Page 3 of Drag Me Down


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This right here is what I’m missing.

While some fans swear I made a deal with the devil to acquire my harsh vocals, I’ve never been complimented for my lyricism or creativity. It shouldn’t bother me. Atonement has had tremendous success, something few bands actually achieve.

The other guys in the band don’t care so much what I scream into the mic on stage, as long as we keep climbing the ladder of success. As long as I continue to pummel our fans into the ground with my intensity.

But that wounded little kid in me that’s still seeking approval wants more. He tells me fame alone won’t be enough to prove to my family that I chose the right path in not pursuing a secondary education and standard career.

I want more than that. I want to explore genres. Blend them together in new ways. I want to produce quality that is worthy of the fame we’ve achieved. That’s how we keep the fans around long term. I don’t want to keep pushing out generic metal. How many times can we “watch the world burn” for god’s sake?

The answer’s once, okay?

That little prickle of want has my mouth opening and closing as I weigh the decision of taking on an additional project. Of approaching this guy for some sort of collaboration, whatever that may look like.

My focusshouldbe entirely on Atonement, as it has been for years.

A woman with a pink bob hops over to us. “You boys need something to drink?”

Liam flashes his signature, slow-burn grin, the one that wins every time, and leans over the counter. I roll my eyes but can’t help my own smart little smirk.

Always on the hunt for the next woman to warm his sheets. It’s why I demand a separate bedroom while on tour. It’s harder to tune out Liam’s sexual activities on the tour bus, though. He has the appetite that could rival the caloric intake of a bodybuilder or professional sports player.

Which is funny because he’s practically built like one. He spends enough time working out to be one.

She slaps a palm on the counter. “Don’t even try it, pretty boy. I’m too old for you.”

“Oh, I like her. She doesn’t hold back punches.” I chuckle.

“What’s your name?” Liam asks, the wattage on his smile creeping higher as he drops onto a stool beside me.

She pops her gum. “Selma. I own the place.”

“Nice to meet you, Selma.” Liam tosses a crisp twenty-pound note next to her petite hand. “Strong stuff for me–a bottle of Coke, please.”

“Coke and rum?” She cocks a brow.

“Minus the rum. I don’t drink.”

She moves her hand to her hip, leaning into it. “You came into my bar and you don’t drink?”

Liam jabs his thumb at me. “He kidnapped me and dragged me here. Call for help.”

His tone is so dry the bartender’s wide eyes actually slide to me, sizing me up. Then her mouth falls open, forming the perfect o-shape.

“Ah, shit,” I mutter, dropping my forehead into a palm. Here I thought we wouldn’t be recognized in a low-key joint. My face must convey the need to maintain discretion because Selma quickly fixes her expression and gives me a little wink.

“Your secret’s safe with me,Mykhail.”

I beam back at her, my heart finding its normal rhythm again. “Selma, I might never leave your place. I’ll have a beer. Your choice.”

“Long as you keep paying, I’ll house you forever, love.” She winks again, then snatches up the collection of bills Liam and I piled up for her.

Thank you sweet baby Jesus, she’s letting it drop that she knows who I am. I make a mental note to give Liam shit later for not being recognized. Usually, he’s the first to be called out in public. He’s got that bad boy rockstar aura surrounding him. Might be all the abstract and geometric tattoos—angels and demons crossing paths—and the envious waves of long, dark hair. Or the gothic rings. I’ve never understood the fascination with rings.

Tucking a few more pounds into both tip jars, one for the bartenders and the other for the performer, I settle back into my detailed analysis of the exquisite specimen on stage. Definitely in full control of his voice. He’s so intentional with his musicality, it’s… mesmerizing.

I lean my shoulder against Liam’s solid form. “Classically trained?”

Liam gives a nod. “For sure.”

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