Page 64 of On His Knees

Copyright © 2019 by Rachael Stewart

Keep reading for an excerpt from Down & Dirty by Rhenna Morgan, available now from Carina Press!

Down & Dirty

by Rhenna Morgan

CHAPTER ONE

RINGING EARS, A RAW throat and throbbing feet. Every pleasure had its price. A consequence to be paid after the indulgence was over. But for Lizzy, that cost was not only worth it, but necessary. Especially since the bulk of paying her bills came from abandoning herself to the thing she loved most.

Nothing beat sharing her music with a live crowd. Absolutely nothing. There was a connection behind it. A raw energy fueled by the emotions of those around her that flooded her insides and smothered all the day-to-day minutia. All that was left in its wake was pure bliss. An indescribable aliveness akin to fantastic sex—only without the vulnerability and risk of heartbreak.

Hopped up and fresh off the stage from her last set, she strode into the dingy ten-by-twenty storage room that doubled as the bar’s staging area, her bandmates hard on her heels.

“Lizzy, baby! That was fucking awesome!” Tony’s praise ricocheted off the once-white walls now stained with too many years of nicotine. At six-two with long-ish dirty blond hair, dreamy blue eyes and a wicked smile, he attracted female music lovers with little more than a crook of his finger. How the guy could pound the massive drum kit he set up for every show and still have this much energy five hours later, she’d never know, but it’d take him a good two more hours to come down.

She snagged her guitar case off the crude wooden shelf, laid it out along the third-or fourth-hand leather couch and flipped open the lid. “The place might be a dive, but they draw a hell of a crowd.”

“Ain’t the bar that draws the crowd,” Skeet said, following suit with Lizzy and stowing his Telecaster. His vibe was the polar opposite of Tony’s. More of a biker meets cowboy combination with the Marlboro raspy voice to go with it. He paused just before sliding the black-and-white beauty into its plush-lined case and eyeballed her over one shoulder. “It’s you.”

“Man, you keep that shit up, she’s gonna clam up on us again.” Ever the pragmatist, Dewayne—or Phat D as a recent reviewer had dubbed him—propped his Rickenbacker bass on the stand he’d left in the corner and dropped into the oversized black chair in the corner with a sigh. “She knows what she’s capable of. When she’s ready to make a move, she’ll make a move.”

“No shit, Skeet,” Tony said. “Don’t kill our buzz.”

“Not killin’ our buzz. Just drivin’ home my point.”

Said point being that it was time to start working their way into some of Dallas’ better gigs. Of course, to get those gigs you had to have connections and public relations wasn’t exactly her strong suit.

Actually, people in general weren’t her strong suit. “No point to drive home. I’m not sticking to dive bars on purpose. As soon as I can get a foot in the door at the better places, I’ll make a move.”

“You’ve had three promoters hit you up in as many weeks,” Skeet fired back. “You want a foot in the door, you’re gonna need to actually talk to them.”

“And I told you—Rex and I can handle it.”

“Rex is a good guy and a helluva friend, but he ain’t a promoter or a manager. He’s a welder and an artist.”

“He’s also trustworthy and doesn’t fuck us around.”

“Skeet.” D wasn’t the most charismatic of the group, but when he pulled that low grumbly voice, people shut up and paid attention. “Give it a rest.”

“Buzz. Kill,” Tony added.

Lizzy grinned and dug her phone out of her purse. For all Skeet’s hounding, she knew he meant well and wanted the same things she did. Hell, she wanted it about thirty times worse. While the rest of the guys had trade jobs to help pay their bills, ringing up groceries at the local Aldi didn’t exactly set her inspiration on fire. “It’s gonna take a lot more than Skeet pushing me for better gigs to kill tonight’s buzz.”

She glanced at her phone and the unread text message plastered on her home screen.

Rex: Stuck doing overtime. I’ll try to make it, but if I don’t, you’re gonna have to deal with Vic the Dick.

Now, that was a buzz kill.

She thumbed through her passcode and flipped directly to her text app.

Nope. Still the same shitty message.

“What?” Still gripping his sticks, Tony sidled closer and craned his head for a look at her phone.

Lizzy killed the screen, turned her back and tossed her phone back in her purse before he had a chance to read it. The only thing worse than Lizzy dealing with Vic the Dick—AKA the bar owner—was sending Skeet, Tony or D to collect their cash. God knew, they’d tried that approach a time or two and still couldn’t manage to book any return gigs as a result. “Nothing. Just gotta take care of some business.” She schooled her expression the best she could and faced them. “I’m going to go settle up with Vic.”