“As a goodwill gesture,” Carl says, far too smugly. “Call it compensation for your trouble. Give me two hours. If you don’t like what you see, walk away. Keep the money. I’m assuming you’ve looked into the band?” he finishes with extra smug sprinkles.
I haven’t.
I hate rock bands as a rule. All the screaming and gyrating and banging about. I also read somewhere that rock bands were single-handedly responsible for ten percent of venereal diseases in the nineties.
Which if true is megaewww.
My stomach twists.
Every warning siren in my head blares. “I should send your two grand back and be done with this. Everything screamsbad idea.”
“Or,” Carl says smoothly, “you could take a chance. You have absolutely zero to lose.”
“Except my dignity, my sanity, and maybe a kidney.”
He laughs again. “Damn, you’re going to be a riot. Ha, get it?”
I roll my eyes again, exhale slowly.
Clipboard Carl might have a screw and wallet loose but he’s right. It’s my day off. I can either depress myself scrolling through new job postings for jobs I’ll never get or…
I suck in a breath. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Or I can send a car for you. Just send me your address?—”
“Nice try, Carl. I may be from Oregon, but I wasn’t born yesterday with wind between my ears. And I’m no rockstar’s fantasy idea of a snuff movie star.”
He sputters. “You’re wrong. Look, it’s just, I have a?—”
“My brother’s a cop,” I cut in. Lie. My third cousin twice removed is a strip mall security guard back in Bend, Oregon. Close enough. “Just in case you’re thinking of trying anything sketchy.”
Another pause. Then Carl clears his throat. “Fine. I’ll text you the address. Text me when you arrive.”
“Will do.”
I hang up before he can say anything else.
I don’t text Carl.
But one hour later, I’m standing in front of a cavernous warehouse-turned-studio, clutching a latte I don’t remember buying.
Riot Saints’ logo is plastered across the loading bay doors in jagged neon-silver font. There are actual guards with actual guns guarding the perimeter beyond which girls and boys in allshapes and sizes are screaming their lungs out behind metal barricades.
My pulse trips over itself.
I tell myself I’m only here to satisfy my curiosity.
To see what two grand of “goodwill” looks like. To confirm this is all smoke, mirrors, and sleaze so I can walk away with a funny “guess what I did today” story for my Wattpad followers.
A guard in black Riot Saints gear that stretches across steroid-aided biceps steps out of the shadows near the loading bay. “You Ruby?”
My stomach dips. “Depends who’s asking.”
He eyes me for a second too long. “Carl said we’re expecting you.” He jerks his chin toward the yawning warehouse doors. “This way.”
And just like that, I’m in.
The air changes as soon as I step inside, turns thicker with tension, electricity, and the faint tang of stale beer and sweat.
