The water was cooling again.She let it drain a little and refilled the tub with more hot, then lay back and closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, she’d be back at the job.Booking, rehearsing, pushing.Fighting off the next Kyle who thought her talent came with open legs.
But tonight, in this small bathroom with steam curling around her and the echo of a perfect groove still ringing in her ears, she let herself believe it was possible.
She let herself want more.
Chapter Five
Vic
Vic pulled up to the nondescript warehouse on the east side of Nashville two days later, duffle in one hand and sticks in the other.The building looked like it had once been a slaughterhouse—rust-streaked metal siding, broken windows high up near the roof, and a single rolling door half-open.Music already spilled out; he heard heavy, dirty riffs layered over a loose, pounding bass rhythm.
He stepped inside and was hit by the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke.
“Montrose!”Jax spotted him immediately and strode over, all long limbs and cocky grin.He was exactly the kind of pretty-boy frontman Sheri had warned him about—tall, sharp jawline, messy black hair that looked intentionally unkempt, and tattoos crawling up both arms.“Glad you made it, man.We’re a little rough around the edges right now, but we’ve got fire.”
Vic shook his hand firmly.“Rough is fine.Fire’s better.”
Jax laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, steering him deeper into the space.“That’s what I like to hear.Come meet the misfits.”
They started with Riley Kane.
The lead guitarist was leaning against a stack of speakers with a cigarette dangling from his lips.Lean, wiry build, head shaved on the sides with a messy blond topknot, and sharp, restless eyes that sized Vic up in a single sweep.
“Riley Kane,” Jax introduced him.“Our resident axe murderer.He writes half the riffs and bitches about the other half.”
Riley gave a lazy two-finger salute.“You hit as hard as they say you do?”
“Harder,” Vic replied evenly.
Riley’s mouth twitched into something that might have been a smile.“We’ll see.”
Vic stepped behind the kit set up nearby, and Riley started running through the opening of “Bleed Out.”Riley’s guitar snarled, fast and vicious.Vic answered with a heavy, commanding stomp on the kick, locking in tight.On the second pass, he threw in a quick fill that made Riley glance over with raised eyebrows and a nod of approval.
Next in introductions was Trey Bishop, sprawled on a ratty couch with a bass across his lap.Bigger guy with a full beard and kind eyes.He looked like he belonged on a fishing boat more than a stage, but his fingers were long and nimble as they idly plucked strings.
