Page 3 of Snared

“It’s part of my charm,” Jax said with a grin.

“And he made a mistake. An epic one, yes, but Evie forgave him, and we should, too,” Tristan said.

Tristan should’ve strung me up. Those paternity results confirmed that Evie’s son was Jamie’s child—Jamie Steel, our late drummer and the other founder of the band. Jamie had overdosed over three years ago, so finding out that he’d had a kid he’d never know about, a kid whose mom was currently dating one of the other band members, had been big news that really nobody needed to know beyond Evie, and that was on me.

“Eh, eventually,” Jax said, grabbing a handful of non-green candies and shoving them into his mouth.

The man then looked down at his lap. “Making sure I didn’t get a green one by mistake. Jumping around on stage and singing is not ideal with a hard cock.”

“Ew!” Charlie yelled, hurling her now empty water bottle at him. “Did not need to know that.”

“What the fuck, man.” Bash groaned.

Tristan shook his head at the idiotic front man, but I caught his smirk.

And this was exactly why pursuing anything with Charlie was a mistake. The band finally got along again, and no way in hell was I going to mess with that.

As much of a hard time as I gave them, they weren’t just a paycheck to me. I’d been with them from the beginning. I’d helped launch their careers and they’d done the same for mine.

You don’t mess with that.

Ever.

CHARLIE

Nothing compared to being on stage with these guys. The arena, like every arena we’d played this tour, was sold out. Fans screamed our names and sang the lyrics while I pounded out the beat on my kit.

We were halfway through our set. The lights were blinding, and I was sweating like mad, but I loved every damn second of it: the vibrations ratcheting up my arms every time my sticks hit the skins, the crash of the cymbals that I could still slightly hear through my inner ear monitors, my hair sticking to the side of my face and me unable to brush it aside or care. The sensations were overwhelming, and the energy in the arena was on fire.

I was still trying to process how I’d gotten to this point. I’d loved Steelwolf since their first album had come out a decade ago, when I’d been fourteen and already decent on the drums, much to my parents’ horror.

Good girls don’t play drums, Charlotte.

Yes, they damn well did.

A year later, I’d started a band with my friends and my boyfriend, and we’d dreamed about what it would be like to make it big. My first band may have crashed and burned within a few years, and just as badly as my relationship with the guitarist, but I’d never given up.

I’d also learned to never hook up with a bandmate, a good lesson to get through at a young age. Nothing good ever came from that.

And now I was a full member of Steelwolf, touring with a band I’d loved since I’d heard their first hit, “Monsters.” I’d toured with them last year, but it’d been a trial run. This time out, I was one of the guys, and that was exactly what I wanted.

It only sucked that I was here because the legendary Jamie Steel, the late drummer, wasn’t. His death had hit me hard. I’d idolized him, and to be behind the Steelwolf logo on my kit was surreal. I knew I could never replace him, but as long as I was contributing and the guys wanted me, I wasn’t going anywhere.

Yes, being a woman in a heavily male-dominated position had its problems, but the guys never singled me out for not having a dick. I was one of them, and after the last gig I’d had, I couldn’t have asked for better bandmates.

Well, Jax was an acquired taste, but once I gave the self-proclaimed nickname master his own annoying moniker, I’d sealed my position with them all.

Ellie.

It’d honestly been a stroke of brilliance that I hadn’t seen coming, but the brain is weird that way. I mean, his middle name is Elbert—a name he hated. How no one had ever called him Ellie to bust his balls was beyond me.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” Jax called out to the crowds as he stalked up and down the stage. The man was the perfect showboat.

The fans once again screamed out all our names, sometimes even mine. It’d taken some time for the die-hard Steelwolf fans to accept me—not that they all had yet—but there’d been progress.

Jax always liked to introduce all of us at about the midway point. Nicknames were thrown, taunts were lobbed, and we put up with his antics. I always liked to throw in a littleba-dum-tisswhen he wasn’t expecting it.

He’d glare, I’d do a drumroll, maybe tap the hi-hat for good measure, and we’d all laugh. It was perfection. Then we’d launch into our next song as natural as breathing.

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