"Where the fuck is Shawn?!" Our manager, Maxwell, yells. He's in his late 50's I think. He has many gray hairs that he covers up with black hair dye, which obviously isn't doing its job. He's wearing a pair of tan slacks with a jade green and white sweater vest. Talk about trash. He holds a clipboard, tapping his pen against it impatiently.
The rest of the band and I are waiting backstage for Shawn, he's always late. I can hear the crowd roaring behind the curtains. They are chanting 'Deadly Skulls', our band name, over and over again.
"He's supposed to be out there in 30 seconds!" Max yells again and this time Shawn comes walking down the hall, hands stuffed into his jeans, a cherry sucker between his lips. He's wearing a black button-down showing a bit of his chest tattoo with a pair of light blue distressed jeans.
Whereas I wear a gray graphic tee that has distressed rips at the collar and the hem of the shirt, paired with dark blue jeans. Dylan and Henry, the twins, wear similar things, the band's graphic tees, and black jeans.
"Look who finally showed up," I say grabbing a bass guitar as Shawn picks up his electric guitar. Dylan, our drummer sits down in his seat holding a stick in each hand, ready to start playing.
"Fuck off." He says with a small lisp as the sucker sits in his left cheek, rolling his eyes.
Everyone gets into position as the curtains open. The crowd erupts in roars and screams as I walk up to the microphone. I look around the crowd, a girl catching my eye. She's in a scandalous black top with her blonde hair toppling over her shoulders, some of it is matted against her forehead with sweat. I give her a smirk before looking over at the rest of the bandmates over my shoulder and give them a small nod, to queue the music.
We go through around 5 songs until we head off the stage. I have beads of sweat rolling down my temple, my throat is a bit raspy from all the singing. Everyone goes off into their own rooms while I go to one of our bodyguards. I send him off to the front row to get that blonde girl that caught my eye. What can I say a guy has his needs.
I walk over to my dressing room and lay down on my couch. Damn this heavenly couch. All dressing rooms are usually the same. The same cream walls, same loveseat couch,although different collors, same light up mirror, everything is the same. But in our band there's only one difference. It may or may not be a big difference.
I open the drawer to my night stand and pull out a gun. I flip it around in my hand, twirling it around my index finger from the trigger.
We may or may not be in a business for killing. But that's not what I'm doing tonight.
I hear the door open and a grin plays across my lips. I look over at the red door to see the petite blonde girl stumbles in as the door shuts behind her. She looks at me at shock at first, I get this reaction a lot from girls. Her jaw is slightly ajar, but she recovers and pats her hair, fixing it, then patting down her dress, more like lifting it higher up for my eyes. Her gaze then goes to the gun in my hand that I set on the coffee table in front of the couch.
"Lock the door behind you, love" I smirk at her. Let the fun begin.
