VIP Access (The Road To Rocktoberfest #7) - Morticia Knight Page 0,3

for a job like this one—let alone get hired.

“That’s good to hear.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just that I’ve been wondering all along why I got so lucky to even be considered at all.”

Pete patted Braylin’s shoulder. “Look, don’t worry about it, all right? You’re here now. Seize the day and all that crap.”

They shared an easy laugh. Gordy marched in their direction with his fists clenched and brow creased. He appeared even less jolly than before.

“You.” He jabbed his finger at Braylin. “When you auditioned, you played some riffs from several Glitter Kink songs, said you had them all memorized. Do you know the whole song, or just the chorus’?”

“Oh, uh…” Shit. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. “Yeah, I know them all. I mean, the complete songs.”

“Good.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about lead, just play rhythm.”

“But…but I don’t know the new ones.” He shifted on his feet. “Well, I know the single. But the album just came out and you know, with getting ready for the tour and everything, I haven’t had the chance to—”

“Jesus, kid. Don’t worry about it. We just need you to play rhythm well enough so the rest of the band can do their thing. We’ll skip the songs in the set you don’t know.” Gordy growled. “We can’t fucking sit around all day while we pay through the nose for this place.”

“I don’t have my guitar.”

Pete whacked his arm again. “The fuck is wrong with you? Just play, man.”

Gordy threw his hands in the air. “Yeah. Just play for chrissakes. I don’t dare let you touch Princess’s axe for anything other than set-up, but the hall has instruments you can use. Go to the front and pick one out.”

Braylin was back to doing his famous goldfish impression while trying to process what was happening. “I-I…”

“Go!”

Braylin jumped, then scurried from the room while trying not to trip over his own feet. His heart pounded, the sensation so strong it pulsed in his throat. On stage with Glitter Kink. Playing while Zen sang next to him, while he moved next to him. He’d never survive.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Chapter Two

This was it, the last straw. After the tour was over, hell, thirty seconds after the last chord was played, Sal was out. Zen couldn’t put up with his shit anymore. He shook his head as he rubbed his hand across his smooth scalp. Twenty years of friendship and collaboration down the fucking drain. Although, the past few years had seen—what had once been a close relationship—strained to the point where Zen now realized it couldn’t be salvaged.

Zen adjusted the mic stand, not wanting to continue hashing everything out with the band or Gordy for a bit. They could get into a big discussion later on. For now, they had a job to do.

Zen glanced up as the new guitar tech approached to fill in for Sal. A kid. Adorable and sweet. A little guy who looked as though he might not be strong enough to hold up a guitar for too long. Totally wrong for this life. Zen had already been mentally calculating how long the kid would last on the road and what they’d do when he ran screaming. But for now, they had to work with what they had.

As Braylin climbed the steps at the side of the tall stage, Zen noted he wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Zen let out a sigh. The mess they were in wasn’t the kid’s fault, so he wouldn’t take his frustration out on the guy. However, he imagined they’d be lucky to get through one song before they either had to cancel the rehearsal for the day or try and jam without guitar.

Braylin slung the instrument over his thin frame, plugging in and fussing with the pedals. Zen didn’t comment, and he sent a warning look to the rest of the band members with a slight shake of his head. The last thing Braylin needed was to be razzed or sniped at when he hadn’t asked for this nerve-wracking development on his first day of employment. Why should the kid pay the price for Sal’s bullshit?

Braylin glanced up and cleared his throat. “O-okay. I’m ready.”

Sure you are. The kid was hunched in on himself as if he were a dog that had been beaten with a rolled-up newspaper. Zen didn’t like how skittish he appeared and fought the urge to slip into Dom mode.

“You