Page 1 of Finding Grey
ONE
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DANTE
The flash went off in my face as I exited the main concert stage. Blinded for a moment, I stumbled over one of the many thick audio cables and almost fell. A swear word sprung to my lips, but I cut it off with a low growl. My manager didn’t allow me to curse backstage. In front of the media was acceptable. On stage in front of ten-thousand screaming fans was even better.But don’t let me catch you being disrespectful in front of the roadies, Dante, or I’ll kick your arse.It was one of a hundred things he threatened to kick my arse about on a daily basis. That was the problem with having your father act as your manager, agent, publicist, whatever the fuck else he wanted. He didn’t have to restrain himself when I disobeyed, and there was shit all I could do about it.
Another flash told me where to look for the camera. When I spotted the culprit, my fingers tightened around the neck of my electric guitar. The boy had a look of grim determination on his face as he crouched in a darkened corner of the backstage area, snapping away with a camera that was almost as big as his head. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen. How he managed to get backstage without being noticed was a mystery I didn’t care to solve.
“Hey, kid!” I pulled the guitar strap over my head as I stalked towards him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Looking up at my shout, he made a vague gurgle of surprise, but no words came out as he straightened. Maybe he was starstruck. A smirk tugged at my mouth. I did tend to have that effect on people.
“Answer me.” I grabbed on to a fistful of Nirvana t-shirt and shoved him back into the corner. At seventeen, I was a good ten centimetres taller and I liked the hit that came from standing over him. “Or maybe I should break that fancy camera of yours?”
Grey eyes widened comically as he struggled in my grip. “No, don’t,” he cried. “My dad’s one of the musicians. I’m supposed to be here, I swear.” Hot breath washed over my face as he spoke, and I inhaled. He smelled like desperation… and peppermint.
“I don’t think so, kid.” I shook my head slowly as I leaned my guitar against the wall beside him. “Everyone who’ssupposedto be here is wearing ID.”
“It’s in my left pocket.” He glanced down into the space separating our bodies. There wasn’t much of it. “It kept getting in the way, so I took it off.” His left hand already held the camera, so he snaked his right arm between us as he attempted to reach for the ID. The stroke of his hand across my stomach made me hiss in a breath and my grip on his t-shirt tightened until the worn material threatened to tear.
“Allow me,” I murmured, brushing his hand away. I drew one side of my mouth upward in what one prominent music magazine had called ‘the sneer that relaunched Australian youth rock.’ As intended, the boy’s gaze fell all over it. Using the fingers of my right hand, I dug into the pocket at the front of his tight, black jeans and found the hard plastic of the ID right there near the top. I could have plucked it out easily. Instead, I delved deeper, angling the tips of my wiggling fingers a little to the left, just to see what would happen.
The young body jerked against me and his free hand clutched on to the side of my waist. Gratified by his response, I slid my hand out of his pocket with the ID caught between my fingers. A brief glance told me it was the genuine article.
I probably should have backed up then. The kid was allowed to be here. But honestly, I didn’t want to. And if the way the boy’s fingers were digging into my side was any indication, he didn’t want me to either. I did release his shirt though, smoothing the material back into place over his chest. “You’re a little young to be photographing celebrities, aren’t you?”
His spine straightened, and he let go of me. “I’m sixteen.”
My head tilted to one side as I raised an eyebrow at him. “Try again.”
Tutting in annoyance, he glared at me. “I’malmostsixteen.” Now I’d lowered the intensity level, he seemed to be getting his confidence back. It looked good on him. “Besides, it’s not like you can talk. You’re a little young to be a rock star.”
“Hardly,” I scoffed. My age was only a stumbling block for people who hadn’t heard me sing. The moment I opened my mouth, all doubts were replaced by recording contracts and promises. “It’s my birthday, by the way.” I don’t know why I told him that. It wasn’t like it mattered. “I’m seventeen today.”
“Well whoop-de-doo.” His sneer wasn’t as practised as mine, but it had the same effect—on me anyway. “I would have brought you a present. But what do you give to the boy who has the world at his feet?”
Looking at his mouth, I could think of something. It wasn’t a gift that could be delivered out here in the open though. There were a dozen musicians and crew members milling around at my back as the charity concert I’d performed in continued on stage. Someone could notice us at any second. I had to get him alone. “You could take my picture.”
He glanced at the camera, still held high beside him. “I’m not a real photographer yet,” he said, shaking his head. “I only take photos of the bands who know me. I send the photos directly to them.”
It sounded suspiciously like a no. “You can send the photos directly to me, can’t you?” He didn’t answer, and I frowned. “Don’t you want to photograph me?”
“No, it’s not… I mean, yes, but I—”
“Which is it?” I didn’t get it. Some of the biggest photographers in the Australian music industry had vied for a shoot with me, but this punkarse kid stood there umming and ahhing.
He swallowed hard and licked his lips before he spoke again. “Yes, I want to.”
“That’s more like it.” Rewarding his compliance with a grin, I leaned over to grab my guitar and then backed up a step. His gaze slid down the length of me—most of the way down anyway. It halted somewhere south of my belt buckle. A fact that threatened to have me embarrassing myself if we didn’t get the hell out of there. “Follow me, kid,” I said as I turned to head deeper into the back of the building. “I know a place we can go.”