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Jude
My fists clenchedaround cheap leather. “You’re going to need to leave, sir.”
The drunken idiot splattered my face with spit. “Fuck you, big man. I’m not going anywhere. I paid for my fuckin’ ticket, I’m seein’ the goddamn show!”
With a firm grip on the guy’s jacket, I yanked him toward the back door of the club. “You’re done. Hope you had fun, because it’s the last time you set foot in here.”
His hands went around mine, trying to free himself from my grasp, but I’d done this dance a hundred times. My grip was ironclad, and it gave me great pleasure to remove this tool from the premises.
Eric laid a hand on my shoulder. “Need any help?”
“Maybe a napkin to wipe the spit this shit-stain got all over my face,” I said over my shoulder. Eric grunted, but stayed at my back until I got the guy outside. When I let go of his jacket, he tried to rush the door, but my steel-toe boot connected with his shin, and the fucker went down.
“Not happening, dude.” I wiped my face on my security uniform shirt. “Get the fuck outta here. There’s a payphone a block away. Call a cab and go home to think about all the sins you committed tonight.”
Eric crossed his arms over his thick chest. “Biggest one of all was spitting on my boy.”
“Nah. Even bigger was groping a girl who couldn’t have been any older than sixteen.”
Eric peered down at me, his black eyebrows drawn in a hard line. “For real? This pussy was touching on a little girl?”
“Yep,” I confirmed. “Wouldn’t leave her alone.”
The drunk backed away as Eric stepped toward him. I was tall, but Eric was taller, with dark skin and muscles growing on top of muscles. His eyebrows were angry slashes above deep, black eyes and a scowl that never seemed to fade, even when he was happy. He intimidated pretty much everyone, including the bravest drunks, and tonight’s wasn’t brave at all.
“She looked older! She kept making eye contact. She wanted it.”
Eric took a big step and feigned a punch, causing the guy to scramble back and fall off the sidewalk. “You don’t touch women. You don’t look at them. And youdon’tcome back here. I got a photographic memory. You come back, that stupid face of yours is getting ripped off.”
The guy was gone before either of us could say another word. I shook my head. “Man, he moves fast for a guy who smelled like the bottom of a tequila bottle.”
I was trying to make light of it, but the edges of my vision were red. Violence flowed through my system. I’d wanted that guy to make trouble, to give me an excuse to hurt him. Seeing him snake his hand up that girl’s skirt while she was just trying to watch her favorite band perform had made rage boil in my veins.
I’d been working security at the 9:30 Club in Washington D.C. for a year now. It was a cool as shit gig. I got to listen to dope bands while occasionally kicking idiots’ asses. This club was iconic, and I hoped to all that was holy I’d get to play it one day.
Because as much as I enjoyed working security, a little bit of my soul died each night I was in the audience, watching the big boys play on stage. Especially when I was certain of the fact that I was as talented as most of them. In this business, though, it was all in who you knew, and my contacts were pretty non-existent.
I was never gonna be the guy who went backstage and slipped my demo to one of the bands or managers. I didn’t have it in me.
Before he went his way, Eric laid a hand on my shoulder. “You good, kid?”
“Yep. I’m good. Thanks for having my back.”
He nodded, smile-scowl firmly in place. “Always.”
* * *
I didn’t get homeuntil midnight. Half of me wanted to crash, while the other half was so fucking amped, I couldn’t sit down. So I took a quick shower, got changed, and was ready to head back out within ten minutes.
My shitty-ass rental was a block away from Tino’s. Funny thing was I’d known him for two years now, but he was still a mystery. He threw parties, invited my band to play on his stage, shared his drugs and booze, made everyone feel like his best friend, but I couldn’t even say I knew his last name. I had this weird notion he owned my rental, but I had little basis for that theory. Only that I’d made off-handed comments twice about issues with the house, and someone was there to repair them the next day. And I swore I saw him mowing our vastly overgrown lawn at the ass crack of dawn once.
Tino’s house was this gothic mansion in the middle of post-World War II brick ranchers. The white paint was peeling, belying its age, but it wasn’t in disrepair otherwise. No sagging steps or creaky doors.
Tonight, there wasn’t any music booming or people spilling out onto his lawn, just the glow of lights through his windows. When I stepped up to the front door, muted laughter came from within.
I hadn’t knocked on this door in over a year, and I didn’t tonight. The scene I walked in on wasn’t unfamiliar, but seeing Tali curled up between Tino’s legs was. There were ten or twelve people sitting around the floor with a huge ass hookah playing the centerpiece on Tino’s coffee table. The guys from my band—Seven, Jeremy, and Jin—were here, plus Ben, Tali’s cousin and friend, and a couple other random girls who were always around. Pretty sure Ben had fucked one of them last night. Or at least she strongly resembled the girl I’d crossed paths with in the kitchen this morning.
“The rock star has arrived,” Tino announced when he spotted me. “Have a seat, you beautiful man. We’re in the middle of discussing the finer points of marriage.”
