Chapter Two
There were at least four hundred people watching Isla Rose, bathed in blue and red lights, as she clutched the microphone and closed her eyes. Nerves were trying to take over her body, but instead, she focused on Arsen’s killer riffs, her heart keeping time with Benz’s drumming while she slowly lost herself in the music, in the performance.
It’d been almost seven months since Iris Blue performed live. The effervescence emanating from the fans breathed life into her; it was like liquid energy seeping right through her skin. I fucking miss this! Music pumped through her veins, and she dug deep down inside herself, seeking out the raw emotions needed for the song. The audience went wild. Their cheers, whistles, and screams were nourishment for not only her, but the other band members as well. She knew they’d missed performing just as much as she did. If she could only freeze-frame the enthusiasm, the love, the adulation during a performance, and live in it forever, her life would be perfect. For her, music was life and life was music, but it was all the other noise around her that played havoc with her nerves, her emotions—her soul.
Then Arsen was next to her, his fingers flying as he played scorching riffs and licks. Sweat streamed down his face as strands of his black, shaggy hair stuck to his forehead. The rhythm guitarist rushed over, and the two musicians made their instruments scream as they moved in perfect sync to the rhythm. Gage’s long brown hair flew around as he head-banged to Benz’s expert drumming. As Isla ramped her vocals up to blistering, the guitars blazed with fiery incandescence. Iris Blue was on fire, and Isla lost all sense of everything except for the music.
Two hours and three encores later, they stood together on the stage, arms linking around each other’s shoulders like a chain, as they absorbed the tsunami of applause rolling forward. As Isla raised her head, the spotlights’ bright glare blinded her. Breaking away from her bandmates, she placed her microphone on the stand then brought her hands together and bowed her head slightly. “Thank you all. You’re the best,” she breathed.
The stage went dark, and then the overhead lights came on as roadies scampered behind her, clearing off the equipment. She started to walk away when a female voice cried out, “We love you, Isla Rose. We love Iris Blue!” She turned around and saw two teenage girls pressed against the stage waving a CD at her.
“Do you have a pen?” she asked Benz as he stood at the back of the stage waiting for her.
“You don’t want to start autographing shit. We’ll be here all night.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion, only a pen. Do you have one?”
He slowly walked over to her, the frown on his forehead deepening as several women squealed and clapped the closer he came to the front of the stage. “Here,” he gritted as he shoved a pen in her hand.
“You should sign the CD as well.” She smiled at the girls.
“Fuck that,” he whispered in her ear, waved at the dying crowd, and walked away.
He can be such a jerk! “What’s your name?” she asked one of the girls.
“Ella. I love your music so much. Arsen is the best guitarist ever. Is he still in the building?”
“I’m not sure.” He’s probably got his tongue halfway down the mouth of the stacked redhead who was ogling him during the show. She’d seen Kent, their manager, approach the woman before the end of their last song, and then she saw her walk with him through the crowd. “And what’s your name?” she asked the other girl.
“Zoe. I love all of you. Are you dating Benz?”
“Zoe!” Ella elbowed her side.
“What?” Zoe rubbed her ribs.
Isla shook her head. “It’s okay. The gossip rags love to talk about us. We’re just very close friends.”
“I think it’s so cool that you’re from Alina,” Ella’s voice burst with excitement as she looked at the signed CD.
“I have good memories from growing up here. We’ll probably do another show in town, so if you come, make sure you bring the CD, and I’ll have the rest of the band sign it.”
“Arsen too?” Isla nodded. A wide grin spread over Ella’s face. “You’re the best. That would be cool AF.”
“If I bring my CD, will you all sign it too?” Zoe asked.
“Sure. I better get going. I hope to see you at the next show.” She stepped back and turned to her right, and that’s when she saw him standing to the side of the stage, a bottle of beer in his hand. Mysterious. Masculine. Sexual. A modern-day James Dean dressed in tight jeans, a leather vest over a black T-shirt, and arms covered in tattoos. Dark-blond stubble shaded his chiseled jawline, and a silver eyebrow ring glimmered over a rounded brow. He lifted the bottle to his full lips and drank. The movement mesmerized her. Damn, he’s hot. He fixed his dazzling blue eyes on her, and she was breathless for a moment, unable to turn away from the intensity of his stare.
She should leave, go to the green room and pack up her things, but she couldn’t move; she was rooted to that one spot, watching him as static charges jumped through her body. What the hell’s the matter with me? It was insane, but this guy was putting her emotions in a twist. Enigmatic, rough around the edges, and hotter than hell, he was the type of man who would pull a woman in tight and most definitely end up breaking her heart. No fucking doubt about that.
“Isla?” Benz came over and grasped her elbow. “What the hell are you still doing out here?”
With her gaze still locked on the gorgeous man, she let Benz tug her to him, her back molding against his chest. Muscles deep inside her tightened as the sexy stranger leaned back on his boots, lit up a joint, and winked.
“Let’s go,” Benz said in her ear while he whirled her toward him then curled his arm around her shoulder.
Letting him lead her, she felt the hunk’s stare boring into her back. Before she stepped behind the curtain, she glanced behind her and caught his penetrating gaze as heat burned between her legs. Benz pulled her backstage, ending the most intense and short-lived moment she’d ever shared with a stranger.
“That was a fucking great show,” Benz said, wrapping both arms around her waist. “We need to get back on the circuit real fast. Rough Creek Records still wants us to sign on with them. I don’t want to blow the chance to get with a label.”
Rough Creek Records had been wooing them ever since the record company’s rep had seen Iris Blue perform at the Ohana Festival in Dana Point, California, seven months before. The band had been more than excited, and then she’d crashed. “A breakdown from nerves and exhaustion,” her doctor had said. Even though her bandmates hadn’t said much, she’d sensed their disappointment, anger, and frustration bubbling beneath the surface. It was a huge compliment that the record label was still interested in them after so many months of non-performance and her publicized meltdown. Now, the last thing she wanted was to fuck up an opportunity to sign on with them.
“I don’t want to miss the chance either. We’re almost done recording, and I’m sure Rough Creek will be happy with our new album. I think it’s our best one yet.” Isla pulled away from Benz.
For a split second, his gaze flashed with anger then dissipated so quickly that she thought she might have imagined it. “I agree. I told the rep we’d be done with it in a month or less. You know, we need to get back on the road after that. If we sign with them, we’ll be touring most of the year.”
Panic tangled around her nerves. “I know,” she said softly. “I just wish I’d stop getting those damn letters.”
Benz came over and tugged her to him, holding her close. “That’s why we need to blow this fucking town. You didn’t have any of this shit before you got here. I told you I didn’t trust small towns. There’s a reason why most horror movies are set in them. And there’s not a damn thing to do around here. How the fuck did you survive living here as long as you did?” He tilted her head back and leaned in, his gaze fixed on her mouth. She turned and pushed away from him. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips as he planted his fists on his hips and watched her, his brown eyes sparking. “What the fuck’s your problem?”
“I’m just tired.” An awkward pause ensued as Isla picked at the dry skin around her thumb, and Benz shifted from one foot to the other. She cleared her throat, crossing her arms over her chest. “It was great performing tonight.”
“It kicked ass! It felt fucking awesome to be back on stage,” Gage said, coming up to them.
Warmth spread through Isla. She loved how upbeat Gage was all the time—a direct opposite to Benz’s brooding moods, Arsen’s childish tantrums, and Jac’s one-word conversations. The band had lucked out when Gage answered the ad they’d placed for a rhythm guitarist the year before. At twenty-four, he was the youngest member, but he acted more mature than the other three guys combined.
Relieved to have Gage as a buffer to soften the unspoken tension between herself and Benz, she laughed softly. “I can always count on your energy. Is Melody able to come for a visit next week? I know how bummed you were that she couldn’t be here tonight.”
Melody was Gage’s girlfriend, and she’d moved to LA from Ames, Iowa, when Gage had joined the band. They’d known each other since high school. Isla loved seeing them together even though Benz thought they were “fucking nauseating,” and Arsen couldn’t comprehend “why a dude would want to settle for only one chick when there were so many who wanted to fuck a rock star.” A part of her envied the love and connection Gage and Melody shared, wondering how it must feel. It was something that hadn’t happened to her yet—falling in love—and she’d begun to give up hope it ever would.
“Yep. She’s coming out next weekend. I told her I’d take a day off recording to hang with her. You guys are cool with that, right?”
Isla nodded at the same time Benz grunted and shook his head. “We’re here to finish a fucking album. The band comes first, dude.”
“One day isn’t going to set us back,” she said. Benz threw her a scathing look then took out a cigarette and lit it. She ignored him, knowing she’d overstepped an invisible line he’d drawn between him and the other band members whenever any of them contradicted him. Benz was super protective of Iris Blue since he’d started it right out of high school. The only one who could get away with arguing with him was Arsen; he’d been with Benz since the beginning.
Shoulders slumping, Gage quirked his lips. “I guess Melody can hang with us at the studio.”
Isla gripped Gage’s shoulder and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Take the day off. We’ll make it work.” She met Benz’s hard look without flinching. “I’m going to make sure the roadies got my microphone.”
“They get fucking paid to make sure things are right.” Benz blew a puff of smoke at her then smirked.
Real mature, asshole. “Yeah, well, we know that it doesn’t always work that way. How many mikes have I lost? I’m not taking the chance on this one. I love it.” Without waiting for his reply, she whirled around and walked to the stairs.
The first thing she did when she got on stage was look to the side, hoping the sexy guy would still be there. Disappointment wove through her when she realized that he wasn’t. Did you really think he’d be hanging around like a damn groupie? Anyway, so what if he’s not here. Just because he’s the hottest guy you’ve seen in a—
“Good show,” a voice said behind her.
She spun around and her gaze fell on him—with his masculine, square chin and eyes that burned as blue as the hottest part of a flame. His gaze raked over her body slowly, taking in every detail of her appearance before returning to her face. Suddenly, she was aware of herself in the most nerve-wracking way: tongue-tied and feeling like an idiot. Then he hopped up on stage and her mind went blank.
Standing close to her, he looked at her intently. “You really rocked it.” His voice, low and gravelly, stroked her senses like velvet.
Say something! “Thanks. I just came out to check on my microphone. I wanted to make sure the roadies packed it. It’s my favorite one, and I don’t want to lose it. You’d be surprised on how often equipment gets overlooked. I’ve had that happen a few times with the microphone. It’s my instrument, you know.” Stop rambling. Fuck. She watched as he bit back a smile. She willed her breathing to slow down.
“Is that the only reason you came back out?” He leaned in closer.
“Yeah,” she managed, breathless and blushing. “Why else?”
A sly smirk ghosted his face. “Well … you were checking me out after the show.”
As he looked at her with a mischievous twinkle in his gaze, she sucked in her breath, crossed her arms, and took several steps away from him. In less time than it took her to exhale, her nervousness lifted. His cocky tone and easy manner pissed her off. He thinks this is an amusing game. Asshole! She tilted her head sideways. “As I remember it, you were the one checking me out.
“So, you did notice me.” His smoldering eyes burned right through her, sending a wave of prickling heat along her limbs.
When she stepped farther away from him, it felt like he was undressing her in an appreciative yet animalistic way; his intense gaze left trails of burning embers across her skin. Pressing a hand against her chest, she tried to calm her pounding heart. Before she could reply, a tall, buffed guy with short hair walked toward the stage.
“Yo, Sangre!” he yelled.
The stranger turned around and jerked his chin up. “What’s up?”
“Chains wants to know if you wanna go to Leroy’s and get some food.”
“Is Skull coming?”
“He’s meeting us there. He left to drop off his kid sister and her friend at his mom’s. Eagle’s gonna join us too. You in?” His dark eyes skimmed over her quickly then flitted back to Sangre’s. “Or do you have other plans?” Sangre laughed and glanced at her.
“In your fucking dreams,” she said.
“Excuse me. Miss Isla Rose?” a timid voice said to the right of her.
She looked over and saw a lanky guy in his early twenties standing by the platform, staring everywhere but at her as he kept clearing his throat. For a split second, she wondered if this guy was the one who’d been sending her the love-obsessed fan letters. Something about him gave her the creeps, but she smiled and nodded. “That’s me. Can I help you?”
“What the fuck, Jon?” Sangre said.
Turning slightly toward him, she relaxed a bit. “He’s with you?”
“He works for me.” Sangre went over to the edge of the stage, his muscular arm brushing against her as he walked past. “What gives?”
Jon grabbed the back of his neck with his hand and rubbed it over and over as he looked down on the ground. “I just wanted to see if I could get an autograph or something.”
Sangre laughed. “That’s right, you’re a fan.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “This dude loves your band, and he’s crazy about you. Why don’t you give him an autograph?”
“I didn’t realize you moonlight as a PR man.” She rolled her eyes then focused on the young man who acted like he was going to crumple down in a heap at any minute. “Did you bring a CD or something?” she said softly.
Bringing his hand to his pocket, he took out a cassette. “I brought this.” He chewed his bottom lip.
She laughed, and it resounded through the nearly empty bar. “Excellent. I think you’re one of the ten people who actually bought one of our cassettes. I was the one who wanted to make cassettes even though the other members tried to talk me out of it. You just made my night.” Jon’s face turned a deep red as she took it from his hand. “I wish the others were here so they could sign it too.”
Crossing and uncrossing his arms, he fidgeted in place. “I don’t care about the others. You’re the only one who matters in the band,” he said in a voice so low that she had to strain her ears to hear him.
“Don’t let the others hear you say that.” She whipped out a pen and signed her name. “But you’re too sweet.” Smiling, she handed the cassette back to him.
“Thank you. I’ll always cherish this.” He glanced briefly at her then averted his gaze elsewhere.
A single shiver rode up her spine. I shouldn’t be out here like this. How do I know if any one of these guys is the nut who’s making me a nervous wreck? She took a few steps backward and bumped into a wall of hardness. Looking behind her, she jumped away from Sangre’s muscled body. “Oh … sorry.”
“No need to apologize. I didn’t mind.” He winked at her and she groaned inwardly. Jon still stood there staring at the signed cassette in his hands.
“Did you find your mike?” Benz asked, staring at Sangre. He came over and slinked his arm around her waist, yanking her close to him.
“No. I guess the roadies did their job. I was just signing autographs.”
“I was getting worried about you. We’re all packed up. Let’s head out. The guys want some food. Is anything open at this hour in this godforsaken town?”
“Leroy’s,” Sangre said as she opened her mouth to reply. “It’s a diner off of Ashwood and Cedar.
“Which reminds me. You never said if you wanted to join Skull, Eagle, Chains, and me.” The tatted guy leaned against one of the freshly wiped tables.
“Yeah. I’m going.” Sangre jumped off the stage, threw a lazy smile at her, and swaggered away. “Jon, stop gawking and get your ass over here.” The young man shoved the cassette in his pocket and hurried to catch up with the two men as they walked out the door.
“He’s got some attitude,” Benz said, placing a kiss on the side of her mouth. “Did he come on to you?”
“We were just talking. I really don’t want to go to Leroy’s.”
Benz narrowed his eyes. “Why? Because he’s going to be there?”
She moved away from him. “No … because I’m tired, and I’m not hungry. You guys can drop me off at my place first.”
Benz clenched his jaw as his brown eyes glinted in anger while he stood watching Isla. Not letting him intimidate her, she headed down the stairs and saw her other bandmates smoking pot as they sat on folding chairs.
“We’re fucking starving,” Jac said, his fingers curled around the neck of his bass guitar.
“Leroy’s is a diner not too far from here, but I’m exhausted, so take me home first.”
“That’s cool,” Gage said, and Arsen bobbed his head.
“Where’s your redhead?” Isla asked.
“I finished with her,” Arsen replied.
“She didn’t even merit a bite to eat?” Gage said.
“I don’t like eating with chicks I don’t know. What the hell is there to talk about?” Arsen stood up. “Does this diner have good food?”
“It used to when I lived here. I’m sure it’s still owned by the same people.”
“Sure you don’t wanna go?” Jac said.
“She said she didn’t, so who the fuck cares? It’s … whatever.” Benz stormed past them and went out back to the alley.
“Why’s he in such a dour mood?” Gage asked.
Isla shrugged. “Who knows? I’m too tired to care.”
“Let’s head out,” Arsen said.
The rest of the band followed him out, and Isla noticed how Benz sat hunched in the front seat, staring straight ahead. They all piled into the van, which was a tight squeeze since it also held their equipment.
Twenty minutes later, she waved at them as Gage pulled away from the curb. During the drive, Benz didn’t speak or look at her once, and that suited her just fine. She was so sorry that she’d allowed herself to get sexually and emotionally involved with him after a couple of years of vowing that she’d never give in to his advances.
Isla closed and locked the door then headed upstairs. Beyond tired, she was tempted to just peel off her clothes and fall into bed without taking off her makeup. Not wanting to wake up with a peppering of zits on her face, she shuffled to the bathroom and turned on the faucet.
After smoothing moisturizer on her face, she padded over to her bed, pulled back the covers, and slipped in. Her head sank into the fluffy pillow, and she reached over and turned off the small lamp on her nightstand. Sangre’s face popped into her mind. I’ve never heard that name before. The man acted like some alpha asshole, but she had to admit that sex oozed out of all his pores. There was something brutish and exciting about him.
She turned on her side. I have to stop thinking about him. The band had to be at the studio early the following morning, and then Isla needed to meet with the security company in the afternoon. I probably won’t see him again. In another couple of months or so, we’ll be headed back to LA. Her stomach lurched with that thought. What if I’m not ready? The past year, she’d been run down by constant touring, the stress of dating Benz, the pressure of being in the spotlight, and the extra anxiety of being scrutinized every second because she was a woman. There never was a damn tweet about any of the guys either gaining an ounce of weight or eating a large bag of fries or not being tanned enough. They could do as they pleased and wear what they wanted without any repercussions, but it wasn’t so for her: Isla was constantly being watched.
Isla began to pant as blood rushed through her ears; she sat upright and instantly felt a clammy sweat coating her face and back. Dammit! I have to get a fucking grip. I love performing. I love singing. Why can’t I just chill?
Switching the lamp on, she reached for the bottle of prescription pills that would make her breathe normally and help her calm down and sleep. She unscrewed the top to a bottle of water she always kept on the nightstand and swallowed the two pills. Lying back down, she waited until the magic capsules took effect. Sangre entered her thoughts again, but this time he had his arms wrapped tightly around her, his handsome face close to hers as he leaned in and … her eyes shut and darkness erased all images from her mind.