Love Resolution

With her shoulders back and her head held high, flanked by Trevor and Ray, Avery made her way down the busy corridor at the arena. The five inch platform heels of her black leather boots clacked against the wooden floor boards as they entered the backstage area. She heard the low murmur of the crowd mingled with the recorded music piped in over the sound system. The road crew scurried back and forth wheeling in equipment to change over from Tempest’s simple set up to Brutal Strength’s more elaborate one.

“F*ck me.” War stopped in his tracks when he saw her. His brows disappeared beneath his red bandana headband. Reeking of booze, he stumbled closer.

Ray stepped protectively between them.

“It’s ok, big guy. I’m not gonna hurt her.” War chuckled, peering around the burly bodyguard. “Bullet see you in that getup yet?” he asked her.

Avery shook her head.

“Ha! I wanna be there when he does. Your new look is right up his alley.” He hooked his arm around the groupie beside him. “Come on, babe. Let’s go find Jackson.”

Trevor’s cell rang. “Barnes,” he barked. “Yes, we’re here.” He glanced over at her before pocketing the phone. “C’mon, Avery. He’s starting to use profanity.”

“Holy shit!” JR exclaimed when they rounded the corner.

Dwight turned, his blue eyes immediately widening. “Bro.” He slapped his brother on the shoulder.

“What the hell…” Marcus trailed off. His eyes met hers briefly before they slid slowly down her body and back up again for a more thorough examination.

She’d expected that the skintight black leather skirt slit to the thigh and the midriff baring bustier would make him angry, but apparently it was also eliciting another response. One she hadn’t counted on. Her body tingled as he caressed her with his gaze.

“John, can I have my Ibanez, please?” she asked.

Her guitar tech, mouth agape, handed over her guitar.

Leather and silver bracelets slid down her left arm as she threw the strap over her shoulder and clipped it on. She moved past Marcus without another word. Poised just offstage, she listened as Trevor introduced the band. Being late had been another calculated move on her part. She’d wanted to send him a message that from now on she’d do as she pleased.

“Avery.”

She felt his warm hard body slide in behind her. Her breath caught.

“You look like a hooker,” he breathed, stirring one of the styled curls near her neck.

“You would know,” she said acidly.

“Every man in that audience is only gonna have one thing on his mind, and it won’t have anything to do with how well you play that guitar.”

She turned to find his blue eyes blazing with anger.

“Is that really the kind of attention you’re looking for?” He stalked out past her, onto the stage, the bright lights illuminating his taut body, his hand up in the air waving to the crowd.

Brutal Strength launched aggressively into the set. Marcus hammered out power chords that she augmented with complex swirling riffs. Beyond the natural chemistry that they had always shared, an extra undercurrent of tension swirled between them tonight.

Six feet plus of threat and intimidation, Marcus prowled around the stage always watching her, always close. Every brush against her seemed calculated.

Trying to remain focused, her guitar balanced on her knee, she bent her head down and dug in on a spotlighted solo. Suddenly, she felt his body behind her and his lips on the bared skin between her neck and shoulder. Shit. Though she covered up brilliantly, he’d made her flub it.

On edge, her stomach fluttered uncontrollably with nerves after that. She rushed all the way through the next song. At the end, she lifted her head just in time to catch a lewd hand gesture from a man in the front row.

Is that really the kind of attention you’re looking for?

Marcus was right. Damn him. She could feel his eyes on her even now.

After JR punctuated the last number with a frenetic flurry, Avery let out a pent up breath. Marcus thanked the audience and headed off stage.

JR hopped down from the riser and crossed to her, grabbing her elbow before she made it to the center mic. “You sure you still want to do this encore thing? Don’t you think you’ve already got him angry enough?”

She shook her head, her jaw tight.

“Ok. It’s your funeral,” he warned. “I’ll grab Dwight.”

“Hey Phoenix.” She tapped the center mic. “You want another one?”

The crowd roared in response. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Marcus spin back around.

“Ok. Ok. You asked for it. Here goes Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Oh, Well,’” she said, turning her head to look at him. “And Marcus, honey. This one’s for you.”

He scowled, digging his hands deep into his pockets, every line in his body tense as she strutted toward him. Her fingers picked out the instantly recognizable opening chords, her rebellious eyes meeting his displeased ones.

When Dwight’s bass and JR’s drums joined her, she turned dismissively away from him, flicking her hair back over her shoulder. Back at center mic, she sent him the sarcastic message, singing the defiant lyrics while sassily swaying and undulating her hips to the rhythm. Her fingers flew over her guitar during the raucous, extended instrumental portions.

As the crowd cheered their approval, she popped off her strap, guitar neck held in one hand as she strutted by Marcus, who hadn’t moved a muscle during the entire performance.

“Whoa, Red!” Bryan exclaimed, extinguishing a cigarette under his booted heel. “Smokin’!”

She acknowledged his compliment with a nod while handing her Ibanez to the tech.

Bryan closed the distance between them, grabbed her by the hips and pulled her into him. “The cover wasn’t half bad either.” He grinned.

She stiffened at first, but when she noticed Marcus watching, she covered Bryan’s hands with her own and moved them down to her ass. Then she placed her hands behind his head, brought his lips down to hers, closed her eyes, and pressed her tongue into his mouth.

She felt a breeze of cold air lift her hair as someone blew past her.

“He’s gone now.” Bryan broke off the kiss and stared down at her. “That wasn’t nice, Red.” His expression was a blend of hurt and anger. “If I want to be used, I’ll just go back to my girls. At least with them, it’s upfront and honest.”

She stood there stiffly, shame darkening her cheeks.

“Now.” He paused, pulling a rumpled cigarette pack out of his jeans pocket, his brows drawn down over glittering grey green eyes. “If you want to try that again, without an audience.” He shook out a cigarette and lit it. “Come find me. I’ll more than make it worth your while.”