Staged Read online

  “I’m sure that’s not—”

  Iona’s words were cut off when someone ducked their head into the car.

  Roux was surprised it was a woman. Reagan Elliot—the amazing though temporary rhythm guitarist for Exodus End—looked them over carefully and offered a friendly smile. The brilliant guitarist had won some sort of talent contest to take over Max’s guitar playing while his wrist healed after surgery. Or something like that. Roux had read about her. A lot about her, actually. The cute rocker chick’s complicated love life was currently smeared all over the tabloids. Reagan nodded at them and pulled out of the car.

  “Why do I feel like they’re trying to decide if we’re too gross to ride with?” Lily whispered.

  Roux chuckled. “I don’t think it’s that. Seems they don’t like surprises.”

  “We’re excellent surprises,” Iona said. “Fabulous. We’re the best surprises that ever waited in a stuffy limo outside Madison Square Garden.”

  “Maybe you should take a cab.” Max again.

  “You take a cab,” a man answered in a deep voice.

  Roux almost swallowed her tongue when the sexiest man on legs—or off them—slid into the limo. Exodus End’s drummer had a reputation, but nothing had prepared Roux for meeting the man. He was tall and lean with muscles and bulges in all the right places and gorgeous chestnut brown hair that fell past his shoulders. There was something exotic about his heavy-lidded brown eyes as they scanned the interior of the limo.

  Steve Aimes settled into the leather upholstery and grinned at the five of them as if he’d just opened the best birthday gift of his life.

  “Right on,” he said, his deep voice sending shivers down Roux’s spine. “The hookers are already here.”

  Hookers?

  Two

  Steve had been chasing pussy since he could walk. The family cat had been terrified of his grabby toddler self and had run for her life, but he now appreciated the practice. Since puberty, he’d been chasing pussy of a different sort. And the five sexy goth ladies who were currently directing eye daggers in his direction—apparently they hadn’t appreciated being called hookers—might be running now, but he was sure it wouldn’t take much effort to catch his pick. And he already knew which one he wanted.

  “I call dibs on Red,” he said when his bandmates shuffled into the car. Red was a mix of fire and ice he couldn’t resist.

  “Excuse me?” she said, blinking a pair of stabby green-gold eyes.

  He wondered what she looked like without the dark and heavy makeup, without the fancy clothes, with all her barriers down. He guaranteed he’d know before the night was over.

  Dare, who was sitting to Steve’s right—apparently the entire band seemed keen on squashing Steve against the far wall—elbowed him in the ribs.

  “You fucking moron,” Dare said close to his ear. “Those women aren’t your entertainment for the evening.”

  Steve begged to differ.

  Dare whispered, “They’re the members of the band joining us on the next leg of the tour.”

  The ones that had ousted Zach’s band, Twisted Element, from their tour lineup? Well, fuck them and their fantastic tits. Zach was his best friend. That made these chicks his enemies.

  “Is it too late to take that cab?” Steve asked, eyes narrowing at the newly recognized threat in goth clothing.

  “Stop being a drama queen,” Sam said, his boner for the new talent he’d scouted obvious. “This is the band I was telling you about. Baroquen.”

  Steve forced himself not to roll his eyes. What a stupid name. They didn’t look broken to him.

  “Nice to meet you,” Reagan said to the enemy. “I haven’t gotten a chance to listen to your music yet, but Sam says you guys rock.”

  Why was Reagan kissing their asses?

  “You’ll get to hear them tomorrow during your satellite radio performance,” Sam said. “It’s all been arranged.”

  Steve went entirely still. So not only was Sam giving these newbs a spot on the tour, but also one on Exodus End’s satellite radio segment. What the fuck?

  “You gave them our airtime?” Max asked, his voice hard and lethal.

  Steve knew from experience that one did not stand in the way of Max’s success.

  Sam—who Steve had long since dubbed his number one enemy—shook his head and extended a placating hand in Max’s direction. “Not all of it. They’re just playing one song.”

  “If it’s a problem—” The woman with blue hair tried to get in a word.

  “It’s not,” Sam said. “Let me introduce you all.”

  Steve pretended not to care, but he was listening because he still wanted under Red’s skirt. Maybe to get back at her for being part of Sam’s big plan to destroy his best friend’s band. Maybe because her black-painted lips would look spectacular wrapped around his cock. Or maybe because the instant his eyes had met hers, he’d wanted her.

  Sam nodded toward the green-and-black-haired woman on the far end. Was that a wig? Were they all wearing wigs? Did none of the carpets match the drapes? Or had the carpets been removed? Another important fact Steve vowed to know the answer to by the end of the night.

  “Sage plays guitar.”

  Sage lifted a hand in greeting. She looked . . . nice. Too nice for Steve. Her type always got quickly attached on an emotional level. Steve didn’t do emotional attachment. Not since Bianca had destroyed his naturally romantic nature and replaced it with the cynical man left standing. The romantic part of him was curled up in a corner somewhere, sucking its thumb.

  “Lily plays drums.”

  The woman with short black hair, with longer white strips framing her lovely face, nodded. Happily taken. Steve could always tell when a woman was off limits, and he never fiddled with another man’s diddle.

  Sam’s attention shifted to Red, and Steve couldn’t help but stare. God, she was beautiful. And from the icy glare she directed at him, she apparently hated his fucking guts. He’d have fun turning her ice to fire.

  “This is Roux,” Sam said.

  Roux. Her name whispered through his subconscious, making his belly tighten and his balls ache. What a sexy name. He couldn’t wait to whisper it to her while he filled her with his cock.

  “She plays keyboard and sings harmony,” Sam added.

  Steve’s illusion of perfection completely shattered.

  “Keyboard?” he snorted. “What kind of metal band has a keyboard?”

  “We’re more a mix of punk, goth, progressive, and hard rock than true metal,” the purple-haired woman said. She was the band’s leader. Probably the vocalist. Male or female, they were all alike: bossy and self-important.

  Roux extended a finger in Steve’s direction. The middle one on her right hand. He was going to show her where to stick that finger later. And watch, his mouth watering, as she obeyed.

  Steve was so lost in his fantasies that he didn’t catch the rest of the conversation. A couple of the chicks were blabbing about guitars or something with Dare, which didn’t interest him in the least.

  What interested him most wasn’t even how snug and warm Roux’s pussy would feel when he fucked her later that night. Zach had been devastated when Steve had told him that Sam was replacing his band on the tour, though he’d laughed it off. Zach laughed off everything that hurt him deeply. But the two of them had made plans to take Europe by storm. The idea that Twisted Element had been replaced by this vat of estrogen in black lace and excessive eyeliner had Steve seething.

  “How can you possibly think our fans will like this group of goth girls better than Twisted Element?” Steve asked Sam, giving zero fucks that the goth girls in question were listening.

  “I don’t think that,” Sam said. “I think the opposite of that. Baroquen appeals to a younger fan base. A fan base Exodus End currently lacks.”

  Steve snorted and shook his head. All their greedy manager cared about was dollar signs.

  “So you think teenage goth kids will flock to see thes
e wannabes and when we play them some real music, they’ll become our instafans?”

  Roux snorted. “Already living up to that asshole reputation of yours, eh, Aimes?”

  Steve smirked. She was all talk now, but soon she’d be all moans and begging followed by crying and whining when he kicked her out of his bed before morning.

  “His best friend is in Twisted Element,” Reagan said. “How do you expect him to feel about them getting fired so you can take their place on the tour?”

  It was nice that someone in the band understood where he was coming from, even if his bros never backed him up when he went toe to toe with Sam.

  “We didn’t ask for Twisted Element to be fired,” Roux said. “But we’d be fools to turn down this gig.”

  The blue-and-black-haired chick squeezed Roux’s leg. Lesbian leanings? God, he hoped so. But maybe just friendship. He wasn’t sure.

  Blue turned her attention to Steve and his bandmates. She even looked sincere when she said, “We are incredibly lucky to have been given this opportunity. We won’t let you down.”

  Steve was trying not to like these women. Trying to hold a grudge. It was useless. Sam was the asshole here. Especially since he sprang this surprise on the band when they couldn’t freely speak their minds. Roux might be thinking that Steve was being an asshole, but in truth he was reeling himself in far more than he’d like.

  “Twisted Element was allowed to finish out this leg of the tour,” Sam said. “They should be glad their mediocrity was allowed on your stage in the first place.”

  Steve’s jaw hardened. Old guy was apparently looking for a fat lip. His hand clenched into a fist. “Mediocrity?”

  “Really, Sam?” Dare shook his head and pressed his knee hard into Steve’s thigh to give him the grounding he needed to maintain his cool. “Must you always push his buttons?”

  Sam smirked. Steve’s fist tightened.

  “Did you really give up some of our unplugged satellite radio segment?” Max asked. “You know how important it is. The reach is nationwide. Hell, it’s global. This isn’t some local radio station you’re talking about here. It’s satellite radio, Sam.”

  And maybe that action would be what finally shifted Max to Steve’s side. He’d been trying to get the band to dump their manager for years. Logan had seen Steve’s logic from the beginning, but Dare and Max had always sided with Sam, thinking Sam, rather than their talent, was responsible for their enormous royalty checks.

  Sam lifted both hands and shrugged. “We’ll discuss this later,” he said. “Tonight I want you all to have a good time. Get to know each other. Stir up some interest.”

  Oh, Steve would be getting to know these ladies, all right. And he’d do it by stirring up something far more pleasurable than interest.

  The limo pulled to a halt, and the door on Steve’s side of the car opened. Their chief of security, Butch, popped his head into the car, his wide face friendly and his large mustache quivering slightly with each breath.

  “You all ready? There’s a line about a block long of people wanting autographs. You can bypass it and go straight upstairs to the party if you’re not in the mood.”

  “Always in the mood for adulation,” Steve said, exiting the car.

  The crowd started screaming excitedly the moment he came into view.

  “Did he say adultery?” he heard Roux ask.

  He grinned, wishing that had been what he’d said. They were going to have a great time together after he got his ego stroked by some fans. Roux would just have to be satisfied with stroking the rest of him.

  Steve headed for the crowd, taking any piece of paper shoved in his direction and scrawling his signature on it, stopping to be photographed with and often groped by numerous female fans as well as to take photos—sans groping—with a few dudes. Steve had the adulation thing down pat. A band’s drummer was usually one of the lesser known members of the band, but not in Exodus End. He was as well-known as Max and Dare—at least—and far more recognized than Logan, who was usually left with scraps. Luckily, Logan was too good-natured to care that at least twice as many fans vied for Steve’s attention. And Steve found it easy to ignore the fact that their male fans flocked around Dare like he was their personal guitar god while the ladies tried to get a hand on Max. Steve was satisfied having an equal parts “rock god” and “sex symbol” status. He could just as easily shoot the breeze with wannabe drummers as flirt with the ladies. Normally he’d take a few hotties upstairs to the after-party with him, but tonight he decided for once to do what Sam suggested. He wanted to get to know the ladies of Baroquen, one lovely red-haired vixen in particular.

  When he decided the crowd was never going to thin out—for every fan that left happy, two or three more arrived to seek attention—he signaled Butch that he was ready to call it quits, said his goodbyes to nearby fans, and headed inside. With a relieved expression, Dare followed him.

  “I didn’t think we’d ever get away,” Dare said once several members of their security team had ushered them safely inside the building.

  Steve snorted at Dare’s predictability. As an unapologetic introvert, the guy wasn’t exactly the life of any party. Funny how no one seemed to notice that.

  “Is Zach going to be here?” Dare asked.

  Steve shook his head. “I didn’t ask him. I figured he wouldn’t want to celebrate the end of his career.”

  Dare took his eyes off the closed elevator door to give him an odd look. “You didn’t say that to him, did you?”

  “Of course not. I’m not that much of an insensitive asshole.”

  Dare looked unconvinced.

  “He’s going out with his band tonight,” Steve said. “He told me that before I got the chance to invite him, okay? Plus, if he sees Sam, it isn’t going to end pretty.” And Steve would be more likely to join the fray than to try to stop it.

  The elevator dinged as the doors slid open. They stepped inside, two members of their security team joining them. Steve was so used to the presence of tough dudes in bright orange T-shirts that he didn’t bother censoring conversations.

  “Sam is trying to do what’s best for us,” Dare said. “Why don’t you get that?”

  “Sam is doing what’s best for himself.”

  “I don’t think the young women of Baroquen feel that way about him.”

  “Because they think he’s going to make them stars.”

  “He will make them stars.”

  That was probably true. “But he won’t care who gets hurt along the way.”

  “And that’s perfectly normal in this business.”

  “Yeah,” Steve said, widening his stance and crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, maybe it shouldn’t be.”

  The doors slid open, and a rush of adrenaline surged through Steve’s body as loud music poured out of the enormous ballroom. His gaze landed on Roux at once. Not that she was hard to spot; dozens of party attendees surrounded the members of Baroquen, all wanting to hear the story of how they’d gotten a gig as an opening band on Exodus End’s world tour. When she didn’t return his heavy stare, he went to the bar and ordered a whiskey on the rocks. A moment later Logan arrived. By himself. Which was odd because he’d been surgically attached to the nerdy reporter chick who’d been following them on tour for the past few weeks.

  “You didn’t bring Toni?”

  Logan smiled. “She’s in the bathroom.”

  “Ah.”

  “You haven’t picked up a woman yet?” Logan slapped him on the back. “Isn’t like you to have an empty arm.”

  Steve glanced to the open spot at his left. Logan was right; it wasn’t like him. As if conjured by magic, a stunningly gorgeous woman filled the spot and smiled up at him, her dark eyes and the top three buttons of her blouse open in invitation.

  “Buy me a drink?”

  “Open bar tonight,” he said before turning back to Logan, who jerked away slightly and eyed him as if Steve had been replaced with an imposter. “Do you think
I need to apologize?”

  “For telling her it’s an open bar?”

  Logan peered around Steve’s back and grimaced slightly. The drink woman must still be standing there. Not that Steve cared.

  Steve ran a hand over his face. “Not for that. For calling our new opening band hookers.”

  Logan turned to where a twittering crowd still surrounded the members of Baroquen. Steve had to admit he loved their sexy image, and apparently he wasn’t the only one.

  “I doubt they took you seriously.”

  “I called dibs on Red, for fuck’s sake.” And he felt bad. Steve did have a conscience. He just liked to keep that little secret under wraps. Made it easier to check his emotions and make people think he was too cool to give a shit. Plus, when he acted like he gave zero fucks, pussy magically fell into his lap. No-strings-attached pussy. The easiest kind to get over.

  “It was a pretty shitty way to introduce myself to them,” Steve added. And maybe he wanted an excuse to talk to them. Well, one of them. “What kind of drink do you think Roux would like?”

  “Roux?” Logan’s blue eyes lowered as he puzzled over the name. “Like rue the day or a baby marsupial from Australia roo, or the gravy mix kind?”

  “I think it’s the French word for red.” Steve snorted. “But I’d love to mix her with some of my creamy sauce.”

  Logan shook his head. “You see? That’s why you offend women.”

  He would never say that to a woman. Probably. “Roux is the one in red.” And even though he wasn’t currently looking at her, he was very aware of her.

  “Oh, so that’s why you think her name is French for red.”

  Actually, it was because that was the sexiest option. His mind couldn’t comprehend anyone naming her after a marsupial. But he nodded.

  “Probably not a good idea to fuck around with any of those women, man,” Logan said. “We have to be on tour with them for months, and if one of them grows attached to you . . .”

  Steve would normally consider Logan’s advice spot-on, but he wasn’t feeling very normal at the moment. He was feeling—like every other person in the room, apparently—compelled, intrigued, interested. In Roux’s tits. Yeah, that was all it was. Attraction. Desire. Longing. She had a fantastic rack. That was all he cared about.