A/N: This is my entry into the I Write The Songs Contest. The title is a compilation of two songs: "Leave Me Alone" by the band Pain and "Cities Carved In Stone" by Primordial. Both, I'm sure not too many people on here have heard before. I would strongly encourage a visit to my wordpress: finiteanarchy . wordpress . com where I've put up the videos to all the songs for people to listen. There is also a fair bit of info on the fic for those interested. The image references for Sookie's wings is also there.
Special Thanks to chicpea for being an awesome beta who catches my continuity errors.
Characters belong to Charlaine Harris, songs belong to Pain and Primordial.
Leave Me Alone, To Cities Carved In Stone
SPOV
I love where I work. The people are friendly, there is always a good atmosphere (unless someone has too much to drink and gets handsy), every night is different and I always meet interesting people. The only downside was working promotion. It was a ridiculous amount of legwork. It's one thing when it's for your own band. A certain amount of self-promotion is required if you ever want to get your name out. The more the better really. But promoting for the club was different. And I didn't see why Sam wanted such heavy papering around the city when we had a big name for the final performer. That alone would fill us to capacity. Thankfully though, I didn't have to paper too often. It was only if we were short-staffed.
The club that I worked at, Dead Man's Party (though everyone called it Dead Man's or just Dead) was having a concert tonight. Not just any concert, either. It was ladies night, so to speak. All the bands were female fronted; a rare thing in the world of metal. Outside of a few melodic or Goth singers like Tarja from Nightwish or Christina Scabba from Lacuna Coil, you don't find too many female fronted bands. Or females in general. There aren't many female guitar players, or drummers, or even bass players. Actually most of the women I do know that play are bass players. I play rhythm guitar and sing. The main performers tonight, Arch Enemy, have a female singer, Angela Gossow. It is one of the things that make them stand out in the melodic death metal movement that began in Scandinavia. Angela is not an original member but joined after the band parted ways with its original singer. She is from Germany, while the rest of the band hails from Sweden. Once you hear her sing though, you would never in a million years think she's some sort of sorrowful gothic or power metal vocalist. No. She's a banshee, with a warrior's cry. I always have a good laugh when I play some Arch Enemy for someone who's never heard them. They're always shocked it's a woman singing.
I have a lot of respect for Angela Gossow.
Sam, my boss, is the owner of Dead Man's Party. Situated between a lumberyard and a garage, no one really cares how noisy it gets here at night, which tends to be very. The club has two sections; the first being entirely a bar, where you enter on the left side. There are booths, stools and even a pool table in the far right. Pictures are on the mirrored wall behind the bar of all the staff with the different bands that have played here. There are pictures of us with our most regular customers who live in the neighborhood too. Large laminated posters decorate some of the wall space; some signed, if those musicians have come by. If there is no event like tonight's concert going on, the back section stays closed off. If there is, the hallway that leads off from the bar on the left is opened and concert goers can move easily into the club area, which is mostly a wide open space with a bar in the middle of the far facing right wall. There is an elevated sound booth in the back and a medium sized, elevated stage in the front. There are stairs that lead to the stage, as well as a back door that bands or staff can enter from which leads directly to the backstage area. The backstage area is mostly extra rooms with couches, fridges for drinks, storage and places to keep the equipment until it's due on stage. There's a big wall in the main backstage room for everyone who has ever played here to sign or draw on. Bathrooms and two small showers are back there too since you can get extremely sweaty under the stage lights. I say small showers, but really, I think the dimensions of my cat's litter box are bigger.
Most nights I'm one of the bartenders here. I don't look like your typical headbanger when I'm out on the street with long, wavy blonde hair, a deep tan (most metalheads are paler than white on a ghost) and blue eyes. I have tattoos though, on both my upper arms and on my back. I'm not covered in them, but the ones I do have tend to make people stop and take notice. I have a tattoo of a set of very detailed feathered wings that spans my shoulder blades and covers a good portion of my back. Dark and light feathers are mixed together in an intricate pattern with several feathers hanging down where the wings bend. On my left upper arm is the silhouette of a woman standing, holding a guitar over her shoulder, brandishing it like a club. My right upper arm is of a small figure pulling a sword out of stone. Tonight though, I'm ready for the bar and the stage in a fitted tank top with the logo of one of my favorite bands embossed on the front, fitted black shorts with fishnet stockings underneath and knee high, leather lace up boots.
Sam's a good boss. He tries to accommodate my shifts where he can when I have to play with the band. Like tonight, when I have to pull double duty. Bartend first, play second, bartend again. Meanwhile Sam's taking care of the bar up front.
"Sookie!" I looked up to see my brother Jason jogging toward me. Jason has blonde hair and blue eyes like me and is in the process of growing his hair out. Right now it was in that awkward stage of being long enough to get in your eyes but too short to put in a ponytail. He couldn't keep it too long because his job in construction might consider it a hazard if it ever got caught in anything. I'm not sure if this rule applied to the women who worked in city construction. But then, I've never seen any women who worked in city construction. Jason also played guitar in our band, Changeling. "Did you bring the pedal board I asked you to?"
"Sure did. It's still in my car." I told him and pulled the key out of my back pocket. "I'm parked in the back, so you can bring it in and put it next to the rest of our stuff."
"Cool." He grabbed the key. "The first band hasn't set up yet?"
I had pulled out a tray of lemons to start cutting for drinks. I glanced up at the stage. "I guess they're running late. The schedule is tight tonight with five bands. If they start late, Sam said that's time off their set."
Jason nodded. "As long as they don't go into our time. Crystal took off work to come watch me tonight."
"I didn't know Crystal had a job." Absently, I shoved the cut lemons back into the tray and covered them.
"Yeah, down at that diner on 86th."
"Cool." I moved on to the limes. Band members were filing in now and I could hear noise coming from the front bar. Someone got up on stage and started positioning the first band's drum set. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lafayette go behind the sounding board and start flipping switches. The overhead music came on and drifted in through the speakers. Ensifirum piped in at a low volume; I suppose in honor of our Scandinavian headliners, who weren't even here yet.
"You sticking around after the show? Sam usually lets us give out some free shots for everyone that played." Nothing motivated my brother more than free drinks.
"He didn't do that last time we played here."
I shrugged. "That was a while ago."
There was a loud beat from a bass drum as the drummer on stage, Felton, I think his name was, started prepping for the first set. Lafayette started adjusting the sound board as Felton tested each drum, tom and cymbal with a patterned thump, thump, thump, tsss, tsss. tsss. Their band, Omission, was local to the state and played a kind of fusion between speedy thrash and death metal. It made for an interesting sound, especially with the female singer.
Jason departed to get his pedal board but not before the requisite demand for a free beer from his sister, the bartender. He still had to pay five dollars.
Sound check continued to the melodies of "check, check" in various microphones and gestures of up or down between Laf and the guys on stage.
I finished my prep work. Kennedy would have it easy once I left to get ready. Changeling was going on second, followed by a band I knew was starting to gain momentum, The Living Dead. I wasn't the one who did the booking. I was also a terrible friend because though I knew the singer of the band, I hadn't had the time to listen to them yet. Sam mentioned yesterday the booking had come from "Dead Until Dark," a young promotional and booking business that had some ties to European labels. The guy who ran it, I'd heard, was doing pretty well for himself. Quinn, the drummer for Changeling, was the one who managed to get us on the bill tonight since he said he knew the guy who was doing the booking. The actual headliners were Holy Moses, a German thrash metal band, and Arch Enemy.
Thinking of Quinn, I looked up as he headed toward me, along with the rest of our band, Claudine and Tray. Quinn was a giant wall of muscle with olive skin, a shaved head and the most interesting hue of purple eye color I have ever seen. Claudine, if she wanted, would fit perfectly on a runway wearing some high end and ridiculously expensive designer, with her six-foot frame, long black hair and perfect face. Instead, music became her passion, the synthesizer her instrument. Trey looked exactly like you would think a metalhead to look. Long hair, a large frame and a band t-shirt. Intricate tattoos covered his elbows and he had piercings in his eyebrows and lips. He played bass.
"You guys want a drink before the horde arrives?" The noise outside was growing louder and any minute Sam would be giving the signal to open the doors.
"Hell yeah," Claudine exclaimed.
I poured them all pints from the tap and one for myself. Looks like Jason was out of luck as he was nowhere to be found. But, unlike my brother, they didn't expect freebies.
Tray held up his glass. Out of all of us, Tray was the oldest. In his early thirties, he ran a garage that fixed up and restored cars and motorcycles when he wasn't playing with us. "I think we need to toast our thanks to Quinn here," he said, clapping him on the back, "for getting us a spot on the bill tonight. It's a lot of exposure."
Claudine piped in. "Absolutely. It looks like all those connections of yours paid off! This is great exposure for us!" She was practically dancing with energy.
"To Quinn!" I said and help my glass up. Quinn looked smug as we all clinked our glasses together.
"Aww. How sweet." A female voice chimed in from behind us. "I think I may actually shed tears."
Tray moved to the side so I could see who was talking. The black clad doppelganger for Alice in Wonderland was fanning her face from mock tears.
"Pam!" I shouted. I ran around the bar to give her a hug. "When did you get here?"
"Just now. We all just finished loading the equipment into the back. Who are your friends?"
"These are my bandmates." I made all the introductions. Pam and I have known each other since we both found ourselves solo at a Ministry concert and wound up standing next to each other for most of the night, chatting between sets. The rest, as they say, is history. I knew she played and sang, the same as me. She is also the front woman for The Living Dead. I hadn't seen Pam in nearly a year. We were all just too busy and our schedules, never seeming to match up between our jobs, practicing, recording and shows.
Pam's eyes roamed over each of my bandmates and I was suddenly glad Jason wasn't around. Though, there wasn't anything quite like a taste of his own medicine if Pam was doing the administration. But I could tell when she set her eyes on Claudine that she was in awe. Pam was rather…omnisexual in her desires.
We'd had a thing. Once. Well, twice really. I stopped it from happening a third time. It was an experiment for me. She was the first one I allowed myself to be intimate with since my uncle, Bartlett; not that I hadn't had many, many offers during that in between time. I had a hard time adjusting to men's advances after that and it was…easier, with Pam. I realized that I still preferred men, though Pam did try hard to sway me in the other direction. Despite putting a stop to our activities between the sheets, we still remained close.
Just then, a loud noise started building from outside. That could only mean one thing; the main act had arrived. Screams, shouts and claps could be heard even this far in. It was brief as the bus they were on probably pulled around the back.
The bar phone rang. "Sook, doors are opening."
"Got it." I said and we hung up.
"Looks like that's my cue," I said and headed back behind the bar.
Claudine, Tray and Quinn finished up their drinks quickly and walked backstage. They'd be able to watch the first band's set from the wings and be ready to help move equipment if needed, to get it off the stage faster when they were through.
"It's good to see you, Sookie."
"You too, Pam. I hear things are picking up for you and the band?" Pam and I tended to pick up conversations as if we'd never been apart, which I thought was a good thing.
"Oh yes, quite. The band is in a good spot right now. My brother's been of great help there."
"Your brother?" Pam had never mentioned a brother in all the time I'd known her. "I thought you were an only child?"
The doors opened with a bang as they hit the walls and droves of people started flooding in. The relatively quiet room, aside from the loudspeaker music and sound check was suddenly engulfed in the noisy din of dozens of people entering at once.
"I was," she said, "until my mother remarried." Pam was wearing a red corset with black trimmings. She adjusted it right then.
I seem to have stumbled upon a sensitive topic. I tried to tread carefully and pointed to the tap. She nodded, accepting the offer of a drink. "Did it happen recently?"
"No." She said. "It was about a year before we met. And, my brother, well, it took some time for him to warm up to the idea of having a sister. Then he went off to college and after that he did some traveling. He only came back two years ago." Before I could question her further I was bombarded with drink orders from the newly arrived concert goers. I had to assume that even though there was something there that made her uncomfortable, she had forged a relationship with him good enough to call him "brother."
Sometimes I marveled that Jason and I were related.
For the next half hour I did nothing but pour and mix drinks. Drinks at concerts were fairly predictable. Beer, rum and whiskey were the big sellers. Time flew by. Pam stood there quietly and texted rapidly on her cell phone. A few people came up to her, knowing who she is and she was very cordial to all of them, posing for pictures with anyone who asked.
"You want another?" I asked when I whisked away her empty cup.
"No thanks, I need to head over to the merch booth. Rubio and Palomino are there now and they're absolute shit at selling our stuff."
"Oh. Ok, well save me a t-shirt!" I yelled as she turned away and moved through the crowd with an agility I could never trump.
People were staking their claim in the most coveted spots for best view of the bands, or best sound. The people there strictly for the quality live music hung around Lafayette's sound board, since that would be where the best sound in the club was most likely to be.
I was in the middle of pouring a Heineken draft when the bar phone rang again. That was unusual unless there was a problem.
"This is Sookie."
"It's Sam. I'm at the front."
"Something going on?" A girl in a bustier so tight her breasts might spill out at any moment was trying to hail me by shaking her hand in the air. It made her breasts shake and the two guys around her took immediate notice. I help up my index finger in the universal sign of "one moment."
"I wanted to give you a head's up. Bill's here." Great.
I sighed. "Did he buy a ticket?"
"Yeah."
"Nothing we can do about him then, is there? Unless he causes trouble." I resolved.
"Let me know if he does."
"Will do, Sam. Thanks for the warning."
When I turned around I found a giant of a man standing directly in front of me on the other side of the bar, dwarfing the two much smaller individuals on either side of him. He opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by the woman in bustier exclaiming that she was here first.
I smiled at him and he smiled back, both corners of his mouth turning up just slightly and gestured in a sweeping motion for me to take care of the girl that was there first. Well, okay. He was attractive. Very attractive.
I got bustier girl her drinks. Two beers and one Jack and coke.
"What can I get you?" I asked the giant. He had long blonde hair that went down to about mid-bicep, nearly identical to mine in color and blue eyes a few shades lighter. We were even dressed a bit similarly, with him in a black tank top and dark jeans. But then, who didn't wear black at a metal show? He looked me over, though the bar blocked most of his view.
"I'll take a beer. Whatever's on tap."
I nodded and moved to get him his drink. I saw him watching me as I poured and I took the time to do the same. He matched Quinn, more or less in size. Large with lean muscles and broad shoulders. Unlike Quinn, he was incredibly fair skinned. He had sleeves down both arms – that is, full tattoos covered both arms completely from shoulder to wrist. I wanted to know if those tattoos extended across his back. He wore soft black cuffs on each wrist with a different band's logo on each. Guitarists sometimes wore them to protect their wrists or collect sweat.
He hadn't taken his eyes off me until I placed the beer in front of him and told him the price. Absently, he reached for his wallet.
"I love your tattoos," I gushed, and to cover up the tattooist fangirl in me, I started babbling. "I'm sure you get that a lot. But they're really nice."
He smirked. "Thank you," and obliging, he put his arms on the bar, stretching them out in an almost cat like way to emphasize the muscles underneath. The sleeve on his left arm looked to be telling a story of some kind. There were long ships with their sails drawn, swords and warriors, burning buildings and small silhouettes of men and women surrounding each other.
I touched his arm and I could tell a small tremor ran through him. The corner of my mouth lifted up in a half smile. He was looking down at me and I couldn't for the life of me, figure out what the expression on his face was. I was still touching his arm and I thought maybe I'd crossed into uncomfortable territory. He took his arm back and I didn't ask to see the other one closely.
"You have very delicate hands." He said.
"Oh. Um. Thanks. You too." What? "I mean, I'm sure they're nice too." I shook my head. His hands did look nice but the fingertips of his left hand had old calluses. He'd been playing guitar for a long time. I knew because I've been playing guitar for a long time. You need lots of cream to get the calluses feeling smooth.
He laughed and leaned over the bar again to whisper, "You can find out if you want." Then he lifted an eyebrow suggestively.
That was like a bucket of ice water snapping me back to reality. What the hell was with that eyebrow thing? And why couldn't I do that? I can only use both eye brows at the same time and whenever I would try such a suggestive leer like the giant in front of me, it always came out looking stupid. Someone at the corner of my eye was waving to me and without answering Giant, I went to take their drink order. And the next. And the one after that. When I glanced back, big, tall and tattooed had attracted a number of girls who came up to him, trying to get his attention. They surrounded him like female lionesses. He smiled and talked with them but his eyes kept drifting back to me. When he caught me watching, he grinned.
When I couldn't ignore him any longer and he'd finished his drink, I came back over to take his cup. He grabbed my wrist; not hard or forcefully but to get my attention.
"If you really want to see my hands work their magic, you'll watch me when I'm up there," he nodded toward the stage, "later."
I felt my two, non-unilaterally controlled eyebrows move up in surprise before I laughed in his face. "You've got some ego, don't you?" I managed to edge out between snickers. I headed off to take another drink order, much to the giant's chagrin.
I spotted Bill, about midway through the crowd. Generally, dark hair and dark clothes are not something easily distinguishable in a sea of dark hair and clothing but Bill made the decision he was going to grow mutton chops. Because he felt it made him look different. It did.
"You got a name, buddy?" I asked when I came back.
"Buddy?" He put his hands on his chest. "Do I look like a 'buddy' to you?"
I pursed my lips and held my hand to my chin as if I were concentrating very hard. "You look like…let me guess, a guitar player?"
He looked surprised. "Good guess. How do you figure?"
"You mean aside from the massive ego that comes with the territory of being a guitar player?" I quipped.
The good humor was back on his face. "Yeah, aside from my…massive…ego."
"You have fret calluses on your left hand. There's also a guitar pick sticking out of your jeans pocket." I said, pointing down.
He looked and shoved the pick back into his pocket, having been suitably abashed.
I also knew that since he wasn't in the first two bands playing (or he'd be on stage about to play), he didn't have a German accent to be in Holy Moses, and he wasn't in Arch Enemy, that only left Pam's band.
"So, what's your name, ego boy?" I asked, as I wiped down the bar.
"Eric!" I heard it right before the lights went out and the first band dove into their set. I could just make Pam's petite form a row back from the bar. When she reached us, she yelled into Eric's (nee Giant's) "Eric where the fuck have you been? Thalia's ready to pitch a fit. Thank God she gets to hit something soon or we might end up paying someone's hospital bills. You know she only listens to you. Fuck knows why." Eric didn't seem to hear that last part but I did.
"Oh relax, Pam." Eric yelled back. "Thalia won't do anything. She doesn't want to be thrown out of the band."
"I guess Thalia's your drummer?" I tried to say over the noise.
"Yes." Pam yelled. "It's good for her anger management."
I laughed and grabbed a beer for someone who was signaling me.
"But Sookie, I see you've met my brother, Eric here."
"This is your brother?"
At the same time Eric said, "This is Sookie?" We looked at each other with different eyes. We were both leaning in to hear each other. "Pam's told me a lot about you."
"Really? She's told me nothing about you." And I hoped Pam didn't tell him everything about me.
We both turned to look at her at the same moment.
Pam scoffed. "What? The both of you need to stop looking at me like you just found out I kicked your puppy. Eric, go back stage before Thalia destroys something and Clancy has to calm her down. We both know how well that worked last time. Sookie, don't mind anything Eric says. Ever since he came back from Sweden with their love of all things nude and metal and his new found connections to the big Swedish labels, he thinks he's the shit. Pay no attention."
Swedish labels? "You're Eric Northman?" I didn't bother holding the astonishment from my voice, which, on the whole was getting sore from talking so loud. Crap. "You did the booking for tonight?" He was Quinn's contact.
He gave me another lascivious grin. "I am. And I did." He turned to Pam "I'll be there in a minute."
Bill chose that moment to make his appearance.
"Sookie." He said when he reached the bar, a few people down from Eric and Pam.
Unfortunately, I had to lean over if he was going to hear me. "Bill. What are you doing here? You hate Arch Enemy."
"I wanted to talk to you."
"You're kidding." I gestured around me. "Not the best time. I'm working. And, incidentally, I have nothing to say to you." I made to move away.
He grabbed my wrist. "I have things I want to say to you, even if you just listen." His face was earnest. "You changed your number and I couldn't get into the apartment. How else was I supposed to reach you?"
"You should have taken that as a hint, don't you think? I changed my number. And the locks." I tried to pull my arm out of his grip but he held on and squeezed it there on the bar top. "Let go of me, Bill."
"Sookie, you know how much I care for you. What happened, it was – "
"A wake up call. To tell me there were greener pastures elsewhere." I pulled hard on my arm to get it back but Bill was deceptively strong and kept a hold. "You're hurting me."
He eased up then but didn't let go. We were starting get looks from guys around us.
"It was an accident. I had no idea Debbie was so conniving."
"Like hell it was." I shouted. "You know exactly what kind of person Debbie is. Stop. Making. Excuses. It's not everyone's fault but your own. You are not a victim of poor fucking circumstance. And let go of me."
His face hardened. "So you think it's all on me?" He yelled through the sounds of beating drums and shredding guitar. "You think I wanted things to turn out the way they did?"
"It doesn't matter what you wanted anymore, Bill." I tried to ease the tension I had in my shoulders. "Staying with you any longer would have…it wouldn't have been good for me. Or you."
He let go of my wrist then, and I eased the paring knife I'd been using on the lemons and limes earlier back into the dish drainer, just as Eric the Giant Northman came up. "What's going on here?"
"Nothing," I said.
"Doesn't look like nothing." He placed an arm on the bar top and looked down the distance between himself and Bill.
"Mind your own business." Bill shouted.
"I don't think Sookie wants anything to do with you." It ended up being overly loud as the music cut off in the middle of his sentence.
"Who the hell are you?"
Before Eric could answer, I did. "Listen, Sweden. Thanks, but I can handle things myself." His lips curved up at the nickname. "Bill, Leave. Just Leave. Me. Alone. Stop trying to contact me. Stop following me to work. Just stop all of it. There's nothing you can say that would make us get back together. I am not the same person anymore. So please go."
I left the two of them there and raced around the bar while people got drinks in between songs. Kennedy came over to relieve me so I could get backstage. I left the two of them there, posturing. Pam was nowhere to be seen.
I weaved in between the people to the door marked private. Bubba, one of our security guys on nights like these, waved me on through. Backstage was a buzz of activity. I found Jason with Crystal, who probably shouldn't have been backstage, and got my car key back. Everyone was about ready to go.
I said hello to the people from Holy Moses and managed to get a laugh out of them with the six words of German that I knew. Changeling posed for some pictures with them and then with Arch Enemy. I may have made a total idiot out of myself in front of Angela.
When Omission finished their set, they worked quickly to disengage all their equipment. We started to set up ours, with Jason helping Quinn carry out all the parts of his drum set. It was a monster set with double bass drums, four toms, a snare drum, three cymbals and a high-hat. Claudine meanwhile started setting up her two-tiered synthesizer. Trey worked with Lafayette to get his bass in tune and I brought out the pedal boards and cables that hook into the amps and speakers.
As I set up and tuned my guitar I had a chance to really get a look at the audience. Changeling wasn't that new; we'd been together about two years but this was a really big crowd. This was the first time we were opening for a band with a huge following. We didn't play death metal, generally, so it was hard to say if the crowd would like us. We had more of an industrial flair and mixed genres. I flexed my hand to steady the shaking and focused on plucking and strumming the strings of my guitar. I could see Lafayette working his magic as he moved switches and turned dials, made his motions of up, down and okay and good. I was glad the lighting prevented me from seeing the majority of the crowd.
I spotted Eric (how could you miss him) still at the bar; that damned eyebrow up in question as if he was surprised to see me on stage instead of pedaling drinks. Yeah, Sweden, you're not the only one who can play.
Bill had moved back to the center of crowd, his face locked down and expressionless with his arms crossed over him. I scowled at him. Well, good luck with that Bill, if you hope to stay that way when the pit starts. I knew it was cheap and petty but I kind of hoped someone might accidentally cartwheel into him. I chuckled at the thought. Bill believed mosh pits were uncouth and unnecessarily violent. Sometimes they were. It's the nature of the beast. But, you don't really belong in the metal community if you look down your nose at it at the same time.
Eric could see me watching Bill and with a couple of glances seemed to ask me if it was going to be a problem. I smiled and shook my head. Bill caught it and glared at Eric, daring him to do something.
I flipped the mic on for a check. Strumming the guitar in the familiar rhythm of one of our songs I sang, "When life gets tough, and you know it will," I crooned softly, "then have a drink on me." There were numerous cheers and salutes with beer bottles and cups. "I'd rather lose my liver than to lose my pride." I plucked at the strings to bring in the sound. Jason was the last to finish his tuning. Finally, we were good to go.
EPOV
Getting here tonight was insanity. All day yesterday and today I was on the phone with band mangers, clubs and other promoters. I needed to get a better international plan on my phone. Better yet, start skyping more. I was getting more and more calls from Nuclear Blast, one of the biggest metal record labels out of Europe who were looking for more promoters in the States. They already had footholds for some of their bigger bands, but wanted someone more direct and smaller to deal with the up and coming talent. Not only was it more intimate for them, to be able to deal directly with me, but I was also cheaper than a big company.
I also had a better business model than my nearest competition, Take the Crown, run by the conniving bastard, Victor Madden. I don't know what his vendetta against me is, but I'll be damned before I let him run my business in to the ground. Why couldn't he just leave me the fuck alone? There was plenty enough business for us both.
Getting the lineup I did for tonight was huge. Holy Moses had never played in the U.S. before and people would come just for them. Putting a huge name like Arch Enemy down for that kind of venue was the all the closure I needed. With those names, the smaller bands would get a lot of exposure. When Quinn called and told me about Changeling, I thought they'd fit right in. They had a pretty good local following and would bring in people just by word of mouth and promoting themselves.
Victor didn't know how I managed to get so far so fast and was determined to figure it out. He didn't seem to realize that treating people with respect and giving them what they needed in return for what you needed would grease the wheels exponentially better than the demanding way he tried to do business.
I just hoped he or one of his cronies didn't show up tonight to try and woo my clients. I just wanted to get there, have some beer, put on a good show, and show the bands and club owner, Sam Merlotte, that I could do a good job. I might even find someone to spend the night with. Not that I had to try hard.
Women liked guitarists. They liked good looking guitarists even more.
I thought I'd found her in the sexy blond bombshell of a bartender. I saw her back first and thought I'd need to get the name of her tattooist. Whoever it was did an even better job than mine and I had one of the most highly recommended tattooists in the state. The detail was incredible and every time she moved her upper arms and shoulders, it caused her shoulder blades to move, making it look like the wings were actually moving. I'd seen girls with wings tattoos before, but never this big or detailed. Her tank top covered part of it, which was disappointing but that didn't stop my eyes from wandering over the rest of her.
Letting her touch my tattoos gave me time to observe her. She wasn't petite like Pam and not as bold or loud as so many of the female metalers I've met tend to be. She wasn't impressed that I was playing tonight. Or with my forward approach.
Then Pam had to come in to give me a kick in the ass and tell me about Thalia. Thalia told me once that she had some type of bipolar disorder. I didn't know what. Pam reasoned after a while that I seemed to be the only one who could calm her down.
My step-sister took some getting used to. She was a very…open person, and had little in the way of tact, finding humor in some very odd places. I didn't really care if my father remarried. He didn't care that I didn't care. Growing up, he left me mostly in the care of my godfather, Appius. After one particular night where I'd had enough and my father found me alone in the bathroom, he'd eventually wrenched the truth out of me. We didn't speak of it again. Appius was never mentioned. The best thing my father could think to do was find a proper mother for me. I told all this to Pam one night after getting completely shitfaced on cheap vodka. I never meant to, but she had muscled it out of me in the most circuitous way she could. Our dynamic changed after that.
Pam told me about her friend, Sookie and some of the things they'd get up to when I was off at school. I'd never met her but she sounded like fun.
Fun that may have ended if she was seeing that ass with mutton chops. Europe is the place to go for hairstyles and beards that never die. There's always someone dedicated to bringing them back, so I'd seen more than my fair share of mutton chops. Which is to say, more than one. If Lemmy could pull it off, other people thought they could too.
It wasn't my business, but when I saw her repeatedly trying to tell him to fuck off, I stepped in. And was immediately given the brush off for it. Fine. I'd find someone without a crazy stalker ex.
The ex, Bill, wasn't done with me though.
"You want her," he said.
"So what if I do?" I folded my arms across the chest and leaned on the bar.
"She's mine."
"Really? Because to me it sounded like she wants nothing to do with you. I believe her words were, 'Leave. Me. Alone.' Correct me if I'm wrong." I knew I wasn't.
"Stay away from her." He warned. "She is just upset with me right now. She'll come around and we'll be back to the way we were."
"You are delusional, Bill. I haven't even known you five minutes and I can tell." Whatever he did, I wasn't too clear on, but I could tell when a relationship was over. Theirs was clearly over. "But I am curious what you did to make her so pissed at you."
Bill said nothing and walked off to watch the stage. Actually, it was to watch Sookie. Apparently she was in the band with Quinn. Wonders never cease.
She caught me watching her. I was surprised, I admit, to see the bartender on stage tuning a guitar. I knew she'd seen Bill but she dismissed him just as fast. I watched her and her band mates tune their instruments and confer on stage for a minute before Sookie gave the okay and the lights dimmed.
She stepped up with her guitar on, planting her feet apart and grabbed the mic with both hands. The beat of a bass drum began, slowly, and the crowded picked it up with hands in the air and screams of "Hey!" to match the beat. The drum beat quit to sudden silence. The atmosphere was palpable. The stage lights came on as all the instruments started to play together and Sookie let out a pitched scream into the mic.
Holy shit.
It was a battle cry. One that she held for a longer than I would have imagined could come from someone her size.
The song melded melodies of violin, drums and guitar into a single upbeat number that had everyone in the audience jumping up and down. The woman behind the keys, she had an impressive set, moving the synth to sound from violin to flute to accordion. They all sang on mic as Sookie whipped out a tambourine to shake. It ended it cheers, calls and claps from the audience.
Sookie was a vision lit up on stage. I could see it. She was home there.
They moved into their second song with strong crashing of cymbals and plucky guitars. I spared a glance and Bill still had his eyes locked on Sookie as she stood back from the mic to play a solo and bang her head in rhythm. The two guitarists' hair swayed in synchronicity as they bobbed to their own playing. They sang together in a chorus that sounded like a battle regiment.
When the song finished Sookie spoke, "Wow. Thank you all so much. This is a really great night for us. We're on stage with some truly great performers. And we're so happy you're all enjoying the music. Now I know saying how happy you are isn't very brutal…" many laughs from the audience, "but we're all here to have a good time, right!" More cheers. "Drink some beer," she picked one up I hadn't known was on the ground near her and held it up, "and party!" That was met with a loud roar from the audience.
The guitarist came over to whisper something in her ear. She nodded and said something back. She looked back and the rest the band, who nodded.
"The next song is something new we've been working on. It came about when I started thinking about some people who don't know when to quit. You know the type. 'No' isn't a word that satisfies them."
I watched the direction she was looking toward. Right at Bill.
The song started slowly with keyboards in a haunting melody before the rest of the instruments came in. The drums beat in a steady wave of bass, tom, crash and smash, as the guitars and bass were shredded and plucked. Sookie focused on playing her guitar as she stepped up to the mic. "My dreams are always the same, I see you. Hallowed melodies of piano. Fear is my best friend, it keeps me alive."
Glancing from Sookie to Bill, I might have just found someone I disliked more than Victor.
"What is it I got, that triggers you to follow me day and night? I can smell your stench all around." Quinn pounded on the drums while the guitarist moved with rapid speed, moving their bodies in tune. "I don't know what your demons are telling you, but it ain't me you're looking for." They all stepped up to the mics where the lights illuminated them in shades of phosphorescent pink and blue. "Why?" They all sang. Sookie followed it up with another screeched "Why?" before they all joined in again. "Why won't you leave me alone? It drives me insane. Why? Why won't you just let me go?" The guitarist let out a guttural, "Stay out of my way!" before it paused for a moment of guitar and drums.
The song continued in the same vein, "Never sleep with your enemies, they'll steal all that you got. Framed by the lust, you spin out of control." She elongated the last to meet the sound of the guitars. The sound kept elevating and peaked at a high note of the keyboard before launching into the chorus again.
Sookie shook her head as the song started to wrap up, belting out, "Don't you mess with my head. What triggers you I don't understand." It repeated again. And again. I watched Bill has his face tightened and he turned his back on her and walked off. She smiled.
He finally got the message. The final chorus began at a faster pace and came to a slowing halt with the same haunting keyboard melody.
So much for my thoughts of one night with this girl. She's worth much more than a night, I thought, sipping my beer.
My eyes swept through the room, taking in the audience's reaction to the song. I stopped when I saw him. Damn. Madden.
SPOV
The set went well. The crowd was rowdy, jumping moshing and headbanging to all our songs. There were boos when we announced our last song for the night and cries for more.
Jason spoke, "if you want to hear more, or have a talk with us later on, we'll be over by the merchandise area. Except for Sookie," he said and looked at me, "she'll be over at the bar and promises to talk to anyone who leaves her a nice tip."
"That's not true!" I yelled into the mic. "I'll talk to you if you don't leave me a tip. Of course, I might tell you you're an asshole." I shrugged as the crowd laughed. "But feel free to come up to the bar later."
When I turned to the stage right I saw Eric there, watching me, as he seems to like doing. Pam was watching from the side, as well as two of the guys from Holy Moses and the drummer from Arch Enemy. They congratulated us on a set well played.
As I carted some of our stuff off stage, I felt someone lean up against me. "If I had known you were that talented with your fingers, I would have let you explore the rest of me for tattoos."
I may have made a gasping sound.
I turned. The better lighting in the back really let me see him. Alright. Yes. He is gorgeous. And I'm a sweaty mess. That wouldn't do. I was not prepared for such attention. On stage it's different. This is...this is different too. And I wasn't sure if I wanted anything so soon after Bill.
"Listen, Sweden, I have to get this equipment to my car and get back to work. I don't have time to flirt." I pivoted on my heel and grabbed the guitar case and amp. I'd come back for the rest. I'd made it to the back door when I heard footsteps behind mine. Eric was carrying another amp, my pedal board and some cables. I looked down and smiled to myself. It would seem I acquired a roadie in Eric Northman.
Claudine was loading her keyboards into her trunk when we came out the back. Parts of Quinn's drum set were down on the sidewalk next to the wall of the club. Lights from his car flickered on. We walked silently to my car, parked in the back and off to the side where the staff spots are reserved.
"This is your car?"
"What? The Jetta is a perfectly acceptable car." I popped the trunk.
"But it's so…girly." He placed the amp and board he was holding inside.
"Pfff. I know plenty of guys who drive Jettas. I made to move my amp in but held off as he pushed the first one to the side.
"Jettas are hardly fast cars." He asked and took the amp I was holding by the handle without asking me.
"So a car is determined to be masculine if it can go really fast? Are you sure you don't need to check the engine for a hidden penis?"
That garnered a surprise laugh. "Pretty sure. I might find some other parts though."
"So what do you drive?"
"A corvette."
"Of course you do. Penis car."
He grinned. "A penis car, you say? Tell me, Sookie, this little girl," and he patted my insulted Jetta, "drives stick does it not?" I nodded. "So does that mean you drive a mean stick, Sookie?"
It was my turn to laugh and before I knew it Eric was kissing me. It was sudden and his strong mouth covered mine. I had a moment of resistance before I let him kiss me. He probed my mouth with his tongue and knew exactly what he was doing to get a reaction. He wrapped me flush against his body. Distantly I heard the thump of my amp dropping to the ground. My hands found their way into his hair. Several whistles and catcalls sounded to interrupt us. We'd been seen.
I looked over and the rest of my band was watching with cocky grins on their faces. Except for Quinn, who looked a bit worried.
I cleared my throat and stepped back. "Don't you have a set to play?" Eric was looking at me like he wanted to eat me.
"Yes." He didn't move.
He moved toward me again but I side stepped him and closed my trunk. When I turned around Eric had a funny look on his face.
"What happened to your car?"
"What?" I moved to see what he was looking at. "Son of a bitch!" I yelled, perhaps too loudly. Someone had keyed the word "bitch" into my driver's side door.
The others came over and looked. "Damn," was all Jason could offer.
"Was it Bill?" Claudine asked.
I sighed. "Probably."
Tray crouched down and examined it. "It's not terrible," he said. "I can fix it. Bring it down tomorrow."
I let out a breath of relief. "Thanks, Tray." I knew he would never overcharge me, but still, that will be a good chunk of tip money going to fix this.
Quinn was quiet. I glanced up, seeing him on the other side of the car. "Better not look at this side." He said.
That only meant we all had to go and look at the other side. Quinn was right. "Whore" was keyed in big capital letters.
"Great."
"Do you have insurance?" Eric asked.
"Yes." Then I realized something. "And evidence." I pointed up to the building. A small security camera was facing the employee lot.
A few minutes later we were all back inside. I'd gone in for a fast shower, to wash the sweat off me. Changing clothes, I took my spot back behind the bar with Kennedy, ready to sling drinks for the remainder of the night. I was suddenly more popular and everyone wanted a picture with me. People came up to congratulate me on a wonderful performance and asked me questions about our songs and band. A few people were there from internet magazines and asked me a few questions on our style, how I started playing and what my influences are. The questions only ceased when the lights dimmed and The Living Dead started to play.
I finally caught a look at their drummer, Thalia. From what Pam was describing I was expecting some huge hulked-out type of woman but she was a tiny thing. Long black hair flowed from her head in waves. She looked innocent in her petite frame. Her face showed anything but. If I had to guess, I'd say she looked Greek.
Their bass player was redheaded with freckled fair skin covering his face and muscular arms, while their keyboardist was the only black man I've seen here tonight. He had long dreadlocks that went down to his waist and was not wearing a shirt. I may have stared a little too long because I eventually noticed Eric staring at me and not tuning his guitar. I shrugged my shoulders in a "what?" gesture. He went back to examining his guitar.
Geez. If he was going to start pulling the jealously-possessive crap when all he's done is kiss me, then I'll have to shut him down pretty quick. I felt myself sigh. He was pretty nice. But I would not get myself entangled with another Bill.
The house lights dimmed and the stage got brighter as Pam stepped to the microphone. The song started loud and ascended in a cacophony of speedy riffs from Eric and blast beats from Thalia. The bass player moved around bobbing his head in a speedy headbanging rhythm as Pam let out a deep growl and began singing. They were all incredibly talented. I thought their keyboardist and Claudine should talk. I imagined they'd have lots to say to each other about synthesizer tech.
Eric really was a talented shredder on the guitar. Certainly better than Jason. I wondered if he'd had lessons from any of the big names in Sweden. He had a crowd of girls at his feet. The only thing that seemed to stop them from getting on stage was the metal barrier.
The crowd was going nuts for them, moshing, jumping and headbanging with every beat.
By the time they reached the last song, I was sold on them being a band destined for a good future.
"For the last song of the night," Pam crooned, "part of the vocals will be sung by our lead guitarist, Eric."
There was general applause and quite a few female screams from the audience.
The song started in a midrange repetition of guitar chords, beating toms and crashing cymbals. The bass picked up in a steady rhythm, with intermittent sounds from the drums' high-hat and cymbal. It began to crest faster before slowing to just a guitar strumming.
Eric put his lips up to the mic. The most sorrowful and deep voice penetrated the hall. "I lost myself…in these streets." The drums picked up and died. "A passenger of foreign tongue…and the sun sets, in, the same language." The simple strumming melody continued "And rises just the same."
I've never heard a voice quite like his before.
The pattern went on. "There was no grand design…to get to this point." He looked at his guitar as he sang. "No absolutes or given truths. We were not carved in stone." The instruments picked up at a louder pace as Eric let out the next lyric in a wail. "She sent the sun to heal me. She sent the moon to guide me…and when the words failed me, so she lay beside me."
A long instrumental picked up at that. The guitar moved in a steady pattern as Eric moved around the frets. It did look like he had talented fingers. The bass player matched it and Thalia tapped, carefully timed at the cymbals and snare. It slowed back down for the next set of lyrics. "And sometimes I get to thinking of the past, when I've had more than a drink or two." It was slow. Reverent. "Who knows where the days go? And would you ever want them back?" This was the kind of music you could really feel. "Would you ever want them back?"
The song faded out to silence from the hall, followed by a sudden eruption of applause and thunderous shouts for "More!"
I found myself having a new respect for Eric Northman. The guy I'd heard of was just that, someone I'd heard of but never met. He wasn't ever someone I'd concerned myself with except to know that he was making a good name for himself as a solid businessman in the music industry. Now I had to meld that with the cocksure guy who thought I'd go all starry-eyed for guitar player who had lived in Sweden and the striking man on stage.
I shook myself and went to handle a new wave of drink orders. Metalheads drink. A lot.
The rest of the show passed quickly. Holy Moses was excellent on stage and perfect for riling up the crowd. Half of Omission came up to get drinks, as did Jason and Claudine, to bring back to the merch stand.
Kennedy and I worked in a flurry. I liked working with her and we got along in a comfortable way.
Arch Enemy came on to a barrage of cheers, hollers and chants. The crowd moved in a seamless flowing wave as they broke into their first song: strong blast beating and powerful guitar riffs.
By the end of the night I was ready to go to bed. I didn't see Eric again after his set and Pam didn't know where he got off too. The two main acts got on their buses not an hour after the show closed and headed off to the next town they were playing in. Lafayette came over for some much needed alcohol and rubbed the back of his neck.
"What a night," he said, propping himself up on a stool. "Give me something good, sweet thing."
I picked up two bottles and showed him. He pointed to the one in my right and I poured him a shot.
Kennedy was cleaning up the bar, since I did all the prep.
Sam joined our group, which now consisted of Omission, and the people that came with them, the rest of Changeling, since I was here already, Crystal, and all of Pam's band, The Living Dead, minus Eric. "So, good night tonight, Sam?" I asked him.
"It's been a great night. I'll have to call Kenya soon to get to the bank." I poured him a shot of tequila. "How did things go with Bill?"
"Oh. Okay, I thought. Then not so okay later. I'm going to need to see the security footage from the parking lot."
"Why?" Sam asked as he put the drink down.
"The asshole keyed her car up," Quinn informed. There was a general consensus of name calling levied at Bill.
"We don't know for sure that it was him." I said. "But it probably it was."
"I'll take a look at the footage and let you know what I find, cher." Sam used that particular term of endearment whenever he was upset about something.
"Thanks, Sam."
Claudine called me over to her. "Sookie, have you ever heard of Victor Madden?"
"No, who is he?"
She took a business card out of her pocket. "He came to talk to us after our set and said he works in PR and promotions. He's interested in getting us a label."
"Really? Did he talk to all of you?" Maybe this night would work out even better than expected.
"Yes, he said he thought we had plenty of talent that was being underused. That he could get us some great venues to play and maximize our exposure."
"But isn't that what Dead Until Dark is supposed to be doing for us? That's what Quinn talked about."
"Quinn seems to know this Victor guy too. Hey Quinn!" She called. His head picked up from the conversation he was in. "Come over here."
When he did, I asked him, "What's this about you knowing a Victor Madden?"
"I met him once or twice before. He's pretty good at making fast money." Quinn sipped the beer in his hand.
"What about your deal with Eric?"
"That was just for this show. We haven't signed anything yet." He better not have signed anything with anyone yet.
"I think we should wait and discuss this at our next practice." I looked over at Jason, who was being very handsy with Crystal. Tray had to work tomorrow and looked like he was about ready to pack it in. "What do you say?"
They agreed and soon we started to clear out.
"Pam? Where is Eric?" I thought it odd that he didn't come out for a single drink with his, or any of the other bands.
She looked at me. "He got under your skin didn't he? Fuck a duck. I'm sorry Sook, but if he's not here, he probably took off with someone else already."
I can't say I wasn't disappointed. "Where are you parked?" I asked while we walked out together.
"In the back visitor's space."
"We rocked tonight, didn't we." I said, feeling the need to cheer myself up.
"Yes we did. And not one douchebag asked to see my tits tonight."
I laughed. "Well, they are great."
"Yours are better," she said and poked one.
"Ow." I looked down at them and tried to marvel at their existence. "Eh."
Pam stopped. "His car is still here."
"Whose?"
"Eric's." Of course. The only corvette in the lot.
"I guess he's still inside. That's weird." We walked up to the car, thinking maybe he fell asleep inside but it was empty. "I'll take a quick look in to see if he's hiding somewhere." Though, if he was in the middle of anything with a groupie in any of our storage rooms, I would not be happy.
"You want me to come with you?"
Tempting. Pam could be quite loud when she wanted. "That's okay. I know my way around the place better than you."
It didn't take me long to find him. We don't usually lock the bathroom, since it's not for a single person at a time. Sometimes the customers would lock the bathrooms though, either accidently or on purpose. When I found one of male bathrooms locked and heard a faint noise from within, I ran to get the key from under the bar. I was so glad we had extra keys for them out here.
I unlocked the door to a truly strange sight. Eric was on the floor, floating, it seemed in and out of consciousness. There was a girl there with him. He had changed his clothes, since what he was wearing before would have gotten all sweaty. These were very rumpled.
"What hell are you doing?"
"None of your business, bitch. Get lost!"
My eyes widened as I saw his unbuckled belt. "In case you haven't noticed, the show is over and the club is closed. Get up."
She did, but instead of leaving the bathroom, she took a drunken swing at me, which I ducked. She turned around, presumably to try again and I punched her. The blow forced her back into the wall where she slumped down. My hand was going to sting tomorrow.
I bent over Eric. He had passed out. Wonderful.
I ran out to Sam's office and started pounding on the door. "Sam!"
The door opened abruptly. "What's going on?"
I took his hand. "Come on!" I yelled and dragged him toward the bathroom. I briefly explained the situation I'd found. He whipped out his cell phone and called Kenya. The girl struggled to her feel and tried to make it to the door but Sam blocked her.
"You're not going anywhere."
Sam took her by the arm and led her to his office. He beckoned me to follow.
"But…"
"He's not going anywhere. I've got something in my first aid kit that might help."
Reluctantly, I followed. It turned out what he had was smelling salts. "Sometimes someone will pass out from too much to drink," he said.
When I got back I zipped Eric's pants up for him. Breaking the salts open, I held them in front of his nose. It took a little while, and maybe a few slaps to the face, to get any rise out of him.
He looked at me through bleary eyes. "Sookie? What's…" He was starting to drift again.
"No! No! You stay awake!" I slapped him. That seemed to help. "You need to stand up."
I took his arm and pulled. That broke him out of his stupor for a moment as he tried to get his own weight up. "Get up!" Finally, after some heavy sweating on my part, he was up and leaning heavily against me. "Jesus, Eric. You weigh a ton!"
His other hand was propped up on the wall as we moved slowly out of the bathroom. "You called me Eric."
"Oh, shut up." I gritted out.
We stumbled outside. I wanted to get him in my car so I could at least get him home, or to a police station, if need be. With some maneuvering that I may well believe to be magic, I got him into my car. I had to adjust the seat because his long legs looked horribly cramped.
"Okay," I breathed out, once he was slumped in the passenger seat. "Don't go anywhere."
I went back to find Sam, who informed me that Kenya just pulled up. I had to repeat what I'd found. She made the girl stand up against the wall so she could be searched. The girl started to cry and say that this was all a big mistake. It didn't look like a mistake when Kenya pulled out a small bag full of different pills.
"What did you give Eric?" I asked.
She said nothing. Kenya looked in the bag. "I recognize most of these. It was probably this," she said and held up a tiny white tablet. "Is this what you gave him?" The girl looked down. "It would help you if you told us." Kenya informed her. The girl nodded slowly then.
I told Kenya where Eric was and after cuffing the girl and putting her in the squad car, she came back in and I showed her to him. He was passed out again. She made sure he was still breathing and said he should be fine once the drug wears off.
"I would bring him in for a statement, but it wouldn't do any good right now. Take him home. Make sure he comes into the station to give his statement once he's coherent." She gave me the precinct number and wrote down the address for me on her notepad. "You'll have to give a statement too." She said. I nodded my acceptance.
Sam looked worried. "How are you going to get him out of your car?"
I looked at the figure of sleeping Eric; hair disheveled, tattooed and overall, kind of dangerous looking when he was staring you down.
"I'll ride behind you." He said.
"Thanks, Sam." I got into my car and started the engine. Then I realized I didn't know where Eric lives.
"Eric?" I shook him. Nothing. "Eric?" I called louder. "Damn, damn, damn."
I felt for a wallet in his pocket. There was nothing delicate about my hands now. I couldn't reach the back pockets with the way he was sitting.
I sat back and sighed before putting my car into gear and driving off. Sam was right behind me when I pulled up outside my apartment. Sam was a lot better at handling some of Eric's weight than I was. Between the two of us we managed to get him slightly conscious and moved upstairs to my door. Sam let him collapse on my sofa and looked up.
"This isn't his place, is it?" He asked, looking around at the tidy living room."
"No." I said.
"Do you want me to stay?"
I smiled. "I'll be fine, Sam. I seriously doubt he is going to try anything after what he's just been through. Plus I've been friends with his sister for years."
"You'll call me if anything happens?"
"Yes, dad. Scout's honor." I gave him a little salute.
Sam scowled at me. "I am way too young for that."
I chuckled. "Sure." We walked to the door and said goodnight.
I got some extra pillows out from the linen closet and tried to arrange Eric in a more comfortable position. It was like trying to move a stone wall. I got as far as getting him on his back and took his shoes off. His arm had gotten to a weird angle from the side of the couch and I moved it to rest on top of him. That was when I noticed he wasn't wearing the cotton wrist guards he'd had on before the show. I figured they were wherever the other clothes he'd been wearing were. That wasn't the only thing that caught my eye. It was the perpendicular faded line on his wrist. I ran my thumb over it to find that it was raised slightly. He had an identical one on the other wrist. The tattoos hid it, but not completely. I put his arms down on the couch and stood up, deciding I'd discovered more information than I had any right to know about someone I just met tonight. Pulling a blanket out from the closet, I covered him and went to get myself ready for bed.
He was still out the next morning and didn't stir until about noon. I texted Pam that I'd found Eric and he was okay (more or less). Then I called Sam to tell him Eric was still conked out on the couch and asked if he'd looked at the security footage. He had. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who'd been followed to the concert. The footage showed Bill arguing with a girl (I was assuming Debbie) near my car. She had already carved "whore" into my car when he found her. Bill carved "bitch." I guess he didn't like his song.
Eric found me in the kitchen.
"Hey." He said from the doorway.
I jumped. He'd been quiet as a field mouse moving from the living room to here. His voice was a bit hoarse from last night, but so was mine. "Hey back," I said. "You want some coffee?"
He nodded and moved on slightly wobbly legs to a chair and slumped down. "What happened?"
"What do you remember?"
"Um. After we finished the set and loaded our stuff back up, I went to get cleaned up. By then Holy Moses had started." I put a cup in front of him and set the milk, cream and sugar down so he could choose what he wanted and sat. Sometimes I liked those flavored creams instead of milk. "I talked for a while with Arch Enemy's people and got some good contacts with them. They liked what I did tonight. We shared some more drinks and couple of girls had gotten backstage."
"Do you know how? We normally have very tight security about that sort of thing."
"No. But a bunch of them sat around me and started talking. I think one of them drugged me."
"Yeah, they did." I said. "With a roofie."
Eric groaned and covered his face. "It had to be some half-cocked scheme of Victor's. I don't remember much after that."
"Victor Madden?"
His head shot up. "You know him?"
"He was there last night. I didn't meet him since I was behind the bar but the rest of the band did. He's interested in us."
"You shouldn't trust him. He's a snake. And he'll do whatever he can to steal my business."
"If he had someone drug you just to stake a claim on us, I'd say so. I'll talk to Sam again about the security footage. Maybe there's something there that could help you." I wish I had known this when I talked to him earlier.
"That would be very helpful."
"Sam isn't too happy right now with what happened last night. I'm sure he'll be over the footage many times." If he hasn't already.
He nodded. "Where did you find me?"
I told him where and how I'd found him and how he'd managed to go from the club to my couch. There wasn't really a delicate way to say it.
He was quiet for a long time. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't walked in when you did." He rubbed his wrists. I don't think he was aware he'd done it because he was looking at me. "You didn't have to look for me but you did. Thank you."
I took one of his big hands in mine. "You're welcome. You'll still have to go to the police later about it." I rubbed my thumb over his wrist.
He looked down at my hand on his and said nothing for a long time. I wasn't sure what he'd do, or if he'd get up and walk out because I'd invaded something too personal. Eventually, he nodded. "You'll go with me?"
"Yes," I said. It wasn't just because I had to make a statement myself, but the way he'd asked. I'd go.
He kissed me then and I felt myself crumble just a little bit as his lips moved down my neck, covering what skin he could find. When the positions we were seated in became uncomfortable he pulled me to him and lifted me onto the table. He looked at the simple cut off sweat shorts I was wearing before meeting my eyes. I nodded and he pulled them off. He used his shoulders to prop my legs up.
"Watch me," he said. And I did.
A few hours later we showered and headed off to the police station together.