“Nervous as fuck, to be honest,” he admitted.
“Good,” Smiley said. “Don’t fuck it up.”
“Easy for you to say,” he said.
Smiley clamped his hand around Ryker’s neck and gave it a squeeze. Then, he urged him forward. “You’ve got the chops. Just play the songs. And, for the love of God, try to stick to your spot!”
“I plan on it.”
“Liar,” Smiley said with a snort. “Come on.”
The walk across base took a few minutes. Fortunately, Smiley seemed content to cross the distance in silence. Ryker’s thoughts tumbled in his head. He’d already played with the band. This wouldn’t be any different, except he’d be anchoring them for the entire show with the bass riffs. Every song. Not just one or two. He was it, and that scared the shit out of him. It also set his nerves to buzzing with anticipation. Every high school dream would be coming true tonight. It wasn’t a sold-out stadium show, but it would be amazing.
Smiley gathered everyone backstage and went over the set list one last time, mostly for Ryker’s benefit. While he knew every song by heart, it helped knowing which would play in what order.
Base personnel had already started gathering out front. The normally quiet hangar growled with the sound of hundreds, troops eager to put aside their worries for an epic night of entertainment. The heat of the day lingered. Base services had set up large fans to circulate the air. At least the dryness meant sweat didn’t make their clothes stick. He could only imagine how much hotter it would be onstage, beneath the glare of the stage lights.
Speaking of…the lights overhead dimmed. Those gathered called out with hoots and ear-piercing whistles. Their excitement for the show grew into a generalized mass of seething energy.
Ash gathered the guys into a circle. He draped his left arm over Bash’s shoulder and gestured for Ryker to stand to his right. Noodles and Spike joined them. Noodles’s lanky arm wrapped around Ryker and gave a squeeze of encouragement. The five of them drew the circle in, bringing their heads to the center for a preshow pep talk.
Ash gave a wink. “I’d like to thank our guest, Ryker, for helping us out. Let’s make this a show he’ll never forget.”
With a combined shout, they broke apart. Ash and Bash took to the stage first, and a roar split the air as the troops went wild. Ryker hung back, letting Spike and Noodles take the short flight of stairs, leaving him to bring up the rear. He tried not to fidget. He failed. Muscles tensed with the readiness to fight an unseen enemy. Only, this time, the enemy wouldn’t be shooting bullets at him. It would be weighing him with eyes and judgment, proclaiming himnot enoughto stand side by side with his rock idols.
He was ready, as ready as he’d ever be, and his pulse hammered with purpose, flooding his veins with adrenaline. Instant, boundless energy invaded his being, and he could no longer stand still. Shifting foot to foot, he bounced on his heels, hungry to begin and aching to jump right the fuck in and prove to everyone what he’d known his entire life. This was his world, and he burned to devour it.
Forest came to his side and clapped him on the back. “You’ve got this.”
And, sure as fuck, he did. He released a breath, and anticipation billowed out. He narrowed his eyes, imagining a steely gaze in which to mirror his confidence. Any nervous energy he might have left would vanish the moment he set his foot on the stage. All he had to do was take that final step. He leaped up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and took possession of the moment.
While he was surrounded by friends, both on stage and off, this would define the rest of his life. With a wave to the crowd, he walked over to Bent’s bass guitar and pulled it from its stand. The strap went around his neck, and the guitar settled low over his hips.
Without any preamble, Bash set a beat on the drums. A low, rolling power swept Ryker up in a firestorm of need, possession, and undeniable power. Fast, double strokes of the drums melded with a finer, subtler essence of Spike on guitar. He painted a scene, something the rest of them would follow.
A wall of sound rolled forth and rushed over the crowd. Noodles entered on the next refrain, joining Spike’s six-string that carried the first beats of the melody. Music swelled all around Ryker, thumping so hard, his bones vibrated with the power and soul of the music. Any remaining nervous energy melted away beneath the punishing avalanche of sound roaring through the hangar. After Spike and Noodles laid down the intro, it would be his turn to layer in the bass.
Ryker let the tension in his arms go and gripped his instrument. He was going to rule this night. Tomorrow, he could be mellow, but for now, he was going to rock the hell out of this stage. Ash’s soulful voice lifted and punched out the first lyrics with a brutal, soul-wrenching power. His deep, velvety voice crashed through the space. Fearless and knowing, it embodied a mournful need. A justification of sorts. A surrender. Ash’s song stole Ryker’s breath, as it did for all those in attendance.
Ash’s voice drove low, and Ryker felt it raging in his belly, a torrent of need, brutality, and unforgiving peace. His words…God, his words stole Ryker’s breath. Spike’s instrumental changed rhythm and was the signal for Ryker’s entrance. He would join in the masterpiece if he didn’t lose his shit.
He took a wide stance, something solid from which to work, and poured himself into the unique sound that embodied Angel Fire’s unforgettable music. A flutter unfurled in his chest, and his breath pulsed with the beat. He didn’t think. He didn’t try to piece together the notes. His entire body sang with the power of the song, and overit all, his deep baritone whispered a counterpoint harmony to the haunting lyrics of Ash Dean.
Flames leaped up behind the band members, and smoke popped in the air, creating a cacophony of visual effects. Pyrotechnics sparked, but all he could think of was the devastatingly beautiful brunette he called his own. A woman he didn’t see in the crowd.
Her absence made his playing seem vacant and impotent. With the bass in his hand, he was unstoppable, but he needed more. A sea of amped up men with a few women interspersed here and there stretched across the hangar. The crowd seethed with masculine adrenaline, fists pumping and bodies slamming, creating a disordered chaos beyond the thin barricades. He could only imagine what it must be like for the band to be inundated by the screaming masses.How did they manage? Why did he care?All his thoughts centered on one and only one person, and she was nowhere to be seen.
Ash’s voice curled around the sultry lyrics of the opening refrain. A beautiful vocal instrument, steel determination threaded through the pounding rhythm of the song. Ryker lashed at his guitar, laying down the foundation of the music for the others to follow. When it was time, his voice lifted, rose, and met Ash’s haunting tune.
Spike feathered an instrumental change, taking the song in another direction. At first, it sounded like the end, as if the song would be truncated, but that was merely the brilliance of Angel Fire’s music. Ryker sucked in a breath and let his voice dive to the lowest register, supporting the sweeping power of Ash’s lead. The crowd of several hundred roared, whipped into a state of frenzy, keyed into the energy rolling off the stage.
All around him, stage lights created islands of light and shadow. He took his lead from Spike, mirroring the guitarist’s movements on the opposite side of the stage. The amplification of his bass guitar pealed off into the dark sea of people. The crowd rallied to his cry, a rolling thunder threatening to drown him beneath its intensity. Screams lifted and waned. Ear-stabbing pulses of raw energyunfurled from the crowd and pierced his heart, stole his breath, and drove him forward to meet them with an answering power. He strummed until his fingers burned. The bass riff was felt more than heard as it rolled over the crowd.
He blew out a ragged breath, waiting again for his turn to support on vocals. In that pause, the enormity of the moment fully sank in. He was onstage with his rock idols—not as a guest, but as one of their own.
Spike began a slow build, a progression of chords that turned and twisted, and then suddenly stopped. Ryker’s bass carried the silence, accompanied by a single warbling tone from Noodles on the keyboard. Into this pause, Ash released the brilliance of a vocal solo.
The crowd went wild as Ash pushed his breath through the mic. Bash entered with a slowtap-tap-tapof his drum kit. Spike followed with a crawling tempo. Ryker’s bass never wavered, drawing together the sound with the deep modulations of his pulsating power. The instruments drew together until they became something more.
