Chapter 3 #2
“Of course. I just love talking about all the elements that make a band unique. I thought maybe Livianna Grace Designs was part of your signature.” Amanda giggles.
“Anyway, let’s talk about your music. It’s an amazing blend of grit and heartbreak wrapped in rock distortion. No one else is doing it like this.”
“Amen to that.” Bren lounges back in his chair. “Cash always knows what he’s doing with the lyrics, and the rest falls into place like magic. We get the vibe and create from that.”
“As a band, are there ever times you disagree on the songs Cash writes?” Amanda peeks down at her notes.
My jaw tightens. Where is she going with this? I might be high, but nothing about the start of this interview feels normal.
“No,” Cooper answers. “Cash doesn’t just scribble down random words. He taps into what the crowd wants to hear. He writes what people bleed. Every line lands like he pulled it from their veins. We don’t question the lyrics, and sometimes even Guns helps Cash with that side of the music.”
“Oh, I see. That’s a great segue to one of my questions.” Amanda peers over at Guns. “Did you help write ‘Packed Train’?”
Holy…! Fuckin’ a.
There it is. The bomb that just took me out. A lump of shame and regret lodges in my throat as my stomach spins in an ocean of guilt. This isn’t gonna go over well.
Bren’s face contorts. “Mayhem doesn’t have a song called ‘Packed Train.’ Where did you get that?”
“You wrote that song, didn’t you?” Amanda’s gaze comes to me. “It’s registered with BMI under your pseudonym, and Chrome Honey’s liner notes list you in the splits.”
I nod and look away. Bren’s gonna have my ass for this. Hawke hisses under his breath and sits straight. He must know what she’s alluding to.
Amanda shifts and faces Bren. “Cash wrote ‘Packed Train’ and sold the rights to Chrome Honey. Did you help write that song?”
“He didn’t.” I flex my chest and get ready to leave. “That was a side project I worked on. He knows nothing about it.”
“You don’t discuss your other business ventures with the group?” Amanda tilts her head, a smug smile curving her lips. “Even when it could affect one of the members in a detrimental way?”
My body tenses. She did this on purpose. This interview’s a setup to drag something into the public that nobody needs to know, especially Livianna.
In a cocaine-induced rage, I wrote the song in a fit of anger and agony. The words are cutting and cruel.
And the worst part about it is when Livianna realizes it’s about her, my chances of winning her back are diminished. Hell, it might ruin any chance I have.
Amanda turns to Bren. “How do you feel knowing Cash wrote a revenge song about Livianna and sold the rights?”
Bren’s voice trembles. “I haven’t paid attention to the words. Besides, who says it’s about her?”
“Can we move on?” I peer over at Cooper, trying to get him to intervene. “Or we can cancel the interview if needed.”
He stares at the floor, shaking his head. Hawke glances around the room, looking anywhere but at me.
We can’t walk out because the label clause says we’ll eat a kill fee if we bolt. Management will make us pay.
“Anyone have input on the subject?” Amanda sweeps a hand toward each of us.
I grind on my molars and try to contain my hostility. “Artists are known for writing about the way they feel. That’s nothing new.”
“So it is about her?” Amanda tosses me a grin like she has me exactly where she wants me.
“Any songs I write about Livianna are for me to know, not the public.” My heartbeat hammers, control slipping by the second.
This Amanda chick doesn’t stop. “Cash, ‘Stripped’ was your breakout hit and was written by you. It’s a beautifully raw love song about how others tore your relationship apart. Many have speculated it was about your ex.
“I can only assume that since you wrote ‘Stripped’ a while ago and ‘Packed Train’ was written recently, your feelings about her have changed quite a bit.”
That does it.
“I’m out!” I rip off my headphones and storm out of the room.
There’s no way I’m gonna let someone else prey on me. I have the power to stop this. And for fucking once, I’m not gonna sit around and take it. It’s just one more strike on the “uncooperative” tally.
Why the fuck did I sell that song? Why do I always do something stupid?
Amanda wanted to stir up a scandal, and fuck if she didn’t deliver. The words to “Packed Train” run through my head as I march to the elevator.
Yeah, I was the first to hit that, called it divine.
Now I go through bodies, crossing all lines.
No backward glance. No midnight call.
You thought I’d fall, but I stand tall.
Yeah, you think you’ve got me figured out.
But I’m a storm women can’t live without.
Feel my fire, hear my sound.
Watch me rise. I won’t back down.
Your sheets still hum my every groove.
While some stranger fakes the moves I proved.
You lie there like it’s all cool, but we both know it’s all a ruse.
Cuz it’s my name on your lips. Yeah, it’s me you choose.
Ten miles deep in this sex-school grind.
Lessons learned, baby, I don’t mind.
I’m on a packed train of lace, leather, and fire.
No stops for has-beens and liars.
Packed train full of satin and skin.
With a rhythm of sin and the hunger to win.
Nooo, babe. I won’t slow down, not for you, not ever again.
Ohhh, babe. I’m speeding through a world where love is pretend.
No more room, no seats for sale.
Just smoke, steel, and a kiss farewell.
You thought I’d crawl when you closed that gate.
But baby, I’ve built tracks from spite and hate.
You taste regret in every breath.
While the day’s playmate is sliding across my chest.
You let him in as soon as I was gone.
But I’m the ghost in your bed, still writing songs.
You’re screaming at a flame that’s died.
But I’m out the door, pride fueling my stride.
Your name’s not etched on this ride.
Just echoes screaming from the other side.
I’m on a packed train of lace, leather, and fire.
No stops left for has-beens and liars.
Packed train full of satin and sin.
I lost the past and found my grin.
Nooo, babe. I won’t slow down, not for you, not again.
Ohhh, babe. I’m speeding through a world where love is pretend.
No more room, no seats for sale.
Just smoke, steel, and a kiss farewell.
You sold OUR souls for a midnight thrill.
Now you’re standing still while I chase the kill.
You’re a rerun, babe. Now I’m the star.
Too loud to miss, I raise the bar.
I’m on a packed train of satin, scars, and sin.
Don’t wave me down.
You won’t get in.
Doors locked tight with a thunderous sound.
I’m gone, girl, and glory bound.
No mercy seat, no looking behind.
Just music, metal, and a savage mind.
I don’t give a fuck ’bout you anymore.
Watch me vanish like smoke through that iron door.
No rearview mirror. No second glance.
You missed your shot. You lost your chance.
Cuz babe, I don’t want you. That’s for sure.
I don’t give a fuck ’bout you anymore.
This train don’t stop. It only slides.
And it’s time for me to slide on by.
All I can think about is what a prick move that was. I slip my shades on and trudge out of the building to find the nearest bar.
I’ve got two hours before soundcheck, and I need to be numb as shit when I get there because there’s no way Bren’s gonna let me get away with this.