Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)(33)

“Hey, sugar,” he said, giving her a squeeze. “How’s the crowd tonight?”
She flipped back her blond curls and smiled up at him. “I’m keeping ’em warm for you.”
He popped her on the ass lightly and winked. “Go on, we’ll catch up later.”
When he walked through the room, several beautiful women swiveled on their barstools and followed his movement. His brother, Wheeler, looked like an ailing seal hunched over his drink at the bar.
Jericho sat on the stool to his left. “How’s it going?”
“Going,” Wheeler replied, looking in his direction but not at him.
“Where’s Ben?”
His face tightened. “Do I look like his keeper? You’re his brother too. Why don’t you tell me where the fuck he is?”
“What happened between you two? You guys used to get along. Then you got all dark and diabolical.”
Wheeler ran his hand over a tattoo that wrapped around his wrist. “People change.”
“You got that right. Maybe I don’t like seeing you two at each other’s throats all the time. Dig? Look, I have to get ready for the show. Catch ya later,” he said, slapping Wheeler on the back and heading backstage.
“Denver! Three pitchers,” a familiar voice called out.
He turned his head and watched Isabelle serve a tray full of burgers to a table of young men. The women were drawing nearer to the stage, anticipating the show. They caught sight of him walking with his guitar slung over his shoulder and began all that lip-biting and whispering.
Jake had a private room set up in the back where the band could hang out and get ready. Most Breed clubs offered private rooms to unwind, although this one was pretty damn small. Jericho liked to kick back with a few beers, strum a few chords, and kiss a few girls. When he walked in, it looked like Joker, his drummer, had already started. A girl in the tightest leather pants he’d ever seen was straddling him and licking his nose.
It was enough to make Jericho shudder.
“Where’s Chaz?”
Jericho unzipped his case and pulled out his guitar, handling her with experienced hands. “Helping a nun cross the road. But he’ll be back as soon as he saves a drowning puppy.”
They snorted a few laughs, and Ren tossed a wadded napkin at him.
Jericho sat down and began tuning his guitar as he listened to Jake on the mic, giving their introduction and warming up the crowd.
Joker patted his friend on the ass and she gave a wicked laugh and stood up, sauntering over to a tray of hors d’oeuvres.
“Where the hell did you get the name of our band?” Joker asked, tapping his drumstick on his boot. “Because wouldn’t you know it—I ran into a waitress out there by the name of Izzy. Sweet little titties, but not big enough for my mouth. She had a hot ass; I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on that. Do you two know each other or something?”
“Let’s go,” Jericho said, knowing one more word about Isabelle’s hot ass and he was going to pound Joker in the face. “Saddle up, boys. Showtime.” He took his black guitar pick out of his pocket and put it in his mouth as they made their way up the side steps to the stage.
The audience howled and cheered as the lights dimmed, leaving only the stage illuminated by a few spotlights. Jericho scanned the crowd and didn’t see Chaz.
“Where the fuck is he?” he said in an angry breath.
The backup guitarist spat out a curse and plugged in his guitar.
Jericho played it cool and turned his back to the crowd. “I’ll give him one song to get his ass onstage. If Chaz isn’t here by the end of this song, he’s fired and we’re going to have to wing it. Let me have this one, guys.”
His guitar was a curvy Les Paul with a mahogany body that faded to black around the edges. It had a sweet tune when played just right, and Jericho knew exactly how to stroke the lady to make her sing. He adjusted the pickups and tone until the sound was rich and full-bodied.
He approached the mic. “Something a little different to start off the show tonight.”
Sweat formed on his brow and as the room buzzed with anticipation, he began to play “Yesterday” by the Beatles. Jericho dragged out the guitar melody, and the crowd soaked it in.
As soon as the lyrics rolled past his lips, he realized he’d never performed this song in public before. The only time he’d ever played it was in the late hours of the night in the hotel room he shared with Isabelle. He’d quietly sing as he watched her sleep, dreaming of a better life. Every word became an explanation to Isabelle. He glanced toward the back of the room and saw her suddenly freeze as she walked to the bar, pivoting around slowly to face the stage. She set the tray on the bar without taking her eyes off him and stepped forward. The light from the bar illuminated her hair, and damn, she looked angelic. Every word of the song replayed a regretful moment in their lives, and he wondered if he was half the man he used to be, before all the drugs.