Beneath the Stain - Part 5 Read Online Free Page B

not trying to fake it.
    “Then give me a couple of names of guys who can’t fuck up a wet dream—”
    “What about Keith and Lester?” she asked, making sure.
    “They are no longer on the fucking payroll,” he said grimly. “They weren’t that fucking good in the first place. Holy shit—all that time we spent sitting on our hands this last month, thinking this shit would be here when we came back to it. It is time to get our thumbs out of our fucking asses and act like we get paid.”
    “Righteous, Mackey,” Kell muttered, and he heard some more murmurs of assent from his guys. Okay. They’d sold a fucktonna CDs on their last tour—they could either skate on their asses, using the old CDs for sleds, or they could fucking bring it. And while Mackey knew they were going to bring it musically, until this moment right here , he had not realized how much more to bringing it there was. Trav was good at helping them be their best, but Trav did not have the tattoo and he hadn’t come up from nothing. Mackey could love Trav for all he was worth, but the fact was, this band, these guys, they were a whole different entity, and the people who bought those CDs could either be their fans or their fuckers.
    It was Mackey’s job to make sure they were fans, and that they stayed with him and the guys as long as they put out.
    “’Kay, Briony—go pick your light and sound board guys. Debra, you start making a list of shit me and Trav hafta fix. Guys, we’ve got five minutes to go through the new playlist—and then make it the fuck so. Are we ready, all?”
    “Fucking ready, Mackey!” That was in tandem—Mackey spared a minute to grin at them, suddenly so grateful for his brothers he could cry.
    “Ready, pit crew?”
    “Give me five, dickhead!” Briony yelped as she scrambled down from the stage toward the big-eyed group of roadies praying to be promoted.
    “Awesome—let’s fucking get this road on the show!”
    And with that he turned to his guys and started to fix what was wrong, adrenaline thundering through his veins as he looked at the clock. They had an hour and a half before the next band came in to claim this space. Fucking spiffy.
    For the first time since Trav left, Mackey wasn’t thinking about Xanax, coke, or vodka. Good to know there was a cure.

For Your Love
     
     
    T HE TEXTS hit his pocket the minute the plane landed. One minute he was leaning back in his seat, closing his eyes while they began their descent and imagining what Mackey would look like stretched out in bed, thighs held up and spread wide while Travis swiped long, hard, and deep with his tongue. He was remembering the sounds Mackey made when Travis was inside him and imagining what sounds he’d make when he was pleasured slowly, like a love song, in that easy, dreamy, playful way a good rim job gave you. Mackey had just gotten to that rare moment when he relaxed, sighed, and begged sweetly because he trusted Trav wouldn’t deny him, when the plane touched down.
    But work awaited, and Trav hit the On switch on his phone and straightened up in his seat, buttoning his coat. He took one breath, and then two, and then….
    His phone exploded into so much chaos, Trav couldn’t believe it had been just sitting there in the airwaves, waiting to attack him.
    He texted frenetically while he grabbed his suitcase and his laptop, and barely looked up as he walked down the aisle like the other sheep. Up the ramp, down the ramp, and around the maze of SFO, he navigated the clusterfuck that a simple festival performance had become.
    Goddammit, Heath—you told me our tech crew was sound!
    He had to. He’d taken Heath at his word and had poured his time into publicity, CD production, setting the schedule—and into getting his band to a place where they could perform. So, yeah, he’d spent his free time sleeping with Mackey Sanders, but he truthfully hadn’t done much of that.
    I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Debra’s been reaming my ass all fucking