Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1) (27 page)

Denise’s eyes widened. “Is that smart?”

“Apparently not, since it made me screw a guy that I’m not even into. I like Dave, but I’ve never wanted him that way.”

“How was it, though?”

“It was…dirty.”

“But was it…good?”

“I guess so,” Shan said. “I mean, he knows what he’s doing. It felt good.”

“Maybe it’ll help you get over your fixation on Quinn. But you’d better watch the dope,” Denise said. “I’m surprised at you, after you’ve been clean so long.”

“I just slipped, and it’s not like it was H. All I wanted was to feel good for a little bit. I guess that’s why I slept with Dave, too.” She watched Denise gather up her purse and camera bag, then realized it was her first day at her new job. “Good luck today. You’ll do great.”

“Thanks. I hope so.” Denise took the van keys off the kitchen counter and headed for the front door. “Good luck to you, too. I think your hooking up with Dave will turn out to be a good thing in the end, Shan. You never know where it might lead.”

They were playing at Gazzari’s that night, a landmark club in West Hollywood. It would be a young crowd, Quinn informed them on the ride over, mostly college kids. Shan knew that was his favorite type of audience, because they were loud and enthusiastic and they danced nonstop.

It was her least favorite. By the end of the night, she knew she’d have her hands full fending off the amorous advances of drunken frat boys, who always seemed to get turned on by the sight of a guitar-wielding girl.

When they arrived at the club, Dave was already there. He came out to the stage entrance to help lug the gear and winked at Shan. Quinn saw and shot Dave a murderous glare, deadly enough to freeze him in his tracks. “Something wrong?” he asked Quinn.

Quinn did not reply, just took the snare drum from Dan and stalked into the club.

“He’s hung over,” Ty told Dave. “You might want to give him a wide berth.”

Dan grimaced. “I am, too.”

“Yeah, but you aren’t scary,” Ty said, and handed him a couple of mic stands.

While they set up and during sound check, Dave kept sneaking glances at Quinn. When he went outside for a smoke, Dave followed. “Everything okay, Q?”

Quinn didn’t reply, smoking in stony silence, and after a minute, Dave tried again. “You were weird at practice yesterday, too. What’s up?”

Again Quinn did not answer, just blew out a lungful of smoke.

“Okay, I broke your rule,” Dave admitted. “I’m sorry. Now can you get over it, please?”

Quinn dropped his cigarette, ground it out with his heel, and stomped back inside the club. After a moment Dave followed and when they took the stage the tension between them was palpable. Shan felt it right away and she could tell that Ty and Dan were picking up on it, too. Dan seemed especially worried, eyes darting between Dave and Quinn with an air of foreboding.

It was a testament to the band’s skill that they managed to sound good even with the undercurrents. Shan’s vocals were a little subdued and Dave’s tremolos a bit less lilting than usual. Quinn, despite the hangover, was solid as always.

The crowd liked them, bouncing and moshing with the kind of unbridled energy only a cluster of twenty-one-year-olds was capable of. Shan had the dubious honor of being targeted by a passel of crewcut, muscle-bound thugs who looked like football players. They occupied a table near the stage, pounded shots of Jägermeister, and leered at her all night long.

Quinntessence finished to thundering applause. They came back for an encore, but Quinn started packing after just one song. The crowd groaned but Quinn did not pause. Dan and Ty headed for the bar and Shan tagged along to avoid being alone with Dave and Quinn.

Dave packed up his guitars, then approached Quinn again. “You’re going to have to talk to me sooner or later, buddy,” he said, beginning to fold up one of the mic stands.

Quinn ignored him, unplugging his Kurzweil.

“I can’t take this,” Dave groaned. “It’s the same sort of shit that’s happening in the Gurus.”

“Why?” Quinn inquired. “Did you fuck somebody’s girl in that band, too?”

Dave froze in his tracks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Quinn scowled and turned away.

“You’re jealous?” Dave persisted. “
That’s
what this is all about?”

Quinn ignored him, stooping to disconnect the monitors.

“But you said there was nothing going on between the two of you,” Dave said. “Besides, you fight all the fucking time. How am I supposed to know if nobody tells me?”

“There’s nothing to know. I’m not jealous, I’m pissed that you’re stupid enough to mess around with a bandmate just so you can get some.”

“She’s free and over eighteen,” Dave said.

“But do you know how many bands have split over shit like this, you stupid fuck?”

“It’s nothing that heavy and it’s none of your fucking business besides.”

“It
is
my fucking business because it’s
my fucking band!
I don’t want it screwed up because of an itch, do you hear me?”

Dave smirked. “Sounds like
you’re
the one with the itch. And it also sounds like you’re pissed because
I’m
the one who got the hot girl this time.”

Quinn took a menacing step toward him. “You’d better shut your mouth.”

Dave swatted at Quinn as if he were a pesky fly. “Oh, get over it, Q. I’ll fuck anybody I want. You’re out of line,
way
out of line, and—”

But Quinn was past caring what he had to say. “
Shut up,”
he snarled, placing both hands on Dave’s chest and shoving, hard.

Caught off guard, Dave stumbled backward, catching his heel in one of the mic cables. He teetered at the edge of the stage for an agonizing moment, his arms pinwheeling wildly. Then as Quinn watched he toppled, landing squarely on the table of jocks.

“Fuck,” Quinn muttered. Everyone in the club was watching. He could see the rest of his band over at the bar, staring openmouthed.

Dave scrambled off the table, apologizing profusely. The biggest, dumbest-looking jock got right up in his face, shouting and gesticulating like some kind of crazed motivational speaker.

“Fuck,” Quinn spat again, with mounting concern. This was not cool. Not at all. The jock was big, but not as big as Dave. Sometimes that was a good thing. Sometimes not, especially if some moron thought he had something to prove.

This moron was still shouting, spittle flying from his flapping jaws, and Dave was starting to look disgusted. When the jock shoved his face to within an inch of Dave’s nose, Dave grimaced, put his hand on the jock’s chest, and gave him a firm push.

That was all it took. The jock pulled his fist back and popped Dave right in the face. Dave stumbled back and the rest of the frat jocks converged on him like zombies in a Romero film.

“Fuck!”
Quinn yelled, and leapt off the stage right into the center of the fray.

When Dan turned to ask Shan what she wanted, his eyes widened. “What the hell?”

Following his gaze, Shan looked over her shoulder, just in time to see Dave land on the table. Moments later he was at the bottom of a pile and she watched, openmouthed, as Quinn dove off the stage into the melee.

“Oh shit!” Dan cried, as he and Ty charged over to help. In seconds it seemed like the whole bar was engaged in the brawl, with beer bottles and chairs flying through the air like something out of an old-time Western.

Shan couldn’t believe her eyes. She watched Quinn snatch one guy off of Dave and toss him aside like he was a rag doll. When Ty and Dan got there, they plowed through the frat boys in short order and Dave emerged, looking ready to kill.

One jock leapt on Quinn’s back brandishing a bottle and Shan gasped. She sprinted across the room and snatched the top of one of their wooden packing crates off the edge of the stage. “
Get off of him!”
she cried, bringing the board down on the jock’s shaved head.

He let out a yelp and let go of Quinn, whirling to confront the threat from the rear. He hesitated for a second when he saw who it was. Half a second was enough and Quinn laid him flat with an uppercut.

Then he spied a couple of the jocks heading for the stage. “
Dan!”
he yelled, pointing. Dan saw, scrambled onstage, and grabbed one of the mic stands. Swinging it an arc, he managed to keep them away from their equipment until the bouncers could get their hands on them.

A screech erupted from the monitors. “The police are on their way,” intoned a voice over the PA. It was the sound guy, who had wisely stayed behind his board.

The statement was like a magic incantation. The crowd evaporated like dew, leaving Quinntessence, a couple of bar staff, three bouncers, and a very angry club owner.

Shan watched Quinn and Ty disappear into the office to placate the owner. The place was a mess, with overturned tables and broken glass everywhere, but she couldn’t spot any serious damage. Their gear was intact and the brawl hadn’t made it as far as the sound board.

Dan appeared. “Here,” he said, tossing her the keys to the van. “I’m going with Dave.”

She caught the keys. “Going…?”

“To the hospital,” Dan told her, frowning. “He’s hurt. I’ll see you all back at the house.”

Then he was gone and Shan was left wondering what in the hell had just happened.

The next morning, Quinn was sitting under the sycamore tree with a bag of ice on his right hand. The ride from the club had been animated, with Ty and Shan both still pumped up on an adrenaline high. He himself had been more subdued. Neither of them had witnessed his altercation with Dave, so they had no idea that it was all his fault.

Dan called shortly after they got home. Dave had a broken nose, he reported, and assorted bruises. Dan would drive him home, then crash at his place. Could they tell Denise where he was?

Quinn left that to Shan and went to bed, pausing just long enough to retrieve a bag of ice from the freezer. His right hand was killing him.

He swathed it in ice, wrapped it in an ace bandage to hold the pack in place, and slept with his hand propped up on a pillow. The bag leaked during the night and he woke up wet.

In the morning his hand was stiff, but the ice had kept the swelling down and he was relieved nothing appeared to be broken. He got a cup of coffee and a fresh bag of ice, then headed out to the chair by the creek, where he sat and smoked and moped.

Around ten, he heard a car pull up in front of the house. A few minutes later, Dave came out on the back porch, dressed in shorts, T-shirt, and sunglasses. “Hey,” he said, sounding pissed.

“Hey,” Quinn replied, dropping the ice bag into a bucket at his side. Dave descended the steps and crossed the yard to stand in front of him. His nose was swollen, but otherwise he appeared relatively unscathed. “You look okay,” Quinn said.

“Do I?” Dave sneered. He removed his glasses, revealing two black eyes.

Quinn grimaced. “Sorry about that.”

Dave’s eyes, now rimmed with purplish black crescents, went to Quinn’s hand. “What’s the matter with your hand?”

“Not much.” Quinn flexed his fingers. “A little stiff, that’s all.”

“Nice quality in a keyboard player,” Dave said.

Quinn waved him off. “It’s nothing.”

“Put the ice back on the magic fucking fingers,” Dave snapped. Quinn scowled, but retrieved the bag of ice from the bucket. When he had it positioned on his knuckles, Dave sat down in the other chair. Shan’s chair. Quinn’s lip curled.

Dave didn’t waste any time. “What is it with you and this chick?”

“We’ve been over this. There’s nothing.”

“So I got my ass kicked over nothing? I don’t buy it.”

“I’m not the one who kicked it,” Quinn reminded him. “I only shoved it.”

“A technicality.” Dave put his glasses back on. “Look, I have a feeling about this band. It’s special. Besides, you and me…hell, Q. We go back a long way, and we’ve always had each other’s backs.”

“I had it this time, too,” Quinn said. Dave’s eyes flicked to the hand swathed in ice.

“Good thing,” he said, “since it was your fucking fault.”

“I said I was sorry,” Quinn said defensively. “It’s over. Can’t you just let it lie?”

“It’s over so long as I stay away from the guitar goddess, right?”

Quinn hesitated, then nodded. Dave frowned. “You said it was nothing heavy,” Quinn said, “so what’s the problem?”

“I do like her, though,” Dave admitted. “I like her a lot. She’s such a sweet little thing and we hang out easy together. Besides, I don’t much like the idea of you dictating my sex life.”

“I don’t give a shit about your sex life,” Quinn said, ignoring Dave’s other comments. If he addressed those, he might well hit him again. “My concern is Quinntessence, which I have spent literally years assembling. I’ve put everything I’ve got into it and I can’t think of a better way to rip it apart than exactly what you’re doing.”

Dave was still regarding him with suspicion. “So I’m supposed to believe that’s what you’re worried about? Disrupting the band?”

“What else would I be worried about?”

“I think you want this chick for yourself,” Dave said. “Maybe you’re too busy doing groupies to get into anything heavy right now, but I think you’re keeping her on the back burner. A little insurance policy for when you decide you’ve done enough of them.”

Quinn laughed to cover his chagrin.
Christ, am I that transparent?
“Right. That’s just what I want, a fucking ball and chain right in my band. Have you met me, dude?” Dave hesitated, eying him with consternation. “Look, it’s simple. There’s a rule. No fraternizing inside of the band. Period. If you plan on mixing it up with my lead guitar player, then you’re out. That’s it. I’m not compromising on this, Dave.”

Dave thought about it for a minute, then heaved a sigh. “I suppose you do have a point.”

“All right, then,” Quinn said, concealing a colossal rush of relief. “Fuck anybody you want, as long as they’re not part of Quinntessence.”

“So that means I can’t do Danny either?” Dave said, forcing a smile.

Quinn grinned back. “I’d have thought Ty was more your type,” he joked. “But no, you can’t fuck them, either, Dazz.”