Fractured Beat (Meltdown Book 1) (7 page)

Grant

D
ick move Grant
, I thought, as I watched her run out the door. What did Blane say her name was?
Misty?
No, that wasn’t it.
Maybe it was Marlene?
With her ice blue eyes and tight little body she was a tempting package. Too bad I wanted her gone like a bad case of the crabs. If I blamed anyone for this mess, it was Blane.

At the time Meltdown joined the label all we cared about was breaking into the industry. Who held the power in the label didn’t mean shit to any of us. Our goal was to spread our music as far and wide as we could. Getting paid to do what we loved was simply icing on the cake. Blane called all the shots but he was fair about it. He listened to our input and valued our opinions. Then things began to change. Blane wanted more. He wanted sponsors and backing that he alone couldn’t get. His father, however, could. None of us really understood what this meant. Blane was good at what he did and we trusted him. So, when he put together a management team comprised mostly of family members, we didn’t say a word. He assured us nothing would change, and for a while he was right. After about a year Blane’s father began showing up at meetings. He would sit in silence and listen but rarely said a word. I don’t know what happened but at some point he began voicing his thoughts and opinions. Sometimes we agreed with him and sometimes we didn’t. What I didn’t realize, until this morning, was how much the power had shifted. The old Blane would never have let his dad call the shots. Blane still talked a big game but it was apparent his dick of a father was now holding the cards. If it was up to me I would tell Blane, his asshole father and Happenstance to shove the contract up their asses and walk away.

“Are we starting set one with Breaking Stride?” Nash asked. Breaking Stride was our first song to hit the Billboard’s top 100. It had also been the first song on our set list for the past three years. I was hesitant to change it up.

My eyes darted to Chaz and he quickly looked away. I could tell by the tilt of his head he was listening in on the conversation. Chaz’s anger the night I screwed up his song was warranted. I made a promise and then turned around and broke it. Even though it wasn’t my fault, it was shitty. It also wasn’t lost on me that even though Chaz was pissed at me, he was the only person to step up and show me support through all of this. If rehab did one thing, it made me realize how self-centered I’d become. The road to fame and fortune was paved by stupid fuckers who cared only about themselves and I’d become one of those fuckers.
Who cares if his song bombs? All he wants is a chance
.

“No, I think we should change it up and start with Afterthought.”

Chaz’s head spun around and he gaped at us. “Are you serious?”

“Sure,” I shrugged, and tried to play it off as no big deal. Luke smiled and Nash gave me a blank stare. Nash and I needed to talk, but not until I calmed down. If he tried to talk to me right now I would beat the shit out of him.

“Thanks man. I mean seriously, thanks,” Chaz gushed.

“How about we run through both Afterthought and Avalanche a few more times before calling it quits,” I announced.

After rehearsal we rubbed shoulders with a few of the VIP ticket holders and grabbed a bite to eat. I stuck to water only, and made sure it came from bottles which I opened with my own hands. During dinner I walked past Misty, no, that wasn’t her name.
If Nash was speaking to me, I’d ask him what her name was
. I couldn’t help but smile when I noticed her glaring at Blane.
Welcome to the club,
I thought.

“What’s up her ass?” Chaz asked from behind me.

“Who knows or cares,” I responded.

“Listen, can we talk?”

“Yeah, walk with me.” I wanted a beer from my own fridge and to get away from the bullshit.

We’d barely reached the dressing room when he started gushing again. “Thanks for giving me a chance tonight.”

“After your show of support, it’s the least I could do.”

For a second he looked like he was about to cry. “For the record, I meant what I said. I believe you didn’t take the Oxy,” he stammered.

Grabbing two bottles of beer from the fridge and the opener, I handed him one and flopped down onto one of the chairs. “That means a lot to me, man.” I opened my beer and tossed the opener to him.

“Do you have any idea who would do that to you?” he asked.

“Not a clue, do you?”

He jerked back in surprise. “Why would you ask me that?”

Before I could answer Luke, Nash and…Misty walked in. Like a vulture zeroing in on its prey she spotted the beer in my hand. It was hard not to notice how perfect her lips were when she mashed them together in disgust like that. As if sensing my amusement her eyes narrowed into squinty little slits.

“Got anymore?” Luke asked.

“Help yourself,” I answered, nodding to the fridge.

He walked over to the fridge and opened it. “Nash? Mallory?” he asked.

Mallory.
I hated to admit it but I liked it a million times better than Misty or Marlene.

“Yes,” Nash replied.

At the same time Mallory said, “No thanks. You,” she directed at me, “should not be drinking, and you,” she directed at the guys, “should not be enabling him.”

“It’s only one beer,” I playfully whined. Inside I was seething.
The fuck if she’s going to dictate what I can and can’t drink.

“One beer has destroyed many a man,” she challenged.

“Only if the man has the tolerance of a pussy,” I flipped back at her. Both Chaz and Luke snickered. I waited for her to give me another sassy comment and was slightly disappointed when she turned and walked out of the room.

“Awww, come back,” I called after her.

“You probably shouldn’t taunt her,” Nash said.

“You’re probably right,” I agreed. He smiled and I returned it with one of my own. It was progress.

“Cheers to a good show,” I announced, and held up my bottle.

“Cheers to a good show,” everyone repeated. Four bottles tapped together and for the first time in a long while I felt hopeful. These were my boys. They’d always had my back and I sure as hell always had theirs. Maybe we could find our way back to that place again.

That night the show went off without a hitch. I was surprised at how receptive the crowd was to the new song and I couldn’t help but think that maybe I was too hard on Chaz. As usual, after a great show, our adrenaline was at an all-time high and we were ready to blow off steam. The back of the house was packed, which included our dressing room. Groupies, which we referred to as Melties, were piled in like sardines.

“Melties, Melties everywhere,” Luke muttered.

“Grant, sign my tits!” one screamed.

“Sign mine first!” another shrieked, and the room erupted into a cacophony of shrieking female voices.

Luke laughed and patted me on the back. “Good luck with that.”

As I started to make my way over to the group of Melties, who were now zestfully stripping off their tops, Hank stepped in front of me. “Blane needs to speak to you,” he said.

“Tell him we can talk business tomorrow.” I nodded toward the waiting women and smiled. “As you can see, I have titties to sign.”

“He said no excuses. He’s in dressing room #2.”

“Fuck,” I hissed, and held up my finger to the flock of waiting Melties indicating I’d be right back.

“Sorry, man,” Hank said, as he led me out the door and down the hall to the dressing room where Blane was waiting.

“This better be good,” I snapped. The serious look on Blane’s face made me swallow my derogatory comment.

He began pacing back and forth in front of me. “We need to talk.”

“About?”

Blane ran his fingers through his perfectly gelled hair and I knew something was seriously fucked.

“Talk,” I commanded.

He paused long enough for me to see the pained look on his face.

“Now,” I pushed.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, he said, “I need your help.”

“With?”

He gave me a pleading look and my gut clenched.

“My help with what?” I repeated.

“I never bought into the whole you’re an addict thing,” he confessed. “I personally think you’re too much of a control freak to let drugs take you down.”

I threw up my hands. Finally someone was listening. “What do you think I’ve been trying to tell you? Someone tried to kill me. Now that I have you on board we need to investigate.”

“Believe me when I say I would if I could but we just can’t risk the exposure of an investigation right now.”

It took a minute for his words to sink in. “You told me this morning you would look into it, and what do you mean by can’t risk the exposure?”

“The label can’t take another hit. Losing Jet Matthews’ contract last year really hurt us. The only thing holding us afloat right now is the sponsors. We both know how skittish they are. They’ll pull the plug for any damn reason. If they find out what really happened that night…that we’ve hired an in house rehab specialist because their golden boy of rock is a supposed pill popper, they’ll pull their endorsements. If they pull their endorsements, we will terminate your contract. If we terminate your contract –”

“The band has to pay back the two million you fronted us when we signed,” I finished for him.

“Exactly.”

As far as I was concerned the solution was simple. “Fire the specialist. No one would ever know she was here.”

Blane threw up his hands in defeat. “I can’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because it isn’t up to me.”

“What do you mean it’s not up to you? It’s your fucking label!”

“No it’s not!” he shouted.

I fucking knew it!
“You have approximately three seconds to explain,” I warned.

“Six months ago I got in over my head and lost the label.” He said the words so fast I almost missed them…almost.

“You lost the label.” I repeated, hoping I’d misunderstood. He nodded, yes.

Fuck, fucking Blane!

I was trying hard not to lose my shit. “Gambling?” I managed to get out.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Clenching my fists I took a step toward him. Seeing the fury on my face, he quickly stepped back.
Smart man
. “Please tell me you didn’t bet the label, the future of my band, at a poker table, Blane? Please tell me I’m wrong.” I was shaking I was so angry.

His shoulders slumped and he let out a defeated sigh. “Not exactly. I owed a lot of money and asked Dad to bail me out.”

I felt like hurling. “Please tell me you didn’t?” I rasped.

“As collateral, Dad took the label,” he weakly said.

“For how long?”

He shrugged.

“Fuck!” I shouted, and picked up the coffee table and hurled it across the room.

“But I have a plan,” he stammered.

Ignoring him, I asked, “So Kirkland’s the one who doesn’t want to investigate, right?”

“He doesn’t want any negative publicity.”

“Kirkland sent me to rehab?”

Blane flinched. “He thought it would do you some good.”

“Someone tried to fucking kill me, Blane, and instead of investigating you let him send me to rehab. How in the fuck was that supposed to be good for me?”

“I tried to stop him but you know Dad, he’s old school. With Maximum Impact and Deconstruction both still in litigation he’s being extra cautious right now. The industry is cracking down and he doesn’t want to lose his investment.”

Within the past six months the music world had been rocked by several drug related deaths. Miles Miller was the drummer for Maximum Impact, and a good friend. I knew he was heavy into the scene but had no idea how heavy until he turned up dead in his hotel room. The same happened to the lead singer of Deconstruction, Jay Lassiter. I didn’t know Jay as well but respected his work. Both of these, plus the incident with our former drummer Dale, had apparently sent Kirkland over the edge.

“I’m working on getting the label back, I swear,” Blane said.

Until then Kirkland fucking Hamilton II owned my ass. I was well and truly fucked.

Nothing Is As It Seems

Mallory

G
rant was lucky
I didn’t yank that beer bottle out of his hand and bop him on the head with it, the smug ass. First chance I got I was contacting the rehab facility and asking for his file. Something wasn’t sitting right with me and I was hoping his file would give me some insight, or at least some answers.

“The boys need to head down to the stage!” a voice called out.

Noise erupted everywhere as people began spilling out into the hallway to watch the band walk by. Not wanting to get trampled I sidestepped into the first doorway I could find. In a parade like fashion Nash and Chaz passed by first. Chaz was smiling and Nash was high-fiving and joking with everyone. Next was Luke, who kept stopping to give autographs. Last was Grant. He’d changed into a pair of dark jeans and black combat boots. The sleeves of his charcoal Henley had been ripped off. Vibrant tattoos covered one of his shoulders and trailed down his arm and I wondered why the other was left bare. Hank and Sampson flanked him on both sides. Unlike the three other band members who were hamming it up for the onlookers, Grant was doing just the opposite. With his head tilted down he appeared to be deep in conversation with Hank and completely oblivious to the people chanting his name as he passed by. The threesome was almost to me when Grant’s head lifted and his eyes locked on mine. A cocky grin spread across his face and I was relieved to see normal sized pupils staring back at me.