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Holy hell! They're hot as hell!
Wow! @whisperedwordsband! Who are you? You sound so good!
Fan for life!
My eyes widen as I scroll through the comments, and I flush. If this is what even a sliver of fame feels like, then I'm fucking blown away. All these people are lining up to get a piece of us and begging for more videos and performances. Some are local people. But most are scattered across the country and overseas.
Holy shit.
The list goes on with more intrusive questions just as our newest video hits one-million views on ClockTok. Disbelief slams through me as the numbers climb and climb with each passing second. We’ll be internet sensations before the night is through, and everyone will shout our names. Now, we need to deliver more performances to the masses before we fade into obscurity before the competition.
It's hard to believe that just yesterday, my father forced us to play an impromptu concert for the neighborhood. Begrudgingly, of course. Never in a million years would he actually want us to live out our little fantasy, as he calls it. But when the public wants something, my father will deliver.
My father's talk from yesterday rattles in my mind when he pulled me away from the cookout and threw me into his office with such force I landed on my ass with a grunt. The pain seared up my tailbone, letting me know the kind of mood he was in.
"Stay away from the trash, son. You're a fucking embarrassment," my father hisses, sending a fist into my gut as we stand in his brightly-lit office.
All the breath leaves my body when I double over, counting to ten. Desperation to remove myself from here clamps my tongue down. I refuse to say a goddamn thing and inflict more pain on my body when I could simply shut my mouth and walk away. One day, I won’t have to endure his angry fists—but that day is not today.
"Stand up straight," he barks, grabbing me by the collar and yanking me up despite the pain of his blow knotting my stomach.
My lips pop open when he releases me and leans against his mahogany desk in a relaxed pose. River teases me that a demon resides in my body, but the actual devil stands before me with black eyes, a cruel smile, and a wicked right hook.
"Enlighten me on why the trash is eating my food. Judge Drake seems to think she's nothing but a whore, luring you in for money," he says in a smooth voice, straightening his ten thousand dollar suit he insisted on wearing to the catered cookout. “And we all know what happens when a whore lures a man of our status in with her pussy.” He raises a brow, alluding to the woman he married and now loathes.
My father may be a good business owner, making more money than anyone in a ten-mile radius. But as a father? He's shit. It’s no wonder my mother buried her anguish in a needle and slowly poisoned her veins to leave his tight grip. Some days, I wish I could do the same. Financially, though? I’m stuck, rooted in the spot with nowhere to run.
"She's not luring us in for money," I say in a small voice, locking my hands together in front of me. I keep my eyes down low and my body locked tight. The last thing I want to do is provoke the devil even more, but I have to tell him something believable. "We're the ones using her."
She may not be after our money, but there's something about River West that makes me want to either fuck her or run her off. She's dangerous for us; I don't know to what extent. Something is nagging in the back of my mind warning me to watch my back and my boys. They’re my family, and I’ll be damned if one chick swoops in and ruins what my family has built for the past five years.
My father scoffs, checking his watch. "Right. Using her?" Great. He wants me to elaborate more than I fucking should.
I clear my throat. "River is Corbin West's daughter. He owns…" Ding. Ding. Ding. For once in my short life, I’ve uttered the correct words he wants to hear. His eyes light up and widen, and his body puffs up with pride.
"I know who he is and what he owns," my father barks in a deep voice. Bravely, I meet his eyes. His lips purse, and he nods, something churning in his mind. "That man is worth more than this entire neighborhood combined and more than Montgomery Inc." He opens his lips to possibly say more but rethinks it when he shakes his head, redirecting the conversation. "The neighbor, Susie, specifically requested you boys to put on a show for the neighborhood. She says you sound really good for a waste of time and would like a live concert."
"A show?" I ask, my heart pounding against my chest at the prospect of playing in front of the crowd.
"Get your fucking guitars and shit and bring it out. You and the boys are performing tonight." He steps forward, towering over me with a twisted face. "Don't fuck this up and embarrass the family, Asher. Make it good."
"Of course, sir," I say quickly, taking a step toward the door, aching to escape the oppressive atmosphere putting pressure on my chest.
"Impress me, boy," he mutters from his desk. "Prove to me it's not a waste of time." My eyes widen when I leave the office and head out the door, trailing Kieran and Rad just as he pushes Van off River.
That conversation was all the permission I needed. I felt lighter than I had in days, elated at the opportunity to impress my overbearing and relentless father. If I showed him what we could do, even for a night, we’d have a better shot at making it all real.
That night, we blew everyone away with our raw talent, drawing praise from the drunk housewives and stuffy old men. My fucking father even nodded in my direction with a sense of pride swallowing him. He didn’t utter another word to me that night, instead locking himself away in his office. Even Gloria stood stupefied by the closed door and retreated somewhere in the house. For one night, the man who always disapproved of our actions left us alone.
Turning my attention back to the screen, I smile. There we are with the sun to our backs, barely beaming down. Dusk settles in, leaving nothing but a pink sky as our backdrop.
Kieran leads us into the beginning of our set list, starting withMidnight. His voice rings through the microphone, and his piercing eyes follow the camera as it moves in front of him, getting a close-up. The smirk that lights up his face and the sparkle in his eyes makes my heart drop into my stomach. As she moves, his eyes follow like a predator watching his prey, ready to pounce.
River leans the camera over Kieran's shoulder, capturing Rad's intense grin. His arms pound the sticks into the snares several times before crashing them into the cymbals and back down to the rest of the kit. Rad's tongue pokes out from between his lips, and a look of concentration crosses his face. But when his eyes find River standing before him with the camera, he brightens completely and watches her as she backs away, turning to Callum and then me. Throughout the rest of the performance, their eyes follow her every move, never straying from her presence.
"Dude! It's fucking amazing!" Rad whoops, slumping down on the couch beside me with a dopey grin. Bringing a beer to his lips, he takes a long swig and then sighs when he pulls it back.
"One million views and counting," I gape, shaking my head in disbelief. Who knew this many people would want to see us perform?
