Sinners on Tour series by Olivia Cunning

“Hey, Myrna,” he said breathlessly as he passed her. “Are you enjoying the show?”

“Y-yeah,” she sputtered stupidly.

“Sed!” Darlene screamed.

But he had already trotted up the steps and returned to the stage.

“This audience f**king rocks!” Sed yel ed to the crowd. They responded with another roar of excitement. “What do you think, Master Sinclair?”

“I don’t know, Sed. I can barely hear them.” The sound of Brian’s voice over the sound system made Myrna’s knees wobbly. That same voice had brought her to screams only hours before and now ten thousand people responded to him with deafening shouts of approval. Brian held up his guitar pick. “Who wants it?”

Arms extended over the barrier, straining for the proffered prize. He tossed the pick into the audience, causing a wave of bodies to sink in pursuit. He removed his guitar and a roadie dashed across the stage with a silver acoustic. Brian exchanged instruments and the roadie returned to the side of the stage with the electric guitar. After Brian had settled the instrument in place, he plucked a new pick from the tape attached to his mike stand. He glanced at it, as if looking for flaws, and then moved toward Myrna. He didn’t look at her this time. Instead, he sat on a platform, facing the audience at an angle. She’d have to settle for looking at his back and imagine the feel of his hair between her fingers.

“Should we slow this down a little?” Sed asked the crowd. The lights lowered except for a soft glow coming from behind the band. Brian sat on a platform on one end of the stage and Trey sat on the other end. They strummed the gentle chords of their most famous bal ad on acoustic guitars.

“Let me see your mood lighting,” Sed said.

Lighters flicked on. Cel phones flipped open. The sea of smal lights shone brightly in the darkness of the crowd. The music of this song wasn’t as loud as the previous, so Myrna could hear the crowd singing along with Sed. He had a satin smooth voice when he wasn’t screaming. She had forgotten how beautiful y he sang. He sat on the front edge of the stage and gave every word a piece of his soul. Myrna could total y see Sed’s al ure, but Brian was the one she wanted. After the first six songs, the rest of the band left the stage for a short break, leaving Brian by himself. He took the mic in the center of the stage. “Sed promised you a taste of my new solo. Don’t laugh if I f**k it up. I wrote it today.” He paused for effect and then started to play. The notes of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” with Trey’s signature shred, emitted from the amplified speakers. Brian hit the whammy bar on the last note. If anyone could make “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” rock, it was Master Sinclair. “Awesome, huh?” He grinned. Myrna’s heart melted. “I guess that’s more Trey’s speed.”

The crowd cheered and laughed.

“If you wanna hear this thing for real, you’re gonna have to yel louder than that.”

The crowd yel ed so loud that Myrna covered her ears with her hands. When they quieted, she pul ed her hands away. She didn’t want to miss a word of what Brian was saying.

“Myr, this is for you.”

Darlene and Joyce shoved her excitedly, but stopped as soon as Brian started his solo. The entire stadium fel silent, stunned by the skil and speed of his fingers. He executed the notes in perfect succession. When he reached the end, Trey appeared at his side.

“Was that f**king awesome or what?” Trey said into the microphone.

The crowd cheered.

“We’ve got a new riff, too. Brian’s been consumed by his muse.” Trey shoved him in the back, a huge grin on his face. Brian stumbled sideways and laughed. “What do you say, Chicago? Do you want to hear it?” Trey asked. More cheering. The two guitarists segued into the riff they’d practiced in the dining room that morning. Myrna no longer felt like she was standing in a jam-packed stadium. Brian was making love to her and recording notes on her body with a pen. On stage, Brian had his eyes closed while he played. He leaned heavily against Trey’s back. Myrna felt a connection between herself and the man on stage. She wondered if he was thinking of her while he played for al these people. Sed stepped back onto the stage. “Are these mother f**kers talented, or what?”

Eric drummed. Jace strummed. The crowd cheered.

“I guess I’l need to come up with some good lyrics now. I can’t take the pressure!” He gripped both sides of his head in distress. Myrna chuckled.

Sinners moved into the next song. By the time the show ended, every person in the room was drenched in sweat. A fog of condensation hung over the crowd. When the band left the stage, they looked both pumped up and fatigued. Eric, the last to leave the stage and by far the sweatiest person in the room, tossed drumsticks into the crowd like one-way boomerangs. The crowd chanted, “Sinners, Sinners, Sinners,” for several minutes until the stadium lights came up. Myrna made a beeline to the backstage area. She spotted Brian going through the door behind the stage area that led to the dressing rooms. She flashed her backstage pass at a security guard and dashed after him.

“Brian.”

He paused and turned in her direction. His smile, meant only for her, dazzled. She ran to him and wrapped him in an enthusiastic embrace. Her ears were numb from the loud music, but every other sense was heightened. The scent of his sweat made her tremble.

“You are amazing,” she sputtered.

He popped the earplugs out of his ears. “Don’t get al fan girl on me now.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and walked her past the dressing room. As they passed, Myrna caught a glimpse of Sed, minus his shirt, surrounded by several girls.

“Where are we going?” Myrna asked.

“Trust me, you don’t want to go anywhere near Sed for a while. He’s in one of his moods. We’re going to the bus. Is that okay?”

She nodded. If he asked her to walk on hot coals, she would have eagerly complied. And why was that? She didn’t understand her own psychology at the moment.

He kissed her temple. “Did you like your solo?”

“How could I not? Al I could think about was you making love to me when you wrote it.”

He chuckled. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“You were?”

“What else would I be thinking about?”

“Five thousand girls screaming your name?”

“There were five thousand dudes screaming my name, too. Not exactly a turn on. Besides, I only care about one woman screaming my name.”