Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Sherwood blinks, then pulls a face of confused disbelief. His jaw drops open to say something, and I hold up a finger.
“Or we’re out. Song stays and you can fuck off.”
His mouth clacks shut, and he starts typing on his phone. Sean narrows his eyes, yelling at me from afar, but I hold strong. I know what I’m suggesting is an expensive proposition for AMM; renting out a place like the Cobra Room will cost them serious bank, but they have it. Most importantly, they have it from our blood, sweat, and tears, so they can damn well spend it on us too.
A ridiculously short few seconds later, Sherwood nods and looks up. “Done.”
It was that easy. It was that damn easy. So why the hell are we still stuck in this ridiculously punitive contract that owns us? All we have to do is stand up to them. We have what they want—the music, the fans, and we make them the money.
Why can’t Sean see that?
“All right, then,” I clip out, glaring at Sean, who’s hovering by the door. See? I fucking told you! “We’ll get you a set list ASAP.”
“Sounds good, guys!” Sherwood agrees, making his way toward the door now that he’s done what he was sent to do. He basically scrapes his back on the side of the doorframe to stay as far away from Sean as possible.
When it’s the three of us, Sean throws his other drumstick at the wall. “Motherfucker!” he yells.
Sherwood gave in so easily, and so did AMM. There was no fight, no big battle, and they didn’t stop us for daring to have a fucking opinion or making a demand. I’m right, and he finally saw exactly how right I’ve been all this time. He’s furious . . . at himself, mostly.
“I’m out. You two let me know if we still have a band by Monday,” Trent says casually, treating Sean’s outburst like it’s no big deal. He’s been in other bands with big-personality people, so to him, the drama Sean and I have right now is child’s play. He walks out a few steps behind Sherwood, and we can hear them chatting about the weather. Trent’s solid, laid-back style is a good fit for us.
“We can talk about contract negotiations,” Sean grits out when the door closes and he knows that Sherwood can’t hear us. “That was some absolute bullshit. How much money do you think we’ve shit away by not . . .” His own mental calculations are running in his head and he growls in anger, probably reaching the seven- or eight-figure mark. He rips the hairband from his bun, letting his hair down so he can run his hands through it punishingly. When he looks at me, I can see the remorse in his eyes, not only for not acting on the contract sooner but also for what he did with Hope. “Ben—”
“Save it. It doesn’t matter now. It’s over.”
Honestly, a lot more things than Hope and I are over. I can feel the band slipping through my fingers. Even if Sean’s willing to work with me against AMM now, I’m too furious with him to live this way. I can barely stand to look him in the eye, and hearing him banging away on the drums behind me sets my teeth on edge, so another tour, with its constant togetherness, would likely end up with one of us underground in a shallow grave.
I want to destroy him the way he destroyed me—ruthless, brutal, cold annihilation. Hell, the rage I feel toward him is the inspiration for one of the best songs I wrote last week. And yes, I intentionally set it up so that a good chunk of the song has him only playing his double-bass pedals so he has to sit there and twiddle his fucking thumbs, listening to me scream about what an asshole he is for a solid four minutes and nineteen seconds.
Born of hell, evil to the core. Puppeteer of the dark, you’ve incited war. Decimation, extermination, I will slaughter your soul.
“I told you I’d pick you up if she tore you to shreds. Just hoped it wouldn’t go that way,” he mutters so quietly I almost don’t hear him.
Maybe I imagined it? “What?”
“I knew she’d be furious,” Sean says, a little louder. “Hell, who wouldn’t be? I didn’t think she’d go scorched earth, though. I heard the way she talked about you, saw the certainty in her eyes. I figured you’d have a blowout fight, cool off for a few days, and then you’d be all happy-sappy and fucking like rabbits when you made up.”
“You didn’t know a damn thing about her!” I shout. He’s the strategic, brilliant mind, but he miscalculated big-time with Hope. And with me. “I told her I love her, and she said it wasn’t enough. Word for fucking word, it’s not enough. I’m never enough, and the one time I got something good, you ripped it away because you’re a jealous asshole. I hate you.”