Blow My Fuse (Hollywood Demons Book 2) Page 5

  I watch, fascinated, as they keep working through the simple chord patterns, adding and expanding to the melody. Each new layer compliments and enhances the song.

  “Lines of fire leading me home,” Jacob sings.

  “Keep going,” Chaser says without picking up his head.

  “Away from the storm.” Jacob’s mouth stays open, but no more words come out. His hands ball into fists, and he closes his eyes again. “Fuck.”

  “It’ll come to you,” Garrett shouts.

  “Hey! Where’d you guys go?” One of the girls bounces into the living room in her bra and underwear.

  I’m brimming with the urge to shush her. Can’t you see they’re making magic?

  “Oh cool!” the other girl shouts, running into the room and straight into her friend. The two of them grab hands and start jumping, laughing, and dancing around.

  Garrett’s playing grinds to a stop. “Knock it off.” He jerks his head sideways. “Go wait in the bedroom if you’re going to be obnoxious.”

  Chaser stops playing and wanders closer to me while fiddling with the tuning pegs at head of his guitar.

  “I like it,” I whisper.

  He cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah? It still needs the right words. But we’re moving in the right direction.”

  “They’ll come to you guys.” I reach up and kiss his cheek. “When the timing’s right.”

  “Why does she get to stay?” one of the girls whines, pointing at me.

  Garrett slaps the complainer’s ass. “Chaser’s woman knows how to behave.”

  Behave. What am I? An obedient dog? I don’t even bother acknowledging the exchange.

  The girl scurries back to the bedroom. Not for the first time, it irritates me the shitty way the guys treat the girls who hang around worshiping them. I guess since none of the girls ever complain and they keep returning for more of the same, it’s not my business, but it sure doesn’t make me think much of Jacob and Garrett.

  A bone-jarring thud slams against the door. I jump and turn.

  Chaser reaches over and flings it open. “What?”

  “Keep the fucking noise down, or I’ll call the cops.” The gruff, threatening voice sounds like our downstairs neighbor.

  “Fuck off, old man!” Alvin shouts.

  “We’re done for the day,” Jacob says. “I need to get my dick sucked anyway.”

  The neighbor groans. Footsteps thunder away from the apartment while the guys laugh.

  “Val said she wants to set us up with a rehearsal space.” Chaser slams the door. “Might be time to take her up on it.”

  “Do you remember our first ‘rehearsal space?’” Alvin presses his hands against his stomach and shakes with laughter.

  “The rats!” Garrett and Alvin shout at the same time.

  “It was a storage unit,” Chaser explains to me. “But Jacob and I built loft beds so the four of us lived there for a while.”

  “But how? Wasn’t that uncomfortable?”

  “Alley was right outside whenever we needed to take a piss,” Garrett explains.

  “That’s…lovely.”

  “Tell her how you broke your loft bed.” Jacob slaps Chaser’s arm.

  “Fuck off.”

  “That was you.” Garrett points to Jacob. “Genius here had a three way and the support beam snapped. He almost crushed one of our pet rats.”

  “Oh shit. You’re right.” Jacob laughs. “Me and Jack Daniels were tight back then. I forgot.”

  “Back then? You’re like eighty-five percent Jack right this second.”

  “Hey,” Chaser interrupts their banter. “Mallory got a callback today, we planned to go out and celebrate. Anyone up for it?”

  “Fuck yeah.” Alvin pumps his fist in the air. “Good job, Mal.”

  I chuckle at his enthusiasm over something so small. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “Nope.” Alvin wags his finger in my direction. “You gotta celebrate every win out here, Mallory.”

  “It’s true,” Chaser says.

  Watching them work together felt like a celebration, but that seems sort of kiss-ass, so I keep the sentiment to myself.

  “Val wants to meet with us tomorrow,” Alvin reminds everyone. “So we can’t be out too late.”

  “That’s cool.”

  I catch Chaser’s eye, but he doesn’t seem concerned about the meeting.

  So I try to follow his lead. But my forced smile does little to quell my anxiety.

  Chapter Ten

  Chaser

  “How’s it feel to be home?” Val asks when we’re all seated in her new office.

  “Nice digs, Val.” Garrett bounces around in his chair. “Moving up in the world.” The fucker drank everyone under the table last night but somehow has more energy than all of us combined.

  “We’re all moving up in the world.” She glances at each one of us. I swear she almost seems giddy, and it takes a lot to excite Val. “Shooting Fences has asked Kickstart to open three shows for them at the Coliseum when they start their new tour.”

  “Holy shit!” Alvin jumps out of his seat.

  “Are you fucking with us?” Jacob asks.

  Shooting Fences. Now that’s a band my father respects. Old school rock-n-roll. I grew up listening to plenty of their albums at home and at the clubhouse.

  Three shows. At the Coliseum. A place Alvin and I climbed the fence to sneak in and watch our favorite bands when we first moved to L.A.

  “Are you serious?” I finally ask.

  “Dead serious.”

  “This is huge,” Jacob mutters. “Right in our backyard.”

  “Are you up for it?” Val asks.

  “What’s the catch?” After the Revolver proposition, I figure that needs to be a staple question in my vocabulary from now until the end of time.

  “Yeah, what’s the catch?” Alvin echoes.

  Val stares me straight in the eyes. “No catch. The conversation was only about Kickstart. Apparently, Jared Stone got his hands on a bootleg of one of your U.K. shows and liked what he saw.”

  The lead singer of one of the biggest bands ever watched some shitty, underground video of one of our performances and wants us to open for him? For real?

  “People are bootlegging our shows?” Jacob shouts. “That’s fucking awesome!”

  Val’s gaze travels the length of the table, stopping to give each of us a meaningful look. “You guys can handle this, right? Opening for them right here in L.A. is a big deal. Huge. We need serious rehearsals. I’m not sure you have enough material to cover the time slot. Why don’t you work on a few covers—

  “We have the material.” Garrett holds up a hand, stopping Val. None of us have ever been particularly receptive to her advice when it ventures into our music.

  “You could do a cover of one of their songs,” Val persists. “A way to—”

  “We’ll handle it,” Jacob assures her.

  Well, at least we’re all on the same page in one area.

  “All right, well, I’m trying to get you a warm-up gig at the Troubadour before the shows.”

  “Let us get through some rehearsals, first,” Jacob says.

  “Okay, now the bad news.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “The video for ‘Candy Jar’ won’t be receiving any more airplay.”

  “What? Why?” Jacob slams his palm on the table. “MTV filmed our show at the premiere, and the video was doing great. What changed?”

  Her cool gaze flicks my way for a brief second, signaling what’s about to come out of her mouth. “What do you think? Davey Revolver made good on his threats. That snake has connections everywhere.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Garrett hangs his head. “We’re fucked.”

  A lot of money went into that video. Money that will eventually come out of the band’s bottom line.

  “It’s not the end of the world,” Val assures us. “I have a friend I talked to. They might be able to sneak it on at some obscure times. Like 1:00 a.m. to 3:00 a.m.” />
  Jacob sits back and laughs. “Joke’s on Davey, then. That’s when our core audience is awake. The video will get its legs back, Val.”

  Thank fuck. I expected Jacob to be a lot more petulant about the whole situation. Maybe throw more blame my way. Either he actually learned his lesson—which I doubt—or he’s afraid of another ass-kicking. Both suit me fine.

  “We’ll see.” Val swipes her palms together, washing away the bad news. “No matter what, we push forward. New album.” Her gaze slides to me. “Don’t bite my head off but the record label wants to know if you’ll reconsider re-recording ‘Cry it Out.’ I told them—”

  “Yeah, let’s do it.” Even with all the chaos swirling around us, I haven’t stopped thinking about the two fans I talked to in England.

  “Yes?” Her eyebrows seem to have permanently fused with the top of her forehead. Can’t blame her. I’ve been a real dick about this in the past. “Really? You’re sure?”

  “Yeah, let’s do it. No cheesy fucking bullshit video, though.” All this time I couldn’t stand thinking of such a personal song exploited for money. Instead, I should’ve considered all the people it might reach who need the reminder that they’re not alone.

  “Fuck yeah!” Jacob thrusts his fist in the air. “That needs to be our first single from the new album.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Ballads are usually the second single,” Val cautions.

  Let the exploitation begin.

  “This is great news.” Val squeezes her hands together and tips her head back like she’s thanking her favorite deity for my reasonableness today. “Fabulous.”

  After her quick prayer to the gods of beleaguered band managers everywhere, Val has a few more points to go over before setting us free. “Do you still have your hearts set on working with Mark Cutter for the new album?”

  “Yeah.” Jacob glances at each of us. “Right?”

  We all nod. The four of us spent a lot of time researching who we wanted to produce our next album. We decided it had to be someone with a strong, solid reputation who could help us shed the fluffy image smeared all over us from “Candy Jar.”

  Val shakes her head. “Cutter’s a slippery one. Only works with a few bands a year.” She spears Jacob with a pointed look. “He won’t put up with any bullshit. Although,” she taps her fingers against the desk as she mulls it over, “he has produced the last five albums Vicious Vandals released. Working with the four of you would be a vacation after those guys.”

  The work Cutter’s done with Vicious Vandals is one of the main reasons we want to work with him so bad. I have faith in Val. The woman loves a challenge.

  “All right, I’ll keep working on Cutter. You guys focus on blowing the roof off the Shooting Fences gigs.”

  After that, we’re set free. The guys are already discussing where to celebrate our good news.

  “Chaser,” Val says in a low voice.

  “I’ll catch up.” I nod to Alvin and shut the door behind him. “What’s on your mind, Val?”

  I return to my seat, and she moves into the chair directly across from me. “How is everything? How’s Mallory?”

  “Mallory’s fine.” Like you give a shit.

  “Is she still willing to star in the next video?”

  “As far as I know, yes.”

  She blows out a breath. “Good. So, you two are…”

  “We’re solid, Val.”

  “She’s more than welcome to attend the Shooting Fences gigs. But she won’t be asked to come on during ‘Candy Jar.’”

  The pleasant buzz I had going from the good news bursts. Val’s treading on dangerous territory with that comment. “You realize she never wanted to do that, right? You came up with that bright idea. It made Mallory uncomfortable, but she did it for me. To help the band. Don’t act like she was trying to use Kickstart to further her career because we both know that’s bullshit.”

  Fuck, if anything, I’m starting to wonder if Mallory’s association with Kickstart will hurt her career. Plenty of tabloids have only referred to her as the “‘Candy Jar’ girl” or “Chaser Adams’s girlfriend” or worse, “the busty blonde model” since news of our relationship went public.

  “It was good exposure for her,” Val says with a straight face.

  “Yeah, it’s been great.”

  She winces at the venom in my voice.

  “Are we done?”

  “The record company suggested something simple for the next video.” She taps her fingers on the table, completely avoiding my question. “Show how versatile you are. Everyone has you pigeon-holed as glam metal, but you’re rugged, too. I suggested footage of the four of you riding Harleys through downtown or something.”

  “Great. Except, Jacob knows dick about bikes.”

  She grins. “One of you will take pity on him and let him ride bitch, won’t you?”

  Finally, I laugh. “Not me.”

  After saying goodbye to Val, I find Alvin, Garrett and Jacob sitting and flipping through magazines out in the lobby. “You waiting around for me?”

  “Who else, wanker?” Garrett says.

  “You in trouble with Val?” Jacob asks.

  “Nope.”

  “Good.” Jacob turns and slaps Garrett’s shoulder. “We should all go down to The Palace and celebrate. Wishing Well is playing tonight. We can fuck Brent’s girlfriend while he’s onstage.” The two idiots double over laughing.

  I roll my eyes in Alvin’s direction, and he smirks.

  When he doesn’t get the reactions he’s seeking from Alvin or me, Jacob straightens up. “Seriously, we should celebrate. This is a big deal.”

  “Val didn’t say so, but I think we need to keep this quiet for now.” I glance around the empty lobby. Even the chair behind the reception desk is vacant. Still, I keep my voice down. “A lot of time between now and those shows for something to go wrong.”

  “Good point.” Jacob shrugs. “We’re fresh off a successful U.K. tour. That’s enough reason to go out and celebrate.”

  None of us mention the “Candy Jar” video being sunk. I’m not as bent out of shape as I should be about it, and I suspect the guys aren’t either. The video’s cheesy as fuck and not at all what we want to be known for.

  So, fuck Davey Revolver. As far as I’m concerned, he did us a favor.

  “Shooting Fences.” Alvin grins at me and slings his arm around my shoulders. “Did you think we’d ever open for them?”

  Sure, I’ve had all the same daydreams every wanna be rock star has when they land in L.A. But to have it actually happen? “Hell no.”

  “You need to call your dad and let him know. He’ll be so stoked.”

  “I will. You planning to call your folks?”

  “They won’t care.” He rubs his palms together, and his eyes gleam. “I can’t stop picturing Revolver being all pleased with himself for getting our video yanked.” He chokes on a laugh. “Then hearing we’re opening for Shooting Fences. Stupid fucker.”

  “Hey.” My serious tone stops him, and he raises an eyebrow. So the other two don’t overhear me, I pull Alvin in for a hug. “Thanks for having my back. With everything.”

  “Always, brother.” He slaps my shoulder a few times. “You know that.”

  He casts a look down the street where Jacob and Garrett are yelling and carrying on. “We need to stick together.”

  The implication in his words is plain.

  While today we had good news, no one knows what tomorrow will bring.

  One thing is certain. The road only gets harder from here.

  Chapter Eleven

  Chaser

  “Where’s my girl?”

  No one answers, but as I close our apartment door, the sound of running water reaches me.

  Perfect.

  I’m about to sneak into the bathroom and join Mallory in the shower when the water shuts off.

  Damn.

  I knock, and Mallory yelps. “Chaser?”

  “It’s
me.” I open the door. “I wanted to soap up your back.”

  She finishes wrapping a bright pink towel around her torso and flashes a smile. “How was your band meeting?”

  What band meeting? Every thought in my head evaporated the second I laid eyes on her. “Drop your towel.”

  “What? No.”

  “I want to see you.”

  “You’ve seen me. Many times.” She turns and wipes the steam off the mirror over the sink. “How was it?”

  I creep up behind her while she starts running a wide comb through her thick, wet hair. “Things went well.” I slip my hands under her towel, running them up her smooth legs to finally grip her hips and pull her against me.

  “Chaser.” She sets the comb down on the edge of the sink and closes her eyes.

  With a quick yank, her towel opens, and I cup her breasts. “Were you getting nice and clean for me? So I could dirty you up when I got home?”

  A wry smile twists her lips. “How did you guess?”

  I brush her hair aside and kiss her shoulder. “Never get enough of you.”

  She hums a happy, sexy noise. “You know I feel the same way, Chaser, right?”

  “Perch your cute little butt on the sink for me.”

  She turns and stares up at me. “Why?”

  “So I can lick your pussy and suck on your clit until you come all over my face.”

  Her cheeks turn my favorite shade of pink. “Chaser.”

  “You asked.”

  “Your honesty is so…”

  “Raw? Savage? Primal?”

  “All of the above.”

  She presses her palms against the counter and boosts herself onto the edge of the sink.

  “Good girl. Spread your legs.”

  I drop down onto the fluffy, pale-pink rug, Mallory added to the bathroom during her last decorating spree, and prepare to worship at my favorite altar.

  “Take your shirt off.” She reaches down and tugs at the collar of my T-shirt.

  I flick my gaze up. “Why?”

  “Because I said so.”