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Feeling somewhat crazed by the exchange that happened minutes ago, Dante swiftly texted his bandmates. SoHo-Mios. Now.
On it, texted Gia.
Come on, boss, seriously? Heat texted back.
The booty can wait. Dante could practically hear the groans through the screen. Keys with you?
Yes.
Get your asses in gear. Meet you in twenty. He grabbed his Gibson and headed out the door. Only music would soothe the ache between his legs and ease his confusion.
At SoHo-Mios, a hip music venue in the SoHo district, the owner, Tag Veness, knew and loved Dante and his band. He and Tag had been friends for years. An exclusive, spontaneous gig would be a win for both. Tag would get the snobbish envy of larger venues in the city, and Dante would get some of the snot from his system. He parked the Porsche in the lot behind the building and let himself out, guitar case in hand. He strode across the alley, nodding to the security guard, and leaped up the three steps to the back door. After a quick knock, Tag himself opened the door.
“Dante. What can I do you for?”
“Got space for a spontaneous gig?”
“Always. Solo or are the others joining you?” He peered past Dante’s shoulder into the alley.
“They’ll be along.” He slid past Tag into the dark hallway leading to the club.
“The place is packed. This will be perfect. Two a.m. and no signs of slowing down. Come on up and tune up backstage. I’ll inform the band you’ll be relieving them during intermission. Everyone’s going to be stoked. Marked Love stops by SoHo-Mios before their epic Madison Square Garden launch.” He swept his hand through the air as if highlighting a headline. “This is awesome. I’ll send Greg back here to watch the door. He’ll send the others up when they arrive.”
Several minutes later, Heat, Keys, and Gia entered the backstage area, carrying their respective instruments—a portable keyboard for Keys, a single drum for Gia and Heat’s trusty bass.
“What’s the fire about, boss?” Keys asked. “Seriously, you need to get laid.”
“I did that. Didn’t help.” His eyes slid toward Gia.
She tsked at him.
“Finally,” said Keys.
“With who?” asked Heat. “Please don’t tell me you’re banging that model again.”
“No way,” Dante said, swearing underneath his breath. “I hope I never see that bitch again.”
“So, let’s do this,” Gia said. “I told you, I was getting way bored with these two on the prowl and you off tormenting yourself.” She twirled her drumstick between her fingers and blew out a big pink bubblegum bubble. “What’s the plan?”
“Tag wants us to take control of the stage at intermission. He won’t say a thing. He wants to see how long it is before recognition dawns.”
Keys guffawed. “About the time it takes for Heat here to blow his load while laying between two hotties...two seconds.”
“Fuck off,” Heat said. “They double-teamed me.”
“Cool it, you two,” said Dante. “So, it’ll be a short set, but let’s make it count. We’ll start with Wet, ramp up with Hungry and end with Want.”
“Now, there’s an explosive set,” Gia said. “You must need to blow off some steam.”
“You could say that,” Dante said, thinking of Kennedy. The feel of her on top of him...it was far better than he could have imagined. Giving her control was do-able. Stopping himself from claiming her, taking her the way he wanted — now that was pure torture. And when she left the way she did? He shook his head. The entire encounter proved unsatisfactory in the long run, leading to him standing here in SoHo-Mios with his bandmates, confused, angry and twitchy as hell.
Tag peeked around the corner. “Hey, everyone. It’s go-time.”
Gia marched up the steps first, followed by Heat and Keys. Dante wanted to be the last to enter. They spread out on the dim stage, respectfully moving aside the official band’s instruments to make room for theirs.
At first, the crowd paid them no mind as they ordered drinks, laughed, chatted or slipped outside to get high. A few bold audience members simply lit up in the crowd, blowing streams of marijuana smoke overhead. Someone near the front glanced at the stage and leaned toward his friend, saying, “Look. It’s Marked Love.”
An enthusiastic response rippled through the entire room until fans pressed against the stage, cheering and shouting.
“Magic Mouth!” some of them yelled.
“Heat!”
“Ms. Styx, I’ve got some wood for you to play with!”
“Keys, I love you!”
Dante strummed the first chord to Wet, and they were off. He poured his frustration, his desire, his hopes and dreams about Kennedy into his music, playing perhaps his wildest set ever. Sweat poured from him as he stirred the crowd to a frenzy, his fingers flying across the frets. He loved being in the apex of the musical hurricane, hand on the wheel of their experience.
The crowd screamed and hollered when they finished Hungry, out of their minds with excitement. The Madison Square Garden gig had sold out almost instantly, and these crazed fans would boast about tonight for years to come.
Pleased, Dante congratulated himself. Not only did it provide an outlet for his frenzied emotions, but it was also a PR coup. He nodded to the others to start Want.
Gia began tapping out a steady beat.
The four of them began chanting “want, want, want, want,” urging the crowd to follow. “Want” turned into “want you, want you, want you, want you,” with accompanying claps.
Dante fingered the opening lines, his entire body lit with sensation as the song reverberated through his cells. He paused, letting the sound waves drift. Another magical phrase slid from his fingers. Another pause. The crowd was at his beck and call. Each time he strummed the strings, he plucked the souls of the audience.
On fire, he orchestrated the mood of every single person in the building until they were one giant, throbbing collective of desire. At Dante’s command, each of the band members took a solo, with Dante finishing up the set.
A din of approval met their ears when they finished. People clapped, cheered and begged for more.
In his element, Dante slipped into his stage persona. “No, way,” Dante said into the microphone, grinning. “No more. We only wanted to give you a taste,” he said, sliding his tongue along his mouth, then licking the air in one of his signature maneuvers.
“Taste me,” a female fan screamed.
“All we’re trying to do is tease,” he continued, as he grabbed his crotch.
“Let me finish you off,” another woman cried.
“Torment,” he said, thrusting his hips into his guitar.
The fans screamed.
A guy shouted, “Cut us some slack. They won’t want anything to do with us after you’re finished.”
Laughter ensued.
“Tantalize.” Dante ground his hips in a slow circle, laughing at the insane look on the girls in the front, next to the stage. “Torture.” He removed the guitar strap from his shoulders, placed the guitar in its stand, and fell to the stage floor, pumping his hips Magic Mike style, all the while thinking of Kennedy. “And arouse you for more.”
A couple girls looked like they’d faint.
He chuckled, loving each moment. He sprang to his feet, grabbed the mic and said, “Thank you all. You’ve been a great audience.” He picked up his guitar, held it high, and walked off the stage, the others behind him, while the audience screamed, stomping their feet, expressing their pleasure at seeing Marked Love.
“Whoever you fucked tonight, keep her,” Keys said, as they headed for the backstage lounge.
“Yeah, hell of a short set,” Heat added.
Gia simply gave him a look.
“How the hell are we going to follow that?” Blayze, the lead singer for the band whose gig they interrupted, Twisted Lightning, said. He let out a short laugh, leaning his head back to pour his remaining beer down his throat. He set the bottle on the coffee table with a decisive thwack.
“Ride the wave, bro,” Dante said, reaching out to shake Blayze’s hand. “We got them primed for you.” He reached for an ale, twisted the top open and settled on one of the chairs.
“Ready?” Blayze’s drummer said. “More like post-coital bliss. They’re going to be snoozing when we come back.”
“Nah. You can take them over the edge. They’ll be at your mercy,” Dante said, taking a long swig of beer. “Easy pickings.”
“Well, here we go,” Blayze said. “Let’s do this, boys. Great set,” he called over his shoulder as he exited the lounge. “Fucking awesome.”
Dante, Gia, Keys and Heat chatted for a bit, laughing and congratulating Dante on a stellar performance.
“Madison Square Garden, here we come,” said Gia. “This is going to be amazing.”
“Yeah,” agreed Heat. He and Keys finished their beers and looked at one another conspiratorially.
“The one in the red dress?” Keys asked.
“With the one in the tight ass jeans?” Heat said.
They nodded in unison, stood, and Keys said, “Our conquests await us.”
“Poor girls. They won’t know what hit them.”
“Oh, yes they will,” said Heat, heading out the door. “And they’ll never be satisfied with another.”
They both let out a guffaw, high-fiving one another.
After they left, Gia said, “I need something stronger. Can I get you anything?”
“Yeah,” Dante said, not bothering to lecture her. “Jack on the rocks. Thanks.” After she left, he picked up a copy of Rolling Stones left on the coffee table, and idly thumbed through it. When someone entered the room, he didn’t bother looking up, figuring it Gia with their drinks.
“Magic Mouth,” said a smooth, sultry voice.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. His head lifted from his idle perusal, landing on the skank ass bitch who nearly destroyed him. “What the hell do you want, Marquise?”
She stood, poised, with her hand on the door frame, like she was being photographed for Vogue. “Don’t get in such a twist. This isn’t a social call. I merely wanted to congratulate you on the music. Fantastic show.” She pushed away from the wall. “You seem to be doing well.” Dressed in a skin-tight calf length shimmery blue dress, with a slit up to her hips, the svelte, brunette model sashayed across the room in his direction. Her long, glistening brunette hair coiled around her shoulders like a viper.
Dante shrank back. “How I’m doing is none of your business.”
“We all know that’s not true. You’ve got a secret—you and daddy dearest. And I’m keeping it for you.”
“Yeah, at a hefty price tag,” Dante glowered. My goddamned philandering father. “Why I ever fucked you is anyone’s guess.”
“Please. Don’t insult me. We both know where the inspiration for Wet came from.”
“Please,” he said, mocking her. “If you were to inspire a song it would be called Dry Spell.”
A spark of anger flared on her features, then disappeared into her iced haughtiness. She continued as if Dante hadn’t spoken. “And I took the edge off of your situation with Maddy. Poor thing. Her death was such a tragedy. She was my best friend.”
“The inspiration for Wet came from an actual human being, not you. You’re not capable of having a best friend. Best friend’s don’t seduce their boyfriends.”
Marquise leaned toward Dante, giving him an eyeful of her full cleavage. She whispered in his ear. “Best friend’s boyfriends don’t screw around with the best friend.” She planted her pink lipsticked lips on the side of Dante’s lips, startling him, and lifted her hand in an odd gesture.
As a flash went off seconds later, Dante knew why. He shoved Marquise away from him. Blinking hard he noticed none other than Jordan Jones in the hallway. “You bitch. Is your career failing? Need a little press, do you? Get the hell away from me.” He started across the room when she moved directly in front of him, blocking him.
“Not so fast. Jordan told me he’s pressing charges against you. This coverage might win you his forgiveness. Jordan owes me a favor.”
Dante’s gut twisted into a stranglehold. His hands balled into fists. He wanted to punch the wall, or better yet, slap that stupid grin off Marquise’s face, but he’d never assaulted a woman in his life and wasn’t about to begin.
A second later, Gia burst in, a murderous expression on her face. She slammed the two drinks on the coffee table, whirled to face Marquise and gave her a mighty shove. “Get the hell away from my friend. Get the fuck out of here!”
Marquise shrieked, her print-worthy face a mask of ugliness.
The camera snapped continuous pictures.
Tag raced around the corner, two beefy security guards in two. “Out! Out with you! You’re banned from stepping foot in this club ever again, both of you!”
“We’ll see about that,” Marquise said imperiously, as she strode from the room.
As the pair slunk away, Tag rushed toward Dante. “I’m so sorry, mate, truly I am. I had no idea they were back here. One of the guards spied them.”
“Don’t worry about it, Tag, it goes with the territory.” He reached for his glass and tossed the fiery liquid down his throat. “She’s devious. Don’t worry about it,” Dante repeated.
“What do you need? I’ll do anything.”
“Another one of these and I’ll be fine.” He lifted his empty glass.
“Absolutely. I’ll bring a bottle of top-shelf booze back here, straight away.” He hustled from the room, leaving Gia and him in stunned silence.
Dante took two steps toward the sofa and dropped onto the cushy seat.
Gia settled next to him. “Are you all right?”
He brought his arm around her and pulled her close. “As good as can be expected. I might have gotten the assault charges dropped.”
Gia gave him a puzzled look.
Dante waved a hand in front of his face. “Don’t ask. I fucking hate this shit. But I brought this one on myself. She’s on my top five mistakes list.” He turned and glared at Gia. “Don’t say a word.”
“What, about how stepping out on Madeline while you two were together might not have been your best idea ever? I promise to keep my lips sealed.” She mimicked zipping her lips and tossing the key.
“Smart ass.”
“Damn straight.”
“But you’re right. It wasn’t my smartest move.” And the consequences turned into a nightmare, thanks to dear, old dad. Something I have to live with every day for the rest of my life.
