Arrogant Brit

And I could feel my cold exterior melting away under the heat of that grin.

His cockiness translated well onstage. His effortless strutting and natural arrogance only fueled his performance, even when he opened up briefly to belt out a strikingly powerful lyric.

The entire set was over far too quickly. They had performed the same length of time as the others – somewhere around the forty-five minute to hour mark – but they blazed through the songs with a tenacity that wrapped up out of nowhere.

Oddly, they didn’t perform their main single.

With a swift bow, the band descended backstage amid the constant screams of Encore! Encore! Encore!

The lights dimmed, and nobody returned.

Undaunted, the mob continued to chant…

Until they all returned, picking up their instruments. This close, I could see that they were going through the motions – there was no improvisation here.

But they also looked a little tired.

They really did want to stop for the night.

“Wow, these Alabama fuckers are plenty greedy, aren’t they?” Trent joked over the mike to his band. “What do you guys think? Think we should cut ‘em off here, or give ‘em what they want?”

What they want! The crowd bellowed. What they want! What they want!

“You don’t get a fucking vote!” Trent shouted out over the sound system to them. “But props to that organization, that shit happened fast! What, did you guys form a union while we were hydrating back there?”

The crowd continued to chant, and the band pretended to deliberate together over the microphones.

“I dunno, dude, I just put a pizza on…”

“They seem like a good bunch of folks…”

“I’m gonna miss my Jeopardy! re-runs, man…”

Trent finally turned back to the crowd.

“Alright! ONE more song! IF you’re good! That means, you take the goddamn song and you like it! Is that clear? We good?”

The crowd was ecstatic.

“Fantastic. Alright, you might have heard this one a couple of times. Maybe not out here, I hear you fuckers have shit radio reception. Anyway, it’s a little piece we like to call Wicked Wilds…”

Predictably, the entire mob went ballistic, and the entire band shared a satisfied grin amongst themselves as they began to perform.

Their sheer stage performance – particularly that of their arrogant, mighty front-man – took a fantastic song and only made it better.

“My lonely walk along the highway / A silent king with feet a-peelin’ / Empire of dust that shattered my way / My soul regret, I’ve lost the feelin’…”

Trent continued along the refrain, choosing to skip the chorus the first time to let the guitarists show off. Meanwhile, he head-banged in place along to the tune of their riffs. Eventually, he jumped over to dreadlock guy to mimic his furious strumming for several moments, clearly enjoying himself.

I couldn’t believe that someone this commanding, this indisputably famous, had even given me the time of day – let alone fought four bikers to a standstill to protect me.

It filled my head with strange feelings.

Feelings I couldn’t ignore, let alone control.

After a major guitar solo, he finally took his place back in front of the microphone – and belted out the chorus that everyone had been waiting for.

“Reeee-yee-yee-ead my bones… broken, laid, and / Heeee-yee-yee-eed my moans… whispered, taken / Seee-yee-yee-eee my frown… buried, bathed in / Feee-yee-yee-eel my crown… dust and vapor…”

After another refrain, one clearly just for live shows, and another powerful iteration of the chorus, Trent stepped down and let his band have their moment to close out the set.

The electric guitar wailed.

The backup guitar sang.

The deep bass guitar droned.

The drums exploded.

And all the while, Trent simply stood there, hands on the microphone and head bowed, listening to the unrestrained power of his musicians.

That’s when it struck me.

I realized, in that blinding moment, that Trent Masters was more than just some arrogant, cocky asshole. Underneath all his pride and self-importance, under his swagger and his gesturing, there was a depth to him – a deep, dark depth visible even now.

He was a proper leader to his people.

He let them all have their turn in the light.

After the improvised detonation of instrumentation descended into a wicked, thirty-second drumroll against the ending drones of the guitars, everyone clashed together into one final, definite note. Right afterwards, Trent ascended to the microphone one last time.

“WE ARE TRENT MASTERS AND THE WHIPLASH! GET DRUNK, BREAK SHIT, AND HAVE A GOOD FUCKING NIGHT! UNTIL NEXT TIME, YOU BEAUTIFUL SONS OF BITCHES!”

The lights drowned the stage in darkness, and everyone slipped from their spots. This time, there would be no fake-out return to the stage, no matter how much the crowd screamed.

But instead of heading back with the band, Trent strolled straight towards us. Our little group was stunned as he latched onto my arm with a powerful, sweaty hand and half-dragged me backstage.

Chapter 13

Trent

Within moments, we were back at the bus. I tossed her to my bed and quickly stepped into the shower, rinsing the sweat from my pores and the grease from my hair.

I was in and out in just a couple of minutes. I hadn’t bothered to throw anything more than a pair of jeans on, anticipating the direction of the next hour.

More accurately, choosing that direction.

I had been patient long enough.

She was finally, conclusively mine.

And I intended to take that privilege.

The rest of the band knew I was going to be in the bus, and didn’t want to be disturbed. They were free to enjoy their after-party with the others, and to drag their designated, temporary fuck-buddies back to the bus to do the deed.

But they understood the rule.

Nobody bothers Trent.

To my satisfaction, Angel was sitting exactly where I’d left her. Her eyes clearly traced the outlines of my muscles as I took her by the hand, pulling her back into my embrace.

I discovered to my unending satisfaction that she was putty in my fucking hands. Everything was right in the world, set back to where we had been interrupted.

But I wasn’t counting on a minor detail.

The kiss felt fucking fantastic.

When I felt her lips brush up against mine, sparks fired off in the back of my head. It was on another level entirely.

Didn’t know a kiss could taste so good…

Before, it had always come off as just an agreement, signing a contract of services about to be rendered. A kiss prior to stripping them bare and losing myself.

But this?

I didn’t know what to do with this.

Neither did Angel. Her chest was heaving against me, and in the low lighting I could see her eyes, furtively searching my own. It was almost as if they were saying, I don’t know what we’re doing. What are YOU doing? What are WE doing?

I didn’t really have an answer.

So I closed mine, bending in for another powerful kiss, pulling her light body up against mine. Her hands rested against my shoulders, almost pushing me away, but sliding around the back of my neck instead.

I could hear her moan into the kiss, and god fucking dammit if that didn’t make me harder than stone where it mattered.

We slid backwards, down onto the bed. Circumstances put her lying on top of me, and I pulled her down into another deep, satisfying kiss. I nipped her bottom lip with my teeth, tugging lightly to excite her, but hard enough to ven

t out my sexual frustration.

This has been a long time coming, I thought to myself. And I intend on making the most of it.

I let one hand lightly tug at her miniskirt, while the other slapped down hard against her ass. She yelped, almost jumping up, but I wouldn’t let her leave me. Instead, my teeth tugged at her lower lip again, inviting her down further.