Page 7 of Wicked Truths

I wonder if Sullivan told him about what happened between us. God, that would be absolutely mortifying.

* * *

The small club is packed to capacity. They aren’t here to see us, but they sure do rock out to the covers we perform.

It’s always hot on stage, but this place is sweltering. The lights beat down directly on me since I’m at center stage.

My dress is glued to my body with sweat, and every time I bend down to place my fingers on the strings, more rolls into my eyes.

It’s fine. One more song and our set will be over, I can play with burning eyes.

We had to borrow the other band’s rhythm guitarist, but it seems to be going pretty well, at least so far.

My stomach flutters with nerves. It hasn’t been a perfect performance, but I doubt these people are sober enough to notice the flaws.

I smile at the people I can see, who happen to be the ones close to the stage, and jump back into my role, hyping the crowd as best as I can when they’re really here for another artist.

Sullivan starts our countdown. I strum my Gibson to give the audience something to focus on.

Sullivan kicks ass on the drums. He sets the stage for timing and rhythm, which is hard without a permanent rhythm guitarist. Once we find someone, they’ll be able to mesh with Sulli to give us a solid base for our songs.

Marcus comes in on bass.

He’s one hell of a bass player, and it’s clear music is in his blood. He keeps us in time as I belt out the lyrics and give them the best guitar performance I can. The energy in the audience is palpable, and I smile like crazy as we ride out the middle of the song.

Marcus stands to my left, and I can’t help but take him in as his forearms flex. He definitely looks the part of a rock star. Long, dark wavy hair falls around his face as he stares down at the strings. His black cuffs and leather bracelets slide around as he moves.

I’ve been playing guitar for eight years, but my hands are small, and they tend to ache at the worst times.

I close my eyes and play through the pain. I love this song. It’s an oldie, but it’s a good one. It’s all about loss and soldiering on. It’s also one of the best to show off my vocal range.

The crowd gets quiet as I belt out the chorus. My hands play the chords from memory, and as the song winds down, the audience goes wild.

I’m sweaty and sticky, but a wide smile crosses my face as we finish out the last few chords. Being an omega in the music industry isn’t easy, but the feeling I get when I’m on stage is like nothing else I’ve ever experienced.

I’m willing to fight my impulses to ensure I get to live out my dreams.

* * *

The moment we step off the stage, we’re swarmed by fans. Most of them are drunk, and a good majority of them are women. Three chicks in tiny outfits huddle around Marcus. I grimace, stepping to the side and shaking out my hands.

A couple more women come over to talk to Sullivan, but he frowns when he spots me rubbing my thumbs. He gives the women a plastic smile and comes over to me, nodding at my hands. “Are they bothering you again?”

“Yeah, my thumbs especially.” Damn, tiny hands. It’s a curse. I’d be way better off if I could grip my guitar the same way a man can.

“Let me.” He grabs my hand and immediately starts stretching my wrist and fingers the way the physical therapist showed me months ago. His huge palm cradles mine while he digs his thumbs into the pad of mine. An embarrassing groan escapes as he hits one of the knots or trigger points that have been giving me the most trouble. “Damn, Oaks. Your tendons are tight.”

I swallow thickly, glancing away from his big blue eyes. My gaze travels to Marcus, and I fight the urge to scoff. He’s signing something for the brunette with giant boobs, but he gives me a look that’s pure fire.

Sullivan trades hands and begins to work on my left as I stare directly at Marcus.

“You might want to ice them when we get home,” Sullivan says.

I give a nod, but I’m far more interested in what Marcus is going to do to me when we make it back to the penthouse. He quirks an eyebrow, and my knees actually go a little weak as I recall exactly how intense he can be.

Then again, he’s got women all over him, and it’s clear they would definitely let him take them home. He knows Sullivan isn’t into me like that, but it still sends an unnatural thrill through my system knowing how jealous he gets when it comes to Sulli.

I roll my eyes, shrugging to cover how much I hate seeing other women trying to hit on him. Being an omega is complicated. He might not be my alpha, but my impulses kind of want to claw out the eyes of any woman who flutters her lashes in his direction.

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