Page 13 of Revel

Liz elbows me. “Are you paying attention to any of this?”

It’s around five thirty, and we’re set to go on at nine. That’s all I know. “Nope.” With the same nervous energy I experience before going on stage buzzing through my veins, I pat my pockets for my cigarettes. “Not a goddamn word of it.”

Tucking her cell phone in her back pocket, her eyes lock on Deacon and Hardin in the distance, both standing next to Red and her assistant like they’re fresh meat. “Figures.”

Looking around the room only reminds me of that stupid radio station interview yesterday, and the universe keeps slapping me in the face with examples of how I have no control over anything anymore. And this tour is only one of many. One Vibe. Even the name of the tour kinda pisses me off. I don’t know why, and I still don’t understand the meaning behind it, but regardless, I’m here for the first show with six other bands and artists at the Moda Center in Portland.

I look out in the distance. A layered cotton sky stretches over the city. Rain coats the tour buses, beading down blacked-out windows, the air stoic and stuffy. Dozens, if not hundreds of people surround me, making the over-sized conference area feel claustrophobic. From tour managers, artists, band members, road crews. . . they all have something they’re doing. I’ve played here a dozen times I suppose, and faced the prying eyes of the press on more than a few occasions, back when it used to be the Rose Garden, but you know my memory. Can’t exactly tell you much about it.

What I can tell you is the princess is staring at me. I hate the doe-eyed look she has and the gentle shade of green that holds my attention longer than she deserves. I hate that her innocence makes me feel unclean, tainted by the choices that haven’t always been mine to make. But whatever, I’m Revel Slade, overlord of the depraved, or the prince of darkness, depending on who you ask. The last thing I am is innocent.

In front of us, front and center in the room, the promoter goes over the lineup for tonight, his voice distinct, projected crisply through the conversations.

“What’s this about?” I ask Liz, who’s elbowing me to pay attention.

“Heror this show?”

You’d probably be interested to know the woman she’s referring to is the wrong one. She thinks I’m focused on Hensley, the one who destroyed me, but you might be interested to know it’sRedcontrolling my mood today. Beauty bleeds from her veins, completely oblivious to the real problems in the world and the ones able to rip your virtue from your heart and set the motherfucker on fire. I bet she is a virgin. I can’t imagine her lying on her back letting someone shove their cock inside her.

Clenching my jaw, I scowl in the distance. Annoyance hits me. I don’t want to think of her like that, dirtied and defiled by the likes of Breckin fucking Thomas. If that fucker was any more plastic, he’d be Tupperware. I tell myself I don’t care if she’s a virgin or not.

Unfortunately, I’m lying. Truth is ever since she stood and watched that groupie deep throat my cock, I haven’t been able to get Red’s perfectly pouty mouth and round innocent green eyes off my mind. The thought of fisting my hands in that wild mess of red hair while she gags on my cum has me bothered in more ways than one.

Smoothing out my wrinkled and disheveled clothes, I lift my heavy stare to hers. “You know what I’m talking about?” Reaching for the bottle in front of me, I mask my anxiety with indifference and vodka from a water bottle. “Why would fans pay to see rock and country in the same concert?”

“It’s about mixing genres, crossing boundaries and showing the world that musically, we can come together.”

She sounds like a politician. I roll my eyes. “I don’t want to come together with anyone. If anyonecomes, it’ll be me.”

Laughing, Liz gathers her phone from the table. “You’re not afraid of a little risk, are you?”

Avoiding eye contact, I simply raise my eyebrows. Is she fucking serious? Me worried about risk? I once went on stage completely fucking naked. Clearly I’m not worried about much of anything, especially risk.

Our eyes lock, but I don’t answer her. “Sound check is in an hour. Breckin goes on first, then Hensley, Revved, then followed by the remainder of the acts.”

“Who goes on after us?”

There’s a noticeable pause as Liz contemplates her response. Blowing out a quick breath, she answers in passing with, “Taylan.”

The princess of pop is going on right after the biggest rock band in the world? I almost feel bad for her.

“No, man. I’m fucking serious,” Cruz says, dragging my attention his way, his drumsticks in hand playing a beat against the table across from me. “Eat celery. It has water in it and triples your supply.”

Hardin’s curiosity piques. “Like how much we talking about here?”

“The whole damn thing.”

His eyes widen. “What?”

“Theentire bunch. And pineapple juice. An entire bottle.”

Given his distaste for vegetables, Hardin shakes his head in disbelief. “Jesus fuck. I won’t be able to stomach all that.”

“Then I guess you won’t be painting the bitch creamy, will ya?”

Part of me wonders if the way he’s looking at Red means he’s planning on painting her with his spunk. I don’t like the idea of it. In fact, it pisses me off to the point where I glance over at her again. I don’t want to look at her, let alone hold any possessiveness over her.

Distaste clouds my vision as I lock eyes with the princess herself and I catch the trail of pink as it creeps across her ivory skin, adding to the air of purity surrounding her. It pisses me off more, and I tear my eyes away from hers just long enough to flick my still-lit cigarette onto the concrete floor, smashing it with my boot. Predictably, and feeling anxious and wired, I sigh, like I can’t be bothered and look away. “What the fuck are you looking at?” I ask when she refuses to break eye contact. I arch one eyebrow, exhaling smoke through my nose, my eyes hooded with boredom.

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