Rock Chick Reckoning (Rock Chick #6)(37)
Author: Kristen Ashley

I’d scrunched out my hair to maximum, wavy volume. I’d done smoky, just short of slut-o-rama, makeup. I’d pul ed on faded jeans, a black tank with silver sequins and rivets stitched on the front in the shape of a coiled, striking snake and a racer back so you could see my black bra straps. I’d threaded a black, tooled-leather belt with a huge, intricately filigreed silver buckle through my belt loops. Completing my ensemble were black cowboy boots with a higher than normal light heel and kickass designs etched into the leather, huge, wide, silver-hopped earrings, silver rings on every finger (sometimes more than one) and a kickass, wide, battered, silver band was shoved up my arm, hugging my bicep.

We were at the end of our second of four forty-five minute sets and I was beginning to loosen up.

I was loosening up because I knew four Nightingale men, wearing black windbreakers with the word “Security” in huge yel ow letters on the back, were manning the four sets of double doors. Ike, Jack, Bobby and Matt, each paired with one of Monk’s bouncers, al of them wanding everyone that came in and searching backpacks and purses. Luke was floating between the doors, not wearing a windbreaker but being general y badass thus not inviting kil er intentions.

Eddie, Hank and Wil ie Moses were al drifting through the crowd, badges and guns on ful display on their belts, further dampening any nefarious mood. I knew Hector was outside because I saw him briefly when Luke brought Ava and me to the gig. Hector emerged from the shadows, gave Luke a nod, me a once over with his black eyes and then he slid back into shadows again. Vance was stationed at the door that led backstage. Lee was on the stage, at the back, in the dark, watching the crowd.

If this wasn’t enough, I noticed that Indy’s coffee man, Tex, had planted himself at a stool, back to the bar and I could see when my glance strayed to him that the big man’s eyes were rarely on the stage. Duke, on the other hand, had planted himself in front of me, moving up and down the front of the stage whenever I moved. Even though his back was mostly to me, I suspected from the looks on the faces of the crowd closest to him that he was glaring them down, squashing the happy vibe. Al except the Rock Chicks, al of whom (except Jules) were front and center. Happy vibe secure, Indy, Al y, Jet, Roxie, Daisy, Shirleen, Ava and Annette were singing along with me at the top of their lungs and screaming like freaks after every song.

As far as I could tel , Mace had not yet arrived.

I figured even Madonna didn’t have this caliber of security so it was unlikely tonight was my night to die.

And that made the gig al the more sweet.

My glance slid to Floyd and I gave him the nod.

It was time.

We were going to deviate from the set list. Everyone in the band knew about it.

Everyone, that was, but Buzz.

Floyd caught Leo’s eye and Leo lifted his chin just as Hugo caught on and grinned, stepping toward a microphone.

Buzz was looking at his boots.

The band might be on fire but Buzz was only swept up in the flame, he wasn’t participating much in building it higher.

His mind was on other things.

I took my eyes off Buzz, looked at the crowd and wrapped my hand around the microphone with a toss of my hair.

This was Pong and Leo’s cue.

Pong’s sticks clicked on the drums, Leo started the first chords and I knew without looking that Buzz had clued in.

He couldn’t help but clue in. We al knew what those clicks and strums meant.

“This one’s for Linnie,” I told the crowd.

Everyone screamed; the wave of sound hit the band, firing us up al the more even though most people probably had no idea who Linnie was. They didn’t care, any song that was for someone was going to be something. And this song, a song we rarely ever played, they knew would rock the whole f**king house.

I glanced at Buzz and found his face was pale but his eyes were on me and they were shining. I looked away, knowing if I kept looking at him I’d lose it, just as Hugo’s deep voice started smoothly delivering the lyrics.

And the lyrics were to ZZ Top’s kil er, kickass “La Grange”.

Hugo sang.

A few more strums, a few more clicks.

I felt it in my bel y, like I always felt it in my bel y just like I knew Linnie always felt it in her bel y.

Wait for it… my brain breathed in anticipation.

Pong’s drums went wild and Leo’s soft guitar went solid.

The crowd surged in and my stomach plunged.

This is what it’s all about. This is what Linnie lived for, my brain told me what I already knew, because I understood Linnie. I lived for it too.

Hugo’s velvet voice slid back in, “Have mercy…” then he smoothed through the “haw haws” and then delivered the lyrics.

When it was time, Pong rounded out the beat; I went front stage and started to blow the lid off.

“Have mercy,” Hugo finished, stepped back with a big, white smile at me and I rol ed.

I walked the stage, eyes on the crowd, Leo and Pong setting the rhythm. I watched the crowd throb, the heads bob, the bodies sway, the hands in the air jacking out the beat. I smiled wide at them. They were asking for it and, as usual, I gave it to them. It was the only good thing I had to give, I was generous with the gift and they sucked it right up.

Leo stopped, Pong and I took turns, Leo cut in and I cut out, leaving it to Leo and Pong.

Then Pong exploded, Leo came back and, final y, so did I.

Floyd joined the fun, scooting across the stage, crouched low, jaw jutting back and forth, playing air guitar like he was a white Chuck Berry.

I watched Floyd’s antics and only I could hear my laughter over the music. My eyes moved to Hugo who was doing a weird, super fly black man dancing to rock ‘n’ rol dance, shoulder’s moving up and down, hands tucked tight to his chest, head bobbing, feet moving around in a wide square.

The crowd was there, feeding us but they’d also somehow melted away.

The band was al on its own. We were the only ones in the club and we were tight, most ev’ry night and there was no mistake about it.

Buzz, his bass not needed in the song, was jumping up and down, a wide smile on his lips, tears streaming down his face, his bass flipped around so it was at a slant along his back.

I was working the stage, working the band, fol owing alongside Floyd as he made another crazy crouch-walk back across the stage.

I tossed my hair, throwing my head back to do it and just kept playing.

I stopped, leaned forward at the h*ps and laughed open-mouthed in the direction of Leo who was moving his h*ps and shaking his head, his dirty hair in his eyes, grinning like a loon. I looked to Pong who was banging on the drums, swinging his wild hair around so much it was like a living thing.