Collaring Chaz (Dante's Infernal #2) - Joel Abernathy Page 0,21

snapped.

“A tiny change would be mixing up a few bars, shifting up a key,” Jake growled. “You don’t want a bassist, you want a fucking puppet you can shove a hand into and micromanage every single second.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed, but the fact that Cash wasn’t immediately springing to his defense was reason to believe Jake’s claim was valid enough. And hell, I could understand. I was used to Dante alternating between childish antics and overbearing musical genius, but he was definitely an acquired taste.

“You’re being dramatic,” Dante said through gritted teeth. “But if you can’t handle a few changes, don’t worry about it. We’ll find someone else.”

Jake snorted, walking over to grab his shit from the corner. “Yeah, good luck with that. I see why the other guy ran for the hills.”

That struck a nerve, but I couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit of comeuppance on Chaz’s behalf. I had every intention of telling him, too, but I figured Dante would be calling him back soon anyway.

“Alright, let’s just break for the day so everyone can cool off,” Cash said, leading Jake over to the door, always in bouncer mode.

“Oh, I’m not coming back,” Jake said, turning back at the door. He jabbed a finger in Dante’s direction. “I thought the tabloids were exaggerating, but you are a certified nightmare, pal. No seasoned bassist in his right mind’s gonna put up with your shit.”

“Bye, Jake,” Cash growled, pushing him the rest of the way out the door. He returned a minute later, and Dante was still seething.

“What the hell are you looking at?” Dante hissed, turning his attention toward me. He had to take it out on someone when he got like this. “Something you wanna say?”

I shrugged, taking another sip from my water bottle. “I don’t think I really need to.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” I told him, well aware of Cash looming in my peripheral vision like some oversized henchman. “And if you weren’t so fucking stubborn, you’d already be on the phone asking him to come back, but I haven’t heard you admit you were wrong in the last eight years, so I won’t hold my breath.”

“Tch,” Dante scoffed, flipping his white hair out of his face like he always did when he was really pissed. “Like you’re an objective opinion.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” he said, mimicking me. “I think you’re thinking with your dick instead of your head.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Says the guy getting boned by our drummer.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Dante hissed, charging at me.

Cash caught him easily, pulling him into a bear hug from behind. “Alright, that’s enough,” he muttered. “Both of you. Everyone’s tense. It’s better just to call it a day.”

“No tension,” I said with a shrug. I grabbed my guitar case and started packing up. “I’m just not gonna be the punching bag for his tantrums. If he has a problem with it, he shouldn’t have told the only guy who’s patient enough to fuck off.”

Cash rolled his eyes, making it clear he thought we were both being children. As far as I was concerned, they could both fuck off, and I said as much on my way out of the studio.

My phone was already buzzing by the time I made it to the car. Probably Drake back from whatever call he’d been making, trying to smooth things over. I felt for him, since he couldn’t leave for ten minutes without losing a bassist and a lead guitarist, but he knew how Dante was. If he wanted me back, he needed to get him under control.

And yeah, maybe I had less patience than I usually would have because I was pissed about Chaz. But that had nothing to do with the fact that we were fucking, and it was low as shit for Dante to throw that in my face. He knew it, too. He was just too much of a stubborn asshole to admit it, but I was done playing peacemaker.

That was Cash’s job now.

Chapter 9

Chaz

I had hoped working on a new project would make it easier to sleep, but it ended up being something to occupy the sleepless hours with instead. Not that I was complaining. It had been forever since I’d felt alive playing music, and I was actually starting to get kind of into it.

Since I could record my own bass and guitar parts, and I knew enough about