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As we walked, I spotted a drinks vendor and grabbed us a huge lemonade to share. I crunched on the ice as we found the stage and pushed our way to the front. Riley climbed the security fence that kept
everyone a good ten feet back from the stage. Men in yellow polos with “STAFF” on their backs stood at attention, glowers on their faces as they watched the crowd behind us.
I was hoping it was too early for crowd-surfing, because I wanted to enjoy the all-female band’s set rather than watching our backs to make sure we didn’t get kicked in the head. Two blond chicks were already doing soundcheck. They were dressed in jeans and the band’s new T-shirts. Riley had bought us each one once their online store had gone live just a few weeks before.
“I love you, London,” Riley called.
London lifted her head, a huge grin on her face. “I love you too, beautiful.”
Behind us, the crowd was getting rowdy as the two bandmembers continued their soundcheck. The majority of the people at my back were male, most of whom were on their way to being drunk and—by the smell of the air surrounding us—high.
“Where’s Roanna?” I heard some guy ask from right behind us.
“I caught a glance of her on the side of the stage,” someone else answered.
“Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to have her deep-throat my cock.” The first guy laughed.
Riley gave me a disgusted look, and I shook my head, silently telling her to keep her mouth shut. It was too early in the day, and we didn’t want to be kicked out for fighting. She gave me a pout, but I only took another drink of our lemonade, chomping harder on the ice.
London and her bandmate, Genesis, left the stage, and a few moments later, the entire band came out. Aubree on drums, London and Genesis with their guitars. The three had the crowd yelling, but as soon as Roanna stepped out onto stage, I became deaf from the roar around us. Riley and I were screaming right along with the rest of them, however.
We’d been following the Blonde Bombshells from the moment we saw them live at First Bass back in Los Angeles during one of our girls’ nights out with Lindsey. From the very first song, we became fans. And even though we didn’t have time to go to the club to see them every Thursday night, we kept up with them on YouTube. They had a growing following and posted videos of some of their live performances regularly. When it was announced the band had been signed by a record label and would be at some of the festivals around the country with Tainted Knights, we had wanted to attend one just to see them.
Two songs into the band’s set, however, Riley and I were regretting getting so close to the stage. The crowd behind us was rowdy, hyped up on booze, weed, and testosterone. There were maybe a handful of other chicks around us, but they were all being pushed aside by the guys who seemed desperate to get as close to the stage as physically possible.
Riley, still standing with her feet on the metal bars of the fence was bumped and fell forward. Even over the drums, I could hear her scream as she toppled over and landed on her back. Two of the guys in yellow polos raced forward, helping her up.
Riley shoved their hands away, dusting off her ass and glaring at the guys behind me.
“Are you okay?” I called, but I knew she couldn’t hear me. Still, she was able to read my lips and nodded.
She started to climb back over the fence to join me, but a huge guy in a black T-shirt appeared and said something to her. Riley’s eyes widened, and she nodded, then pointed to me. Turning, the guy didn’t even say a word as he effortlessly lifted me over the fence. I gulped, but I didn’t bristle in outrage. I had no clue what was going on, but my roommate was smirking so I knew this guy wasn’t going to kidnap and murder us.
I hoped.
Riley grabbed my hand, and we followed the guy around the side of the stage. For the rest of the band’s set, that was where we stayed. We had the best view possible now and no one to ruin it for us.
Roanna said another goodbye to the crowd, who were roaring for one more song, but she zoned them out as she followed the others over to where we stood.
My ears were trying to become accustomed to the quieter sounds around me, so it took me a few seconds to hear what the Bombshells were saying to Riley.
“Are you okay?” Genesis was asking, dusting off a few more smears of dirt that still clung to Riley’s back. “That looked painful just watching.”
“I’m good. Nothing broken.” Riley tightened her hand on mine, the only sign she was inwardly screaming at having the attention of these four badass blondes. “Thanks for telling that scary dude to bring us over.”
“We didn’t,” London told her honestly. “Bruce didn’t give us a chance to.” She glanced over her shoulder. “It must have been her.”
Her was the redhead in a Demon’s Wings shirt and distressed jeans currently giving the team of guys in the yellow staff polos hell. The stud in her nose flashed in the sunlight as she took on the entire group of men. “If you lazy fuckheads can’t keep the girls safe out here, then what use are you?” she snarled as she got in the face of one of the older staff members, her long red hair flying around her shoulders.
The guy, somewhere in his late thirties at least, flexed his hands into fists as if he were aching to hit her. His nostrils flared, but he remained quiet as she continued to dish out abuse. If he touched her, however, he was going to be a dead man. Emmie Armstrong was the one person no one in the music world ever wanted to mess with. Taking her on was a losing battle. She managed some of the hottest bands with her two partners, but she was also the wife of the lead singer of Demon’s Wings, Nik Armstrong, and her brother was the band’s drummer, Jesse Thornton.
I had been following Emmie’s career from the moment I heard my first Demon’s Wings song. The band themselves were freaking amazing, legends in their own rights. But their manager—she was the kind of badass no one ever fucked with. She was my idol, the role model I had always looked up to. Lord knew it had never been my own mother.
“Do you even realize that if this is how the day is starting, by the time my guys go on tonight, the entire godsdamn place will be pure pandemonium?” She poked him in the chest with the clipboard in her hand. “Get your men straightened out, and up the manpower in front of every stage. Because if something happens during any of my other bands’ sets, you will be the one explaining to the coordinators why we won’t even think about accepting the invite ever again.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the guy gritted out.
She threw him one more withering glare before climbing the stairs to the stage where we still stood with the four Blondes. The glare turned to concern when she spotted Riley. “You okay?”
