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Steve was twirling his sticks, his pregame nerves starting to build. It didn’t matter how many times we’d done this, there was still the tremor that came in the minutes before we began. Luc was leaning against one of the larger amps, his face a mask, but his crossed arms and tapping feet gave him away. I could never tell with Bevel. The assistants and techs scowled as they worked around him, the wind blowing his smoke back through the curtain. I was glad Liv wasn’t here to see all the hard work she had put into his costume and makeup washed away.
I was just… numb. I was tired, everything ached, and I wanted Cat. I wanted to hold her again, to taste her sweetness and her rage. I wanted her to pin me down and take me out with everything she had. It was worse being away from her. When we were together, I could be a target. She could throw her hate and contempt at me, and I could savour her. Like this, I didn’t know where she was or how she was coping.
They started letting the fans in three hours before the opening act was due to go on. Now every seat in Wembley was full, and the space around the stage, which ran out into the centre of the standing area, was packed. They positioned us under the main stage, waiting for the opening act to finish. The stagehands were even more stressed because they’d had to bring out the cranes to get the roof covered before the performance, and rain was still pouring down onto the standing crowd, who by the sound of it, were having a great time.
Only a thick curtain of black tarp and metal barriers separated us from the standing floor crowd. The force of the screams and shouts of the dancers rocking out to Pegalo Sticks shook us. They’d opened by saying Clutch had been their biggest inspiration, even though the little shits barely acknowledged us as they breezed up the stairs to start their set.
They didn’t get the joy of being slotted into tiny cage elevators and shot out onto the stage like rockets. Steve, Luc, and Bevel would emerge in clouds of black smoke while Bunny and I would rise in the centre of the stadium in a gush of pink.
Huge prison bars rode the back of the stage, with a 100 ft. animatronic skull trapped behind them, its hands clasping the outer bars. It would rattle the bars and open its mouth, roaring at key moments during our songs.
It had huge red roses for eyes and would be jaw-dropping if not for the giant pair of fucking pink rabbit ears plastered onto it that twitched and trembled in time to Bunny’s songs. It was part of the contract, and the execs had agreed with Bun’s condition without our permission. They might as well stick a giant pink fluffy bow on it just to top the whole thing off.
To add insult to injury, The Angels would use exactly the same setup, only instead of roses on the eyes, they had empty sockets and fucking angel wings sprouting out the back.
It was an absolute piss-take, and Venom had even sidled up to me during the performance breakdown meeting yesterday to complain about how they’d fucked us over. I think it was his roundabout way of saying sorry for being a cunt at the party, but I wasn’t buying it. His face was still mashed, which left me satisfied, even though it reminded me of how much I missed Cat.
The execs said they’d paid extra to stagger the nights so people could see both bands two nights in a row, but all eight of us had been there at the intro meeting, and we saw how harried and exhausted the Wembley staff and the subbies they’d hired looked. That was before we’d even started. They would have to rebuild the animatronic every single night and still expect to have the show ready to go by 7 pm, all for what? More ticket sales? It was absolute bullshit and fucking offensive that they thought Clutch and The Angels were so interchangeable that they’d just use the same set. It was the launch of the world tour for both bands, but it felt like they didn’t give a shit which one of us was out there as long as tickets were being sold. Plus, we were taking the skeleton, and The Angels would have a different setup as soon as they went off on their own.
The stylists had gone for the usual fare of leather and chains, only Luc was shirtless apart from suspenders and I was wearing a black leather cape. In December. We all had shades to block out the full lights shining down on us from above the stage and the roof, and they’d taped our microphones to our cheeks like they usually did at the bigger concerts so our hands were free to play, and we could move around the stage. Bunny got her own mic, but she would be out in front with the dancers doing her own thing.
She wore a tight pink dress, thick combat boots and spiked choker with fucking rabbit ears to match the skeleton. Maybe she was trying to make a point that this show was for her, but I didn’t care. I was too cold and damp to give a shit.
Christ, Cat had looked stunning in those photos with Bun. The way her body curved in her suit, how she held her head high and that fucking smile gracing her plump lips... It was the same smile she gave me when she walked out of her bathroom, dripping wet and horny, dragging me back into the shower to devour me. I only saw a bad recording of her and Bun that a random bystander had posted online. Cat didn’t flinch or back down, she just looked amused. She could have been a hyena waiting for her prey to weaken from that look in her eye. It made me love her even more.
A boom of cannon fire bounced off the walls of the stadium, announcing the end of Sticks’ act. It was time to shine.
“Okay, boys.” The stage manager floated past us. I hadn’t seen her stop since we arrived. “You’re on in ten. Get in position. Max, Bunny, I need you two up front.” I turned back to Luc, Steve, and Bevel, who were climbing onto their platforms. Luc shot me a nod, and Steve just scowled. He knew we only had to put up with Bun for three nights, but that was still three nights away. This was right now.
We walked further into the tunnel towards our private cage, our assistants and two techs running alongside us. They’d decked the grey bars of the cage out with huge roses and twirling vines interspersed with chains and safety pins.
Before all the drama, Bun and I were meant to rise through the stage floor, clasping each other, dramatically kissing in front of the crowd to really get them going. We’d then sing our now-famous love ballad before moving on to a more poppy number before Bunny fucked off, and we could start playing actual music.
From the seething looks she was giving me, I could tell neither of us wanted to touch the other. She’d messed everything up with Cat because she was upset I didn’t behave. She’d threatened me not to fuck Cat, stressing she was family, but it was totally fine for Bun to fuck with her. Ironic, really. I was so pissed off at her that I was tempted to push her out of the cage the moment the elevator started, just to watch her face as I rose without her.
The deeper into the tunnel we went, the more visceral the crowd’s energy became until I could taste the excitement in the air. Two chants had started: one group cheering “Clutch! Clutch! Clutch!” while the other shouted “Bun! Bun! Bun!” The sheer force of the sound was pounding through my body, lighting me up.
Eighty thousand people out there waiting for us and not a single one of them was Cat.
Bunny checked herself out in her little gold hand mirror before flinging it to her assistant. It didn’t matter how much she primped and preened, she’d never be Catherine Fischer. Cat was the only one I wanted to see out there. Even if the entire stadium was empty and she sat staring at us with contempt as we played, I’d be happy.
“They’re here for me, you know.” She looked at me triumphantly. “All those people are shouting for me, not your shitty little band.”
She must be going deaf.
“Yeah, okay, Bun. When you sell out over five hundred thousand seats at Wembley in four days, come back to me and say that. You’re running on fumes right now, love, and I wouldn’t push it. You don’t know how easy it is to fall when you’re riding at the top.”
I turned away from her angry tirade. She might think it was easy to get out on stage in front of so many people, but you had to keep your head in the game. Especially after all the crap she’d been generating.
“Max, time to go.” One tech had her hand pressed against her ear, the stage manager giving her directions through her headpiece.
“Excuse me.” I smirked at Bunny before the green light in my sunglasses flicked on, announcing I was live.
“Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, rockers and lovers, are you ready?” I purred through the mic, my voice pouring through the stadium. The moment the first syllable tumbled from my lips, the chanting stopped, and like a slow wave building, racing towards the shore, the screams began, surging up around us, hammering in our ears. The light turned red, and the mic went dead. It was just me and Bunny again. “Tell me again how they’re all here for you?” I could barely hear myself over the thundering noise of the crowd blasting through us.
We climbed into the cage. It was a tight fit, made so Bunny had to press herself into me. She laid her hand on my chest, glowering at me as the tech closed the door, sealing us in our flowery prison.
“You know Cat hates you, right?”
