Page 1 of Snared

Chapter 1

JOSH

Ifthosefuckersaskedme for one more dumbshit, irrelevant thing, I was going to lose it. I’d spent the last hour sorting out fucking green M&Ms because Jax said they made him too horny to go on stage.

What the actual fuck was wrong with that guy?

But if sorting candies was the price I had to pay, I’d do it.

Yes, I’d epically screwed up a few months ago. But how the hell was I supposed to know that an intern wouldn’t take kindly to me not wanting to fuck her and decide to snoop around my office and find James’s paternity test?

And then tell the whole fucking world about it.

Yes, I should’ve shredded it, but the lawyers wanted a record of the results, and I hadn’t sent it to them yet. It’d never occurred to me that someone would get so jerked off at my rejection that they would’ve stooped to this level.

And now, instead of spending my days running Steelwolf from my serene, air-conditioned office in LA as the band manager that I’d been for almost a decade, I was acting as their tour bitch. I’d told the guys I would do anything to try to make up for my role in the epic shitstorm, so they’d paid the guy I’d hired his full salary and told him he could sit this one out.

Said I would be doing his job for this leg.

Tour managers were typically respected by the guys. I clearly was not granted that appreciation, sorting candies as I was.

Fucking Jax.

“I still see one,” Jax said, sauntering into the dressing room, not even looking at the candy.

Fuck, he was obnoxious.

We were a month into this leg of the tour and had arrived in St. Louis yesterday. At least they’d allowed me to move to their bus instead of staying on the roadie bus I’d been subjected to the first week. That smell was never going to come out of my clothes.

I fought back a shudder.

Not that bunking with Jax was much better, but at least the band bus was nicer, roomier. Unfortunately, it came with another form of torture.

Charlie.

“Right there,” Jax continued, leaning over my shoulder.

I glared at him and pushed away my thoughts about Charlie.

“You’re such a dick,” Tristan said, plopping down on the couch and pushing his hair out of his eyes.

“You should be riding CH the hardest, MB,” Jax said as he turned toward the bassist.

Always with the stupid nicknames. CH was me. Captain Hardass. And yeah, fine, it fit, even if I only admitted it to myself. But I had to be a shark in this industry. My bands depended on me to score the best deals and the best endorsements. And I was worth every fucking penny.

“I don’t think you can call him MB anymore,” said Bash, founder and lead guitarist of Steelwolf, as he grabbed a bottle of water.

“That’s right. I’m not moody,” Tristan said with a smirk.

“Just because you got your rocks off when your girlfriend joined us for a few days last week doesn’t mean you aren’t still moody. It’s part of who you are,” Jax said.

“Whatever,” Tristan grumbled.

“See? Told you,” Jax said, pointing at Tristan. “Moody blues.”

“Knock it off, Ellie,” Charlie said as she walked out of the bathroom, fluffing her long blond hair. Hair that I’d had more than one inappropriate dream about. Wrapping it around my fist as I fucked her was the current image on a loop.

Shit. I needed to stop thinking about her that way. She would probably knee me in the balls if she knew that vision floated around in my head.

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