Page 38 of Filthy Rock Stars

The three of them huddle around the phone. I hang back, still feeling like an outsider despite how welcoming they are, but Mare waves me over.

The video is posted on the band’s social media, and it’s rapidly accumulating likes. It’s hastily edited together, a combination of the lead singer Elle crooning in some expensive apartment and old footage of the band, thrashing away on stage.

The quick, heavy song is pretty standard for them, from what I understand, with hard-rock edges and fast melodies. But it’s the lyrics that really stand out.

Dirty kisses, kissing shit

Crooning losers, whiny hits

Rock’s not dead

But you freaks are killing it

The horses neigh, neigh, neigh,

And this band is full of shit

Elle and the bassist Adrian repeat the last line along with the guitar solo, then Adrian curls his lip and looks into the video. “Our fans are better anyway,” he grunts to finish it off.

My jaw drops. The song is juvenile and frankly just bad, and my shock quickly gives way to anger. Kissing Dirt are some of the nicest, most welcoming people I’ve ever met, and I can’t believe someone would trash them like this.

This is low. Very, very low.

Weirdly, though, I catch myself getting distracted by the Forbidden Destiny guitarist. I just see him in flashes of old video. He’s always got his long, dark hair covering his face, hiding his features, but every time he appears in a blur on the tiny screen, my heart jumps.

What the hell is that about?

“We’ve got to do something,” Case says, determined. He always has an easy smile, but now his expression hangs.

“No way,” Star says, emphatic. “We don’t want any part of this. We take the high road.”

“It’s my fault,” Mare says, disappointed. “I shouldn’t have trashed their fans on stage.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say quickly, the words tumbling out. “You were sticking up for yourself. They’re the ones that started it.”

“Yeah,” Star agrees, enthusiastic. “Nico is right. They’re the ones at fault, not us.”

Mare tosses her phone on the coffee table. She’s clearly upset, and I wish I could do something to make it better.

“I guess someone in the band has a grudge,” Mare says.

“The whole band,” Star adds, angry. “Did you hear that guitar riff? Shadow must have contributed to the song. It’s got his signature style.”

“I even met him a couple times,” Mare says. “I thought he was nice.”

“If we respond, we could make it worse,” Star cautions.

“But we can’t not respond,” Case insists.

Mare nods. “Our fans need to see us stand up for ourselves. Respectfully.”

It strikes me that Mare seems as upset about the band being dissed as she is the weird horse insults, clearly meant to poke her specifically.

Star glances at the phone. “Fox,” she says. “He’ll know what to do. He’s an expert at handling this kind of shit, right?”

“Fox,” Mare agrees.

“And until then, let’s not let this ruin our day, okay?” Case says. “People have said a lot worse things about us on the internet.”

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