Manaconda (Hammered #1)(17)

When I opened my eyes, she was there.

She was off to the side with her arms banded over her iPad, her eyes as wide and as wild as the adrenaline racing through my veins. My band knew they were in the zone. They ripped into the next song and I chased the heat.

This song was just as powerful, though far lighter. Even with the loss-laced lyrics, the guitars and piano crashed out a soaring blend of hope under the heartbreak. I’d co-written half the album with Keys and Zach. Disillusionment had been my best friend for the last year.

I’d needed Keys to keep me from writing the next Bukowski book of poetry. She added hope to my darker lyrics. Zach was a wordsmith with chords where I belabored lyrics alone before ever adding music to a song. Between the three of us, we wrote the bones of the album and then the band took over as a whole.

And now it was finally going out to the masses. We peppered in older hits, new songs, and a cover song to make the crowd lose their collective shit. By the time we hit the ninety-minute mark I was covered in sweat, Wyatt had lost his shirt, and Owen had raced up and down the aisle three times.

Even the A-listers in the balcony were on their feet. I spotted a trio of women bumping hips. Purple roots that bled into silvery white hair glinted under the lights. Blue tips flashed as a waterfall of dark hair twirled over bare shoulders.

More Ripper Records family.

I took my backup mic with me as I ran backstage, and up the secret passageway to the balcony. No one knew where I’d gone. So when I picked up the lyrics to “Man in the Box” from Alice in Chains at the back of the balcony, everyone screamed.

I walked up to Jamie DuCaine from Brooklyn Dawn and handed her the extra microphone. She knew every word. Her voice was a husky ode to Joan Jett, mine held backup with the long, slow whines that made Alice in Chains famous.

It was a mashup that shouldn’t work, and yet it did.

Lindsey York’s too-beautiful-to-be-real face split into a wide grin as she stole my mic. She pushed me down into her chair and plopped herself on my lap. The crowd went wild, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Now, Hunter, I came here to listen to you, not to work.” Lindsey waved the mic my way.

I crossed my arms behind my head and kicked my feet out. “You come into my house, you work.”

She brought it back to her mouth. “Is that so?”

I nodded.

Lindsey climbed off of me, holding my microphone hostage. “Do I get to play one of my songs?”

I leaned forward, off the balcony. “Yo, Bats,” I shouted.

He held up a hand like a visor. “Yo.”

I jerked my head toward Lindsey. “You know any Brooklyn Dawn shit?”

Jamie wrapped an arm around my neck and leaped on my back. “Shit?”

I grinned and gave an exaggerated grunt. “Aww, come on, Jamie, I didn’t mean it.”

She wrapped her long-ass legs around my waist and managed to get herself around the front of me. She pinned me against the seat. The click and whir of cameras and the flashing red lights of video made me groan.

By tomorrow, the papers would report that I was going out with Jamie. Or at least f*cking her into next Wednesday. But it wasn’t Jamie DuCaine that I wanted. A week ago, I would have welcomed the dare in her eyes.

She pinned me with one strong hand at the center of my chest and wiggled against my thighs. The invitation was there in her eyes. One nod and I’d have a night full of hot sex. Me and Jamie had been dancing around a hookup since Christmas.

Too bad my head was full of orange blossoms and a stubborn redhead. Jamie would have been infinitely easier.

Before I could look for a way to extricate myself, Jamie popped up off of me and raced to the back of the balcony. Bats stood at the doorway with Patrick behind him holding an extra guitar.

“Want one of these?”

Jamie took the guitar and looped it over her shoulder. The two of them dueled out the opening solo to Brooklyn Dawn’s “Fight Song”. Lindsey’s voice was as smooth as hot caramel over ice cream.

The crowd welcomed it.

My band loved it.

I was just relieved to have everyone’s attention off of me for a moment. Jamie’s sexual pull worked with just about anyone. Bats was definitely into her. A hot chick who played guitar was about as crackalicious as it came for my buddy.

Sweet and clear, Lindsey’s voice carried from the rafters to the bowl of people below. She was a powerhouse created for the mic.

I slipped past them, smiling at a few actresses and a producer I’d met at a party. The gleam of satisfaction in Dex’s eyes made me want to wind my arm back and smash his face in, but I managed to pass him and disappear back into the stairwell. I flipped out my earpieces for a moment of silence.

I was used to Owen’s bass as my guide, but right now I needed a moment. I rushed down the stairs to the backstage area and downed a bottle of water, then another. I’d poured out my weight in adrenaline and sweat. The crowd fed me like a drug, but I always escaped for a song to breathe for a moment.

The Brooklyn Dawn song ended. Just as I was about to push myself back through the curtains, I heard Bats urge both women into a Joan Jett cover.

Getting two songs off was a gift.

At the edge of the side stage, a flash of pink and cream turned my cock to stone. Kenny.

She turned and met my gaze. The closer I got to her, the more she hugged her damn iPad. I was half a foot away from her, my heart racing. Her pupils were blown wide in her amber eyes. I didn’t hesitate.