Beyond the Stix (Warrior Black #2)

Chapter 1

ONE

CURRENT DAY

Connor

I’m in the zone. With my favorite sticks in hand, I hammer out a stream of beats I have put to memory. The flow of the music thrums through me, making me feel higher than the sun.

Danny belts out the last chorus to the song we wrote together during our short U.S. tour. Then I end the set with Raef, our lead guitarist, finishing it off with the final chord.

As my stick connects with the crash cymbal, I immediately choke it. The buzzing energy from the metal reverberates through my fingertips and settles in the air like a living thing.

“Fucking A,” Bobby, our hyped-up keyboardist shouts with glee. “Now that is going to hit high on the charts.”

“Chill out, Hicks,” Callum smoothly says. Our bass guitarist smiles huge, before nodding in silent agreement with Bobby’s statement.

It’s about fucking time Callum is back to his old calm self. He’d been acting strange, especially during our smaller gigs, when we have extra security around us. But whatever was up his ass is gone now.

“Maybe we should go over it one more time.” Danny takes out a tube of lip balm from his jeans pocket and slathers some over his lips. I sniff. Cherry. It’s one of his favorite flavors, and from the wide grin on his boyfriend slash bodyguard’s face, it’s Tobias’s, too.

“I think it rocks,” Raef says as he gives Danny a thumbs up. “I think we nailed it.”

“At least once more before I jump into the booth.” My best friend looks over to the window where Ron and the sound guy are sitting in the control room. “What do you think?”

Danny’s nervous, and understandably so. This particular song is darker and a hell of a lot grittier than some of the other songs we have written. For me especially, the words have a deeper meaning. When we wrote it, Danny and I knew we had to add it to the new album. But I wonder if he’s having second thoughts.

“You did great, Danny. I think three takes was enough, though. Let’s take a lunch break,” Ron says through the speaker.

“If you think so,” Danny relents with a slight frown, and then heads toward the door, where his boyfriend stands waiting for him.

Tobias Grant reaches for my best friend and pulls him in for a gentle kiss. “It sounds amazing, babe. You have nothing to worry about. Besides, you really didn’t eat this morning.” That tender reassurance brings a smile out of Danny.

I love seeing him so happy. It’s about damn time too, after the craziness that last year had brought him. And especially how Siles had treated him like a punching bag. Thank fuck that asshole is serving time for his involvement in Danny’s abduction.

Though, I don’t know how he does it. My thoughts to John—I’d be wary of giving that much trust to a lover.

Of course, I trust my parents—even if my father decided to have his brother back in his life. And I do trust my bandmates, especially Danny. But that’s as far as it goes.

“I just want the song to be good,” Danny adds as he hangs onto his man. Tobias’s dog, Saint, is sitting by his feet, tail wagging, and patiently waiting for attention from my friend. He gives the dog a few pets and a kiss on the top of its head. “Who’s a good boy?”

“Where in the security handbook does it say that you can snuggle your bodyguard while he’s on duty?” I jest, and try to pull Danny away from Tobias.

“Want to keep your hands?” Tobias growls, before yanking Danny back to his broad chest and wrapping his beefy arm around my friend.

Sometimes, a slight pang of jealousy ekes out, and I have to quickly shove it back in the dark recesses of no-man’s land.

I raise both hands. “Touchy—Now who’s starving? Me! I want Choy’s. It’s Thursday and the special today is all the fried rice you can eat.” I spin around and eyeball every one of my friends.

“Count me in.” Raef gives me a thumbs up before he carefully places his Strat in its case. He walks over to Bobby and casually flicks him on the side of his head. “Are you coming?”

Bobby flips him off. “Not yet… But I won’t say no to Choy’s.” He waggles his brows and chuckles at his own stupid joke. He follows Raef out of the live room, playfully shoving him.

“Jesus,” Tobias mutters under his breath. “Those two need to get a room.”

“No way in hell,” I reply, shaking my head. “They’ll burn down the stage if that ever happens. No, they are too good of friends to hook up.”

“Connor’s right,” Danny explains. “But?—”

My stomach grumbles. “Food,” I cut off whatever Danny is about to say, and follow the rest of the band out of the room.

As I step into the control area, my eyes survey the back lounge. There are four additional bodyguards standing near the back. My attention moves past Pen, Cal, and Dom and lands on a familiar broad back and a nice bubble ass in black slacks.

John Brand, my bodyguard. From the looks of his black hair, he got it cut short. A sting of disappointment flashes through me as I remember how his hair felt in my hand. I quickly shove the recollection out of my head and paste on a bored look. The last thing I want anyone to know is that I hooked up with John.

It’s been seven months, and since then he’s barely given me the time of day. Seven months since the night he made me fly and come so hard that my balls hurt. It’s also the night he walked away without uttering a single word to me like I’m a toy to fuck around.

Since that night, John has been even more aloof and strictly professional than usual. One word replies and stone-cold stares are all I get from him. It was his choice to mark the line I can’t cross, which is fine by me. I don’t need him anyway.

Well, I keep telling myself that. But try as I might, no matter how hard I pretend not to be bothered by John’s indifference, I can’t escape the yearning for another taste of his mouth or my desire for his hands on my body.

Yet, hell has to freeze over first before I let him touch me again.

Thus, I keep my distance.

I just hope my craving for John ebbs before I do something stupid, like pull out my dick and jerk off all over him, and claim him as mine.

Christ, can I be any more desperate ?

John turns his head slightly and narrows his eyes at me as though he knows my thoughts. Before he goes back to talking with Joe, the sound engineer—who in my opinion is too fucking close for comfort to my bodyguard, I hear Joe say, “We should meet up sometime.”

“Sure,” John replies with slight hesitancy, but I can’t see his face to gauge if my bodyguard really means it.

Nevertheless, a fIash bomb of jealousy explodes in my head. But I remain cool and walk over to them, like I don’t give two fucks if John says yes.

“Hey. We’re heading out for lunch. Want to join us?” I’m asking Joe this, but I can see out of the corner of my eye that John’s lips pinch tight.

“Where’re you heading?” Joe directs his smarmy smile my way.

The man has been wanting in my pants for a while, but I keep turning him down. And yet, here he is, asking John out. Douche bag .

“We’re heading to Choy’s,” I say with a fake, wide grin. Why not? Give John a bit of his own medicine.

“For security purposes, he can’t,” John says flat out. I meet his blue eyes—normally they’re so mesmerizing. But right now, they’re radiating fire in their depths. He’s not happy. Good .

“Why not?” I ask John, folding my arms across my chest. “Was there a security breach I don’t know about?”

Danny walks over and slides his arm around my waist and pulls me back. “Stop being an asshole, Wildman. Come on, we’re all hungry.”

“Who’s being an asshole?” Bobby sticks his head back into the room.

Danny points at me.

“Stop fucking around, Connor. I’m starving,” our keyboardist grumps. The man has a skinny plastic pixie stick dangling from his mouth. Ever since we called him out on his heavy drinking, Bobby switched from alcohol to sugar. I guess this vice is better than the other.

“You’re always hungry,” I chuff. But I can’t help swinging my attention back to John. “John says Joe can’t come with us.”

“Actually, I can’t.” Joe’s shoulders slump forward. “I have some things here I need to finish,” he admits, his attention shifting to John. “We’ll talk later?”

“Sure.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

What the fuck ever.

“Let’s get out of here, I need food.” Danny nudges me toward the door before he takes Tobias’s hand.

“I’ll give you something to eat,” Tobias whispers in Danny’s ears, but I hear it.

“Will you two shut that shit down?” I cover my ears with both hands. “Lalalalala. My poor brain can’t handle such gushy, lovey-dovey crap anymore.” I mock shudder.

“Stop fucking around and let’s go,” Raef calls over his shoulder.

“I’m coming.” I reply, dropping my hands. Suddenly, I feel heat at my back.

I freeze on the spot as John whispers into my ear. “You’re not coming yet, but that can be arranged.” He then passes me, a triumphant smirk on his face, and strides right out the door with the rest of the group.

My mouth drops open in shock as my dick stands to attention. Damn it. I will my cock to go down.

The man hasn’t given me the time of day for seven fucking months, and then all of a sudden, he whispers that shit to me?

I want to tell him, you fucking wish , when my cell goes off.

I pull out my phone, glance down at the screen, and see it’s my mother’s number. Normally, we talk on the weekends. So, this impromptu Thursday call has me quickly tapping the screen. “Hey?—”

“Connor, you need to come home,” she chokes out as her sob tears through the phone.

I don’t understand some of the words she’s saying. “Mom, slow down. What happened?”

“Your father. He collapsed at work. A heart attack—I don’t know—he’s not waking up—just come home,” she wails.

“What hospital?” I gulp down the sharp pain growing in the back of my throat. My eyes sting from impending tears, but I suck in a ragged breath and look at my friends, who are all now crowding around me.

“Lutheran General,” she sobs loudly.

“Alright. Just hold on, Mom. I’ll catch the soonest flight out.”

“O-kay,” she says with a hitch. “Connor?”

“Yes, Mom?”

“Hurry. The doctors don’t think your father will make it through the night,” she says before hanging up.

My mother’s dire declaration is a hard blow to my solar plexus. All the air in my lungs escapes, leaving me suddenly hollow and fearful that I won’t make it in time to see my father.

“What happened?” Danny frantically asks, reaching for me.

“My dad. Mom says he collapsed. Heart attack or something—she’s not sure. I have to get to the hospital.” A blanket of ice wraps around me, and I shiver. I might lose my father, the one man who gave me the world. And the last words I said to him were bitter and cutting.

“Then we head home,” Danny affirms, drop-kicking me out of my thoughts. His fingers grip my hand tight. He’s an anchor to the brewing storm whirling inside me. He’s the only one who knows about the argument I had with my father, and how I haven’t talked to him in several months—not even after the concert at the Ball Arena he and my uncle supposedly went to.

I wish I could take back all the nasty words I said to Dad, and tell him I’m sorry for being a fucking idiot. I’d even give Jessup all the concert tickets he wants, if it guarantees that my father will live.

“I’m calling the higher ups,” Ron says. “They might let us use the company jet.” Our band manager puts the cellphone to his ear and steps away.

For some reason, the heat at my back gives me comfort. Assuming it’s one of my friends, I turn my head, and instead I find John. The strength evident in his gaze only bolsters my need to remain calm and think positive thoughts about my father’s condition. But there’s really no illusion possible after my mother’s words that Dad’s at death’s door.

“The jet is clear for us. We have two hours before it takes off,” Ron says and grips my shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I lie openly, as my mind races ahead to all of the what ifs. No, I’m far from okay, but I try to keep the mudslide of bad thoughts from flowing out of my mouth.

“I wish I could go, but I have things keeping me here. But I’ll call for updates,” Ron adds, with a note of sorrow. “I’ll cancel the promo appearances that are coming up for you guys. I’m sorry, Connor.” He blows out a breath and releases his grip on my shoulder.

“He’s not dead yet,” I utter, unable to raise my voice above a whisper.

“No, he’s isn’t.” Ron nods.

“Don’t worry. We’ll make sure to keep you abreast of any news,” Callum says with watery eyes. He too, is close to my father. Dad had been there when Callum’s father wasn’t.

All of my friends, who have been at my house—slept over—engaged with my parents thousands of times, hung out with my dad, are also feeling the ache. I see it in every one of my friends’ faces.

As we take off from SFO’s tarmac headed to Chicago, I repeatedly wish for my father to stay alive, and to get better. But I’m afraid of wishing may be beyond my luck.