Rock Revenge (Rock Revenge Trilogy 1)

My only reply was a grunt. We’d just see about that.

“I wanted to preface this conversation with genuine admiration for your obvious talent.”

“Thank you,” Byron said quickly, obviously assuming he was alone in the room.

“All of you,” Mitchell said, his gaze touching each of us in turn.

I only guessed that it eventually reached me. I was occupied. I’d reached the head of the voodoo doll and was wrapping it mummy-style with a stray black thread from my shirt.

Ah, fuck, maybe it should be actual hair? I’d be happy to get a sample straight from the source. Though pulling on Byron’s overbleached shit would probably make the rest fall out.

Too bad.

“You each came far in this competition because of your combination of charm and vocal ability, and of course, physical presence.” Mitchell smiled, his lips rolling under until he was all teeth like a shark.

What was it with these guys and their teeth?

“All important attributes for what I have in mind.” Mitchell folded his hands. “Assuming you’re all willing and able to sign my company’s stringent morality clause.” This time, I couldn’t have missed his stare if I tried. “There will be no exceptions.”

“Morality what?” Callum kicked back in his chair and looped his arm around the back. “I thought we were supposed to be fuckin’ rockers.”

“Well, yes, of course, and some of that is acceptable. But you have to keep in mind that your younger fans look up to you, and their parents will only tolerate so many shenanigans before they cut the cord—and the access to their credit cards to buy your music. Not that that’s what it used to be, of course. It’s all about streaming services now. And touring. We would get you on the road right away.” Again, he shifted his focus to me. “No delays.”

Unless my tour led me to LA straightaway, it was next to worthless.

But I didn’t say anything. Unlike Byron, who was practically pissing himself with joy, I had a feeling that stupid morality clause wasn’t going to be the worst of what Mitchell presented to us.

“I can do that.” Byron smiled. “Right after I win tonight, I’m ready to go on the road.”

I choked back a laugh. “Gotta admire your stones, mate. Such unwavering faith.”

“Why shouldn’t I have it? I’m clearly the fan favorite.”

“You lost.”

I might’ve laughed at Byron’s shocked expression if not for Mitchell’s swift turn toward me. “So did you.”

The jab hit me square in the chest, killing my amusement at Byron’s expense. “How—you—there’s no way you could know that. It’s sealed voting, with the last percentage to come from call-in votes during the performance—”

“That’s fifteen percent of the overall total. Even if you got every vote registered, even if you did,” Mitchell added, turning to include Byron in his statement, “you couldn’t overcome the winner’s overall point tally. It’s already been decided. The judges’ votes weigh the most.”

“But it’s supposed to be sealed,” I sputtered. “You shouldn’t have access to those results yet. They were to be announced live.”

Mitchell’s thin lips stretched into a smile. “You’ll learn that in this business, son, it’s who you know.” His smile slid away. “And who you don’t piss off.”

I gripped the arms of my chair to keep from bolting. If this was all a sham, what the hell was I even doing here? They couldn’t make me stay. I wasn’t going to go up there to lose. For what? To fill a preplanned slot and to show I wasn’t a sore loser?

Fuck that. In real life, there weren’t participation prizes. I’d learned that well enough years ago. And if this deck was stacked too, I wasn’t hanging around to shake hands.

“Such a shame you have to perform such a tough song tonight after a physical altercation.”

My song. Goddammit. I couldn’t split. If the news about my fight with Simon had reached the airwaves—thanks, Natasha-who-didn’t-even-get-me-off—people would be watching me. Waiting for me to trip and fall flat.

You lost. The one thing in your life you were counting on, and you couldn’t even close the deal. How much flatter can you go?

Jerry would remind me of that right quick.

The one thing I could do was go out there and nail that song. I’d been working on it for weeks, and no matter how frustrated and disappointed—and yes, hurt and ashamed—I was that I’d come this far only to choke, I could do what I was meant to. My job.