Prologue
Richard
Sighing, I leaned back in my desk chair and unlocked my phone, clicking straight through to the LookView app. It was nearly time for me to get off work and go home, and I only had one more task to handle, but I needed a break. I’d typed out so many emails, my fingers were beginning to cramp.
Fridays were really both a blessing and a curse. They meant the weekend was right there, but it also meant I had more work to complete so it wouldn’t be shoved on my plate come Monday.
I scrolled through dance videos, TV show and movie snippets, and people sharing their entire life stories. Nothing was catching my attention yet to make me want to sit and watch the entire thing?—
I paused, quickly turning up the volume on my phone when I came across a video of a band who called themselves the Razor Monkees. The lead singer looked to be young—barely out of high school, if they’d even graduated yet—and the other young man singing with him while also strumming his guitar looked to be about the same age. But despite how young they were, I’d never seen a band more in sync with each other.
Their voices together were flawless, and when the drum solo hit, I had to admit, I was a bit in awe. And when the piano melody hit to mix with the drumbeat? Tingles rushed down my spine.
I leaned forward, already pressing the button for my personal assistant. This was the kind of talent I’d been looking for my entire career, and I wasn’t letting them slip through my fingers. I needed them to be part of Nightwork Records. I had no doubt they’d quickly become a chart-topping band, and I didn’t want some other sleazy record label coming in and ruining the magic this group had.
“Sir?” Amber greeted me when she answered my call.
“I need the talent manager in my office immediately. I have a band I want to sign.”
Then, I set my phone down—with their music still playing—and began looking them up so I could find where they may be playing next. I already knew I was going to try signing them, but I needed to see them in person, especially the drummer and the keyboard pianist.
This band was going to flip my entire world upside down. I already knew it. And I couldn’t fucking wait.
I sipped at the cheap whiskey I’d been served and got more comfortable on the hard bar stool I’d chosen at a high table near the back of the bar. I wanted to be closer to the stage to get a better look at the boys I’d come to watch, but I already stuck out like a sore thumb in this bar and didn’t want to stick out to them, too.
I wanted to see them play without feeling like they had someone important watching them. I wanted them to play comfortably.
I’d come here directly after work—a blessing these boys were local—so I didn’t have time to change out of my expensive suit. And while it looked like most men here hadn’t bothered to change out of their work clothes either, they were dressed in jeans, boots, and shirts that showed a hard day of work. Most of the women in the crowd looked to have changed and showered, but even they were dressed down in jeans and t-shirts.
Hell, the weird look I’d gotten from the bartender had been answer enough that I didn’t belong there. But that was fine. I had no plans to stick around longer than needed. I planned to watch these boys play, then get access into the back behind the stage so I could introduce myself and leave them with my card.
I watched as they emerged onto the stage. Either they’d been let in before the bar opened to set up or someone had set up everything for them because all they had to do was take their places.
Like everyone was drawn that way, the crowd turned to look at them, and a cheer went up.
Clearly, they were known around here.
My eyes locked on Spike, the drummer, first, and my fingers tightened around my glass. He had long, dark hair that hung just a little past his shoulders and was cut into numerous layers that framed his face perfectly, accenting his strong jawline and his sharp cheekbones. The sleeveless shirt he was wearing revealed his toned sides and the tattoos splattered randomly across his arms and sides.
Reluctantly, I tore my eyes from the gorgeous boy to the pianist, Kalin, and my breath stalled in my throat. He had a vape pen stuck between his lips as he fiddled with the cords on the keyboard, his brows pulled low over his eyes in concentration. His hair—black with a layer of silver on top—was a mess on his head, yet looked like he’d styled it that way on purpose. Tribal tattoos circled his neck, nearly covering the entire expanse, and I could briefly catch glimpses of the same style of tattoos on his longer fingers and the back of his hands.
Setting his vape pen down, he stood and leaned over his keyboard, turning his head to say something to Spike. Kalin was tall—well over six feet—but he had a thin, wiry build compared to Spike, who was bulkier.
“Are we ready?” Tor, the lead singer, asked into the mic. I glanced at him for a moment, watching the way he turned and smiled at Salem, the lead guitarist and other singer for their band.
The crowd cheered. Kalin sat back down and nodded once at Spike. Dalton, their rhythm guitarist, and Jesse, their bass guitarist, grinned and cheered with the crowd. Tor gave a light laugh into the mic, and they dove straight in.
And just like I’d been with their video on the LookView app, I was captivated. They were so in sync, and everything blended beautifully. They somehow made their almost-metal rock songs sound melodic and soul wrenching.
How had no one discovered them before me?
They played for a good hour before wishing everyone goodnight and disappearing behind the stage. I set my barely touched glass of whiskey on the table, then headed to the bar. The bartender lifted her brow at me. “What can I get ya?”
“Think you can give me access behind the stage?” She screwed her lips up in distaste, no doubt about to send me on my way. I handed her my card, and her eyes widened. “I’d like to speak to the band members.”
“Let me get the manager,” she rushed out before heading through a small door behind the bar. I leaned my side against the bar, watching to make sure the band didn’t begin packing up before I could speak to them.
“Sir?” I turned to find a middle-aged man making his way around the bar toward me, my card in his hand. “If you’ll follow me, I can let you behind the stage.”
