Braylin,” Marlon yelled. “I know you’ve been avoiding the dude—with good reason—but have you seen Sal?”
Braylin met Marlon and Derek’s worried expressions.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t,” he yelled back. “I’m probably stating the obvious, but has anyone checked his room?”
Derek patted the side of Braylin’s arm. “Not that obvious. None of us want to go near the gates of hell.”
Marlon elbowed Derek’s side with a frown. “Not helping.” He returned his attention to Braylin, and Braylin moved closer to them so they all wouldn’t have to shout so loud over the music. “Gordy went up there about fifteen minutes ago, we’ve been texting back and forth. Nothing. He’s probably just pulling one of his stunts where he likes to give us a scare in the name of getting a rise out of Zen, but he wasn’t hanging around the hotel today like he usually does. And if he isn’t in his room, we can’t imagine where else he could be. He never got a ride to the venue either. We checked with all our drivers.”
Derek crossed his arms and smirked. “I sure as fuck can guess where he is. I counted at least three bars within a one-block radius of that joint we’re staying at that’s trying to pass itself off as a hotel.”
Braylin swallowed hard. Sure, the guy was an alcoholic, but he’d been stone cold sober for the past three months and knew he’d already used up his last hall pass with the band.
“Does Zen know?”
Braylin had left Zen in his dressing room about twenty minutes before so his Dom could get in the zone for his performance and Braylin could get in place to do his own job.
Marlon winced. “Gordy is probably in there now breaking the news. He just got back from the hotel. He wanted to try Sal’s room first before getting Zen worked up, and figured he’d drop the bomb in person.”
“Damn.”
Braylin said it mostly to himself, shoving his hands into the pockets of the baggier jeans he used for bending and rushing around on stage. He struggled with himself inwardly, wanting to go to Zen in support, while simultaneously doubting it was the right move. There wasn’t anything tangible he could do to help, and he had a job to do in a few minutes.
He frowned. Do I?
What the hell would the band do if Sal couldn’t be found soon? Braylin’s stomach twisted. It was so unfair to everyone. Not only to the band, but the fans. Sal was truly the biggest asshole Braylin had ever met, and he hated that he’d worshipped the loser for so many years.
Marlon and Derek were still going back and forth discussing various Sal theories and Braylin could see how stressed out they were getting. Pete rushed up to Braylin and grabbed his arm.
“Dude!” He yelled in Braylin’s ear. “Did you hear? Sal’s disappeared!”
Braylin nodded. “Derek and Marlon just told me.”
“They’re gonna have to cancel the show.”
Braylin winced. “Oh man, they decided to cancel, huh?”
Pete shook his head. “Not yet, but what the fuck else can they do?” Pete’s eyes widened and he gripped Braylin’s arm harder. “Dude! You can do it, you can play!”
Braylin’s jaw dropped and he yanked his arm free, vehemently shaking his head. “No way! Are you crazy?”
Pete threw his hands in the air in clear exasperation. “Except for the times you’re off smooching with Zen in his suite, you’re in our room practicing. If I have to listen to Bastard Stomp one more time, I’ll lose my entire mind—even if you don’t have your ax plugged in.”
Braylin considered vomiting on the floor but figured no one would appreciate his opinion of Pete’s idea.
“Pete, I can’t. I’m being serious. Even if I went on stage and played everything perfectly, which is doubtful, it’s not cool. I’m not the guitarist. No one’s asked me to fill in, it’s not my place to shoulder my way in and…” Braylin knew there had to be a zillion different reasons why this was a horrible idea, but Pete was staring at him, arms crossed and radiating an irritated expression. Braylin glanced down at his baggy, rather ripped up jeans and his faded, Death to Disco T-shirt. “And another thing, I hardly fit the image of Glitter Kink’s guitarist.” He gestured up and down his frame.
Pete rolled his eyes. “Ever see the shit Sal wears on stage? Him and Zen used to argue about it constantly until Zen finally gave up to preserve his own sanity.”
Braylin’s anxiety grew. Pete