In a Badger Way (Honey Badger Chronicles #2) - Shelly Laurenston Page 0,124
instruments that we don’t normally play. I’m on bass guitar. Johnny’s on rhythm. Cherise plays drums.”
“So she can hide behind them?”
“Yes. Wanna have some fun?”
“Can we win?” Because Stevie really wanted to make Mary Marie and her sisters suffer.
“We’re all prodigies. Of course we can win.”
So they’d gotten up on stage and Stevie, on lead guitar, played the song she called her “anthem.” Jimi Hendrix’s “Manic Depression.” She could play the music on guitar just like Jimi Hendrix could. She could also play just like Jimmy Paige and Carlos Santana. She’d had music agents trying to persuade her to put out an album with covers of great rock songs, but being able to mimic someone else’s work didn’t seem like a gift as much as just a skill she had. Her gift was in the music she composed. Because that was hers alone and it was unique.
Although to amuse herself when playing Hendrix, Stevie had even modulated her voice so she sounded like him, which freaked everybody out. The Pride actually tried to prove she’d been lip-synching. As if!
But Stevie didn’t really care about the bitches complaining because she had found something more important. A group of people she could be in a band with. Musicians who wanted nothing to do with getting record deals or screaming fans. They didn’t need to do any of that because they already had record deals and screaming fans. They were all world-renowned musicians who just liked to get together with friends and play instruments that had nothing to do with their livelihoods. Even better, Stevie fit in with them perfectly. Not just emotionally but musically. With barely a discussion between any of them, they jammed out Hendrix’s music like they’d been playing together for years.
After they were done, Coop had taken her into a hallway past the stage. That’s where he’d asked her if she’d liked to join the band full-time . . . ish. They met rarely because of their busy schedules, but when they did, they played whatever they wanted and everyone brought something for a potluck. On occasion, they would perform for an audience. Stevie wasn’t sure about that until Coop promised it would just be the wild dogs for the occasional birthday party or celebration. And, of course, Wild Dog Night when they were bored.
It sounded perfect and just what she was looking for, so Stevie agreed. What shocked her, though, was that when Coop walked back out into the main club room, Shen was glaring at him.
“What are you doing?” she asked Shen.
“What? Nothing.”
“Why are you glaring at Coop?”
“No reason. Why do you ask? Do you want a drink? I want a drink.”
Stevie caught his arm and pulled him toward the hallway she’d just left.
“What’s going on with you?” she asked.
“I told you. Nothing.”
“Then why are you being so weird with Coop? I think he’s starting to notice.”
“Gee. I’m hurting Coop’s feelings. What a tragedy.”
“I thought you liked him.”
“I do.”
Stevie was so confused. Unless . . .
“Oh, my God, are you jealous?”
* * *
Shen didn’t even want to hear that. “No.”
“You’re jealous!” Stevie crowed.
“I am not!”
“It’s okay. You can admit it.”
“I admit nothing. And this conversation is over.”
Shen started to walk away, but Stevie grabbed his arm again, yanked him back.
“I am not jealous!” he lied, and he knew he was lying. That was the worst part.
But Stevie just shook her head, her expression completely different. Instead of amused, she looked seriously concerned. “No, no.” She pointed. “See that guy?”
Shen studied the man Stevie pointed out. He was by the second, smaller bar, hunched over a bit, his gaze roaming the crowd while he nursed a drink.
“Yeah. What about him?”
“That’s Wells’s brother.”
Fucking great. “Any chance he’s just good friends with wild dogs?”
“Who the hell likes wild dogs?”
Of course, when Stevie said that out loud, several of Jess Ward’s Pack were walking by. They all stopped, stared at her.
Stevie cleared her throat. “No offense.”
* * *
Max followed Dutch into the bathroom, standing behind him while he was at the urinal.
He finished, did a little shake, zipped up, and turned—
“Jesus!” he barked in surprise. “Don’t sneak up on me.”
“What did you find out?” she asked, trying not to laugh.
Dutch went to the sinks to wash his hands. “Devon is still in Europe.”
“Is my mother safe?”
“Don’t worry. I got money to people in the prison who’ll watch out for her. Belgian bears. She couldn’t be safer. There is one little problem, though.”