“I’m fuckin’ fine. I wish everyone would stop treating me like I’m severely injured. Where in the hell is Brian?”

“I think he’s getting in a quickie with Myrna,” Sed said, chomping down red licorice ropes by the yard. He used the candy’s glycerin to lubricate his vocal cords, or so he claimed. His throat must still be bothering him.

“Jesus, all he does is fuck that woman these days,” Trey grumbled. “Doesn’t he realize we’re onstage in ten minutes?”

“Seven minutes,” Dave, their front of house soundboard operator, corrected before jogging out into the audience to work his magic on their audio equipment.

Trey stumbled against Jace, who grabbed him by both arms to steady him. “Take deep breaths.”

Trey closed his eyes and obeyed without argument.

“Better?”

He nodded slightly and then winced in pain. “Fuck, my head hurts.”

“Why don’t you sit down?” Eric said. “You’re going to break something.”

“Probably your neck,” Brian said as he finally joined them and lifted his guitar strap over his head.

“Done boning Myrna?” Trey asked, shaking his head at the pussy-whipped disgrace his best friend had become.

Brian chuckled. “Not by a long shot. The real honeymoon starts in forty-six minutes.”

Sed scowled and grabbed Jake, their Mohawk-sporting, guitar-tuning roadie, by both arms. “Yo, Jake. Find me two real hot ones for tonight.” Sed’s scowl deepened. “Make that three hot ones.”

No one needed to ask three hot whats. Sed meant groupies. He’d been in a mood since he’d run into his ex, Jessica, the night before. Whichever three groupies Jake selected for Sed’s entertainment were going to get fucked. Fucked long, hard, and good. Sed was in all-out predatory mode. Jace was doubly glad he’d be spending the time after their concert in Mistress V’s dungeon. The bite of her whip was sure to be less painful than watching Sed’s groupies cry and beg for his attention, after he’d finished with them and sent them on their way.

The stadium lights went down, and the crowd cheered, knowing it meant it was time for the band to take the stage.

When Trey stumbled over the bottom step in the dark, Brian took him by one arm and helped him climb up to the stage. “You sure you’re okay, buddy?” Jace heard Brian say over the crowd noise.

“Like you care.” Trey wrenched his arm free of Brian’s hold and trotted over to his usual spot stage right. There wasn’t much light for Jace to find his own yellow X taped on the floor. At least he was behind the front line and somewhere in the middle. Here he could probably hide behind Sed’s broad, muscular form.

The first thump of Eric’s bass drum kicked Jace’s heart rate up a notch. He entered the first song, “Twisted,” with his steady bass line progression. His bruised and swollen fingers protested every note. By the time Brian entered his solo, Jace could scarcely force his fingers to move at all. Trey found a speaker to sit on. He typically strummed his rhythm guitar shreds with great enthusiasm, but several stumbles into his mic stand had him seeking a stable place to rest. He did manage to play without problem, as long as he didn’t move around much. When Sed roared into the mic at the end of Brian’s somewhat screwed up solo, the singer broke off mid-note with a cough. He cleared his throat and tried again with no success. Jesus, what a disaster.

When the song blissfully came to an end, Jace rubbed his stiff and aching knuckles while Sed called to the crowd and told them they were the best audience ever. Same thing he told every crowd. He made no excuses for the band’s unusual suckatude. The only one who was performing anywhere near normal was Eric. As Eric was the main reason they’d gotten into a club brawl in the first place, it didn’t seem fair that he didn’t suck as much as the rest of them.

Since Sed’s singing was subpar, he apparently decided additional showmanship could make up for it. He dove into the crowd in the middle of their set’s second song and seemed oblivious to the fact that he missed singing the vast majority of the lyrics, as the crowd passed him hand-over-hand above their heads. If Jace had tried that crazy shit, he’d probably have been tossed on the cement and trampled to death. Security rescued Sed from the writhing crowd, and he eventually made his way back to the stage.

“Hell yeah. You crazy muthas know how to rock!” Sed cried into his microphone. “Who’s here to see fucking Exodus End?” He thrust a fist in the air as the crowd erupted into cheers. He cleared his throat. Winced. Turned his volume down to a lower roar. “My throat’s a bit sore tonight. Note to self, do not get into fights in strip clubs the night before a show, no matter how fucking hot the chick is.”

The audience cheered Sed’s debauchery. Jace couldn’t help but smile. The more trouble Sinners got into, the more their fans loved them. Occasionally, they had to act like, well, sinners and maintain their mostly fabricated, dark image. They waited while Brian and Trey traded their usual electric guitars for acoustics to play their next song, “Good-bye Is Not Forever.” This song always put a fucking knot in Jace’s throat. It reminded him of Kara Sinclair. They’d had a secret relationship as teenagers. The more reckless, lawless, and out of control Jace had been, the more attracted to him she’d become. One reason he couldn’t forget her was Kara was Brian’s younger sister, or had been, before a car accident had taken her life. Brian had no idea that Jace had once dated her. Stolen her innocence. That was a secret he planned to keep to the grave. No reason to tarnish a man’s pure and cherished memories of his perfect little sister.

Trey and Brian flanked the sides of the stage, sitting on platforms, as they strummed the intricate riff of the band’s one and only ballad. Sed sat on the front of the stage, his legs dangling over the edge, and sang his heart out. Requisite knot in his throat, chills raced down Jace’s spine at the sound of Sed’s amazing voice.

The only one standing, Jace felt incredibly exposed. He took a deep breath, his fingers finding the thick, metal guitar strings and appropriate notes by memory. Concentrating on producing the perfect sound—which wasn’t easy with his knuckles so swollen—he approached the front of the stage, standing between Sed and Trey. His eyes scanned the crowd, taking note of the sudden enthusiasm of several young women in the audience as he entered their view. Jace saluted a particularly excited twenty-something with two fingers, and she grabbed the hem of her T-shirt. She lifted both hands over her head, screaming at the top of her lungs, as she exposed her naked breasts to the band. Sed glanced up at Jace and grinned. Not to be outdone, Sed lifted his shirt and flashed a pair of hard pecs and his washboard abs to the Lady Sinners in the first few rows. The squeals of the women in the audience made Jace’s ears ring, even over the music filtering in through his earpiece.

Sed tilted his head at Jace, as if to say, your turn. Jace shook his head and took several steps backward, his temporary desire to interact with the crowd completely obliterated. He kept in good shape, but was no match for Sed’s body-builder physique. No sense in embarrassing himself in front of twelve thousand people.

By the time the concert ended, Jace’s fingers refused to move, Trey could barely stand at all, Sed was singing at a whisper, and Brian was so distracted—by thoughts of his honeymoon, no doubt—that he walked offstage without removing his guitar. It produced a series of discordant sounds as he headed backstage at a run until a roadie managed to stop him long enough to claim the instrument from their eager lead guitarist. All things considered, Jace couldn’t remember a worse performance. If the crowd noticed, you couldn’t tell by their cheers and the chanting of “Sinners, Sinners, Sinners” ringing through the entire stadium.

“Wow, you all sucked,” Eric commented as he tossed a drumstick into the crowd at the front of the stage.

Jace flicked his guitar pick to the flasher chick in the front row. When it landed in her outstretched hand, she drew it to her lips, kissed it, and then started jumping up and down.

“I think you have a fangirl, Jace,” Sed commented, wiping the sweat off his face with the hem of his shirt. “Maybe you should invite her backstage. You look like you need a blow job.”

Jace felt his ears turn red. That fangirl had nothing he needed, but a black-haired dominatrix dressed in leather did. Thinking about Mistress V and the needs she was about to fulfill forced Jace to adjust his fly behind his bass guitar.

“I know I need one,” Sed added.

“I get to watch, right?” Eric asked.

“You know I perform best in front of an audience.” Sed winked, took another bow, and headed offstage.

Jace handed his instrument to Jake, who carefully carried it to the collection of guitars along the side of the stage. Jace dug the black and red business card out of his pocket. Now he just had to find her address. Nothing short of death would prevent him from arriving on her doorstep at precisely ten p.m.

Chapter 4

Aggie’s doorbell buzzed at five minutes to ten. She smiled. Lit another candle. Flicked her fingers through the flame. Made him wait.

The bell buzzed again, longer this time. Looking in the mirror that covered one entire wall of her dungeon’s outer room, Aggie smoothed her long, straight hair with both hands. Checked her makeup. Ran her tongue over her teeth. Made him wait.

Buzz. Buzz-buzz. Buzzzz.

She stroked the handle of her favorite whip. Traced the floral design she’d embroidered on her leather corset. Glanced at the clock. Two minutes until ten. Not yet.

He laid on the buzzer. Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Aggie chuckled.

She left the soundproof room and walked through the foyer to answer the door.

On her doorstep stood the tough angel she couldn’t get out of her thoughts. His name was Jace. Jace Seymour. Jessica, Sed’s ex-fiancée who had privilege to such information, had spilled that sweet tidbit to Aggie earlier that day. Yeah, Aggie had swallowed her tough bitch facade long enough to ask Jessica about a guy. Not her proudest moment. She didn’t think Jess would tell anyone that she was interested in someone she shouldn’t be.

Jace met her eyes and took a deep shuddering breath. “I thought I was late. That you wouldn’t answer.”

Just as cute as she remembered him. If he’d lose the piercings, spiked hair, and tattoos, he could have made a comfortable living as an Abercrombie and Fitch model. How did a guy this fine end up with a pain fetish? None of her business, she decided. She was just trying to make a living here. And hell, she might as well enjoy her work.

“Come in.”

He entered. Glanced around, looking excited and anxious.

She took his hand and led him to the zebra print love seat just outside the open door of her sanctum: the room where men spent most of their time on their knees. Aggie and Jace sat side by side, inches separating their thighs. They needed to talk business so she knew what he wanted. How he wanted it. And for how long. Each customer was different. “What do you want me to call you, sugar?”

“Jace,” he said.

“Is that short for Jason?”

He tensed, and a flash of deep emotional pain stole across his even features. “Never call me Jason. Never.”

“Whatever you prefer. I’ll call you dog, slut, slave, pussy, bastard, Batman, whatever you like.”

He grinned and shifted his gaze to his hand, which rested on his knee. “Jace is fine.”

That brief glimpse of his smile had her belly quivering. She’d never been this stupid over a guy before, especially not one of her submissives. What was wrong with her? She was going to hit him extra hard for making her want him.

She lifted her free hand and stroked the dark, rough beard stubble on his cheek, trying to get him to look at her. His mouth fell open, and he tilted his head in her direction, shuddering with contained desire. Oh fuck, yeah. She needed to get to work.