Page 2 of Edge of Heaven (Crimson Edge #2)

Mick

Sweat drips off my body as I swing my bass back and forth, my hips swaying in time to the beat.

The encore is always the most fun, and tonight’s crowd is into us.

Which is cool because the last few nights have been…

a grind. We’re the opening act for a speed metal-style band called Karnal Death. And their crowd isn’t always…our crowd.

Tonight, however, they’re digging us.

It’s probably because we’re in Minneapolis, which is our hometown, and even though we played here last summer, we have a lot of fans in this city. Probably more than they do, which is nice for once.

I look down into the crowd and see a pretty lady in the front row, breasts spilling out of her skimpy top as she dances and sings along.

I could take her back to the hotel tonight, show her a good time.

“I love you, Mick!” she yells.

“Love you too, darlin’!” I call back, laughing.

Being a rock star is the greatest job in the world. Even when you’re on tour with a bunch of assholes.

Our first album went gold and we’re hoping to hit platinum soon. Our record label, Hart Records, seems to think it’s going to happen. The first two singles have done well, and we’re releasing the third this week.

I tend to ignore the business side of things because I can’t control it, so what’s the point? We have managers, a record label, and marketing people to do that thinking for us. My job is to write and perform the music.

Everything else is background noise.

I flick a couple of picks toward the girl in the front, and she clutches one to her chest happily, mouthing, “thank you.”

Do I need to get laid bad enough to send someone into the crowd to get her?

I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again, but sometimes it’s a hassle.

Because then I’m stuck with them, and if there’s no chemistry, I’m screwed.

I’ll have to talk to her, placate her, whatever the case may be—and that’s not my forte.

I’m pretty much a love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy, at least at this stage of my life.

It sounds like a cliché, but I’m twenty-six years old and living the rock and roll dream. Why would I want to tie myself down?

A flash of red catches my eye in the wings, and I glance in that direction.

That’s when I see her.

Taryn Blakely.

The one I never forgot.

Three wonderful days together before we went our separate ways. It’s been almost four years, but I still think about her.

Especially now that she’s on tour with us, dating the lead guitarist for Karnal Death.

And I just don’t get it.

She’s so pretty I sometimes have trouble looking away. She could have anyone. She’s a model and it’s obvious, from her wavy auburn hair to her slender figure and long, toned legs. Every inch of her is perfect as far as I’m concerned.

I don’t understand what she sees in Callum Yates.

He’s an asshole.

Not because he’s dating the woman of my dreams, but because…he just is. He’s rude, inconsiderate, arrogant, and a complete jerk. To everyone. His band, their fans, their crew, and definitely to us.

My band, Crimson Edge, is their opening act, and he behaves like we’re the fucking help. Beneath him somehow.

Karnal Death has been around for a decade, with six albums under their belts, and a few hit singles. They don’t have a lot of commercial success, but they have a cult following that’s made them rich.

And because our success came on quickly, without enough time for our management team to put us out independently, unless we want to go back to playing clubs—which we don’t—Karnal Death is our only option. We picked up with them after the holidays, and it’s been a long month touring with them.

For me, the one bright spot—aside from my band and our music, of course—has been seeing Taryn every day.

I don’t get to talk to her often since Callum is so fucking jealous, but I do get to look at her.

Like now.

When I should be concentrating on the crowd. The pretty girl in the front row who’ll spend the night with me if I want her to. My band. The journalists waiting to talk to us after.

Instead, I’m stealing glances at the girl I’m hot for as she sways in the wings.

I don’t care what anyone says, she likes our music way better than theirs.

The song ends and our drummer, Angus, will do his solo. I run into the wings and accept the bottle of water my roadie hands me, gulping it down and mentally preparing for my own solo, which is coming up next.

“Ready for your solo?” Taryn’s voice seems loud amid the cacophony of noise around us.

“As I’ll ever be.” I grin.

“You guys are great. I try to catch your set whenever I can.”

“I like seeing you in the wings,” I say, keeping my tone light. “It’s nice knowing we have at least one fan on the nights no one knows who we are.”

“I’ve been a fan since day one.” Her blue eyes twinkle, and I remind myself I don’t have time to get lost in them.

I’m in the middle of a show.

I have my solo in?—

“Taryn!” Callum comes marching over to us, a scowl on his face. “What the fuck are you doing? He’s in the middle of a set.”

“She don’t bother me,” I say.

He yanks her by the arm, pulling her in the other direction, and I watch them whisper furiously to each other.

What the fuck does she see in that guy?

He’s always yelling, manhandling her, making crude remarks about their sex life… I don’t get it.

“Not your circus, not your monkey.” Our singer, Jonny Gold, nudges me. He knows I’ve got a hard-on for her, and while he shares my confusion about their relationship, he’s a lot more pragmatic.

“I know.” I take my bass from my roadie and bounce on my toes.

But first—I motion to one of the crew.

“Pretty girl in the front row. Red top, big tits, blonde hair. Give her a pass.”

He nods and disappears behind the amps piled up around us.

I have to stop lusting after the one woman I can’t have.

There are so many options as a touring musician.

Taryn made her choice, so it’s ridiculous to wait around, as if she’s going to change her mind.

“You ready?” Sam Fielding, our lead guitarist, is standing next to me, a towel around his neck as we watch Angus winding down.

“Yup.” I slip the strap around my neck and grin.

“Go out there and kick some ass.”

I nod. “That’s the plan.”

In my peripheral vision, I see a flash of red again, and despite my promise to mind my own business, my heart rate notches up.

Callum is shaking her, hands on her upper arms, and it looks like he’s yelling into her face.

And she looks like she’s going to cry.

“Don’t,” Sam warns. “It has nothing to do with us.”

I grit my teeth.

“One of these days I’m going to beat the fuck out of him,” I mutter.

I don’t know if Sam can hear me amid the sound of the crowd and the final seconds of Angus’s solo.

“Maybe it’s their kink,” Sam suggests lightly.

“Maybe.”

I say the word, but I don’t believe it.

I know her.

Intimately.

The three days we spent together were intense, both in the bedroom and out. And she’s not into any degradation kink or some such bullshit. That’s fine for people who dig it, but I’ll bet my left nut Taryn isn’t one of them.

“Dude. Get your head out of your ass,” Jonny says, his eyes meeting mine. “You can’t do anything about what’s going on over there. At least not until after the show. Now go out there and show these people what you’ve got.”

I glance over at Taryn and Callum again.

He’s not shaking her anymore, but her head is down, chin against her chest.

She looks completely defeated.

As if he’s somehow broken her.

And I fucking hate him for it.

Someday, sometime, somewhere—I’m going to do something.

But it won’t be now.

I have a show to finish.

Fans to perform for.

And a pretty blonde coming backstage afterward to distract me from all things Taryn Blakely.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply.

I hear the crowd.

Jonny’s back on stage, mic in his hand. “Who’s ready for the ultimate bassist?”Our hometown crowd roars.

“Let me hear you make some noise for Mick fucking Lips!”

Applause drowns out everything else.

It’s time to do what I do—it’s time to rock.