Taking the risk, p.1
Taking the Risk, page 1
part #3 of The Neon Fishnets Series
The Neon Fishnets:
Taking The Risk
Scarlett Knight
Taking The Risk
Copyright © 2021, Scarlett Knight
Published by Painted Hearts Publishing
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Taking The Risk
Copyright © 2021 Scarlett Knight
Publication Date: June 2021
Author: Scarlett Knight
Editor: Ashley Kain
All cover art and logo copyright © 2021 by Painted Hearts Publishing
Cover design by S Hardy
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
Chapter 1
The Neon Fishnets were back!
I had been so worried that we might be at the end of our journey. Just like everyone else in the band, I had valid concerns when our lead guitarist, Raina Emerson, flew off to rehab. Those three months without her were excruciating. Was she getting better? Would she give up and go back to her old lifestyle when she got back? Geez, talk about stressful. There were days I was so bummed out that I couldn’t bring myself to get off the couch, much less lift my drumsticks to practice our new songs. I lost entire nights of sleep worrying. I knew that Raina was capable of staying sober, but in this business, I had also seen plenty of people fail once they reentered the craziness of the music industry.
Reality sucked sometimes. And it sucked hard.
I had my heart prepared for the worst. When she did come back, however, I knew intuitively that she would be all right. It was something in her energy. She radiated determination. Her eyes were clear for the first time in I don’t know how long, no glassy haze and no dilated pupils. She was ready to rock.
And now, we were back on tour, playing a sold-out concert in San Antonio, Texas.
We were nearing the end of “Tame Me,” an older hit but one that the fans always went crazy over. We usually added it to our sets, but this time, we had a cool new video of wild tigers to go with it. It was projected onto what was designed to look like a magnificent old theater screen behind us, equipped with massive crimson curtains.
My muscles burned with sweet satisfaction as I hammered out the rhythm to the song, my whole body becoming one with my drums. I played the foot pedals in a fever pitch, my thighs burning, my arms glistening with sweat as I hit the snare then the cymbals, the beat of this song seared in my heart like all the rest.
Our bass player, Jackie Hernandez, worked her magic with me, matching the pace of the tiger’s running on the big screen above us. I smiled at her as she walked up to me and my drums, her deft fingers strumming the strings. She had on a faded black leather jacket, black jeans, and black boots. The jacket she wore was open, revealing her toned abs. Her black bra had silver studs on it and matched the choker around her neck. She leaned over and flipped her waist-length brown hair, doing a few seconds of sexy headbanging before walking to the edge of the stage where the fans were cheering like mad.
I glanced over at our keyboardist, Ivy Finch, whose hourglass figure looked ravishing in her cerulean latex catsuit. Her eyes were on Jackie, though, as they should be. Those two love birds had been inseparable ever since their surprise hook-up a few months back.
As the tiger on the screen continued to run, Jackie walked up to Raina, who eased into a sexy guitar solo. Raina brandished her Flying V guitar effortlessly, as if it were a part of her. She flipped her blue hair back, her aviator sunglasses reflecting the stage lights, which started to flash and flutter at the sound of her solo. She wore an old ACDC concert tank top, the tattoos on her arms in full view. She approached the edge of the stage.
There in the front row bounced Lara Thompson, the talented writer and surprise new love interest of our freshly sober Raina. She’d driven down from Dallas for the show, and she was planning to stay with Raina tonight before the tour bus took off for East Texas. Looking exquisite, her normally pulled-back locks were down and flowing free. Raina had taken her to see Hamilton, our beloved hairdresser, and he’d shaped her hair into a super cute shag and had added some highlights. She’d had this cute librarian look going on before, but after Hamilton had gotten his hands on her, she came across as edgier, almost like she could join the band. We all loved the new look, especially Raina. But I was betting Lara could shave her head and Raina would still be crazy about her. That’s what happened when you were in love. Sexy hair styles were a bonus, but they ultimately didn’t matter.
Ah, love. Cupid’s arrows seemed to be hitting everybody these days: Jackie and Ivy, Raina and Lara.
Well, maybe not everybody…
As Raina finished her solo and moved to stage left, I locked my eyes on the mesmerizing figure of our lead singer, Trish Carlucci.
“Youuu,” Trish moaned into the mic, “you can try, but you’ll never taaaame meeeeee!”
No matter how many times she sang this song, that line always did it for me. Goosebumps from head to toe. It always felt like those lyrics were directed at me.
“You can try, but you’ll never tame me.”
Desire could be so cruel. I’d never tame her. Not in the way I wanted to anyway.
Trish was my dream girl. She was the one I wanted more than anyone. I was utterly in love with her. She was my best friend, but also my one greatest desire, and my source of deepest inspiration.
And she had no idea how I truly felt about her.
Not for the first time, I tried to look at her as platonically as possible.
Hard to do. She was hotter than ever tonight. I relished the way her velvet pink top and leopard-print leggings hugged her body. And the way she leaned into the mic, moaning those words with glistening dark pink lips, so deliciously erotic.
I’ll never tame you, huh?
Well, maybe I just haven’t found the right moment yet.
She strummed her powder blue Gibson Les Paul guitar in a way that had me envying the strings. I channeled my sexual frustration into my feet and my drumsticks as we moved into the song’s coda, building the tempo as the tiger on the screen increased its pace and then ending in an awesome crescendo of lights, sound, and pyrotechnics. Then I bolted up, tossing my purple waves back out of my face, and ran to the edge of the stage. The cheering fans in the first few rows all raised their hands up as I wound my arm back like a pitcher about to throw a speed ball. Then I launched the drumsticks into the audience. I didn’t look out to see who had caught them. Normally I do because I love seeing their faces when they catch them. It’s so cute. I adore my fans.
But tonight, Mother Nature was calling. I really had to pee, and I had less than four minutes to do it.
Up next was an interlude where Ivy would play a snazzy tune along with a montage of classic movie scenes with femme fatales playing on the giant movie screen. Trish would narrate, informing the audience of who each actress was and the characters they played in the movie, and how they’d influenced each of us band members. The whole thing lasted approximately three and a half minutes. Normally, I took this moment in the set to grab some new drumsticks and some water, but tonight I ran backstage toward the nearest bathroom, the fog machines hissing around me, sending mist around my ankles.
I never took bathroom breaks during a show. I always, always went before, mainly because these jumpsuits weren’t easy to get in and out of. Tonight, however, there had been some VIP ticketholders who had gotten to the pre-show meet-and-greet way late, and they’d begged to be let backstage despite our No Late Entry policy. We felt bad for them, so we let them in last minute. I’d lost track of time, and anyway, now here I was, racing for the toilet.
I kept my earpiece in so I could hear what was happening onstage. I reached the bathrooms and checked to make sure I was going into the women’s room on the right. As I raced to a stall, I pulled down the straps of my sleeveless silver nude crystal embellished jumpsuits—one of my favorites. Luckily, this one had a plunging neckline, which made it one of the easier ones to wiggle in and out of.
Once done, I quoted Trish’s lines with her, her voice in my earpiece as I washed my hands: “Michelle Pfeiffer. When I was young, I wanted to be her. Who out there wanted to be Catwoman after you saw her in this role?”
The audience roared through my earpiece. The backdrop would be showing clips of Pfeiffer being a badass in the movie Batman Returns about now. I checked a quick glance in the mirror to make sure everything was in place. The jumpsuit was back in place over my toned body, and I adjusted “the girls” so that my cleavage was at maximum effect. My blue-gray eyes, decorated with glittery eyeshadow, were bright and alive with the energy of the concert in p
Well, almost nothing.
Trish was now going into her monologue about girl power and how important it was for young women and old to work together rather than compete against one another. “When we lift each other up, rather than tear one another down, we can become unstoppable. Girls out there, are you one with us tonight?”
I’d love to be one with you tonight.
Sighing, I dried my hands, bumped the bathroom door open with my hip, and headed out.
Across the way, our manager, Mac Davidson, was leaving the men’s room—along with a busty blonde with a bright orange tan and a barely-there white tube top and mini skirt.
She met my eyes and then quickly looked away, the smile on her face vanishing. She scampered down the hall, high heels clacking. I didn’t recognize her. She could’ve been anyone: staff, audience member, a random piece of ass Mac called up whenever he was in San Antonio.
I looked over at him as he was literally zipping up his fly. All I could do was blink. This wasn’t the first time I had caught him like this, but it had been a while since it had been something this blatant. This time, there was no question what those two were doing in there. It was like a shocking slap in the face.
After all, he was supposed to be exclusively dating Trish.
“How’s the show going?” he asked, fixing the cuffs of his expensive black suit. He wore his suits tight, I figured, to show off that overly buff, gym-rat body. “We sold out again.”
The shock wore off, and I vibrated with anger as I shook my head and lifted my hands. “Mac, what the actual fuck?”
He grinned. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about, you asshole.”
I also knew that he was going to get away with it like he always did. And he knew that I knew.
“The zipper was caught on her dress,” he said. “She asked me to help her.”
I let out an incredulous laugh. “I am so sure! She was wearing a miniskirt and tube top. I didn’t even see a zipper. Trish may be blind when it comes to you, but I’m not.”
My flesh crawled when he placed a hand on my shoulder. “Look, CJ, boys will be boys. It was just a little fun. It meant nothing. Why would you want to worry her over nothing?”
“Nothing? You’re a couple!”
“We’re not married yet.”
“Oh, so that excuses it? God save us if and when you do get married and, heaven forbid, have children! What kind of example are you going to set for your kids?”
“When that happens, this will all stop. You have my word.”
I rolled my eyes. “Your word means shit, Mac.”
He chuckled. “You’re being overly dramatic, CJ.”
I knew I was running out of time and needed to get back onstage, but I was too livid to stop now. “She thinks you’re in love with her.”
“I am.”
“Like hell you are.”
“You don’t understand men, CJ. We have the ability to separate love from meaningless shit like this.”
“Well, if it’s so meaningless, why do it? Why risk hurting her?”
His gaze darkened. “Nobody’s going to get hurt if nobody brings it up. Besides, she won’t believe you.”
I narrowed my eyes, seeing red. “Maybe she will this time.”
“You have no proof.”
“I could tell her what I saw.”
“You don’t know what you saw.”
“Stop gaslighting me.”
“I’m not gaslighting! I refuse to admit to anything simply because you misinterpreted what you saw.”
“Okay. Sure. I misinterpreted. Way to be a narcissist.”
He stepped closer, perhaps trying to intimidate me with his large frame. “You did misinterpret because you think it was a big deal. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, important happened in there.” He pointed at the bathroom. “And since it meant nothing, it’s none of her business.”
I tried to wrap my head around that, but could only manage a disbelieving scoff. “That is some really fucked up logic, Mac.”
“Even if you say something, she won’t believe you. You know that.”
I stood there, officially beaten in the argument. It was true: I’d caught him before doing shit like this. It had never been quite this blatant, but I’d still caught him in some fishy situations with other women, some who looked barely even legal. The first time I’d caught him alone with a scantily dressed female, I’d told Trish, but to my dismay, she hadn’t believed me. She’d insisted I’d misinterpreted whatever it was that I’d seen. He had Trish so wrapped around his beefy, manipulative finger that he’d been able to blind her to the truth.
Love could make people so stupid.
Take me, for instance, I was enamored with a woman who was gaga over this guy. Couldn’t get much stupider than that.
“Trish deserves better,” I said to him.
“Baby, I’m the best there is.”
I rolled my eyes. The audience cheered from the entrance to the stage a few feet away. Mac seemed to puff up like a rooster. If he was trying to intimidate me, it wasn’t working. I stood my ground, not letting him have the satisfaction of me leaving the conversation first.
“Better get back up there,” he said. “You still have a concert to finish.”
Damn it, I’d lost track of my cue. I was late, albeit only by a minute or so. I wanted to punch him right in the mouth, but I didn’t have time. I also didn’t want him to have me arrested for assault. So, like a proper mature adult, I took the high road. Breathing in a deep breath, I spun around and quickly walked toward the stage, my show-must-go-on mentality triumphing over my temporary rage.
He hollered from behind me, “Knock ’em dead, girl!”
I gritted my teeth, grabbed some more drumsticks on the way, and let the roar from the audience sweep me up into its embrace.
“There she is!” Trish said, smiling at me. “We were about to send out a search party.”
“Sorry!” I said, running back to my drums.
“No apologies, darling. We’re just glad you’re back.”
The sea of cheering fans provided quite the backdrop to her as she stood facing me with a hand on her hip, her body posed in that dominant, femme fatale way, her legs mile-high in those heels and leggings. Ugh. She was such an impeccable goddess. Mac was a complete idiot. How could anyone want to be with some cheap slut when they could be with Trish? Damn Mac to the fiery depths of hell!
I mustered up a smile and saluted Trish with my drumsticks. What was the use in getting upset? Even if I told her later about what I’d seen, she wouldn’t believe me. She’d excuse it away as she always did. If only I’d caught him red-handed and had taken a picture, so I’d have photo proof. Maybe then she’d believe me. Then again, who knew?
Reality sucked sometimes. And it sucked hard.
Chapter 2
“You were right, yet again,” Trish said, jotting down another note in her zebra print notebook.
“What, about the bit with Ivy and Jackie’s stage kiss?”
“Yes.”
I watched her glide the pen across the paper. Her handwriting was so unique. It wasn’t exactly what you’d call pretty; it was more like a doctor’s handwriting, which made it all the more interesting. My gaze trailed up to the sleeve of tattoos on her arm. Over time, I’d memorized every inch of the colorful art.
“I love it when I’m right,” I teased.
“The fans really loved it.”
“They did, didn’t they? Did you see that guy in the front row who was decked out like a young Elton John? He was also at the meet-and-greet.”
“Oh, yes. Unforgettable.”
“Did you see his reaction to the Jackie and Ivy kiss?”
“No, I missed it. You saw it?”
“Yes! It was priceless! It looked something like this.”
I gave her my best replay of the man’s almost comical astonished reaction, complete with gasp, hands on his cheeks, and then frantically fanning himself as he cried tears of joy.
