The Bass

Evernight Publishing ®

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright©
2015 Moira Callahan

 
ISBN: 978-1-77233-584-2

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Audrey Bobak

ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized
reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
 
No part of this book may be used or
reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction.
All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.

DEDICATION

Thank you to my lovely
editor, Audrey. It was a pleasure to work with you on this book, and I hope we
get another chance in the future to work together again.

My readers, you wonderfully
supportive people. These characters have worked hard to be heard, and I hope
you enjoy the story they have to share with you.

THE
BASS

Living Victorious, 2

Moira
Callahan

Copyright © 2015

Prologue

July 14, 2015

Los Angeles

The crowd chanted “Victorious” when the lights went down to announce the
show’s second half was about to begin. Out on the stage, Shade went straight to
his spot. After plugging in his bass, Shade adjusted the strap over his
shoulder, and let his fingers settle into place.

A spotlight lit up an area well above Lance West’s head. The light slid
down the back curtain until it highlighted their drummer who began the beat.
The crowd let out a roaring cheer when another light hit their singer, Jeremy
Shane. Jeremy flashed his famous smirk that sent women crazy, and slid his hand
slowly down the mic stand.

Shade could have sworn he heard half the crowd swoon in that moment.
Shaking his head, he picked up the song to blend smoothly with Lance’s beat.
Across the stage their rhythm and lead guitars joined in right on cue. Mark
Devon, and Chase Vanguard brought the volume up to a swell before easing back
to let their singer do his thing.

When Jeremy began to sing, Shade fell into the zone. It was a place
where he could hear everything around him, but it was slightly muffled. He
became focused on what his fingers were doing on his bass strings and
everything else was pushed aside. The catcalls, the randomly shouted words declaring
love for a band member, and those singing along with Jeremy all fell into the
white noise surrounding Shade.

In that moment all that mattered was his bass, and what his fingers were
doing. Closing his eyes, Shade let the drum’s beat move through him, guiding
the speed at which he played.

Song after song, he stayed in the zone. His body and mind were one with
the bass as he gave everything he had, laying it all out before their fans feet.
And when it was over, that last note hanging in the air when the lights went
down, he let out an exhausted breath.

Unplugging the bass, he headed for the wings as the crowd roared for
more. They all knew better. Victorious never did an encore, it was their thing.
In the beginning it was because they’d been relieved to have made it through an
entire show that they’d had to rush to the dressing room to puke their guts out.
After a while it became their signature. When they’d changed things up a couple
years ago to have Lance sing their last set song, it had only made sense to
leave the crowd wanting for more.

He knew they would keep shouting for an encore for a time. With the
lights going up in the venue, and the fans heading for the exits, there would
be some diehard holdouts hoping that Victorious would break their routine.
Wasn’t going to happen. While some bands thought they were insane not to go
back for an encore, it hadn’t once changed their minds through the years.

With a nod to a roadie, Shade passed off his bass, and took the towel
and water in exchange. Wiping his face down, he cracked open the bottle to
drain half the contents before he was to the backstage door where their
security team waited.

Nearest the door was Frederick Monvey, otherwise known as Goliath, their
security team head man. The man was built like a mountain. A former
professional MMA fighter, Goliath had gotten out when an injury had threatened
his career. Shade liked having the guy around. Goliath was quiet, had a steady
and calming influence, and could scare the piss out almost anyone with only a
look. The guy also had a warped humor that most folks knew nothing about. One
thing Shade had learned about the man was to never, ever play poker with him.
Goliath had a fucking awesome poker face.

Shade stopped, and finished off his water. He passed the empty bottle
off to a different roadie, and wiped his face again with the towel. Draping the
towel around his neck, he held onto the ends as he let his head fall back. The
others were wiping down, and guzzling water as well. Which meant they wouldn’t
be going into the hall yet.

Those fans with the VIP passes would be out there waiting. They would
get signatures, some would get photos, and they would all be able to say they’d
seen, or touched at least one band member. It was the one part about being
famous that Shade hated. He always felt like a big juicy steak being eyed up,
and judged for his worth.

He knew too many looked at them and saw only two things. Either a good
lay, or a meal ticket. While he got it, Victorious was selectively reclusive in
numerous ways, it was still depressing. Mildly creepy too if he thought about
it for too long.

Goliath lifted a hand to his ear, and then gave them a nod. “We’re good
to go lads,” he announced. The man had a voice that sounded like rolling
thunder to Shade’s ear.

Dropping his towel into the hamper by the door that opened into the venue’s
back hall, Shade followed the others out into the hallway that had been
cordoned off for the meet and greets. Christine Franks, the band’s manager,
preferred keeping all those with backstage passes from the actual backstage
area. Her philosophy was a sound one, do the meet and greets in an area that
allowed the band a way out if things went sideways. Not a frequent occurrence,
but every now and again some fan would get overly insistent about meeting them
up close and personal. Unfortunately, not all the venues they played in had
ways to keep the band separate from the fans. They always made do with whatever
hiccups came along. It was, after all, Christine’s job to see to those bumps,
and she was extremely good at her job.

There were about a hundred fans back there who went crazy as soon as
they spotted Victorious. Camera flashes went off, and tickets and other items
were thrust toward the band to be signed. Shade took a pen from one woman and
scribbled his name on her VIP pass. Chase was over signing a woman’s breast, while
Jeremy was bent to take a selfie with a couple teens.

Security made sure all the fans were able to get up front to have
something signed. Once a person was done, they were waved out from the queue to
allow the others to step up. Twenty minutes later they were nearly through the
group when Shade saw someone who couldn’t have possibly been there.

Yet when he blinked, rubbed at his eyes, and looked again, she was still
there. Standing toward the back, she was shaking her head at a security guy who
was trying to wave her forward. Her expression was a little sad, but damned
determined.

His mind turned to the first time he’d seen her. He’d turned eight the
day before, she was seven. She’d been sitting in the nurse’s office with a
bloody napkin held to her equally bloody chin trying to stem the flow. Plucking
at her shirt, she’d looked more upset about the shirt then her sweet face.

Passing off the last item he’d signed, Shade moved straight for her.
Behind him he heard Jeremy curse, and the security guys scrambling. He didn’t
care what uproar he was causing, Shade only had one focus in that moment, and
it was getting to her. He needed to know if she was real.

Five feet from her, she became aware something was up. Her head turned,
and when her gaze clashed with his, her eyes went wide. Golden orbs that still
haunted too many dreams he had. He saw her breath hitch in her throat when he
stopped with barely an inch separating them.

Slowly he lifted a hand to brush his fingertips to her cheek. He had to
know she was real. The heat from her skin told him the truth. Releasing a
shuddering breath, Shade let his hand fall to his side. “Cateline.”

With a slow blink she wet her lips. “Hello, Shade,” she whispered. Her
voice’s smoky quality sent a jolt through his body.

Cateline Lyon was alive, well, and before him. He had questions for her.
All he could think about was throwing her over his shoulder, and carrying her
off to demand answers. Not exactly something he could do given the audience at
his back.

Reaching over, he snagged a pen from a security guy’s pocket. Goliath
was right there, telling him they had to move, now. Lifting her hand into his,
he scribbled his cell phone number to her palm. “I’m not losing you again,
Cateline. You’d better damn well call,” he told her.

It was Shade’s way to alert her about his intentions toward her. He knew
Cateline understood by her sharp inhalation, and the stunned look on her face.
He let Goliath pull him away from her. Shade needed time to think, to plan, and
to figure out what the hell he was doing. He’d dropped the ball in her court.
The Cat he’d known would accept the challenge for what it was. But he didn’t
know the Cat in that hallway. He was taking a risk. A huge one. He only hoped
it was worth it in the end.