“Prove it. Show it to me. And right now, I don’t give a flying fuck what we have. You don’t understand the band or me, and I’m not sure you ever will. Trickster isn’t about the magazine covers and ticket sales, it’s about a group of friends doing what they love. If we make it big, great, if not, we’ll have one helluva good time and play some damned fine music, a win in my book.
“Not once have I heard you say one kind word about Elliot or Ace, not one word of remorse or sympathy. No, their deaths earned us a platinum album, put you up in the big time.” He backed away, hands balled into fists.Punching Gus would be a bad thing, the rational part of his brain told him. Other parts said,Do it, do it, do it!“How many clients have you gained from our success? Yet, if you’re so big time, why haven’t you gotten us a record deal?”
“I can answer that.” Christy’s diminutive frame appeared in the doorway. “He’s received three offers so far, haven’t you, Gus?” She dismissed the man with no emotion at all showing on her face and turned to Killy. “He’s hard-balling, spitting in the face of the biggest record companies in the business. You’ll be lucky to perform weddings and bar mitzvahs by the time he’s through.”
“Who the hell are you?” Gus, older and meaner, loomed over Christy.
Christy appeared almost bored. “I represent Trickster. Perhaps you’ve heard of them?”
“You what? No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I’m afraid I do. You see, twenty minutes ago a Mr. Killian Desmond sent me a text message, affirming our deal and asking me to assume responsibilities tonight.” Christy punched a few buttons on her phone and turned the screen to Gus.
“He and I have a contract. I’ll sue—”
“Can you produce this contract? Do you have anything in writing? The one you signed years ago is null and void, due to lack of booked concerts in three years.”
“That was his choice, not mine.”
“Still, that’s the wording of the contract, along with the fact that at least fifty percent of the band members have changed, meaning renegotiations are in order.”
“But…”
“Who did you reach your agreement with in the first place?” Christy might be young and tiny, but in that moment Killy understood how she’d made such a solid reputation in a short amount of time.
“With…” Gus’s mouth dropped open.
“Not with Killian.”
Red suffused Gus’s face. “You haven’t heard the last of me.” He stormed off without another word.
“Are you okay?” Christy asked, shooting a glance at Killian’s hands.
What? Oh. Killy unballed his fists. “He ran off Mike.”
Christy scowled, shaking her head. “Some people. Even if you had a valid contract with him, which you don’t, he’s given you more than enough grounds to contest it. Do you want to do the show tonight?”
“Not without Mike.”
38
Mike’s heart hadn’t been this heavy when he’d left his mother and brothers behind. Now, here he was, a little nobody, living with a rock star and playing sold-out shows.
God still watched over him, though he rarely prayed these days. Wasn’t no one’s business but his if he chose to believe he wasn’t alone during his darkest moments.
Like now. He chanted prayers under his breath to find Killy, for Gus being wrong, and for everything to work out.
He stood at the backstage door. “I’m Mike Rose, the bassist.”
The guard stared at a clipboard in his hand. “You’re not on the list.”
He could stay here and argue, or come up with a plan. He’d see Killian or die trying. Where was his fucking phone?
He’d last seen the darned thing while talking to Caleb. Then he’d gone downstairs…
Where Gus waited. He’d set his phone down…
Fuck. Gus must have his damned cell phone.
