Insider, Page 39

  “Twisted,” Rebekah whispered under her breath. “Focus. Focus.”

  “And a one and a two and a three,” Mad Dog said.

  Everyone onstage started playing at the same time. Toni cringed at the wailing, screeching cacophony blaring from the speakers. Face screwed up in concentration, fingers trembling, Rebekah began to move sliders on the giant soundboard in front of her. The raucous sounds coming from the speakers began to alter. The obnoxious blanging noises disappeared first, and then several blended melodies increased in volume. Rebekah raised one slider, cringed, and then shoved it back down before raising the one next to it. A few more adjustments, and Toni was astonished to hear the unmistakable music of “Twisted” blaring from the speakers. The drum track was missing and there were no vocals, but rhythm, bass, and lead guitar were all clear as day. Rebekah did a little dance of victory. Toni looked up to the stage and found everyone onstage was still playing. Sinners’ FOH had picked out the threads of her musicians based on sound alone.

  Dave high-fived his sister. Toni would have high-fived her as well, but she was trying to hold her camera steady while she gawked at Rebekah in awe.

  “Cut,” Mad Dog said. “Not bad. I heard only one mistake that time.”

  He’d heard it?

  Rebekah sighed. “Can’t get anything past this one,” she said as she pushed all the sliders to the top of the board.

  “Do we have the mics ready?” Mad Dog said.

  “Mic check.”

  “Mic check.”

  Mic check, mic check, mic check was repeated in different voices from various microphones all feeding into the same sound system.

  “Vocalists take the stage,” Mad Dog said. “And Steve, get under there and give us a beat.”

  The drum kit was already assembled under the stage.

  “It’s hard because you don’t know which piece of equipment is attached to each set of sliders,” Rebekah said. “Mad Dog knows his soundboard so well, he can pick up on slight variations between the channels.”

  “You can do it too,” Dave said.

  “I’m getting there,” Rebekah said, blowing out a long breath. She dropped down beside Toni on a folding chair, and they both watched Mad Dog do his thing.

  This time when Mad Dog instructed everyone to begin, there were various voices and drums added to the mix. There was no need to pick out the drum track—as there was only one—but with a few flicks of the FOH’s wrist, the sound of the drums came alive. After a couple dozen more motions from Mad Dog, Toni found herself listening to an Exodus End song. She could hear a bit of the other singers onstage—their voices carried through the air—but every sound coming from the sound system was pure Exodus End.

  “And that, my friends, is how you mix a live show old school,” Mad Dog said.

  “Show off,” Rebekah said with a giggle, but she hopped out of her chair to kiss the man on the top of his shiny bald head.

  The meet and greet that evening was a subdued occasion compared to the one in Oregon. There were no protestors picketing the venue, and the security team had no problem keeping a handle on things. Toni chatted with several fans, noting that whenever the fan happened to be male, Logan mysteriously appeared at her side.

  As the food was brought in for their evening meal, Reagan got in line behind Toni. “I haven’t gotten to talk to you all day,” she said. “How did things go with Logan yesterday?”

  Toni flushed remembering all the naughty things he’d done to her body in the hotel. She was definitely missing their alone time today and couldn’t wait until their next day off.

  “We had a great time,” Toni said.

  “He’s treating you right.”

  Toni nodded. “He’s the best.”

  “Are you still planning on riding up on my platform tonight? I have the cutest outfit you can wear.”

  Toni cringed. Not about the outfit, about the platform. “About that . . . Apparently my fat ass broke Logan’s platform last night. They were under the stage trying to fix it earlier.”

  “Fat ass? Where?” Reagan slid her hand over Toni’s rump to flatten her skirt. “Please. If your ass is fat, mine is a vat of lard.”

  Reagan stuck her butt out to prove that hers was bigger than Toni’s.

  “Damn, woman,” Trey said from behind them. “Can I get through one meal without you giving me a hard-on?”

  Reagan giggled. “I hope not.”

  A pair of strong arms circled Toni’s body from behind. Logan’s hands cupped her breasts and lifted them. “So I heard your enormous tits broke my hydraulic lift last night.”

  “Now that I believe,” Reagan said.

  Toni flushed as everyone within hearing laughed at her expense. She shoved Logan’s hands from her boobs and turned sideways to discourage him from grabbing them in public.

  Logan kissed her briefly. “Thanks for saving my spot.”

  “Back of the line, Schmidt!” Steve called from several feet behind them.

  Toni grabbed Logan’s arm to make sure he stayed beside her. She felt they hadn’t spent any time together all day and if standing in the chow line was their best opportunity to see each other for a few minutes, so be it.

  They did get to sit together through dinner, but Dare chatted with Trey, which meant Reagan talked Toni’s ear off about customers she’d had when she worked as a barista, and Steve told Logan—yet again—about his latest adventure with some twins and a couple of other women named Candice and Tonya. Steve’s mantra of “You missed out, dude!” was starting to play on Toni’s last nerve. Even though she didn’t talk to Logan much through their meal, his knee was pressed against hers beneath the table and he had a wonderful habit of touching her bare wrist whenever their hands weren’t otherwise unoccupied. Strange how after all the intense sexual encounters they’d shared the days before, those little touches meant so much to her.

  She was almost finished with her dinner when a strange rumbling seeped through the walls and into her bones. She cocked her head to one side, listening. “What is that? An earthquake?”

  “The first opening band is starting the show,” Logan said.

  The rumble was greeted by enthusiastic cheers and screams, all muffled by the thick concrete walls of the corridor. “Oh!” she said. “Sinners?” No, that couldn’t be since their rhythm guitarist was still at the table deep in conversation with his brother.

  “Sinners is on third tonight. That would be Riott Actt.”

  She knew of them. She’d listened to some of their music when she’d been researching Exodus End and found out that they’d be one of the two opening bands on this tour. She’d also done research on Hell’s Crypt, but that band hadn’t lasted long in the lineup.

  “Do you ever watch the opening bands?” she asked.

  “All the time,” he said with a smile. “I might be a rock star, but I’m still a metal fan. Do you wanna watch from backstage? It’s a perk of the rock star gig; we always have a backstage pass.”

  She nodded eagerly. This was a neat little glimpse into Logan the metal fan. Logan the man. It was just the kind of thing she wanted to include in their book, the kind of detail that the fans wanted to see—a peek into Logan’s reality. Toni reached into her pocket to set her camera on record. She’d captured a ton of footage that day, so she hoped there was enough memory left to record Logan enjoying Riott Actt. It certainly sounded like the audience in the stadium loved the band’s set. She was sure the entire state of Montana was vibrating from the combined sounds of the band and the audience. Could that much noise trigger an actual earthquake? She wouldn’t doubt it.

  Making their excuses and leaving the remnants of their dinner behind, Logan took Toni’s hand and led her through the backstage area. They passed many security guards, but no one stopped them or questioned them. They recognized Logan, and it was clear that she was with him. Walking with Logan was much different from her experiences of trying to make her way through the backstage area on her own, where she was stopped so fre
quently, she’d started showing her press pass to anyone with eyes.

  Logan pushed open a set of swinging doors, and Toni was assaulted by sound. She winced. Logan squeezed her hand and led her around the side of the stage to a set of steps. He didn’t even hesitate climbing them to stand in the wings and as he still had Toni’s now sweaty hand trapped firmly in his, she had no choice but to follow him. The band was finishing up their first song. Their lead singer jumped from a riser to the stage on the final note, punctuating the sound with the thrust of his arm and the microphone in his fist.

  Logan cheered with the rest of the crowd, but Toni was too busy staring at him to give the band onstage its due. Logan had come alive. Switched on in a way she hadn’t seen before. She’d watched plenty of footage of him onstage and witnessed secondhand what an outstanding performer he was, but being here with him in the flesh gave her an entirely new insight that no video could convey. So how could she show this side of him in the book? Could she capture the life in him, the vibrancy? She wasn’t sure it was possible. The energy coming off him was almost tangible. His love for music, that was what she was seeing. No, what she was feeling. But how did she show the world how remarkable it was? How remarkable he was?

  Matt Chesterfield was onstage chatting with the crowd in a heavy British accent. Toni tore her gaze from Logan to look at the vocalist.

  “We’re amped to have the opportunity to play for the amazing metal fans in the Billings area. How many of you came to the show just to see us tonight?”

  There was a mild spattering of applause, mostly from a small sector in the pit near the front of the stage. The lead guitarist leaned toward his microphone and said, “Well, that’s a bit disappointing. I don’t think we’ve rocked their faces off enough yet.”

  Logan chuckled. “God, I remember being an opening act for a bigger band. You feel so fucking privileged to be allowed on the stage, to share the excitement of a famous band’s fans, but you feel like such a douche bag for pretending anyone gives a shit that you’re there.”

  Toni couldn’t imagine Exodus End ever being in a position of smallness. It seemed to her that they’d always been marked for great things.

  “Who’s here to see Twisted Element?” the singer asked about the other opening band, which would play a set after theirs was over.

  A bit more applause and cheers sputtered from the crowd.

  “Steve got Twisted Element to join the tour. He’s really good friends with their drummer,” Logan told Toni.

  Zach Mercer. She already knew about his friendship with Steve. “Is it common for members of different bands to be good friends?”

  He gave her an odd look. “Well, yeah. We’re all in this together, aren’t we?”

  “Aren’t they your competition?”

  He shook his head. “Our brothers. If we’re going to keep rock alive, we have to work together, not against each other.”

  She smiled. That was a nice way of thinking about the music business. She wondered if the record label executives shared that point of view.

  “Okay, I think I see some Sinners fans in the audience,” Chesterfield said, shielding his eyes with one hand against his forehead as he scanned the crowd.

  “Maybe a few,” the lead guitarist’s words were mostly drowned out by the screaming, stomping, whistling, and clapping going on in the stadium.

  A chant of “Sinners, Sinners, Sinners” began to rise up through the ranks.

  “Who else is playing tonight?” the vocalist asked. “I forget.”

  The audience erupted into chaos as they very loudly informed the world that Exodus End was playing.

  The vocalist pointed to his ear. “What was that? Did you say Exodus End is playing here tonight?”

  Toni had to cover her ears due to the volume of the crowd. When the roar died down a bit, she lowered her hands and fixated on the vocalist, hanging on his every word.

  “Get the fuck out. Exodus End is going to be on this stage in less than two hours?” He jabbed a pointed finger toward the stage beneath his boots. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Logan chuckled. “He’s really getting them pumped up,” he yelled over the noise of the cheering crowd. “I hope we live up to their expectations.”

  Toni glanced at him, beaming an exuberant smile in his direction. Of course they would live up to the fans’ expectations; they’d exceed them. She didn’t doubt it for a second. She wondered if they were ever swamped with self-doubt the way she was. Not likely.

  Riott Actt finally began their second song and Toni tried to keep track of all that was occurring onstage. The flurry of activity was overwhelming. She didn’t know whether to watch the pacing vocalist, the wailing guitarists, or the rhythmic stylings of the drummer and the bassist. She glanced at Logan for direction and tried mimicking his devil-horn-shaking, head-banging, body-thrashing celebration of the music, but ended up feeling like an awkward fool.

  “I have got to get in on that circle pit,” Logan said unexpectedly. He pecked her on the cheek and then vaulted himself over the stairs to the floor before hurdling the railing and several members of the audience and disappearing into the crowd. It took Toni at least half the song to comprehend what he’d done. She finally found the mental capacity to close her mouth. She stretched up on tiptoe and craned her neck, trying to see down into the audience and the writhing chaos occurring in a round area that at first appeared empty, but was actually the center of activity. Bodies bounced off each other around the periphery—shoving, stumbling, thudding, dancing, or maybe they were fighting. Hell, she couldn’t tell. It looked just plain violent from her vantage. She caught sight of a blue T-shirt, a tangle of golden wavy hair, and hard-muscled arms covered with sleeves of familiar gray-shaded tattoos. When Logan slammed chest first into a member of the audience, she cringed and hid her eyes behind both hands. What was he thinking? What if he got hurt and found himself unable to perform? How could he want to be involved in something that had to be painful?

  Even though she personally didn’t want anything to do with the circle pit, Toni realized she should be getting pictures of Logan’s interaction with the crowd for the book. She sidled along the edge of the stage, hoping to stay out of sight as she cautiously made her way to the front left corner of the high platform. She looked through her camera, trying to capture Logan as one of the crowd, but it was all a hopeless blur. She couldn’t tell who was who. She noticed a riser at the very front of the stage but off to the far side and bathed in darkness. Riott Actt wasn’t using that part of the stage at all. Maybe she could see better from there. She’d be a bit higher up, but farther from the mosh pit. But that was what a zoom lens was for. To get the best shot, she needed a high vantage point, not a close one.

  Once she was standing on the platform, she zoomed in on the mass of writhing bodies below. Scanning the crowd, she eventually focused on the center of the mosh pit and took dozens of shots in rapid succession. She hoped she captured something usable. Watching through the viewfinder, she cringed each time someone got shoved a bit too hard, hit a few too many times. She didn’t see the appeal of this ritual in the slightest. But then she didn’t have mass quantities of testosterone pulsing through her veins.

  “Hey,” she heard someone yell from down below. “You can’t be up there.”

  She wasn’t sure if the security guard was talking to her or not. Before she could figure that out, something hard and solid hit her in the stomach—an arm, she realized as the air wooshed out of her lungs—and then she was falling. Her arms pinwheeled before her, her hands trying to catch hold of something—anything—but all her desperately clawing fingers found was empty air.

  Twenty-Five

  Logan was having the time of his life releasing pent-up energy until the music stopped abruptly. The men in the mosh pit continued bounding off each other for several seconds before stopping to face the stage in confusion. Logan stared up at the band with the rest of the audience, wondering what had drawn their fun to a sudden halt
. When he saw a familiar brown boot poking out from behind a riser on the stage and several concerned faces peering down at the figure attached to that boot, his heart skipped a beat.

  “Toni!” he yelled, shoving his way through the crowd toward the stage.

  He scarcely heard the whispers of his name in his wake. “Logan Schmidt. Isn’t that Logan Schmidt? That is Logan.” The whispers became yells, and then the crowd rushed in on him, surrounding him, trapping him in a press of bodies and enthusiasm. He was oblivious to the dozens of hands on him as he fought his way forward inch by inch. He focused on the neon yellow shirt of one of his security team and pushed and shoved his way through the crowd until he finally reached the metal barrier fence. The entire pit audience tried to follow him over the barricade; he’d apologize to the security crew later. Now he had to find out what had happened to Toni. Why was she lying on the floor? He’d thought she’d be safe on the stage—far safer than she’d have been in a mosh pit—but apparently he’d thought wrong.

  He galloped up the steps and weaseled his way through the group of onlookers surrounding Toni on the stage. He breathed a sigh of relief to find her sitting up and smacking at a medic who was trying to shove an oxygen mask over her face. “I said . . . I’m fine. I . . . I don’t . . . need . . . oxygen,” she said between wheezing gasps for air.

  “Did you have the wind knocked out of you or not?” the medic asked, following her twisting face with the mask in one hand and the stretchy strap in the other as he tried to affix it to his target.

  “Yeah, but . . . I’ll find . . . my wind . . . myself. Thanks.”

  “So you’re refusing treatment?”