Heavy Metal Heart Read Online Free

mean. ID, credit card, a little cash, keys, a condom and your phone. Bad bitch like you doesn’t need anything else.”
    Misty found her purse and pulled only what she’d need for the night. “You’re the baddest bitch of them all.”
    “Kisses.” Kim made a smooching sound. “So what if the planets align and you find yourself at the bar, elbow to elbow with him?”
    “Who?”
    “Trevor Sand.”
    Impossible. “Right.” She slid her ID and credit card in her front pocket.
    “But what would you say if you met him?”
    Her mouth went dry. “Hi, Trevor. I’m Misty. You’ve been writing songs about me.”
    Kim chuckled. “Good girl.”
    “Bad girl.” Excitement for the night rose in her.
    “Make me proud.”
    “I’ll try.”
    “You already have by stepping out, Misty. Call me when your head clears.”
    They said their goodbyes then she grabbed her portable dinner and headed out the door. As she locked it behind her, the metal snap brought her thoughts into hard relief. Who would she be when she unlocked that door again? Kim was right—she’d already stepped off the map. Whatever came next was completely unknown.

Chapter Two
    Stale beer, breath and body and the smell of an old leather sofa. Perfect. The wood chair Trevor sat in creaked with the rhythm of the tune he picked out on an acoustic guitar. He’d found countless melodies hidden in the strings and frets. And before guitars there were lutes and citharas. But each song was something new. There was always a voice to discover.
    His bass player, Lee Rome, stretched out on the couch, his leather pants against the cracked leather cushions. He casually drew on the wall with a marker, adding his scrawl to the hundreds of signatures and crass remarks that turned the dressing room of the Rascal into an historical relic.
    Clinking glass from the bartenders setting up and the canned music leaked from the main room to Trevor, but he didn’t stop playing. Lee tapped a hand on the sofa, keeping rhythm with the squeaking chair. They weren’t due onstage for another hour and this was the quietest place available. Management knew not to disturb them.
    Trevor tested to see if the song’s phrases and deep minor chords could support words:

    Death is a melody
    Played on fly wings
    Forever ringing in my ear
    Razor sharps and flats
    It bleeds me
    A song I can never unhear

    Ribbons of sound tied the lyrics together, knotting the song into a unified piece. It would work. The people would hear it and understand.
    Lee, though, merely laughed a little, tossed the pen onto a scratched coffee table and picked up his beer bottle. “Heavy lyrics for a dude who’s going to live forever.”
    Trevor hit a final chord and let it vibrate through the guitar. “We only live if someone’s listening. Once they stop, we’re done.”
    Lee’s bottle was empty, so he rolled it under the couch. “Unless you find your Muse.”
    “Never witnessed any truth to that. You ever know any of us to find his Muse? And what have you seen in these fragile humans that makes you think they could somehow cross the bridge and transform into what we are?” Lee was silent. No one had seen proof of the Muse, not even a rumor for hundreds of years. “Those are the kind of legends that are carved on the insides of ancient oaks.” He put the guitar down and pulled a couple more beers from the small, battered fridge. “You can’t believe that bullshit.”
    Without getting off the couch, Lee grabbed one of the beers, popped the top and tossed the cap in the corner. “We’re made of legends too.” And when he winked to his friend, the skin of his face briefly transformed into the bark of a tree.
    “Not that deep.” Trevor made a fist, the curl of his fingers shifting into a knot of redwood burl. “It’s not our fate to find something that lasts.” He changed his hand back to flesh and drank. The beer was cold, but it didn’t wake him from the thundering gloom that surrounded his thoughts. Maybe