Relish: A Vicious Feast Book 2 (16 page)

When I finished the set of panoramic shots with one of the stage, I glanced up at the giant screens another group of support staff were setting up. “What are the TVs for?” I asked anyone who would answer me.

Phoenix sauntered toward me in tight jeans and a ratty T-shirt. God, this girl could make a trash bag look good. I snapped a picture of her with her hands in her back pockets. She gave me a hug before settling to stand by my side.

“They’re for visuals during the show,” she explained. “Haven’t you ever been to a concert before?”

I shook my head, not at all embarrassed until Luka walked on stage with his bass and said, “So you’re a concert virgin. That makes me so happy for some reason.”

And there went the blush. I looked down, faking being busy with the settings of my camera. When we were alone, I knew how to act around him. But with others watching? Good luck trying to get me comfortable.

“So you’re saying Vicious is her first concert?” Demitri chimed in, his electric guitar in his hands. Thankfully, for this sound check he kept his shirt on. He winked at Phoenix before bending over an amp and fidgeting with the nobs.

“Don’t tease her, boys!” Phoenix slung an arm over my shoulders and pulled me close. “I promise we’ll be gentle,” she whispered into my ear. Her breath trickled down the back of my neck, causing a new wave of blood to rush up my face. “We’ll make sure you’re good and ready when we pop that cherry.”

Jesus. I wasn’t a prayerful person, but right then I needed a miracle.

“As gentle as flames and pyrotechnics can be.” Luka wiggled his eyebrows at me.

“Pink Floyd was without a doubt the innovators of pyrotechnic use in concerts. Once at the climax of their song
Careful With That Axe, Eugene
a blast of smoke was set off from the back of the stage. It was brilliant,” Dray said, taking his seat behind his drum kit, twirling his sticks.

Before I could respond to any of their teasing, a guy announced on the speakers that they were ready for sound check. Phoenix gave me a kiss on the cheek before sending me off stage. With wobbly legs, I positioned myself at the center aisle. My first sound check with the band, my heart beat so fast I feared I wouldn’t hear the music through the noise it made.

All the band members pushed in earpieces just as Phoenix positioned herself in front of a mic. Demitri and Luka stood on either side of the stage while Dray beat his sticks together and counted down. They began with their first hit from their first album. I wondered where in the set list Poison would be. To watch them play it live brought a different kind of flush to my cheeks.

“How are you holding up?” Yana asked, suddenly standing beside me in a purple lace number with chucky boots and violet streaks in her flat-ironed hair. She gave me an adorable peace sign when I took her picture. The girl sure knew how to pose.

“No longer in black, I see,” I said above the music.

A bright smile lit up her entire face. “No longer in mourning.”

We shared a laugh when I showed her the photo on the digi screen. Luka spoke into a mic. Something about switching one song with another on the list for a better transition. My heart skipped, an awareness of him coming over me. Then when the band started playing again, a sense of inner calm settled in me, like still waters on a quiet lake.

“Better now that I’m here,” I said with a smile in answer to her previous question.

“So you were just playing hard to get when I came to pick you up at Wexler?” She raised a glittery eyebrow at me.

“No.” I sighed and gave the stage a glance. Demitri and Luka were facing each other while the former executed a complicated guitar solo. “I just thought I could run away from it all. Apparently, it’s so much easier to just give in.”

“Says every addict in the world.”

I caught the teasing glint in her eyes and snorted. “What? Is it tease-the-photographer-to-the-point-of-distraction day?”

Yana laughed behind her hand. “Let us have our fun. We missed you terribly. Three months without you is no joke.”

I let my love for the band spread all over me. While I was missing them they were missing me, too. For an entire minute I wanted to hug everyone who passed me. But I kept the impulse at bay. I didn’t think the guys running around trying to get everything ready for tonight would appreciate the interruption.

“Now,” she faced me all serious, “after you’re done taking pictures here, I want you to make sure you get some fan photos outside. They’ll be lining up soon. I have release forms you can ask them to sign afterward.”

“Would you like backstage shots as well?” I asked, putting on my professional photographer face.

Yana tapped her cheek. “As much as you think would be appropriate. We can comb through everything when the time comes to pick out pictures for the book. A local band will be opening for Vicious, so pictures of them in the green room would be good too.”

“Basically you’re saying the more the merrier?” I joked, but the glint in her eyes answered my question seriously.

“As much as your SD card can hold.”

With my mission parameters set, I stood by the stage for a couple more songs before I moved on to other parts of the arena.

***

As the sun set on The O2, a line did indeed form farther than my eye could see. Excited girls giggled and bounced. Girlfriends hugged their boyfriends, thanking them for getting tickets. A group of guys lamented the fact that they had the cheap seats. Shady scalpers mingled in the crowd, looking for gullible fans that were desperate for tickets.

I breathed in the mounting excitement. Trying not to draw attention to myself, I took pictures. I walked along the line and focused on some of the posters and collages creative fans brought along. Many of the girls were dressed in leather, sporting Phoenix’s signature red lip. I even found one girl in a feather dress reminiscent of the one I wore for the Poison video. I just had to take a picture of her.

Once I’d made my rounds among the fans and the doors opened to let them in, I fished out my pass and showed it to the marshal. He nodded me through. I pulled off my beanie and stuffed it into my jacket. The temperature control of the arena allowed for a warmer space than the wind chill outside.

I quickly made my way back stage. If I thought setting up was frantic, an hour before the performance brought with it an ordered kind of chaos. Both men and women with headsets ran around relaying instructions to someone on the other end. One of them almost bulldozed through me. I dodged to the right just in time, hugging my camera close to my chest.

When my legs stopped shaking at the near death encounter, I pushed off the boxes of equipment I’d plastered myself against and searched for the green room. The people moving around in all directions wreaked havoc on my depth perception. I slammed into a crate of fireworks, stepped on a guy’s toe as he pushed a stand filled with clothing, and finally bumped into an increasingly ragged Calixta.

“What the hell!” She scowled at me.

Happy to see a familiar face, I wrapped my arms around her. She froze. “Oh my God, it’s like a warzone back here,” I spoke fast. She patted me on the shoulder before I pulled away. “Can you tell me where the green room is? I’m supposed to take pictures of the band opening for Vicious before the show starts.”

Without speaking, Calixta flipped her long black hair over her shoulder and pointed at a door a couple of yards away from where I stood. Completely embarrassed at being a total loser for getting lost backstage, I thanked her and went on my way.

I knocked on the door and a guy with the sexiest English accent I’d heard so far told me to enter. I took a deep breath, composing myself, then twisted the knob. Three guys sat on a plush couch while two more stood around a well-appointed table filled with food and drinks. One of the guys popped a grape into his mouth.

“Good evening,” I said. “I’m Dakota Collins, official photographer for Vicious.”

“Bloody hell,” one of them said. “Is that real.” He pointed at my patch.

“Don’t be a wanker, Billy,” the guy who asked me to come in said. He’d been the one who popped a grape into his mouth. He threw one at Billy.

“Yes, it’s real.” I touched the patch. No use in being insecure about what I couldn’t change.

“I’m sorry.” Billy scratched the back of his shaved head.

“What Billy is trying to say is he thinks you’re cool.” Grape guy smiled at me. God, that accent. Girls must throw themselves at him. It didn’t help that he hand a lethal combination of a good head of black hair and astonishing blue eyes. “I’m Graham. This is Shaun, Alex, Tony, and you’ve already met Billy.” He pointed and each nodded at me in turn. “So I take it you’re here to take our picture?”

I blinked a couple of times to clear the daze his lovely accent put me in. I could just imagine how he sounded when he sang. “Yeah…uh, I mean, yes.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dakota.” Graham walked toward me with the swagger only rock stars had. The way those jeans hugged his legs should be a sin. He took my hand and kissed the back of it. “We’re Raging Pistols.”

“Who’s being a complete wanker now?” Billy teased. “Better be careful with that one, missy. He’s a lady killer.”

Someone, I think it was Shaun, slapped Billy upside the head. That shut him up fast. I took my hand back from Graham and cleared my throat.

“I can take care of myself,” I said more to Graham than as a response to Billy.

A gleam entered his eyes before he stepped back. “So, how do you want us?”

Ignoring the innuendo, I asked the band to all sit together on the couch. At the back of my mind I prepared myself to coach the members into poses, but I quickly realized this wasn’t their first rodeo. They draped themselves effortlessly along the couch and put their musician faces on. Billy scowled. Shaun and Alex looked bored. Tony slung an arm over Billy’s shoulder. And Graham smirked, his bright eyes on me the entire time. Yup, I’d better be careful of him.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN
B
REATHE

After the meet and greet with Vicious where VIP fans squealed, took pictures, and asked for autographs, Yana reminded me I needed to take pictures of my own. I must have stared way too long at Luka smiling his way through everything. He accepted hugs, even kisses on the cheek and tokens. Seeing him interact with his fans put him on a whole different level of cool. I was so impressed I had to fight back a silly smile and thoughts of “that’s my man.” I had no right to think of him that way, but to be a part of all this filled my insides with pride. 

At the start of the concert, Raging Pistols took the stage and a marshal escorted me to a private box. Great place to take pictures from. I believed this was the intention of whoever decided I should be here. The location was close enough to the stage that I could see the band without needing to squint yet still be with the audience. The energy the screaming fans threw at the stage took my breath away. Totally unreal. They chanted the band’s name, fists in the air.

As I swayed to the Raging Pistols performance, Graham surprised me. I never expected him to be the drummer when all this time I thought he lead the band at vocals. What a waste of a beautiful speaking voice. Well, then again, he might not be able to carry a tune. What did I know?

What I did know? Raging Pistols rocked the arena. They started with a soft song that built and built until even I jumped in place, pumping my fist in the air. It was amazing to see a crowd of twenty thousand moving as one—a dancing sea of bodies. There were moments where I almost forgot to take pictures. I reminded myself over and over again to pay close attention when Vicious hits the stage because they paid me to take pictures of them during this tour.

Once Graham and the band finished their set thirty minutes later, I made a mental note to grab their album. They rocked my jam. I still listened to country, but being around Vicious had opened up my musical tastes.

A hush fell over the area as the lights dimmed. Well, as much of a hush as an overflowing arena could have. Anticipation slowly built. I felt it as a prickle on my skin. Aside from their live performance at Crescent City Today and at Sacrifice, which were both small venues, I’d only ever watched Vicious on YouTube. I wondered what it would be like. Raging Pistols brought the energy to a peak that I believed paved the way nicely for Vicious to take over.

Dark figures scrambled on stage, switching mic stands and instruments. Even in the dimness the flurry of activity was still evident. Five minutes into the transition, the crowd began calling out the band’s name. Even I joined in the chant. My ears rang from the deafening sound of twenty thousand adoring voices.

So caught up with the chanting, I didn’t notice the group get on stage until a spotlight focused on Phoenix in a red leather dress so deep it was almost black. The scream that came then couldn’t compare to anything I’d ever heard. And I thought listening to the crowd cheer for Raging Pistols was as loud as it would get. I actually had to cover my ears at the roar. It was like a physical force—a wall of love rushing the stage.

The energy shifted immediately from mild excitement to full on insanity. The air vibrated, raising goose bumps all over my body. I mouthed “Wow,” and Phoenix hadn’t even said a word yet. I expected her to greet the stadium the way the vocalist of Graham’s band did. Instead, Dray’s drumsticks clicked together, counting down the beats. Immediately, Vicious launched into an explosive rendition of their most popular song—fast and emotional. The humongous screens exploded with a kaleidoscope of shapes accompanied by lasers shooting out into the audience from directly behind the band.

At the up tempo chorus, an explosion of light flooded the stage. Screams of delight rippled across the arena. My gaze hunted for Luka. Not that he was hard to find since everyone pretty much used the same positions they did at sound check. I found him bent over his bass to the left of the stage. My breath caught in my throat. Luka, in all his concentration, seemed to feed off the energy of the crowd. His wealth of curls tumbled down to frame the sexy scowl he had on. His fingers danced over the bass’s strings and fretboard, coaxing the most beautiful notes out of the instrument. He radiated sex appeal, and I knew everyone felt it. I certainly did.