Page 69 of Anthem of Love and Loathing

Riot

We walk out of the elevator and into the luxurious Savant penthouse the label keeps in Seattle. It’s one of many venues around the country where Carmine and his head honchos like to host their shindigs.

The penthouse is full of people. They drink champagne and chat about trivial and pedestrian things that sound important but could have been handled in a text message.

The theme for tonight is black and white, and it is everywhere. From the furnishings to the apparel to the food being brought out from the kitchen by catering staff.

Above us is a huge chandelier. Crystals catch and reflect light like glitter over the whole room.

Sonatina Savant is chatting to one of her father’s execs over champagne. She’s wearing a tiny, sheer white dress and the man cannot make eye contact to save his life. Spotting me, she excuses herself. She snags another flute of bubbles and prowls toward us.

Toying with the strings of pearls that wrap around her throat and get lower with every loop until they end at her belly button, her smile turns into a frown as she peruses the four of us.

Golden pulls the hood of his bright red hoodie over his head. “I’m going to get a drink.”

“I’ll join you,” Kodiak says and follows him.

Bronx stays.

“You could have at least tried.” Stopping in front of me, she hands me a flute. She grips one of my shoulders and presses her lips against each of my cheeks. “I did tell you it was black and white. That’s like your whole look, Baby.”

I turn when she tries to kiss my mouth, so she gets my cheek again. “We’re not together.”

Her gaze narrows. I drain my glass and put it aside. She’s going to make me pay for that.

“Red hoodie. Green flannel.” She checks each of my band mates out with disdain before landing on Bronx. “Blue jeans, seriously? Do you hate me that much?”

“Well, I don’t like you,” Bronx says, watching the crowd and not bothering to make eye contact with her.

“You don’t have to.” She smiles at him like they’re the best of friends. “I can have you replaced.”

“Sonatina.” I grip her wrist.

Her gaze slides back to me.

“What do you want?” The sooner we can get to the point the sooner I can get wasted.

“I wanted to check in on my boys.” She plasters that bitch-ass fake smile back on her face. “How’s the tour going? Are you all getting along? The numbers have been sensational. But a little birdie told me there might be an issue... If you need another assistant, I’ll be happy to hire one for you.”

“We can manage our own affairs,” Bronx tells her.

“No need. That’s why I’m your manager, silly.”

No, she’s our manager because after Kelsey fucked us and took off, we had no choice but to agree to whatever Carmine wanted. And what Carmine always wants is to make his diva daughter happy.

“You can concentrate on what you do best, and I can make sure everything runs smoothly for the label. Which is why I am confused that your old assistant has been spotted at your concerts. After she extorted hundreds of thousands of dollars from the band. It’s a bad look.”

I shrug. Where is she getting her information from? It could more easily be social media than someone in our troupe, but I need to find out which. “I haven’t seen her.”

“Have you seen her, Bronx?” She peers at him.

“Nope.” He snags a glass of champagne from a tray when a staffer waltzes by and drains the glass. “Maybe she wanted to see how we’re doing without her.”

“If she did, she would have gotten to enjoy one of our new songs,” I tell Sonatina.

Her eyes light up. “You’re writing?”

“Hate songs,” I say.