Page 31 of Sycopation
“That’s better,” Carl purred. “Now maybe you’ll pay attention to me instead of being a fucking shithead.”
Had he missed something? Maybe he’d missed something. “I don’t understand.”
“That’s because you’re an idiot, Ray. Pretty, talented, but nothing upstairs.” Carl tapped his head with a finger, and his grin was lurid.
Jesus, this guy. “Look, I know you hate me. I get it. But what thefuckare you talking about?”
“Did you read the contract you signed?”
He had, but so much of it was lawyer speak. He figured the label knew what it was doing. But... He nodded slowly.
“Then you know how it goes.” Carl turned on his tablet and showed it to him. “Here’s the bottom line.”
Ray crept closer to get a look at the spreadsheet. The number at the end was large...and negative. “But we’ve gone gold, haven’t we?” They’d at least hit that with the album before Kevin had crashed and burned. A party. Fanfare in the press.
“Sure you did. But stuff costs, Ray. Your stage clothes. The hotels. The buses.”
He thought...he thought the label took care of those. The band was paying for it? What about the concerts? Tickets cost a bundle. He took another look at the spreadsheet, but the numbers blended and shifted before his eyes. Now wasnotthetime to be studying this. The buzz was gone, torpedoed by the sickly feeling that he’d screwed up big time somewhere along the line. Carl’s cruel grin only confirmed that.
“Can you—send this to me?”
“Sure. Though itisa lot of math.”
For fuck’s sake. He had an associate’s degree in accounting. Ray snapped his teeth shut. “Why are you showing this to me now?” Who knew what time it was—late, probably.
“To keep you in line.” For once Carl didn’t lie. “I’m tired of you mouthing off to me, showing off to your bandmates, especially when they don’t know how hard you screwed them over.” He shut the tablet off and tucked it under his arm. “Your song choice worked tonight, but I’m your manager, Ray. You’re gonna listen to me when I tell you shit and you’re going to do it, because I’m the only line you have to the label and the only one who can get you out of the hole you’ve dug yourself into.”
Ray shivered as a deep chill seeped into his bones that had nothing to do with the AC. “Send me the goddamned numbers and I’ll take a look at them.” Even if he knew in his soul that Carl was telling the truth this time.
Carl’s smile fell away. “You better toe the line or the label will drop you and your band, and you’ll be stuck explaining why your friends have no money to their name.”
Yeah, trapped, and not in the high school bully sense. Ray could almost hear the cell door clicking closed. “I said I’d look at it later. What more do you want?” Oh, he knew. Hated the idea, but what choice did he have? He dropped his shoulders “For now, you’re the boss.”
“Damn straight I am.” Carl pushed off the door and opened it. “Enjoy your night, Ray.”
Like hell he would, and given the twist in Carl’s voice, he knew Ray wouldn’t. Without a word, Ray left and headed toward the bus.
Fucking hell. Yeah, they’d all signed the contract, but they’d looked to him for guidance, and maybe he’d sunk them all. He was supposed to be the leader. Fuck.
Of course, he was the last one to the bus. Dom was already halfway through one of his microbrews. “Hey! There’s the man of the—” His face fell and so did Mish’s. Ray didn’t want to look at Zavier.
“Honey?” Mish said. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” He ground the word out and pushed past them all. “I’m fine.” Last thing he needed was Mish mothering him or Dom to pepper him with questions.
“We did good tonight.” Zavier’s velvet-soft words. “Nothing can take that away.”
Ray stared into the back of the bus and let his eyes water. Oh yes, something could. Carl could. Toe the line. Do as told. “Yeah, the crowd loved us. I know.” His voice wobbled. “I—need to—” He kicked off his shoes and waved at his berth before crawling in and pulling the curtain shut. Fuck. He jammed his face into the pillow and covered his ears as best he could. He wanted to punch something. Or cry. Or find someone to fuck into oblivion. Anything to get the pain out of his head and chest.
Carl only echoed the voice Ray heard in his own head. He wasn’t good enough. He couldn’t pull this off. Somehow, this was all a fluke. He’d already burned Kevin out—how long before he took out Dom, Mish, and even fucking perfect Zavier Demos as well?
The pillow, the darkness and the rumble of the bus’s engine were all he had to make the agony stop, and they didn’t block out the murmur of voices, just muted some words. Dom was angry and Mish concerned. But what got to Ray was Zavier’s calm voice. “Endorphin crash. I suspect he had help, too.” A hint of deep fury there.
Zavier’s breath ghosted across his neck and his praise echoed in Ray’s mind.You’re an astounding musician.Maybe he was, but that didn’t mean a damn thing now.
“Fuck. Must have been Carl. That shitbag hell-swine.” Mish and her mouth.
Her outburst quieted them all down. “What do we do?” Dom’s voice—not Domino, but the kid Ray had known since that first day of high school.
