Let it Burn: Sons of Sinners Part 2

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

This is the second book in the series. If you haven’t already read Fight the Spark: Sons of Sinners Part 1, I strongly recommend that you do so before you read this book!

1

He was trouble.

I knew that from the start.

He was one of those people who could never feel alive unless he was balanced on the edge of a blade, daring the devil to take him.

Wild.

Exciting.

Totally untamable.

He was the first guy that I ever truly cared about; the first guy to ever give me butterflies in my stomach; the first guy that could bring my body alive, just with the brush of his skin on mine -

Connor Maxwell.

I had a lot of firsts with him, but they weren’t all the good kind. In fact, a lot of them were pretty horrible. By far the worst ‘first’ I had with him was my first real taste of loss. And I don’t mean we broke up and I ‘lost’ him - although that did happen.

No, I mean that we all lost him.

For good.

He was twenty-one, with his whole life ahead of him. His band, Sons of Sinners, was just months away from major success. And he died of a drug overdose in a dive bar in Las Vegas.

My most terrible confession?

Losing Connor wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to me.

Because, by the time he died, my heart already belonged to someone else -

Blake Maxwell.

Connor’s older cousin.

If we’re talking ‘firsts’, he really was it.

My first love. The first man I ever truly trusted. The first and only man who ever had the power to completely destroy me.

And he did.

He walked out on me in the dead of night, just a few hours after Connor’s funeral, leaving behind nothing more than an eight-word copout note.

He left Las Vegas the very next day and moved to Los Angeles with what remained of the band. He never contacted me. He cut me out of his life the way you would cut a tumor from a cancer patient - ruthlessly and without remorse.

Then he went out and achieved his dream.

He became a Rock Star.

Sons of Sinners became the biggest selling rock band in the US - possibly the world. Platinum albums. World tours. Money. Fame. Women.

And, through all of their success, Blake never once came back home.

He made it abundantly clear that Las Vegas, and everyone in it, was nothing more than a prelude he’d rather forget.

So, what do you do when the man you gave your heart to turns around and throws it back at you?

You move on.

What else is there to do?

It took a long time, but I learned to be happy again. I was lucky enough to have great friends. I had a job that I loved and an apartment of my own. I dated. My life was good.

So, of course, that’s when he decided to come back.

2

I threw my purse onto the battered leather couch in the corner of my office and took a sip of my iced latte, then I walked around my desk to open the blinds and crack the windows. The breeze that made it inside waged a poor counter attack on the late summer heat that invaded the building. The air-conditioning was ancient and temperamental, and I could hear clunks and stutters as it choked on the desert dust and God knows what else that was slowly killing it. We didn’t have the money to fix it. Not this month.

The Academy was an old art deco building, a former movie theatre, with a mixture of red brick and white columns making up the exterior. It looked old-school grand from outside, but that was offset by traditional-meets-cool-and-grungy inside. It was the perfect live music venue in my eyes; intimate and atmospheric.

I set my cup on the desk and gathered my long, blond hair up into a messy knot on the top of my head. Connecting my phone to the speaker that sat on my desk, I started up my Work playlist. The office filled with a rocking guitar riff that was under my skin in seconds - the band were called Serotonin and they were local, up and coming, and had an original sound. I knew they’d go down well when they played my venue that night.

I say ‘my venue’ - technically it wasn’t mine, but I ran it. And I thought of it as mine, so maybe that’s the same thing?

Plopping down on my chair, I turned on my laptop, going straight for my emails. Running a music venue meant that I had to communicate with bands, managers and promoters almost non-stop, along with organizing the day to day running of the place.

I was busy, but good busy - and I loved it.

I had worked at The Academy for almost two years by that point, since I was a senior at UNLV. At first, it was just a part time bar job. The music store that I worked at before that, Realm Records, went out of business (it finally succumbed to Death by Musical Download) and I wanted to do something else related to music. A live music venue was perfect for me. You get to see bands for free while you’re working - what’s not to like?

I didn’t work at The Academy for long before I realized that I could run the place better than Harvey, the guy who owned it.

That came across a lot more big-headed than I meant it to.

In my defense, I say it with love and Harvey would have agreed.

Over the couple of years that we had been working together, he had become like a big brother to me. A slightly distracted, not completely competent big brother who you constantly have to check up on in case he electrocutes himself making toast. But, all that aside, he was completely in love with music. An unapologetic music nerd. Owning a music venue was his dream, something he had put into action when he inherited a huge chunk of cash on the death of his richer-than-hell grandmother and bought the run-down theatre that would become The Academy.

The only problem was that he had absolutely no business sense.

But that’s where I came in. I got my Bachelors in Business Administration from UNLV, so the business side was appealing to me and something that I was good at.

I’m not saying we didn’t make mistakes - Harvey was only a few years older than me, and neither of us had ever run a business before - but we both had passion for what we were doing, and the end result was a music venue in the heart of Las Vegas that was just starting to thrive. We were almost at the point where we could start putting a little money back into the building to make improvements, rather than only managing to cover costs. Terms like ‘gross profit’ were starting to be mentioned in hushed voices - neither me or Harvey dared to actually say it out loud yet in case we jinxed it.

I was immersed in my work, my latte long forgotten, when Hayley practically bounded into my office with a cardboard tray containing more take-out coffee, her long auburn hair bouncing along behind her in a high pony tail. As always, her happy go-lucky energy made my already good mood even brighter. Although we no longer worked together at Realm Records, she had remained one of my best friends.

My God, I love you, I said on a sigh when she offered me a steaming cup; the sunlight streaming through the window glinted off the giant rock on her ring finger as she did so, making me squint a little.

Yep, that’s right, she and Derren got engaged. Obviously. I mean, outside of a Disney movie, I don’t think there’s a couple more suited in the world than those two.

Hayley cocked an eyebrow at my old, discarded coffee. I’m going to start giving you this stuff intravenously, it’d save time.

I took a sip from my new cup and then leant back in my chair, sighing in satisfaction. What are you doing here? I asked. Shouldn’t you be planning a wedding?

Since Derren asked Hayley to marry him seven months before, in front of an audience of thousands at the beginning of Sons of Sinners’ latest world tour, she had lived and breathed all things wedding.

It was going to be epic.

They had decided to get married on a secluded cliff top overlooking the Grand Canyon, in a spot close to Grand Canyon Village in Arizona, followed by a reception that sounded more extravagant than anything I’ve ever seen on any of those Most Expensive Celebrity Weddings of All Time shows that appear on TMZ or MTV.

When Hayley let slip a few weeks before that the flowers were going to cost over a hundred thousand dollars, I nearly had a heart attack. I didn’t even know it was possible to spend that kind of money on flowers. Turns out they could’ve spent more, but Hayley didn’t want to ‘go overboard’.

The thing about Hayley was, unless you knew she was marrying a millionaire, you would never guess. She hadn’t let the fact that she was now engaged to a mega-rich guitarist, who was one fourth of the most sought after rock band in the world, change her at all. She was still just her - super-friendly, more-energy-than-is-strictly-needed, funny, down-to-earth Hayley…who was right then scrunching up her face.

"Ugh, I’m having a day off. The seating plan for the reception is starting to give me palpitations. You’d think Derren’s mom and dad could sit within spitting distance of each other this one time, at their son’s wedding, wouldn’t you? But nooooo, that’d be too easy! She sighed. Why can’t people just put aside their differences for one day?"

I took a sip of my coffee as a flush of guilt coursed through me. I knew that Derren’s parents weren’t the only problem with the arrangements.

Blake and I were a pretty glaring problem, too.

Because, since he left Vegas three years ago, we had never seen each other; never spoken on the phone; never even sent so much as a text message…and now we were both going to be in Hayley and Derren’s wedding in seven weeks’ time.

What made it even more awkward was the fact that I was the Maid of Honor and he was the Best Man. So, technically, we were supposed to walk down the aisle together and then sit within a few feet of each other at the reception.

Honestly, I wanted to throw up every time I thought about it.

I’d been trying to mentally prepare myself for months for the moment I’d have to come face to face with him again. I must have come up with a hundred laid-back, totally blasé comments (and, okay, I’ll admit it, a million tear-him-a-new-one put-downs) in preparation for when I finally had to talk to him again. I just hoped I’d remember at least a couple of them when the time came.

Hayls, I started, you do know you don’t have to worry about me and Blake, don’t you? Don’t change a thing for me, okay?

Her face softened. Oh, God, I know. I wasn’t saying that to make you feel bad. She walked around the desk and perched on the edge, just next to where I was still sitting on my chair. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I don’t mind making some changes for -

I cut her off quickly, "Please don’t worry about that. Not on your special day. I can be in the same room as him for a few hours. It won’t kill me. What happened between us is way back in the past. I’m over it."

I pretended I didn’t see the look of incredulity on her face as she said, "Okay, if you’re sure? It would make it simpler…"

I am, I assured her, then quickly changed the subject before I had to actually contemplate what I’d just agreed to. Walking down the aisle with Blake? What was I thinking? Annnnd, cue nausea. So, do you have Derren doing a bunch of wedding prep now he’s back? I asked, pushing all of that down.

Hayley laughed. Yeah, some. But he’s still pretty beat from the tour.

Derren had only just returned to Las Vegas a week before, after having toured with the band ever since the proposal. Hayley had been with him for some of it, flying out now and then to spend a few weeks on the road before coming back to Vegas to live like a normal person for a while. Then, when she missed him too much, she’d fly back out and meet the tour again.

Her smile stretched as she continued with, I watched him sleep for, like, twenty minutes this morning. How pathetic is that?

I grinned. It’s not pathetic at all.

It totally is, but thanks. She laughed again. Anyway, he’s gonna start writing for the new album today, so I thought I’d come finish the Wall of Fame. I’m still not a hundred percent happy with Connor. Something about his eyes isn’t right yet. Come look?

I nodded as I picked up my latte and followed her out of the room. I’d noticed that her hourglass figure was hidden under an old denim shirt that was covered with every different color of paint splatter you could conceive of. A former art major at UNLV, Hayley was now a full-time artist. She was regularly commissioned for big bucks to paint portraits. Most of them were music related in some way; her paintings of Derren and the other Sons of Sinners guys had even made it into magazines and a couple had made thousands at charity auctions. Luckily, she’d loaned out her talents to me for bargain basement prices (as in free) and she’d almost finished painting a huge mural in the main room of The Academy. She’d filled it with portraits of the most legendary bands in history, all merging together to create a vast multitude of rock-royalty. Singers hollered, guitars thrashed, drums hammered. The artwork was a tribute to rock; you could almost hear the music as you looked at it.

On the part of the wall nearest to the stage, the image of Sons of Sinners dominated the view. The four members of the band were represented perfectly, down to the last detail. It looked more like a photograph than a painting.

Although Connor was no longer with them, when Hayley painted the band, she had included him rather than Danny, the drummer who had replaced him. We’d both agreed that it didn’t feel right not to put Connor in the painting. Las Vegas was his city after all. He deserved to be a part of its musical legacy.

You really are amazing, I said to her as we stood together, leaning against the bar and sipping our coffees, studying the mural.

"I will be amazing, when I get Connor’s damn eyes right," she grumbled good-naturedly.

I think I know what’s up, I said quietly.

Really? What is it? It’s been driving me crazy.

He didn’t used to play with his eyes open, he usually had them shut when he was in the Drum Zone, remember?

She stared back and forth between me and the image of Connor on the wall. Damn, you’re right! Her voice fell, sadness seeping through, Of course he did. I can’t believe I forgot that.

I reached over and squeezed her hand; I knew how she felt. It had been the three year anniversary of Connor’s death only a couple of weeks before, and the more time that passed, the harder it became to remember the little things. Well, that’s what this painting is for, right? So no one forgets.

She squeezed my hand in return. I better get started then.

Want some music on while you work?

Sure, she said, gathering her painting gear and heading across to the ladder that was propped next to the twelve-foot-tall portrait of Sons of Sinners.

I put on Oasis - an old favorite of Connor’s. Then, deciding to work at the bar to keep Hayley company, I went and grabbed my laptop from my office.

We spent a couple of hours that way, until Hayley finally climbed down from the ladder and stood back, arms crossed over her chest, examining her work.

I walked across to stand next to her. Wow, I whispered, in awe. The image of Connor on the wall married with the one in my mind and, as I looked at it, the years just fell away. It looks just like him; I can almost hear the beat.

I think it’s finally finished, she murmured.

My eyes left the picture of Connor hammering on his drums and wandered over the rest of the guys.

Kane was standing, with his feet planted shoulder width apart, an easy smile on his face as he plucked at his bass. Derren was leaning back, long hair streaming behind him, a frown of concentration knitting his brows together as his fingers danced over the strings of his Gibson Les Paul. Blake was clutching the microphone with both hands, screaming into it, with one foot raised up on a monitor, the personification of power and ferocity.

They were frozen in time.

It was a snapshot of the way they used to be, before the heartbreak, the loss, and the fame.

As I looked at it, I felt like I was seeing an old memory brought to life…but something that was done with. Over. A piece of my past.

Then Harvey barreled through the front doors of the venue, sweating and panting like he’d run a marathon -

- and my past became my present.

3

Amy! Harvey wheezed. "Thank God you’re here!" His words came out in a rush and held a note of desperation. I could see the sweat gathering at the throat of his green Marvel t-shit, and is face was an alarming shade of red behind his curtain of long brown hair and full beard. Imagine a younger version Chris Stapleton, minus the cowboy hat, and you’ve got Harvey.

Of course I’m here, I said, bewildered at the state he was in. Where else would I be?

I’ve been…calling you non-stop…for over an hour! he panted.

I frowned and pulled my cell from the pocket of my cut off jean shorts. There were zero missed calls there. Um, no -

Your office phone! he snap-gasped. Why the hell…didn’t you answer?!

I winced. Oh, damn. Sorry, I’ve been in here with Hayley the whole time.

He wasn’t impressed. "Well, goddamnit! What’s the point…in having an office…if you don’t use it?!" He bent over and braced his hands against his knees, fighting to catch his breath.

"I do use it, usually, I said a little defensively as I walked over to him, scrutinizing him in concern; he seemed like he was a few seconds away from a coronary. Is everything okay? What’s going on?"

He pulled in a breath. You’re not going to believe it… He trailed off and rubbed one hand over his chest, underneath the gunmetal-grey vest he wore, open, over his t-shirt. Harvey always wore a vest; it was sort of like his own personal uniform.

You’re worrying me, Harvey. I’d never seen him this worked up over anything before. I was starting to think something awful had happened. Just tell me what’s wrong.

He straightened up with an effort, forcing himself to take long, deep breaths. "Nothing’s wrong, he said, starting to grin manically. I just got a call from Sons of Sinners’ management! Blake Maxwell wants to put on a show here! Can you fucking believe it?!"

Freight train. To the face.

My heart almost broke out of my ribs.

"WHAT?!" I shrieked.

What? Hayley demanded a millisecond later.

I know! Harvey crowed, clearly in ecstasy. "Sons of Sinners! The biggest band ever to come out of Las Vegas! One of the only rock bands ever to have three original songs in the Billboard chart at the same time! The band that can sell out a stadium tour in less than five minutes! He rattled off their stats as though Hayley and I had never heard of them - a moment later he seemed to remember who he was talking to and looked a little sheepish. Of course, you knew that already," he said, clearing his throat.

"But…but…what?! I spluttered, trying - and failing - to wrap my head around what he was saying. This can’t be happening. Who called you?!"

He said his name was Aiden Parkinson.

Well, SHIT!

That actually checked out. Aiden had started managing Sons of Sinners back before they made it big. He got them onto their first arena tour, organized the recording of their first real album, and gave them the opportunities they needed to chase their dreams.

Look, Amy, Harvey started, I know you have history with Blake Maxwell, and I’d like to remind you that I’ve never asked for details - Actually, he had. Multiple times. - but this is business. They’re THE biggest band in the country right now! We can’t turn this down.

I know, Harvey. I’m sorry, it’s just -

No, hold up, this is bullshit. Hayley waved her arms in front of her in a kind of air-clearing motion. Harvey, she said, looking at him almost sympathetically. If this was genuine, I’d know about it.

I grasped on to that logic as if I was drowning in ice water and someone just threw me a life preserver. Yes! That’s right! I yelled; I’d lost all control of the volume of my voice. Kane’s on Vacation in Thailand, right?! I knew my eyes were wild as I implored Hayley to confirm what I already knew. Kane had sent me a selfie the week before from a boat that was floating in crystal clear waters, with a caption that read, Island hopping like a pro.

Hayley nodded. Right. And Danny’s in the U.K. visiting with family right now.

Danny Jackson was a session drummer whom Sons of Sinners hired - just after Connor died - to record the drum parts on their first album. They all hit it off so well that they asked him to join the band permanently and he agreed. I’d never met him, but Hayley had mentioned him a lot, and of course I’d seen pictures of him.

Hayley continued, They’re not supposed to be working again until they get together in LA to start recording the new album in a couple weeks.

See?! I challenged Harvey to disagree with us.

He couldn’t, of course. Hayley had the inside scoop.

The only member of Sons of Sinners that she never discussed with me, unless it was strictly wedding related, was Blake. She had tried to talk to me about him a few times in the early days right after he left town, but I’d shut her down every time. Back then, I just couldn’t stand to hear about him. It soon became an unspoken agreement - the topic of Blake was off the table. I didn’t ask about him. Hayley didn’t volunteer anything. Whenever I saw Kane and Derren, the same rules applied.

But regardless of what he was doing during their time off, there was no way he could put on a show without the rest of the band, so I knew this had to be some kind of joke. Lance, one of the bartenders that worked at The Academy, was always coming up with new and unique ways to mess with Harvey. I figured this must be his latest prank.

But…it really sounded legitimate, Harvey practically whined.

They can’t play Vegas anyway, Hayley said begrudgingly. You know Blake won’t set foot here.

Harvey definitely couldn’t dispute that. Blake’s refusal to go anywhere near his hometown was well documented by the media, who had concocted a million possible theories about it over the years.

Come on, think about it, I added as my heart rate started to return to normal. "Even if they played Vegas, there’s no way Sons would play here anyway."

The Academy’s capacity was five hundred. Sons of Sinners normally played to audiences of over twenty thousand. Even if Blake agreed to break with tradition and put on a show in Vegas, any place on the Strip would bump their residencies at a moment’s notice to put them on. They would be salivating at even the remotest possibility of getting Sons of Sinners on their stage…

Yeah, there’s no way this is happening.

I could see by the expression of extreme disappointment on Harvey’s face that he was drawing the same conclusion. He clamped his lips together and shook his head. I’m gonna kill Lance, he muttered a moment later as he wandered around to the other side of the bar and pulled a beer from one of the fridges.

I’ll help, I offered, flopping down onto one of the bar stools. Now that I was getting over the shock and realizing how stupid it was to have thought for even a second that the whole thing was possible, my legs felt like noodles.

So, I’m confused, a deep, gravelly voice rumbled from the direction of the door. You want me to play here or not?

My breath caught as I spun around on my stool - only to find the piercing blue eyes of Blake Maxwell boring in to me.

4

It was like coming face to face with a ghost from your past at the same instant that you run into an old friend you see every day.

Because, although I hadn’t seen Blake in person in the years since he cut out on me, I had still seen him plenty.

All the Sons of Sinners guys were ‘famous’, but Blake got the brunt of the media attention. He was hounded by the paparazzi, especially after a few controversial stories broke about him and various actresses and supermodels. They couldn’t get enough of him; controversy seemed to follow him; everything he did was put under a microscope and analyzed.

Which meant that there was no escaping him.

I saw him almost constantly: on the cover of magazines; in newspapers; on the internet; on TV. It seemed like the media needed photographic evidence that he was still alive at least three times a week.

I saw pictures of him with hordes of beautiful women hanging off him.

I saw footage on CNN of him being cuffed outside a nightclub in LA, before being ushered into a police cruiser.

I saw publicity shots of him on stage, sweaty and invigorated.

I saw him on TV collecting awards with the rest of the band.

I saw him in music videos, on chat shows, and on TMZ segments.

I saw him shirtless on the cover of Rolling Stone.

I saw a video, recorded on a cell phone and uploaded onto the internet, of him grabbing a camera off a photographer and smashing it on the ground.

I saw shots of him walking through airports with his sunglasses on and his hood up.

I saw grainy pictures - clearly taken through a telescopic lens - of him on a beach in Maui with a gorgeous blond, doing naughty things under a beach towel…

I’m not going to lie, it was hard to deal with.

But three years is a long time and, eventually, it became almost normal. I’m not saying I ever got immune to it exactly, but I learnt to close it off - see it and move on.

And then, suddenly, there he was in front of me again.

Blake Maxwell: Super Star Rock God.

The only man I’d ever loved…

…and the only man I’d ever really hated.

5

I stopped breathing. I felt my skin tingle. It felt like all my blood whooshed straight to my heart, which was beating so strongly it was echoing in my ears.

It was like I had tunnel vision.

Everything else in the room just blurred to insignificance at the sight of him.

He was leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb at the entrance to the venue, completely nonchalant.

But his deep blue eyes were locked on mine with such intensity that they sent a tremble through me.

His hair was covered by a hood, but I knew the color of it perfectly: a deep chocolate brown that bordered on black. His face was so gorgeous it almost hurt to look at him; his jaw was strong and chiseled, covered with dark stubble that gave him a rugged edge.

I’d told myself so many times that my memory of him was over inflated, that I’d built him up in my mind, but having him right in front of me again made me see all of that for what it was - denial.

His sleeveless, dark maroon hoodie hung open and underneath it he wore a grey t-shirt, just fitted enough to hint at the powerful body beneath. His bare arms were thick with muscle and covered to the wrists in tattoos. As long as I’d known him, he’d had two full sleeves of incredible artwork, an intricate mix of crisp lines and subtle shading, but now tattoos emerged from the neck of his shirt too; a sparse flock of birds swooped up from just underneath his Adam’s apple, around the side of his neck to disappear behind his left ear.

Even standing so casually, he still had an air of power about him, a type of effortless gravity that just pulled your attention his way.

As I watched, one corner of his mouth quirked up into the trademark Blake Maxwell Smirk, and I realized that I was staring at him with my mouth hanging open.

I closed it with an audible snap as my lungs started working again.

Good to see you too, Princess, he said, his deep voice holding a hint of amusement.

Princess.

Hearing that nickname roll off his tongue felt like someone stepped on my grave.

I knew I should say something - anything - but every time a coherent thought half-formed in my mind, it shattered before I could grasp it properly. My mouth tried to form words and failed.

Blake’s smirk widened as he pushed off the doorjamb and sauntered into the room.

It was only then that I noticed that Aiden was with him. He was the picture of well-groomed professionalism, wearing a crisp white polo shirt and with his blond hair neatly styled. In one hand, he carried what looked like a slim, incredibly expensive, briefcase.

But my eyes only lighted on Aiden for a second before they snapped back to Blake of their own accord. His smirk had faded a little and his eyes had narrowed slightly, like he could see inside my head. Like he was ransacking my mind.

As he moved towards me, his gaze travelled from my eyes, down to my lips, where it lingered, before roving over the rest of my body to my bare legs. For about a second, I wished I’d put on something other than my old, cut off jean shorts, an oversized white t-shirt and worn down Converse. My make-up was minimal, too, just a cursory slick of mascara. And my hair? God. I almost reached up and let it loose from the messy knot on top of my head - but as soon as the thought flew through my mind I squashed it, mad at myself for even caring.

There was no way in hell I would allow myself to give a crap what he thought of me.

Not anymore.

That ship sailed years ago.

When Blake’s eyes finally moved back up to my face, there was a heat in them so intense, so animalistic, that it took my breath away. I swallowed, trying to fight the rush of arousal that coursed its way through my veins. I wanted to slap myself when I felt my nipples harden beneath my bra.

But then he blinked.

And when he opened his eyes again, the heat was gone…and I was left wondering if it had even been there at all.

Blake flashed a shark’s grin as he came to a stop a few feet in front of me. Gonna say ‘hi’, Princess?

Before I could even begin to formulate a response, Hayley jumped in, pulling his attention away from me and onto her. What are you doing, Blake? she challenged, her anger obvious. "You guys are supposed to be having some time off. Derren was supposed to have some time off!"

Makin’ history, he replied, all cock-sure arrogance - and zero actual information.

Hayley let out a sound of exasperation as she threw her hands in the air. I’m calling Derren! He’s gonna shit a brick. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and paced away across the room without waiting for a response.

Blake looked back at me with his eyebrows raised like, What’s HER problem?!

That was way too familiar.

That was how friends acted.

People who knew each other read each other’s expressions - and that wasn’t us. Not anymore.

Find a distraction.

That thought pushed me from my perch on the stool, and I beckoned Harvey around from behind the bar. Harvey, I began, my voice carefully controlled, this is Blake Maxwell and his manager Aiden Parkinson.

I knew that the introductions were a little ridiculous - okay, a lot ridiculous; obviously, Harvey already knew who they were - but I didn’t really know what else to do so I fell back on manners and social graces, the backbone of awkward conversation.

As soon as Harvey reached my side, I urged him towards them, like I was using him as a human shield. Guys, this is Harvey Cooper, he owns this place.

Aiden and Blake shook hands with Harvey, who looked like he was about to convulse with excitement.

Nice place you got here, man, I like it, Blake said.

Thanks, Harvey said proudly. Although, I have to be honest, Amy’s made it what it is, and of course Hayley’s responsible for the masterpiece. He gestured to the wall behind them, then narrowed his eyes. Hey, she finished Connor.

I nodded. Yeah. Just now.

Talk about timing.

Fuck me, Blake breathed as his eyes came to rest on Hayley’s artwork. That’s…incredible. The muscles in his jaw bunched as he took in the image of his cousin whaling on the drums.

It’s quite something, Aiden agreed quietly. For a few moments, no one said anything else, until Aiden clapped Blake on the shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. Then he turned back to Harvey and I, all business again. We should explain what we’d like to happen here.

6

I busied myself behind the bar, opening beer bottles and sliding them across the polished surface to Aiden and Blake who, along with Harvey, had moved to sit on the bar stools.

When everyone had a drink, I opened one for myself and leant against the back of the bar, near the cash register, as far away from Blake as I could get. I didn’t even care if it was obvious - which his knowing look told me it was.

I looked away from him and took a long drink from the beer bottle in my hand, wishing it was something stronger.

Derren wants to talk to you, Hayley said to Blake as she re-joined us and handed him the phone.

Blake just grinned and tapped the screen, before placing the phone on the bar. Hey, D. You’re on speaker.

There was a beat of silence, and then Derren’s pissed off voice sounded down the line. What the fuck’s goin’ on over there?!

Just planning a gig, man, Blake said mildly.

"The fuck you are! What part of the word VACATION don’t you understand? Danny and Kane aren’t even in the country! What the fuck’re you thinkin’?!"

Blake’s grin widened. "Don’t worry. Said I want to play a show here. Never said anything about the rest of you. Play or don’t, it’s up to you."

There was silence from the phone.

Harvey gasped. Are - is this - are you breaking up the band? His voice held the plaintive note of a child who’s just been told he’s on the Naughty List this Christmas.

"What the FUCK?!" Derren yelled.

Blake burst into laughter, and even Aiden snorted with barely suppressed amusement.

Hayley shot them a death glare. "You need to explain. Now."

Blake shot me a wink, like I was in on the joke.

Which I absolutely was NOT.

Okay, he started, after he’d taken a sip of his beer. "It’s like this: I wanna do an acoustic set and I want it to be one of those ‘surprise gigs’, y’know? Like Guns n’ Roses did in Hollywood, or like the Stones did in Toronto. We’re gonna announce it last minute, make it so it’s just for local fans - Vegas fans. First come first served."

We’re going to film it, Aiden threw in. We’ll put the videos online and give them away as bonus downloads with the next album.

There was a long moment of silence, and then Derren said, You thinkin’ I could do a couple songs on the cajón?

I frowned in confusion at Hayley, who mouthed Drum thingy, at me.

I thought for a second, then drew a box in the air with my fingers, simultaneously raising my eyebrows in a question.

She nodded.

I heard a gravelly chuckle and looked over at Blake, who was watching us with an amused expression on his face. Up to you, D, he said towards the phone. Bring your acoustic and double up, do some percussion, back up the vocals - whatever. This mean you’re in?

"Ah, maybe…babe, what d’you think? I know I said I wouldn’t work the whole break, but it’s just one show…"

Hayley rolled her eyes as Blake looked at her, smirking. Fine, she said on an exhale. As long as I’m on the guest list.

"You’re the best, babe."

Blake nudged Aiden. Told ya, man.

Aiden nodded, conceding that.

Blake turned his attention back to me. What do you think, Princess? You gonna let us play here?

I knew it wasn’t a genuine question. It was designed to goad me. "Why do you even want to play here?" I blurted before I could stop myself.

I heard Harvey let out a startled Eep sound from where he sat, on the other side of Aiden, but I didn’t look his way.

Blake didn’t bat an eyelid at my blunt question. Why wouldn’t I? he asked, almost lazily.

I don’t know. Couldn’t get in anywhere on the Strip?

He barked a brief laugh. "Yeah, you know that’s not the case."

So, I ask again, why here?

Well…there’s a few reasons actually. He eyed me up and down slowly, like I was a popsicle that he wanted to lick all over.

I felt a flush start to creep up my neck from embarrassment that he would look at me that