Page 15 of Songbird: Black Kite
Themusicthumped,aheavy beat that I could feel in my chest, syncing with my heartbeat and making me feel like I was part of the song.
Or that it was part of me.
Leaning back against the low couch, I surveyed the club as I took a slow sip of my drink, watching the ridiculous scene play out around me.
The guys and I had just finished our show—our third sold-out crowd in the brand-newColosseumatCeasars Palacethis week—and we were celebrating at some place on the Strip. Lewis had picked it, and I couldn’t be fucked to ask the name. All I cared about was that the drinks were cold and the music wasn’t complete shit.
Rolling my half empty glass around between my palms, I narrowed my eyes at Lewis where he stood across from me, surrounded by a flock of groupies, each vying for his attention. I sneered as they preened for him, their tits pushed up and their pouty lips glossed to a high shine.
Fuckin’ hated the makeup chicks were wearing these days. Their skin was practically orange most of the time, making it so that when they touched me, they left gross brown streaks on my skin and clothes. There were so many chicks with hair bleached to within an inch of its life, eyelashes like tarantula legs, and talons for fingernails, all looking identical and all completely uninteresting to me.
Fake. Everything was so fucking fake in my life; I just didn’t know what the fuck to do anymore.
When the people that surrounded me seemed like they would say anything they thought I wanted to hear, what hope did I have of finding something real?
Swallowing the last of my drink, I jerked my head at Charlie, my bodyguard, and one of the only people I could trust these days. Catching my nod, Charlie signaled to the bottle service girl to head over to fill my glass.
Even though we were in the VIP section, and it was supposed to be ‘exclusive,’ I still had Charlie keep the crowd at bay. I just didn’t have the patience for people lately. Mick was constantly on our case, doing everything he could to get us endorsements and other gigs to keep us in the public eye when more and more all I wanted was to be left alone.
Then there was the label, pushing every button I had to try to wring a new album out of us as soon as possible, not caring one fuckin’ bit that I hated nearly every single song on the last album.
Holy Trinityhad been a joke, a fucking throwaway album because no one wanted to wait for me to write a new one organically. Good music took time. It took emotion and creativity and that wasn’t something people could rush. When we wroteTake Flight, we were young and idealistic, angry at the world and hungry for success. We had fire in our guts and we let it burn.
Those songs were real, raw, and authenticBlack Kitemusic. They were our souls on a platter and that was why people loved them.
It was hard to write an album about something real when you’re surrounded by liars and sycophants.
The bottle girl swayed over to me on long legs, the tiny top that was her work uniform barely came up high enough to cover her nipples, but I wasn’t complaining. Even if I didn’t want any company tonight, I still enjoyed a look now and then.
“Hawk,” she cooed, her attempt at seduction losing some of its appeal due to the fact that she had to shout to be heard over the music. “I heard it was a great show tonight,” she went on, leaning way over and flashing me even more of her cleavage. “Las Vegas is lucky to have you.”
“Thanks,” I deadpanned.
It was a fucking terrible show. Lewis had been behind all night, and Alex had missed his cue on two separate occasions. Add to that the fact that I could barely bring myself to say the words to those hated songs, never mind sing them with any kind of passion, and it was a recipe for disaster.
People didn’t seem to mind, though. They appeared happy to be fed the commercialized bullshit the label insisted we put out, so who the hell was I to tell them they were wrong?
I watched as she filled my glass, licking her lips as she blinked at me in what I was certain she thought was a sexy way.
It wasn’t.
“So,” she said, standing and cocking one hip out in a practiced pose. “Do you ever do anyprivate shows? I’d love for you to sing just for me. Maybe later we can—”
“No,” I barked, startling the smile right off her face. “Now, kindly fuck off.” She gaped at me, appearing shocked that I hadn’t immediately unzipped my pants and let her fall on my dick. Turning, she started to walk away when I called her back, grimacing at the pathetic look of hope on her face. “Leave the bottle,” was all I said.
I was two more drinks in, still watching Lewis make a fool of himself, when the couch beside me dipped and the scent of expensive perfume wafted across me.
“Looking lonely over here, Hawk,” Victoria said, leaning against me. “I thought you might want some company.”
“If I wanted some company, I would have had some.”
“Yes,” she agreed, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “I have been watching you all night, making poor little waitresses cry with your mean words.”
I snorted. “If they want flowery words, they should stick with Lewis.” I lifted my glass in my bass player’s direction. “That guy will say anything to get his dick wet.”
Tori hummed her agreement, lifting her glass to her lips, but when I looked over, she was staring at me.
She and I had been dancing around each other for years now, playing a game that we both knew would likely blow up in our faces. Tori was the kind of girl that you fucked, but not the kind you kept. She was too high maintenance, too self-absorbed.
