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Then naturally I got transferred to a different family and outta that school district. But I built on the skills I learned with YouTube and my rock pixie dreams began.
But living on the streets, holding onto any money I made busking was tricky. Especially back then when I barely weighed a buck ten. I tried to spend any cash I made right away to eat—that way there was no money to steal.
But there were still my sticks, and after those got snatched, there were a couple really hungry weeks. Then I realized all I really needed was a bucket and some pipes I found in a back alley one day. That was the beauty of drumming. All you really needed at the end of the day was rhythm and noise.
That was how I was playing when Bishop and Mason stopped to watch that day.
Which was good because I had started getting so hungry, I was hallucinating the strangest shit… dark, shadowy dreams even though I’d swear I was totally awake.
Anyway, that was a long time ago and I wasn’t that desperate, skinny little kid anymore. Ha! I hadn’t even been a kid when I was a kid. So the fact that these assholes thought they had to protect me or some bullshit—
I sighed, my pace slowing as I turned the corner onto the main street. The sidewalk was much busier here, with people still flooding out the front of the arena and down the sidewalk. If it was Bishop or Cash out here, they’d be getting mobbed. Even Tank. But I was just the drummer and a woman. So apart from the occasional super fan, I could usually slip around unnoticed with minimal disguise. Something I’d always been grateful for as Faust’s popularity grew.
Ah, there was the bar. McGinty’s Pub, declared an old sign that swung above the door. My kind of place. A hole in the wall where it would be nice and dark inside.
I looked both ways, then jogged across the street and pushed inside. Thank God the concertgoers had mostly passed this place by on their way searching for food or whatever the hell normal people did after a concert. I’d never lived a normal life so I had no fucking clue. I was just glad I didn’t see many Faust concert tees in the pub. Good.
I settled at the bar and ordered a fruity drink. I knew that in spite of my smaller stature, I could still give a fuck-off vibe because of my tattoo sleeves and colored hair. So I always ordered super girly drinks. Plus, I was a sugar addict, so there was that.
Spotting a cute guy who looked in his mid-thirties across the bar, I smiled. He had tattoos. I liked tattoos and I liked them older. So I let my smile grow a little to let him know I was interested. Not too big, though. I didn’t want to come across as needy.
Though I sure as hell was. I needed to get laid. Bad. It was embarrassing how hard up I was.
The guy across the bar smiled back.
He was interested.
Good.
I hiked an eyebrow and lifted my fruity cocktail glass in a little cheers gesture towards him. I wasn’t going to go over to him. I was a damn prize and he had to put in at least minimal effort.
Come over here, sexy, I willed him. Say flattering words. Make me feel like a princess for half an hour, and then take me somewhere secluded and lay pipe like you mean it.
I wasn’t asking for much, was I? I wasn’t even that picky. Have tattoos and look like you know how to fuck.
And goddamn know how to make me come!!! I needed to know what it felt like. Finally. Something had to do it. I was so desperate to get off, I almost couldn’t bear it. The fact that it was so difficult for me to accomplish this simple task—
Oh look, tattoo guy was getting a clue, because his grin had turned seductive, and he was walking my way. I felt my stomach leap in excitement. Oh yeah. We were finally gonna get us some.
I turned sideways, showing that I was very open to him taking the stool beside me. I smiled my coy smile and just as he was about to come in and stick the landing—
“Well, how’s our favorite little sister?” A heavy arm fell on my shoulder. I glared up to see Bishop of all fucking people, staring down tattoo guy. “Who the fuck are you?”
The guy held up his hands and started backing away. “Hey, man. Not looking for any trouble.”
“Wait,” I jumped off my stool but Mason blocked my way. Where the hell had he come from? And since when did he and Bishop work together? When had they even—
