Hot Ticket
Page 3
Unfortunately, so was Trey.
Sed crossed the sidewalk in two strides and bent over Trey. Sed took him by both shoulders, lifted his torso off the ground, and gave him a gentle shake. Out cold, Trey’s head lolled loosely. “Trey? Trey! Trey, open your eyes.” Sed glanced at Eric. “What the f**k happened to him?”
“That douche bag whacked him in the back of the head with a ball bat.” Said douche bag was groaning in the middle of the sidewalk. Eric had made a mess of the guy’s face.
“What the f**k?” Sed eased Trey down to the sidewalk, dropped to his knees, and put his ear to Trey’s chest. “His heart’s still beating. He’s breathing.”
“Well, duh. You didn’t think he was dead, did you? He isn’t even bleeding.”
Brian staggered his way back up the sidewalk to join them. He massaged the knuckles of his right hand, his dark brows drawn together in an angry scowl. “Damn it, Eric, why do you always have to start shit?”
“It was Sed’s fault. He’s the one who grabbed Jessica off the stage.”
Jace’s gaze swiveled toward Sed in astonishment. Jessica? Sed’s fiancée who’d dumped him almost two years ago? Small world. Jace hadn’t recognized her without clothes.
“Who cares who started it? It’s over,” Sed said. “Let’s get the f**k out of here before the cops show up. I doubt Myrna will want to bail Brian out of jail on their wedding day, and then there’s the concert tomorrow. Kind of can’t miss it.”
They probably should have thought about that before they messed up their hands, faces, and bodies in a brawl that seemed pointless now that it had ended. While a world record contender for the Shortest Bachelor Party Ever, Brian’s last night as a single man had definitely been one to remember.
Jace glanced at the club’s door and released a frustrated sigh. He hadn’t gotten that wood-inducing dominatrix’s card, and he so needed to see her in private. Fighting tended to release some of his tension—that’s why he continued to box for recreation, even though he had a better gig in a rock band now—but getting in a bar fight didn’t sooth his soul’s turmoil. Not in the same way being whipped to the limits of his tolerance by a woman in spiked heels and black leather would.
Sed scooped Trey off the sidewalk, tossed him over one broad shoulder, and headed to the pink ’57 Thunderbird parked at the curb. The sound of sirens grew increasingly loud.
“Jace, let’s go!” Eric shouted.
After one last look of longing at the club’s swinging doors, Jace climbed on his Harley, waited for Eric to settle down behind him, and then followed the car back to their tour bus behind the Mandalay Bay Hotel. Surely someone would report their vehicles. There were plenty of witnesses to the fight. Every member of his band was probably screwed. Busted. In huge trouble. Their manager, Jerry, had told them if any of them were arrested again, not to bother calling him. He refused to bail them out. He also threatened their stage crew with immediate termination should they lend their aid. Jerry didn’t make idle threats.
When Jace pulled to a stop behind the tour bus, Trey stumbled out of Myrna’s car and leaned against the fender. At least he was conscious now. Jace rocked the bike back on its kickstand, shut off the engine, and went to check on Trey.
“You all right, man?” Jace asked.
None of his bandmates were what Jace would consider tan, but Trey looked downright ghostly.
“Yeah. Just a little dizzy.” Trey pressed on his temples with both hands. “Fuck, my head hurts.”
Brian leaned out the driver’s window. “Get back in the car, Trey, and we’ll take you to the hospital.”
“Fuck that. You know I hate hospitals. Why do you think I never followed in my father’s footsteps?”
“Because you’re too dumb to be a doctor,” Brian said. “Now get back in the car.”
Sed unfolded his six-foot-four frame from the little car. “Listen to Brian, Trey. Get back in the car.” He grabbed Trey by the shoulders and tried to force him.
Trey pulled out of his grasp. “Eric’s bleeding all over the f**kin’ place, and you aren’t threatening to take him to the hospital.”
Sed shrugged. “Whatever. It’s just Eric.”
“Thank you very f**king much for your concern, Sed,” Eric said. “Really. Appreciate it.” From the gash on the side of his head, blood continued to drip down Eric’s face and onto his black T-shirt.
“Do you need stitches?” Jace asked.
Eric’s brows drew together. “Do you?”
Jace shook his head. “I’m not bleeding anywhere.”
“And why is that, little man?”
Jace shrugged, shifting his gaze to the ground to prevent Eric from recognizing that he’d managed to push his buttons. Again. He just couldn’t win with Eric. Ever. And he respected him too much to knock him on his ass. Jace took a deep breath and released it slowly as he stared at the ground. He took a lot of shit from Eric, but if that’s what he had to do to stay in this band, he’d continue to take it. Nothing else on this whole f**king planet meant more to him than these four brilliant musicians.
“Sed, give me your sunglasses,” Brian said, now standing in their little huddle and waving a hand at Sed.
“What the f**k do you need sunglasses for? It’s almost midnight.”
“Just hand them over.”
Sed retrieved his shades from his jacket pocket, handed them to Brian, and then took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going in. Myrna is going to kill me for letting Brian get his ass kicked the night before their wedding.”
“I didn’t get my ass kicked.”
“You’ve looked better, my friend. Trust me on that.”
Sed headed up the tour bus steps, followed by Eric.
“You sure you’re okay, Trey?” Jace asked.
“Yeah. I just need some ice.” Trey fingered the back of his head and winced. He followed Eric up the steps, only veering slightly to the left.
“You go next,” Brian insisted of Jace.
Jace grinned at him. “Afraid of Myrna?”
“Hell, yeah, I’m afraid of Myrna. I hate arguing with her. She always wins. And she has every reason to be pissed at me. Who wants to stand at the altar with a guy who has two black eyes?”
Jace’s grin widened, and the warmth of embarrassment spread across his face. “Myrna does. She loves you.”
Sed crossed the sidewalk in two strides and bent over Trey. Sed took him by both shoulders, lifted his torso off the ground, and gave him a gentle shake. Out cold, Trey’s head lolled loosely. “Trey? Trey! Trey, open your eyes.” Sed glanced at Eric. “What the f**k happened to him?”
“That douche bag whacked him in the back of the head with a ball bat.” Said douche bag was groaning in the middle of the sidewalk. Eric had made a mess of the guy’s face.
“What the f**k?” Sed eased Trey down to the sidewalk, dropped to his knees, and put his ear to Trey’s chest. “His heart’s still beating. He’s breathing.”
“Well, duh. You didn’t think he was dead, did you? He isn’t even bleeding.”
Brian staggered his way back up the sidewalk to join them. He massaged the knuckles of his right hand, his dark brows drawn together in an angry scowl. “Damn it, Eric, why do you always have to start shit?”
“It was Sed’s fault. He’s the one who grabbed Jessica off the stage.”
Jace’s gaze swiveled toward Sed in astonishment. Jessica? Sed’s fiancée who’d dumped him almost two years ago? Small world. Jace hadn’t recognized her without clothes.
“Who cares who started it? It’s over,” Sed said. “Let’s get the f**k out of here before the cops show up. I doubt Myrna will want to bail Brian out of jail on their wedding day, and then there’s the concert tomorrow. Kind of can’t miss it.”
They probably should have thought about that before they messed up their hands, faces, and bodies in a brawl that seemed pointless now that it had ended. While a world record contender for the Shortest Bachelor Party Ever, Brian’s last night as a single man had definitely been one to remember.
Jace glanced at the club’s door and released a frustrated sigh. He hadn’t gotten that wood-inducing dominatrix’s card, and he so needed to see her in private. Fighting tended to release some of his tension—that’s why he continued to box for recreation, even though he had a better gig in a rock band now—but getting in a bar fight didn’t sooth his soul’s turmoil. Not in the same way being whipped to the limits of his tolerance by a woman in spiked heels and black leather would.
Sed scooped Trey off the sidewalk, tossed him over one broad shoulder, and headed to the pink ’57 Thunderbird parked at the curb. The sound of sirens grew increasingly loud.
“Jace, let’s go!” Eric shouted.
After one last look of longing at the club’s swinging doors, Jace climbed on his Harley, waited for Eric to settle down behind him, and then followed the car back to their tour bus behind the Mandalay Bay Hotel. Surely someone would report their vehicles. There were plenty of witnesses to the fight. Every member of his band was probably screwed. Busted. In huge trouble. Their manager, Jerry, had told them if any of them were arrested again, not to bother calling him. He refused to bail them out. He also threatened their stage crew with immediate termination should they lend their aid. Jerry didn’t make idle threats.
When Jace pulled to a stop behind the tour bus, Trey stumbled out of Myrna’s car and leaned against the fender. At least he was conscious now. Jace rocked the bike back on its kickstand, shut off the engine, and went to check on Trey.
“You all right, man?” Jace asked.
None of his bandmates were what Jace would consider tan, but Trey looked downright ghostly.
“Yeah. Just a little dizzy.” Trey pressed on his temples with both hands. “Fuck, my head hurts.”
Brian leaned out the driver’s window. “Get back in the car, Trey, and we’ll take you to the hospital.”
“Fuck that. You know I hate hospitals. Why do you think I never followed in my father’s footsteps?”
“Because you’re too dumb to be a doctor,” Brian said. “Now get back in the car.”
Sed unfolded his six-foot-four frame from the little car. “Listen to Brian, Trey. Get back in the car.” He grabbed Trey by the shoulders and tried to force him.
Trey pulled out of his grasp. “Eric’s bleeding all over the f**kin’ place, and you aren’t threatening to take him to the hospital.”
Sed shrugged. “Whatever. It’s just Eric.”
“Thank you very f**king much for your concern, Sed,” Eric said. “Really. Appreciate it.” From the gash on the side of his head, blood continued to drip down Eric’s face and onto his black T-shirt.
“Do you need stitches?” Jace asked.
Eric’s brows drew together. “Do you?”
Jace shook his head. “I’m not bleeding anywhere.”
“And why is that, little man?”
Jace shrugged, shifting his gaze to the ground to prevent Eric from recognizing that he’d managed to push his buttons. Again. He just couldn’t win with Eric. Ever. And he respected him too much to knock him on his ass. Jace took a deep breath and released it slowly as he stared at the ground. He took a lot of shit from Eric, but if that’s what he had to do to stay in this band, he’d continue to take it. Nothing else on this whole f**king planet meant more to him than these four brilliant musicians.
“Sed, give me your sunglasses,” Brian said, now standing in their little huddle and waving a hand at Sed.
“What the f**k do you need sunglasses for? It’s almost midnight.”
“Just hand them over.”
Sed retrieved his shades from his jacket pocket, handed them to Brian, and then took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going in. Myrna is going to kill me for letting Brian get his ass kicked the night before their wedding.”
“I didn’t get my ass kicked.”
“You’ve looked better, my friend. Trust me on that.”
Sed headed up the tour bus steps, followed by Eric.
“You sure you’re okay, Trey?” Jace asked.
“Yeah. I just need some ice.” Trey fingered the back of his head and winced. He followed Eric up the steps, only veering slightly to the left.
“You go next,” Brian insisted of Jace.
Jace grinned at him. “Afraid of Myrna?”
“Hell, yeah, I’m afraid of Myrna. I hate arguing with her. She always wins. And she has every reason to be pissed at me. Who wants to stand at the altar with a guy who has two black eyes?”
Jace’s grin widened, and the warmth of embarrassment spread across his face. “Myrna does. She loves you.”
