Chapter 1
ONE
A year ago . . .
M y voice fills the club, along with the pounding drums and shredding guitars as we perform. I slide my hand down my torso, my oversized black shirt coming loose, exposing my muscles underneath. My leather pants are so tight, they leave nothing to the imagination as I thrust and dance.
I feel Fox before the crowd cheers.
He presses against my back, but I continue to sing, trying not to mess up the lyrics as his hand slides around me, taking over from where I was, and I shudder under his caress.
The crowd gasps as he rips open the rest of my shirt, exposing my slick chest and abs.
I lean back into him, seeking his warmth and strength.
It doesn’t help that his hand keeps sliding down, and anticipation fills me along with desire.
It’s wrong to get hard on stage, and it’s wrong how much I love the show he puts on for the fans, especially since it isn’t real.
We only do this on stage, but it feels real, leaving me flustered and panting as I sing.
His long, talented fingers that spend hours plucking strings stroke my skin lower and lower for the crowd as our lead guitarist flirts with their favorite lead singer.
I don’t know when we became like this. It just happened, our flirting getting worse, and the crowd, no matter the size, eats it up every time, but Fox has started to push how far he takes it. My eyes widen as he slides his hand lower and grabs my dick through my jeans.
I jerk, but he keeps me in place, holding my cock as he grinds with me to the music as the crowd claps and sings along. Die-hard fans know the lyrics, while others just dance. His mouth brushes my ear, making me shiver as I drop the mic for the drum solo.
I should pull away, but I don’t. Instead, I lean into his touch, and his lips tilt in a smile. His words are just for me, nobody else.
“You feel good, dirty boy.” He places a teasing kiss against my pulse and releases me, moving past me as he grabs his guitar. Swinging it around, he appears totally unaffected while I pant and gawk at him.
Before Fox, I was always the ever cool, unaffected Ryker, the bad boy of Sanctuary, but something about him puts me on edge, and I’m unable to fake it with him.
Fox, on the other hand, smirks at the crowd and drops to his knees as he leans back, shredding his solo, his built chest glistening with sweat and ink under the lights.
His hair is a deep, midnight blue at the moment, and it’s slicked back with sweat and gel.
His eyes are outlined and darkened with liner, and his lips are bright red with two spikes in his bottom lip.
More piercings line his ears on both sides, and he has one in his nose and one in his eyebrow. He looks like every rock star should, with a perfect fucking face that drives everyone wild and bulging muscles in his arms as he works the guitar.
There is nothing sexier than the way Fox plays, and he knows it.
He eats it up, working the crowd like he works me.
Dash comes over and leans into me. “You good?”
I startle from my musings and grin at our bassist. “Always, brother.” I smirk as I swing the mic up as he strums the bass. I glance at Strike to see him hitting the drums so hard, he’ll be bleeding later.
We always give it our all, acting like every performance is our last, because it could be.
When Fox starts to reach the end of his part, I step behind him, determined to return the favor. Gripping his hair in one hand, I tip his head back as I begin to sing the last chorus, but my eyes are on him as he smirks up at me.
It’s a filthy fucking smirk that makes me think thoughts I should not be thinking about my bandmate.
When the last note of the song dies out, Fox pushes to his feet, winking at me as he returns to his stand and takes a drink.
I search for mine, but it’s gone, and when I go to grab another, Fox is there, his guitar over his shoulder.
He pinches my chin and tilts my head back since he’s taller than me, and as the audience watches, he moves closer, almost pressing our lips together, and lets the water dribble from his mouth to mine.
Some drips over my lips and down my chin, and as I swallow, he leans down and licks it away before stepping back and swinging his guitar around for the final song. I recover as quickly as I can, grinning at the crowd as the next song on our set kicks in.
This one is fast, and I hop around the stage, shouting into the mic, the beat coursing through my veins until I become the music.
I am the music. Everything else is gone.
Fox rolls his hips into his guitar as I lean into him, our eyes meeting as something passes between us—something we never talk about. My lips press to the mic as my gaze drops to his lips as he mouths the lyrics. His sweaty skin slides over mine as we dance to the beat of the rock song.
His arm slips around my waist from behind as I lean back, hitting the last note. I lean farther into him, allowing myself that moment of weakness before the spotlight fades and the last note dies.
I pull away, knowing the unwritten rules for both of us—this ends when we leave the stage—and peer at the crowd once more.
“Thank you for coming and goodnight! We are Sanctuary!” I yell into the mic, dismayed by the dismal clapping and cheers from the small crowd.
The venue is a dive bar, but it’s dead even though it’s a Saturday night.
It’s just another set in a long line of empty shows and hopeless performances, but we bound off stage with smiles since we got to perform.
All of us pretend we aren’t rapidly losing hope that we will ever be successful.
The high of performing quickly wears off when the bar hands us a measly hundred bucks.
We smile and pack our shit into our van, which also doubles as our bedroom while we tour from city to city, trying to catch our big break.
It’s a tight fit, and when we give up trying to find somewhere to park for the night and just pull over on the side of the road farther out of the city, Strike and Dash collapse in the back, asleep in seconds.
Snores fill the van as Fox heads outside.
I watch him go. It’s the only time I allow myself to look at him like this.
He's quiet and withdrawn tonight, which isn’t like him. Checking the van and pulling on the privacy curtains, I hesitate before I climb onto the shared mattress in the back, and instead, I leave Strike and Dash so I can check on Fox.
Strike’s and Dash’s snores reach us as I wander over to Fox and sit carefully on the rail next to him. He holds a beer in one of his hands as he looks over the city and its dazzling lights.
“Another quiet night,” he murmurs. “Just the few die-hard fans that follow us from place to place. Hell, they probably sleep better than we do.” He glances back at the van with a small smile, the sight making me gulp.
This close, I can see the freckle right below his left eye, the one that drives me insane.
Something about it only makes him that much more beautiful.
It isn’t something I ever thought I would call a man, but he really is beautiful, even away from the lights and makeup.
“True.” I force the word out and look back at the city so he doesn’t catch me staring.
Bandmates. Friends.
I remind myself that we are nothing more.
I’ve never felt this way about another guy before.
When he took the lead guitarist spot after our last one quit, I knew he was trouble.
I just had no idea how much. Before he arrived, I could flirt with my band, dance, and sing to get attention, but with him it’s different—it means something, at least for me.
I might want Fox in a way I’ve never wanted another, but I know our deal, so I won’t act on it.
We are bandmates, and nothing comes before that, not even my own desire.
Instead, I fulfill that urge everywhere else, trying to forget the way he touches me and stop myself from imagining the way he would taste.
As always, though, it’s his eyes I see when I fuck strangers.
“Hmm, the smallest we’ve seen,” I say, feeling the dejection as well.
We’ve been performing together for years.
Fox only joined us in the last six months, but Sanctuary was around for long before that.
We have a small devoted fan base, but it isn’t enough.
I’m starting to think that we’ll never make it.
Just because we have talent as a band doesn’t mean we’ll get fame and fortune, and I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t why I do it. Yes, music is my soul, and I can’t do anything but sing, but it would sure as fuck be nice if we could earn a living from it.
Fox’s eyes swing to me for a moment as he hands me a beer.
“Despite it all, I kind of love it. I wouldn’t give it up for anything, even if only one person came to see us .
. . I got to play and sing with all of you.
I got to make music and do what I love. I just wish we could do better—not for me, but for you and the guys who gave up everything to chase this dream. ”
“So did you,” I remind him, nudging his shoulder as I play with my beer. “Yeah, you joined us later, but you’re still one of us, chasing the dream. You left your home and a stable future just like we did to be here.”
He nods, looking back at the city. “I guess every band has to do this, right? Work their asses off just to get noticed. It’s normal, but it’s starting to feel a little hopeless.”
I frown at his remark. If there is one thing Fox is, it’s endlessly hopeful. He’s always smiling and making everyone else laugh. Honestly, it used to drive me insane, but now I hate the frown on his lips.
His beautiful face wasn’t made to cry, and I’d do anything to see his bright smile.
“We’ll make it. I promise.” I drape my arm over his shoulders, wanting him closer, though I never look too closely at why, and keep my eyes on the city.
“We have the talent, and one day, we’ll be out there with our name in lights and thousands of people screaming it.
Until then, we have each other, cold beers, and music. ” I tap my bottle to his.
“And each other,” he adds, leaning into me. “You’re right. The music is all that matters. I have to trust in that . . . in us.” His eyes meet mine for a moment, and I swallow words I can never say.
The night closes in around us as we stare into each other’s eyes, lost in one another.