Sinners On Tour 03 Hot Ticket (3 page)

Jace moved his ice pack from his left hand to this right. The swelling was starting to go down, but he knew he wouldn’t play for shit tonight. They were opening for Exodus End, in front of a sold out crowd. In fucking Las Vegas, Nevada. This should be a huge boost to their music careers, and they were all but guaranteed to suck. Sinners was moving up in the business, but Exodus End was at the top of the genre with no signs of slowing down. Could Sinners have picked a worse concert to be off their game? Not likely.

Rock star hair wet from a recent shower, Eric sank onto the sofa beside Jace. “How’s the hand?”

Jace shrugged. “I’ll live.”

“Yeah, but more importantly, can you play?”

Jace looked up at Eric, who had three thin strips of tape on his temple holding his wound closed. “Should be able to. How’s Trey?”

“He’s taking a nap.”

Jace drew his brows together. “A nap?” That didn’t sound like Trey. Shouldn’t he be out finding some girl to fuck for a couple hours? Or some guy? Trey didn’t care either way. “Maybe we should take him to the doctor.”

“I think he’s kind of down about Brian getting married this afternoon. He won’t say anything, of course, but Brian isn’t going to have as much time for his best friend now that Wifey Sinclair is in the picture.”

Jace guessed that made sense. Trey and Brian had been best friends for almost twenty years. They were even roommates. Trey was bound to feel left out now that Brian was married. “Yeah.”

With no warning, Eric slapped Jace on the back of the head. “Why didn’t you ever mention that you fight like a UFC champion?”

Jace glanced up at him. “You never asked.”

“Where did you learn to kick ass?”

The cabin of the tour bus seemed to close in on Jace. He did not like to think about his past, much less talk about it. He stared at the ice pack on his hand and shrugged. “I dunno. How about you? You were kickin’ some ass.”

Jace hoped to change the focus from himself to Eric. It usually worked to dissuade prying. Especially with Eric, attention whore extraordinaire.

“I had no choice but to learn to fight. I was shuffled from foster home to foster home for fifteen years. I didn’t get the benefit of being matched with a sponsor who wanted to help kids or make a healthy family. They were all just looking for an easy paycheck. Half of them didn’t even feed me.” He shrugged, his blue eyes brightening as he effortlessly abandoned thoughts of his past. Jace wished he was capable of doing that. “Knocking heads together is fun though, right?”

Fun?
No, not really. Validating? Yeah, totally. “I guess. What started that fight anyway?”

“You didn’t see that bouncer put Sed in a choke hold? He didn’t even release him when I told him he was a professional singer. I had to deck him one.”

Jace would have probably decked him one too. Sed’s voice was one of those things that made Sinners so unique. Jace smiled slightly. “I’m glad we kicked their asses then.”

“We should go rehearse.” Eric launched to his feet. “Our set is about half the length it usually is. I just know I’ll end up kicking off with the intro to ‘Twisted’ when I should be playing ‘Good-bye Is Not Forever.’”

Jace chuckled. “I have the feeling we’re gonna suck tonight anyway.” He climbed from the comfortable leather sofa and tossed his melting ice pack in the tour bus’s small freezer.

“No one will notice. The fans will be too excited to see Exodus End to give a rat’s ass what we do.”

“I think they’ll notice that we suck.”

Eric chuckled. “Don’t worry. No one ever listens to the bass guitarist. Suck as much as you want.”

Jace bit his lip to prevent himself from telling Eric off. The tension was really starting to get to him, and he needed an outlet. How many hours until he could visit Mistress V? He glanced at the clock on the stereo.
Shit.
Four hours too many.

After rehearsal and a quick bite of leftover wedding cake, Jace stood backstage off by himself, trying to psyche himself up enough to play live in front of twelve thousand people. The swelling in his hands had gone down, but his fingers lacked their usual flexibility. He feared that they’d let Exodus End down and do a piss-poor job as their opening band tonight. It made him sick to think that he might disappoint them. He owed that band a world of gratitude. Especially their lead guitarist, Dare.

Something poked him in the left shoulder, and he turned to find Eric grinning at him, while using his drumstick as a prod. “You gonna hide out by the drum kit again tonight?”

Jace shrugged. He didn’t like the performance part of playing live. He just wanted to play his bass guitar with all the skill he could muster and leave the crowd entertainment to Sed, Brian, and Trey. The three of them were naturals when it came to interacting with the audience. Jace wasn’t. He felt like an ass whenever he forced himself from the security of the back half of the stage.

“There’s a problem with that idea tonight, little man.”

“What problem?”

“We’re opening, which means we’re working with half a stage. There’s no room for you near the back. My drums take up too much room. It’s front and center for you tonight.”

Jace’s stomach plummeted into his boots. “Shit.”

Eric laughed at his misery. “This should be entertaining. Though I do remember a show when Brian was distracted with Myrna, and you took up his slack. You can be entertaining when you want to be.”

Problem was he never wanted to be. He was there for the music. No other reason. He didn’t require the ego trip of fan adulation. A loud crash startled Jace out of his reverie. Travis, one of their long time roadies, extended a hand into a pile of empty guitar cases and pulled Trey to his feet.

“You okay?” Travis asked.

Trey stumbled sideways as he regained his footing and held onto Travis’s arm for a long moment. Still unnaturally pale, Trey nodded slowly. “Yeah, just lost my balance.”

Jace moved to stand next to their unsteady rhythm guitarist. “I think you should go get checked out. Head injuries aren’t something to mess around with.”

“I’m fuckin’ fine. I wish everyone would stop treating me like I’m severely injured. Where in the hell is Brian?”

“I think he’s getting in a quickie with Myrna,” Sed said, chomping down red licorice ropes by the yard. He used the candy’s glycerin to lubricate his vocal cords, or so he claimed. His throat must still be bothering him.

“Jesus, all he does is fuck that woman these days,” Trey grumbled. “Doesn’t he realize we’re onstage in ten minutes?”

“Seven minutes,” Dave, their front of house soundboard operator, corrected before jogging out into the audience to work his magic on their audio equipment.

Trey stumbled against Jace, who grabbed him by both arms to steady him. “Take deep breaths.”

Trey closed his eyes and obeyed without argument.

“Better?”

He nodded slightly and then winced in pain. “Fuck, my head hurts.”

“Why don’t you sit down?” Eric said. “You’re going to break something.”

“Probably your neck,” Brian said as he finally joined them and lifted his guitar strap over his head.

“Done boning Myrna?” Trey asked, shaking his head at the pussy-whipped disgrace his best friend had become.

Brian chuckled. “Not by a long shot. The real honeymoon starts in forty-six minutes.”

Sed scowled and grabbed Jake, their Mohawk-sporting, guitar-tuning roadie, by both arms. “Yo, Jake. Find me two real hot ones for tonight.” Sed’s scowl deepened. “Make that three hot ones.”

No one needed to ask three hot whats. Sed meant groupies. He’d been in a mood since he’d run into his ex, Jessica, the night before. Whichever three groupies Jake selected for Sed’s entertainment were going to get fucked. Fucked long, hard, and good. Sed was in all-out predatory mode. Jace was doubly glad he’d be spending the time after their concert in Mistress V’s dungeon. The bite of her whip was sure to be less painful than watching Sed’s groupies cry and beg for his attention, after he’d finished with them and sent them on their way.

The stadium lights went down, and the crowd cheered, knowing it meant it was time for the band to take the stage.

When Trey stumbled over the bottom step in the dark, Brian took him by one arm and helped him climb up to the stage. “You sure you’re okay, buddy?” Jace heard Brian say over the crowd noise.

“Like you care.” Trey wrenched his arm free of Brian’s hold and trotted over to his usual spot stage right. There wasn’t much light for Jace to find his own yellow X taped on the floor. At least he was behind the front line and somewhere in the middle. Here he could probably hide behind Sed’s broad, muscular form.

The first thump of Eric’s bass drum kicked Jace’s heart rate up a notch. He entered the first song, “Twisted,” with his steady bass line progression. His bruised and swollen fingers protested every note. By the time Brian entered his solo, Jace could scarcely force his fingers to move at all. Trey found a speaker to sit on. He typically strummed his rhythm guitar shreds with great enthusiasm, but several stumbles into his mic stand had him seeking a stable place to rest. He did manage to play without problem, as long as he didn’t move around much. When Sed roared into the mic at the end of Brian’s somewhat screwed up solo, the singer broke off mid-note with a cough. He cleared his throat and tried again with no success. Jesus, what a disaster.

When the song blissfully came to an end, Jace rubbed his stiff and aching knuckles while Sed called to the crowd and told them they were the best audience ever. Same thing he told every crowd. He made no excuses for the band’s unusual suckatude. The only one who was performing anywhere near normal was Eric. As Eric was the main reason they’d gotten into a club brawl in the first place, it didn’t seem fair that he didn’t suck as much as the rest of them.

Since Sed’s singing was subpar, he apparently decided additional showmanship could make up for it. He dove into the crowd in the middle of their set’s second song and seemed oblivious to the fact that he missed singing the vast majority of the lyrics, as the crowd passed him hand-over-hand above their heads. If Jace had tried that crazy shit, he’d probably have been tossed on the cement and trampled to death. Security rescued Sed from the writhing crowd, and he eventually made his way back to the stage.

“Hell yeah. You crazy muthas know how to rock!” Sed cried into his microphone. “Who’s here to see fucking Exodus End?” He thrust a fist in the air as the crowd erupted into cheers. He cleared his throat. Winced. Turned his volume down to a lower roar. “My throat’s a bit sore tonight. Note to self, do not get into fights in strip clubs the night before a show, no matter how fucking hot the chick is.”

The audience cheered Sed’s debauchery. Jace couldn’t help but smile. The more trouble Sinners got into, the more their fans loved them. Occasionally, they had to act like, well, sinners and maintain their mostly fabricated, dark image. They waited while Brian and Trey traded their usual electric guitars for acoustics to play their next song, “Good-bye Is Not Forever.” This song always put a fucking knot in Jace’s throat. It reminded him of Kara Sinclair. They’d had a secret relationship as teenagers. The more reckless, lawless, and out of control Jace had been, the more attracted to him she’d become. One reason he couldn’t forget her was Kara was Brian’s younger sister, or had been, before a car accident had taken her life. Brian had no idea that Jace had once dated her. Stolen her innocence. That was a secret he planned to keep to the grave. No reason to tarnish a man’s pure and cherished memories of his perfect little sister.

Trey and Brian flanked the sides of the stage, sitting on platforms, as they strummed the intricate riff of the band’s one and only ballad. Sed sat on the front of the stage, his legs dangling over the edge, and sang his heart out. Requisite knot in his throat, chills raced down Jace’s spine at the sound of Sed’s amazing voice.

The only one standing, Jace felt incredibly exposed. He took a deep breath, his fingers finding the thick, metal guitar strings and appropriate notes by memory. Concentrating on producing the perfect sound—which wasn’t easy with his knuckles so swollen—he approached the front of the stage, standing between Sed and Trey. His eyes scanned the crowd, taking note of the sudden enthusiasm of several young women in the audience as he entered their view. Jace saluted a particularly excited twenty-something with two fingers, and she grabbed the hem of her T-shirt. She lifted both hands over her head, screaming at the top of her lungs, as she exposed her naked breasts to the band. Sed glanced up at Jace and grinned. Not to be outdone, Sed lifted his shirt and flashed a pair of hard pecs and his washboard abs to the Lady Sinners in the first few rows. The squeals of the women in the audience made Jace’s ears ring, even over the music filtering in through his earpiece.

Sed tilted his head at Jace, as if to say, your turn. Jace shook his head and took several steps backward, his temporary desire to interact with the crowd completely obliterated. He kept in good shape, but was no match for Sed’s body-builder physique. No sense in embarrassing himself in front of twelve thousand people.

By the time the concert ended, Jace’s fingers refused to move, Trey could barely stand at all, Sed was singing at a whisper, and Brian was so distracted—by thoughts of his honeymoon, no doubt—that he walked offstage without removing his guitar. It produced a series of discordant sounds as he headed backstage at a run until a roadie managed to stop him long enough to claim the instrument from their eager lead guitarist. All things considered, Jace couldn’t remember a worse performance. If the crowd noticed, you couldn’t tell by their cheers and the chanting of “Sinners, Sinners, Sinners” ringing through the entire stadium.

“Wow, you all sucked,” Eric commented as he tossed a drumstick into the crowd at the front of the stage.

Jace flicked his guitar pick to the flasher chick in the front row. When it landed in her outstretched hand, she drew it to her lips, kissed it, and then started jumping up and down.

“I think you have a fangirl, Jace,” Sed commented, wiping the sweat off his face with the hem of his shirt. “Maybe you should invite her backstage. You look like you need a blow job.”