“You told Loren and every anus at Savant responsible for you standing here that you knew our material better than he did,” Houston began the moment I was plugged into the amplifier.
I sighed, silently cursing my big mouth. It was not only a bold claim but an arrogant one, and now Houston wanted to shut me up.
“If I recall, I said I probably knew it better.”
“Well then, you probably shouldn’t have opened your mouth,” he shot back. “You’ll be responsible for both lead and rhythm, which means I need to trust not only your skills but your instincts. Show me ‘Flayed Alive.’”
You mean like you intend to do to me before the day is over? Sweet.
Wisely, I kept those thoughts to myself. Not every battle was worth fighting, and since I was technically there to learn, there was nothing I could argue. It was time to put up or shut up, and I was done letting Houston have his way. Lucky for me, I knew exactly what he was up to.
“Flayed Alive” wasn’t a mainstream song. The underground work appeared on their first EP, meaning only a true fan knew of its existence. And the icing on Houston’s cherry-topped evil cake is that Calvin wasn’t their guitarist at the time.
Nope. That honor belonged to Houston.
Calvin wasn’t a founding member of Bound. He didn’t join the band until a deal was already on the table, and rumor had it that none of the three watching and waiting for me to butcher their song had picked him. If not for Calvin and now me, Bound would have been one of the few bands that started and ended with only their original members.
Aw, was that why they hated me?
Boo-fucking-hoo.
Houston folded his long frame onto the couch directly in front of me while Loren and Jericho exchanged wary looks. Neither made a move for their instruments, so I guess I was in this alone. Without bass and drums…
Fuck it.
Taking one last look at the scenery behind Houston, an unobstructed view of downtown Los Angeles, I inhaled the fresh air coming through the open doors of the veranda and cleared away the brine that wasn’t there.
I didn’t realize how high up we were until now. It was a beautiful home though it didn’t seem at all like their style. It was too elegant and modern with clean, white lines—too much like a trophy. I pictured them in a dark castle on a foggy hill much higher than this one, far away from civilization and neighbors, with a haunted graveyard out back.
I let out a short laugh before I could catch myself.
“Something funny?” Houston inquired.
“Yeah.” I snorted. “You think you can stump me.” His brows dipped, and I cut off his response with a six-bar riff.
With each note, slashes of black and gray whipped the air around me like lightning ripping through the sky, followed by red bursting before pooling down like an open, bleeding wound.
The song was morbid and dark, cutting, and angry.
It hurt.
I wondered which one of them wrote it and decided I didn’t care.
The chord progression underneath was a little tricky and not one I practiced often, so I stumbled through the first and second verses with gritted teeth. The greens, yellows, blues, and pinks occasionally lighting up the room made it obvious each time I played the wrong note. I didn’t catch on until I reached the chorus, and by the third verse, I’d gained confidence. So much that I tweaked the rhythm of the fourth verse, giving it a smoother transition back into the chorus. It was a minor change, one I doubt they’d notice, and it made me smile at my treachery.
When the song ended, I watched the colors I knew only I could see fade before meeting Houston’s black stare.
“What the fuck was that?”
“The beginning was a little rough but—”
“I’m talking about the shit you pulled on the fourth verse. Why did you change it?”
I guess that hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Not knowing what else to do, I shrugged. “You said you needed to trust my instincts. I thought what I played sounded better.”
“This coming from someone who can’t handle more than a three-note chord? Where did you learn to play? Guitar Center?”
“You seemed to approve of my skills, or else why am I here?” When his only response was to stare at me, I glanced at the silent emo, who gave me a subtle nod of his head. Somehow that gave me the courage to dig the hole they would throw me in after a little deeper. “If you want me to do better, insulting me is not the way you’re going to get it.”
Houston tilted his head to the side, a strand of brown hair falling forward, and his tone deceptively soft when he spoke. “So how will I get it, Fawn?”
“You could show me—”
“We’re here to teach you our songs for the tour, not how to play.”
Frustrated, I strangled the fretboard of my Strat. “Then neither of us will get what we want.”
Chuckling, he stood before making his way over to me. I held my breath until the clove scent of his soap forced me to exhale just so I could get another whiff.
Pathetic.
“Let me let you in on a secret, Bambi. You weren’t chosen to succeed. You were chosen to fail. An amateur playing for Bound is a pipe dream. It’s time to wake up. You were never meant to get what you want, so I suggest you take that bass out of your voice and do what the fuck I tell you.”
Before I could ask what Houston meant because all he’d given me was more questions than answers, he turned away and returned to the couch. This time, he sat forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs and watching me with an intensity that should have frozen me on the spot. And then his lips moved.
“Do it again.”
Several hours later, I was shown to the door with the order to return even earlier the next morning. My poor, cramped fingers and abused feet screamed at the atrocity of it all. As I stepped outside, my phone pinged, letting me know that my Uber had arrived. I decided to splurge since there was no way I could make that walk a second time.
Which reminded me…
Turning on my heel and prepared to march back inside, I found Houston, Loren, and Jericho crowding the doorway, stopping me in my tracks. They’d gotten their kicks making me play the same song for ten hours straight until I hit every note the way Houston wanted without fail.
“I may not play as well as you, but I’m not stupid. There’s a reason you agreed to this, and I may not know what that reason is, but I do know something. I was either your only choice or your best chance. That means you need me.”
“Your point?” Loren asked. It didn’t escape my notice that he didn’t bother to deny it. None of them did.
“My car broke down yesterday.”
“Ah, so that’s your price. I can’t say I’m surprised. Just disappointed.” Sliding his hands in his pockets, Loren gave me a jaded look. “What will you have? A Jeep? A mini Coop? A BMW? Let me guess…roof optional, am I right?”
“I don’t want you to buy me a new car, jackass. I want a ride.”
Loren blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Until I can save enough money to fix my car, I’m on foot. The buses do not come this far uphill. I had to walk a mile this morning to get to you.”
Loren shrugged, unimpressed. “So call an Uber.”
“Every day, round trip, for the next three months? I don’t think so. I bring home minimum wage as a hostess for rich prom queens like you. I can barely afford my bills, let alone catering to your petulant whims. No ride, no Braxton. You can explain to the label why I didn’t work out.”
“Anything else?” Houston inquired in the most unaccommodating tone ever.
“Yes.” Lifting my chin, I didn’t let my gaze waver. “I take my coffee black. That shouldn’t be too hard for you to remember.”
“The fuck?” Loren spat. “Do we look like we give a damn?”
“Do I look like a punching bag? If you want me here before the sun rises, I’ll need coffee. Until the three of you see me as your equal, you’ll be fetching it until further notice.”
My phone pinged again with a warning that my ride would be leaving soon, so I turned and left, leaving my new bandmates without the last word. By the time I made it down the drive, got into the backseat of the Uber, and closed the door on another complicated day, I had three new notifications on my phone. All direct messages on Instagram.
[thebassistLo]: I’m so turned on right now
I frowned at that since I didn’t recall unblocking him. I did recall leaving my phone unattended when Houston finally let me have a bathroom break. What kind of needy prick unblocks themselves from someone else’s social media? Shaking my head, I checked my other messages, not bothering to block Loren again.
[_richnoble]: 😉
[Houston_Bound]: A car will collect you at six thirty
Ignoring the first two, I responded to Houston’s message.
[BraxtheFawn]: How do you know where I live?
Twenty minutes later, the Uber dropped me off. Once inside, I immediately headed for the shower while the bathroom hogs were out. I planned to enjoy the peace—however long it lasted. I knew Griff and Maeko would want every detail, and I wasn’t ready to relive my tortuous first day with three jaded rock gods.
They thought way too much of themselves.
With a tired sigh, I collapsed on my bed. Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be. The moment I closed my eyes, my phone chimed. Mustering up the last drop of energy I had, I rolled over and grabbed my phone only to feel my blood boil.
[Houston_Bound]: Don’t be late.
He hadn’t even bothered to answer my question.
Fucker.
The next morning, a car arrived as promised. The driver introduced himself as Barry before opening my door. He also told me that he sometimes drove Bound to events whenever they were in town. It was all a little surreal. It only got stranger when Barry pulled into the parking lot of a Starbucks and, after going inside, came out carrying a tray filled with four coffee cups.
“For you, ma’am.” Barry handed me the one with my name on it, but I was too nervous to drink, so I rode the entire way to the Beverly Hills home, holding the coffee between my shaking hands.
Pull it together, Fawn. They can probably smell fear.
When Barry arrived at the gate, I asked him to stop for a moment before driving through. Rolling down the back window where I sat on the side facing the security booth, I extended my still-hot coffee to the guard from yesterday.
“Truce?” I asked when his gaze moved back and forth between me and the cup.
I bet he thinks I poisoned it.
If I ever decided to risk life in prison, I’d definitely go big.
Perhaps murdering my new bandmates?
Slowly, the guard took the Starbucks before taking a sip, grinning, and waving us through.
Sitting back, I sighed my relief. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
