted. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll still get into heaven.”

I shot a glare in his direction and looked back down at what Viper thought would be a good idea for me to say out fucking loud.

“Show me,” Killian said, gesturing for the lyrics, and I handed them over. He nodded along as he read them, and when he was done, he let out a low whistle. “Christ, that face singing those words? Viper’s got a point.”

“You’re serious?” I asked.

“Yup.” He stood up and took his place to my left. “Show us what you got.”

Singing a song Viper had written after our interaction last night and probably at the same time I’d been getting off to him? Yeah. Sure. No problem.

“Come on, Angel. Surely you’ve been frustrated in the past. Tap into that.” To anyone else, Viper’s words might’ve seemed innocent, but I caught his hidden meaning good and damn well.

How had I ever thought he was anything other than a pain in the ass?

As Viper began to play again, the others waited to hear what I didn’t want to say, and when the asshole gave me my cue, I went through the motions.



“I wish I could say I’m sorry For the state you get me in

But nothing seems to help

This ache you cause within



I’ve thought about how to fix it, What might do the trick

And fucking you for hours

Just might get it licked—”



“Okay, hold up.” Killian held up his hand. “It’s not gonna work if you don’t put the frustration behind it. It’s like you’re reading the words.”

“I am reading the words.”

“But that’s not how it works. You don’t just read the words to your song.”

“My song doesn’t talk about blue balls.”

Killian sighed. “Do the lyrics really bother you that much?”

I wanted to say, Yes, because those lyrics are about me. But dissing a song just because Viper wrote it wasn’t being a team player, and it wasn’t going to make any future songs I worked on any easier either.