Strike (Sphere of Irony 2)

Sighing, I turn towards the stage area and meet up with the rest of the band as we’re announced. At first, I have to force myself to play, but as the night goes on and the music flows from my fingers to the guitar, it becomes genuine. There’s nothing I love more than our music and being on stage.

“Dax! I love you!”

I smirk at the screams that more than a few of the intoxicated ladies send my way. They’re mostly harmless, and a little flirting makes the crowd more fun. So I peek at the girls shoved up against the stage as they give us moon-eyes and shoot lusty looks our way. Being up here reminds me of fighting, which always gets me anticipating my reward at the end. Some days, it takes quite a bit of concentration to keep from springing wood right on stage.

Adam works the audience like a maestro directing an orchestra, effortlessly pulling energy from the crowd and giving it back to them tenfold. By the third song he has every single person in the club eating out of his hand. It’s a gift really, to charm, to instill passion, to make people feel special. Adam does it as well or better than the best in the business.

Our set ends on a brilliant high, the entire place going crazy for more. We stumble off stage, sweaty and smiling, riding the wave of endorphins that always follow a great performance. Using the hem of my shirt, I wipe off the sweat that’s dripping down the side of my face. While the material is up over my eyes, a cool hand caresses my slick abs, making its way under the edge of my jeans.

“What the—?”

I immediately drop the shirt to see who’s touching me.

Bloody fucking hell. It’s Kate’s crazy flatmate, Lila. A girl who for some reason can’t get it out of her thick, spoiled skull that I’m not interested in shagging her.

“Lila,” I deadpan, removing her hand from where it’s trying to dig down into my briefs.

“Hey Dax.” She leans into me in some sort of sad attempt at seduction, batting her eyelashes ridiculously. Five months of near stalker-like behavior with me turning her down every time and this girl still can’t accept reality.

“Oi, Dax. We’re goin’ out. You coming?” Gavin is leaning out of one of the back rooms, ready to leave. I can’t let him go, Ellie and Kate are here and we need to wait for them.

“Right. Yeah, don’t leave yet.” He disappears down the hall towards the back door of the club. I turn back to my number one fan. “Lila. What are you doing here?” I wiggle out of her grasp but she’s much quicker, and more aggressive, than I expected.

&nb

sp; “You’re so big and muscular, Dax. I’d love to see what you could do with that body of yours.” Lila purrs, wrapping her arms round my waist so I can’t move. She actually fucking purrs at me! What the hell is wrong with her?

I reach behind me to unwind her octopus arms and the little shit uses the distraction to lean up on her toes and lick a line right across my neck as she takes a photo on her mobile.

“Jesus, Lila. Give it a bloody rest!” I snap, louder than intended. I’m just so fucking sick of this girl. She keeps turning up at my shows, throwing herself at me whenever she can.

Her eyes pop open in surprise at my rebuke, but only for a second. Then she’s back all over me like a damn barnacle.

“You don’t mean that, Dax. We could have so much fun together. I’m here with a bunch of my friends. Let’s take this to the after party.”

Lila’s hands are everywhere at once—on my chest, my abs, my waist, my back. It’s literally as if she has extra arms. I back up, knowing that my patience is reaching its breaking point. Being within striking distance of her isn’t smart. I’d never hit a girl on purpose, but I’ve never been given a reason to either. I don’t trust the beast inside me when provoked to this extent.

When Lila tries to move with me, the restraint I had over my frustration comes undone.

Rule 3—Women who act like slags can be treated like slags.

I grab her wrists, trapping them in one of my hands. “That’s it. I’ve tried to be nice to you. I’ve tried being direct. Clearly, you have some sort of learning disability. Listen and listen good…” For the first time since I’ve met her, Lila’s cocky attitude vanishes. This is going to be ugly. “I. Don’t. Want. You. Got it? It’s never going to happen. Never. Stop coming to my shows, stop coming backstage, stop touching me, stop bloody talking to me. In fact, I don’t want to see you at one of my shows ever again. Back the fuck off!” My last sentence comes out as a loud, menacing roar.

Without waiting for a response, I shove past her, not caring that I may have knocked into her a bit with my elbow. She shouldn’t have been standing so close to someone as blatantly dangerous as myself. She shouldn’t have been standing so close to me, period.

Gavin meets me at the back entrance. The smirk on his face makes it quite obvious he was waiting for me to finish disposing of Lila before heading for the car.

“Having issues with your fan club?”

I push Gavin out the door and he busts up laughing.

“Shut it, Walker. Just shut it.” I turn to fetch Ellie and Kate inside, wondering what Gavin will say when he sees them. “Get Hawke and get the car. I’ll be right out.”

Now I’m all agitated and I have to face Kate.

Fucking Lila.

Kate