She snorts. “Girl, I saw you in that weird ass rinky-dink town, eyeing every person as a threat, even though you’ve seen them every day for years. What percentage of that town do you think is ex-mafia or in witness protection? It has a whole weird vibe about it. I bet everyone’s on the run from something.”
“You’re not wrong,” I say. “About any of it.”
She pegged me immediately, spotting my lack of connections in town. The way I’ve continued looking over my shoulder ever sinceI’ve lived there. How Willow Ridge has a strange atmosphere to it, like we’re all just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It’s hardly a relaxing way to live.
“I know I’m not,” she replies, without missing a beat. “But who has space for friends, right? I’m looking forward to this next month. The band is going to be hiding themselves away in their little rehearsal cave, and I’m going to work remotely from whichever city I choose. A month off from working until ten at night and then getting up at five for an early photoshoot.” She cracks her neck from side to side.
“You, er, don’t need to stay with me.” I feel kind of like I’ve been bulldozed in this conversation and, frankly, I need a minute to recalibrate my brain.
Julia checks her phone. “Your driver’s outside. I was thinking about going with you and really laying on the charm as you head back to buttfuck nowhere, but you look like you need a minute to yourself, so I’m going to leave you alone.” She tosses her hair back with a smile. “If you have questions, text me and I’ll answer. I seriously think you should consider it, though. This opportunity is amazing. I mean, what have you got to lose?”
“You’re a lot more pushy than you were earlier,” I mutter.
“Well, I wasn’t convinced I was talking to the right person then. I thought you were the scary gatekeeper to this Saint person. I was picturing a wizened old guy hiding out the back. Didn’t want to waste all this charm on the wrong person.” She smirks and slips on her heels.
I push to my feet and with a slightly awkward wave; I stride out of the hotel where there’s a sleek black car with tinted windows idling outside. There’s a guy dressed in a suit waiting.
“Are you Sinjin?”
I nod, and he ushers me into the cool interior, slumping back in the seat. My head feels heavy and full.
I guess I have some thinking to do and big decisions to make.
Chapter 7
Cal
Ilike the quiet.
It sounds ridiculous; I know. I’m the drummer in a metal band, an Orc, and a guy who’s spent the past decade making a ton of noise, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.
Whenever I’m forced in front of a microphone or camera to do interviews, they ask the same damn question: what inspired you to become a rock star.
It’s a lazy thing to ask and I know what answer they’re looking for. I look like a tough sonofabitch, so they want me to say it’s all for the lifestyle. Late nights banging the drums and then banging some groupies.
Too bad that’s not me at all.
I also suck at answering questions interviewers put to me. My mouth and tongue get confused and refuse to cooperate, and I wind up grunting out a couple of monosyllabic words and then just glare at them until they move on.
It’s not surprising I’ve wound up with a reputation as a standoffish asshole.
The actual reason I got into drumming is pretty simple.
I just like to hit things.
Always have done.
I grew up the one quiet kid in a big family. Six siblings and four dads under one roof, plus my poor mother, trying to keep us all fromaccidentally killing ourselves. I kept to myself most of the time. At some point, when I was about six, one of my dads decided I was too damn quiet and it was freaking him out. He handed me a pair of handheld drums and that was it. I was hooked.
Every chance I got, I used to take off deep into the mountain caves close to where we lived and beat the shit out of my drums. It gave me something to focus on and took me out of the chaos of four older sisters and two younger brothers, who all communicate by yelling instead of speaking at a normal volume.
When I hit my pre-teen years, we moved from our house in the mountains to a town that had never laid eyes on Orcs before. As a people, we’d only made ourselves known to humankind within my parents’ lifetime and most Orcs have never left our community in the mountains. It led to a lot of shifty eyed glances and mistrust, and meant the only house we could afford had four bedrooms for all eleven of us.
I love my family with everything I have, but it was a lot to grow up with.
We Orcs are a family obsessed, boisterous lot. We like to eat, to laugh, to fight and fuck. Gatherings don’t end until there’s been at least one brawl. So you can imagine what a bunch of Orc kids are like growing up. Cram that into a small space and add to that the awkwardness of being the only introvert, and you can picture how out of place I felt growing up.
