Chapter 3

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

Rock star hair wet from a recent shower, Lacey sank onto the sofa beside Emma. "How's the hand?"

Emma shrugged. "I'll live."

"Yeah, but more importantly, can you play?"

Emma looked up at Lacey, who had three thin strips of tape on her temple holding her wound closed. "Should be able to. How's Neal?"

"He's taking a nap."

Emma drew her brows together. "A nap?" That didn't sound like Neal. Shouldn't he be out finding some girl to fuck for a couple hours? Or some guy? Neal didn't care either way. "Maybe we should take him to the doctor."

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

Emma guessed that made sense. Neal and August had been best friends for almost twenty years. They were even roommates. Neal was bound to feel left out now that August was married. "Yeah."

With no warning, Lacey slapped Emma on the back of the head. "Why didn't you ever mention that you fight like a UFC champion?"

Emma glanced up at her. "You never asked."

"Where did you learn to kick ass?"

The cabin of the tour bus seemed to close in on Emma. She did not like to think about her past, much less talk about it. She stared at the ice pack on her hand and shrugged. "I dunno. How about you? You were kickin' some ass."

Emma hoped to change the focus from herself to Lacey. It usually worked to dissuade prying. Especially with Lacey, attention whore extraordinaire.

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

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

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

Emma would have probably decked him one too. Killian's voice was one of those things that made Sinners so unique. Emma smiled slightly. "I'm glad we kicked their asses then."

"We should go rehearse." Lacey launched to her feet. "Our set is about half the length it usually is. I just know I'll end up kicking off with the intro to 'Twisted' when I should be playing 'Goodbye is not forever.'"

Emma chuckled. "I have a feeling we're gonna suck tonight anyway." She climbed from the comfortable leather sofa and tossed her melting ice pack in the tour bus's small freezer.

"No one will notice. The fans will be too excited to see The Lost Boys to give a rat's ass what we do."

"I think they'll notice that we suck."

Lacey chuckled. "Don't worry. No one ever listens to the bass guitarist. Suck as much as you want."

Emma bit her lip to prevent herself from telling Lacey off. The tension was really starting to get to her, and she needed an outlet. How many hours until she could visit the Evil Queen? She glanced at the clock on the stereo. Shit. Four hours too many.

After rehearsal and a quick bite of leftover wedding cake, Emma stood backstage off by herself, trying to psyche herself up enough to play live in front of twelve thousand people. The swelling in her hands had gone down, but her fingers lacked their usual flexibility. She feared that they'd let The Lost Boys down and do a piss-poor job as their opening band tonight. It made her sick to think that she might disappoint them. He owed that band a world of gratitude. Especially their lead guitarist, David.

Something poked her in the left shoulder, and she turned to find Lacey grinning at her, while using her drumstick as a prod. "You gonna hide out by the drum kit again tonight?"

Emma shrugged. She didn't like the performance part of playing live. She just wanted to play her bass guitar with all the skill she could muster and leave the crowd entertainment to Killian, August, and Neal. The three of them were naturals when it came to interacting with the audience. Emma wasn't. She felt like an as whenever she forced herself from the security of the back half of the stage.

"There's a problem with that idea tonight, princess."

"What problem?"

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

Emma's stomach plummeted into her boots. "Shit."

Lacey laughed at her misery. "This should be entertaining. Though I do remember a show when August was distracted with Ruby, and you took up his slack. You can be entertaining when you want to be."

Problem was she never wanted to be. She was there for the music. No other reason. She didn't require the ego trip of fan adulation. A loud crash startled Emma out of her reverie, Leroy, one of their long time roadies, extended a hand into a pile of empty guitar cases and pulled Neal to his feet.

"You okay?" Leroy asked.

Neal stumbled sideways as he regained his footing and held onto Leroy's arm for a long moment. Still unnaturally pale, Neal nodded slowly. "Yeah, just lost my balance."

Emma moved to stand next to their unsteady rhythm guitarist. "I think you should go get checked out. Head injuries aren't something to mess around with."

"I'm fuckin' fine. I wish everyone would stop treating me like I'm severely injured. Where the hell is August?"

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

"Jesus, all he does is fuck that woman these days," Neal grumbled. "Doesn't he realize we're onstage in ten minutes?"

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

Neal stumbled against Emma, who grabbed him by both arms to steady him. "Take deep breaths."

Neal closed his eyes and obeyed without argument.

"Better?"

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

"Why don't you go sit down?" Lacey said. "You're going to break something."

"Probably your neck," August said as he finally joined them and lifted his guitar strap over his head.

"Done boning Ruby?" Neal asked, shaking his head at the pussy-whipped disgrace his best friend had become.

August chuckled. "Not by a long shot. The real honeymoon starts in forty-six minutes."

Killian scowled and grabbed Greg, their Mohawk-sporting, guitar-tuning roadie, by both arms. "Yo, Greg. Find me two real hot ones for tonight." Killian's scowl deepened. "Make that three hot ones."

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

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

When Neal stumbled over the bottom step in the dark, August took him by one arm and helped him climb up to the stage. "You sure you're okay, buddy?" Emma heard August say over the crowd noise.

"Like you care." Neal wrenched his arm free of August's hold and trotted over to his usual spot stage right. There wasn't much light for Emma to find her own yellow X taped on the floor. At least she was behind the front line and somewhere in the middle. Here she could probably hide behind Killian's broad, muscular form.

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

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

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

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

The audience cheered Killian's debauchery. Emma couldn't help but smile. The more trouble Sinners got into, the more their fans loved them. Occasionally, they had to act like, well, sinners and maintain their mostly fabricated, dark image. They waited while August and Neal traded their usual electric guitars for acoustics to play their next song, "Goodbye is not forever." This song always put a fucking knot in Emma's throat. It reminded her of Henry Blanchard. He was a younger kid in the orphanage Emma grew up in. The more reckless, lawless, and out of control Emma had been, the more Henry admired her and wanted to be like her. One reason she couldn't forget him was because she was responsible for his death in a car accident. Emma was driving the car. A stolen car.

Neal and August flanked the sides of the stage, sitting on platforms, as they strummed the intricate riff of the band's one and only ballad. Killian sat on the front of the stage, his legs dangling over the edge, and sang his heart out. Requisite knot in her throat, chills raced down Emma's spine at the sound of Killian's amazing voice.

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

Killian tilted his head at Emma, as if to say, your turn. Emma shook her head and took several steps backward, her temporary desire to interact with the crowd completely obliterated. No sense in embarrassing herself in front of twelve thousand people.

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

"Wow, you all sucked," Lacey commented as she tossed a drumstick into the crowd at the front of the stage.

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

"I think you have a fangirl, Emma," Killian commented, wiping the sweat off his face with the hem of his shirt. "Maybe you should invite her backstage. You look like you need to get laid."

Emma felt her ears turn red. That fangirl had nothing she needed, but a black-haired dominatrix dressed in leather did. Thinking about the Evil Queen and the needs she was about to fulfill forced Emma to cross her arms over her hard nipples.

"I know I need to," Killian added.

"I get to watch, right?" Lacey asked.

"You know I perform best in front of an audience." Killian winked, took another bow, and headed offstage.

Emma handed her instrument to Greg, who carefully carried it to the collection of guitars along the side of the stage. Emma dug the black and red business card out of her pocket. Now she just had to find the darker woman's address. Nothing short of death would prevent Emma from arriving on her doorstep at precisely ten p.m.