aren’t right? That singer of yours is smoking hot.”
“Molly? Yeah. She knows it too, but man, she fills the seats.”
“You’ve got a couple hot ones. Gorgeous brunette and another blond, but I haven’t paid much attention to her. She doesn’t have the same stage presence as the other two, though she certainly goes toe to toe with you.”
“Elle, yeah.” Formally Richelle Crandall, or Ricki as she’d once been known. She’d joined the band and started using the name Elle to try to distance herself from her troubled past. Some of them called her Ricki, some called her Elle, but no one could deny her talent. Especially Michael. “She makes me work for it every night.”
“And Ryan and West. I remember you introducing me to those guys back at Christmas one year. Ry, always with the plans. And West had his hair colored Kool-Aid blue.”
“It’s blond most of the time now. Not at the moment though. Usually it just looks like he hacked at it with pinking shears.”
“Sounds about right. So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is Ry’s stuck on drums when he’s always been more comfortable being a jack-of-all-trades. He knows a bunch of different instruments and loves changing up the arrangements of songs. Getting stuck behind the kit is like hell to him.”
Mal snorted. “Some hell, being part of a band with an incredible sound.”
The confidence his words instilled in Michael made him more sure with every passing second that this was right. It had to be right.
In his current world of fuckery, this one good thing needed to happen.
“He sprained his wrist and he can’t play tomorrow night. We have our biggest show yet at the House of Blues in Vegas. Three of us on the bill, though of course Warning Sign is opening.”
“For now.” Mal nodded. “You do your time, then you move on.”
“Yeah. But without a drummer, we can’t go anywhere. Lila’s gonna rip us a new one.”
“So she’ll nab a studio musician from somewhere. There’s gotta be tons of them.”
“This is our biggest gig yet. You really think now is the time to try to work with some studio type none of us have ever even met?”
“Doesn’t sound like you have much choice. Sorry to say.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Michael took a deep breath. “You wanted to know what the deal was? I’ll come to the wedding. You fill in on drums tomorrow night.”
Mal stared at Michael for a minute, then dropped his head back and roared with laughter. “Jesus fuck, you’ve lost your mind.”
“No, I think I’ve finally found it.” Michael clapped his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “So what do you say? You in or not?”
Mal said nothing, so Michael nodded, dropped his hand and moved back. “I get it. It’s scary to come out on a big stage like that without any experience, or even any real practice time in years. It’s fucking terrifying.”
“You think I’m scared? Do you know what I used to do?”
“Yeah, I know you used to get behind the wheel and race fuckers as stupid as you, risking all your lives. Believe me, I know. That doesn’t mean you’re not scared to touch the sticks again.”
Mal turned away. “Fuck that shit. And fuck you too.”
“We’ll be at the plane at nine am tomorrow.” Quickly, Michael rattled off the address of the airstrip where Donovan Lewis’s jet would be located to take them to Vegas in the morning.
Malachi didn’t respond. Just walked away and slammed the door shut behind him.
Michael locked his hands behind his neck and bent at the waist, sucking in a deep breath. Either he’d just saved their asses or they were just as fucked as before.
And his brother probably wouldn’t ever speak to him again.
Chapter 4
“I still say we could have done this as a road trip. Vegas isn’t that far from LA.”
“I could only get three days off, remember?” Chloe Adams glanced at one of her best friends. Her white-knuckle grip on the arms of the plush airline seat belied the calmness of Jinx’s voice. She wasn’t wild about letting people know her weaknesses. Flying being one of them, of course.
Personally, Chloe wasn’t worried about the massive personal jet they were on. Or keeping it in the sky. Mr. Lewis only owned the best—this ridiculous Lear jet was only one of the fleet that he owned. Seriously, who owned a fleet of planes other than an airline?
Right, a billionaire, that’s who. Something that was so far out of her stratosphere it was laughable. She’d had