Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(20)

Simon wrapped his hand around the mic and used the stand to dip down as the lyrics curled in his belly and out his mouth. He smiled for the legion of cameras, the faces, the guests both famous and not. Like the A-listers from the Tribeca scene and social media storms with their dead eyes and interest in only what the cameras could provide.

Those were his target tonight.

He always had one.

To win over the jaded and self-involved was his goal. He wanted every arm up and all eyes on him. The low hanging lighting rig was his playground.

When the guitar solo started, he scooted to the back of the small stage and tapped Jazz’s cymbals before taking his other mic.

“Simon,” she said with that air of warning.

He waggled his eyebrows. “Gotta give them something to remember.”

Lila tried to catch his attention from the side stage but he kept his eyes on the prize. He ran to the front of the stage and leaped for the rig.

The crowd gasped and two security guys scrambled from the back. Thankful that he’d started using Deacon’s pull-up bar when he was bored, he lifted himself up and monkeyed his way onto the farthest arm of the rig.

It was made to hold thousands of pounds of equipment and he knew it could hold one hundred and seventy pounds more. He was lean and agile as opposed to Deacon’s massive size.

He let one arm dangle free with his mic and the crowd surged forward. Drinks forgotten, camera phones up and filming. “We’re here to party tonight. You get to hear our new shit and I want you to know the words by the end of the night. Do you hear me?”

The deafening scream was just what he needed. He glanced to the back of the room to the huge screens. The cameras were on him and sending out to the live stream.

As the song wound down and “Monster” started, he tucked his mic into the front of his leathers. The metal slid against his belly and crowded his cock until the leather creaked.

He swung in on the stage and landed in a crouch before he prowled the space, changing out his portable mic for his box. He curled his fingers around it and his lips brushed the familiar metal.

The growl at the chorus came from his gut. When he stood, there was Margo in his path. He crowded her as the lyrics swirled between them and they did a minor dance compared to “Kashmir” from the rehearsal.

Then it all changed when she leaned in and her smoky voice came in at the end of the chorus with the rest of the band.

His eyes widened and he melted back away from her into the shadows of the stage as the lights went down for the show’s first cover.

Simon’s heart drilled against his sternum as the drums to “Closer to the Edge” came out of the night. He lifted the mic to his lips. The lyrics falling out as they always did. Like they escaped him without his permission.

The song was to pull the rest of the crowd in. He surged to the front of the stage and held the mic up as fists rose to follow his directive.

The lyrics were like gunfire and the piano parts that hadn’t been in rehearsal swelled up and layered in.

He spun around. The song was too drum-heavy for Jazz to play the keyboards. Margo stood behind the keys. It was a simple song from that standpoint, and the sound had always been missing from their versions of it.

It was just that much more because of her addition. He stalked the stage and went forehead to forehead with Nicky as he sung the next verse. Both their voices blending into the slight distortion.

He mussed Nick’s shaggy hair and bounced away to the front of the stage to drag the crowd in again. With Jazz’s powerful drums behind him, the club was completely his. The houselights were bright to the back of the house as they extended the song for another round with a hand gesture from him.

Lights twirled and the crowd screamed for them.

He hopped down into the crowd and let people sing with him from the first row. His cord only went so far. When he felt the tug of the end of his feed, he stopped. The crowd rallied around him, jumping as Gray and Nick dueled out a final battle cry from their axes.

Deacon stood in his spot at the center of the stage with his arms up until the crowd died down then he held a hand out to Simon.

Goddamn Gigantor hauled him back on the stage and they did a quick, fierce hug before he landed in the center of his band.

Of his family.

The lights went down to a moody blue and red that were the signature lights of the club and he fell into “Undertow”, their epic “The Becoming” type song on this album and one of Gray and Nick’s songs from the cabin. It taxed his pipes with long drawn out notes that he could only do when he was well and truly warmed up.

Flowing into “Echoes” until the midpoint of the set. He stood in the center of the stage and stripped out of his tank and tossed it into the crowd.

His chest bellowed with the need to catch a breath. “How are we doing?”

The blond from outside earlier was up front. She’d won one of the coveted spots from the impromptu video contest. He sat down in front of her. “Hello again.”

She pushed back her sweaty hair. A refreshing woman that wasn’t afraid to get involved in a show. Most of the pretty girls made the least amount of movements so their makeup and hair survived until the end of the night. So they remained the glossy, too perfect version of a fan. Ones that he never went for at a show these days.

He’d had his fill on the first tour.

Now, he wanted the one who knew the lyrics instead of just wanting a piece of his fame. He didn’t mind the fantasy, but he hated being only a fantasy.