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“I believe that. I’m just skeptical of how we’re gonna get someone to back us.”

  Seth plucked the strings again and puffed on his cigarette. “We will. Believe you me, it’s coming. If we’re patient, the perfect opportunity will fall in our collective laps.”

  AFTER THEY’D practiced until almost midnight, Seth struggled down the stairs, laughing with Gio and Morty until they’d made it to the door. They’d been downing shots for the duration of practice, and all of them were drunk. He sat on the steps, and the two men stumbled out of his home. Fortunately, they only lived two blocks away from Seth, so they didn’t need to drive. And since they always left their instruments here, they didn’t carry anything.

  “Seth!” Seth’s mother, Ethel, called from the other room.

  “Yeah, Mom.” Seth giggled and pulled his flask from his back pocket.

  “Look here, you wanker! I thought I told you to keep it down! I couldn’t watch the news ’cause of all that racket!”

  “Fuck,” Seth muttered under his breath, then took a swig of the cheap whiskey he’d spent his last few pounds on. “Sorry, Mom. Won’t happen again. I promise you.”

  “That’s what you said last time, and the time before that, and the time before that. Don’t you realize that your noise is disturbing my peace?”

  “Mom, I apol… oh shit.” Seth giggled after belching loudly. “Soorry, Mommy. I promise we’ll be quieter next time.”

  “Right. Make sure you take out the trash before you go to bed, and remember, no smoking in the bedroom either.”

  “Yes, Mom.” Seth finished the contents of his flask, then struggled to get up from his seat. After almost falling backward, he hung on to the stairwell and tromped the few steps to the other bedroom on the first floor. By sleeping in here, he could get up before his mother and take out the garbage as she asked. Being so pissed drunk now, he couldn’t see straight, let alone get to the back door.

  Once he made it, he stripped off his clothing and fell face-first in the bed. Seth was drunk, but he didn’t think he’d have any issues with vomiting or anything during the night. After a bad episode three years ago in London, he’d learned his lesson about overdoing it. Still, it wouldn’t stop him from getting so plastered he wouldn’t be able to walk.

  “Seth! I thought I told you to take out the trash.”

  “Shit.” He was hoping his mother would go straight to bed instead of going in the kitchen, but she proved him wrong.

  “Mom, I prom… ise in the morning, first thing. I’m too pissed right now. I need sleep.”

  “Whatever. I hope your dream comes through soon ’cause right now, it isn’t helping me with the bills. Your pizza delivery job pays decent, but you blow it all on smokes and whiskey!”

  “Mom, I’m gonna make it, right? Jus….” Seth yawned and closed his eyes.

  “When?”

  “Someday.” Seth drifted off, and before he knew it, the whiskey and sleep overtook him.

  SETH WOKE to the sounds of birds chirping outside his window. He tossed the covers off and slowly rose from the pillow. “Ugh.”

  The minute Seth sat upright, his head felt like a dead weight atop his shoulders. He rubbed his temples, trying to soothe the discomfort that resembled being hit with a mallet. He cursed inwardly, knowing he had to open his eyes. Seth wouldn’t be able to sleep in, regardless of how much he wanted to.

  “Shit. I need to stop drinking!” Seth scooted to the edge of the bed and scratched his balls. With one hand on his head and the other on his back, he limped to the bathroom to relieve himself. Once he finished, he washed his hands and trudged back into his bedroom. He grabbed the clothes he’d worn the night before, then put them on.

  “Coffee and lots of drugs. That’s what I need.” Seth slipped into his sandals, then made his way out of the room, to the kitchen. Smells of freshly brewed coffee hit him, and he thanked the gods his mother knew his morning routine.

  Despite wanting the coffee, Seth kept on to the garbage bin and lifted the top. He tied it, pulled it from the bin, then left out the back door to dispose of it. After throwing it in the bin, Seth scampered back. Just as he made it to the door….

  “Seth!”

  Hearing Johnno’s voice, he looked up and nodded. Johnno stood on the sidewalk. “What’s up? Are you coming to practice later?”

  “Hells no. I told you, I’m forming my own band. You don’t appreciate my talent, so I’m taking it elsewhere.”

  “All right. Whatever you say. I’ll keep the spot open for you—”

  “No, I mean it this time. I’m better than you. After I left, I went to the pub, and found some mates who want to start a band. I’m joining ’em.”

  “You’ve gone fucking barmy! You’re not going to make it with those weak riffs you’re playing. Your best bet is to stay with us.”

  “Fuck you! I’m gonna make it, right? I’ll show you who’s the better one!”

  Seth flipped him the bird and walked quickly into the house. He slammed the door and cursed, wondering what the hell they would do without a second guitarist. Sure, he could play all the parts if they got the chance to mix a demo, but after that? Why Johnno figured he’d be better without him, Seth had no clue.

  What Seth knew was the timing for Johnno’s quitting could not have been worse because in his opinion, Higher Stakes had gained enough popularity to finally be rock stars.

  Chapter Three

  “ALL RIGHT, man, ready?”

  Malakei forced one eye open and nodded yes at yet another hip-hop group who wanted to mix a demo. They were friends of Greg’s, and because he had an issue with turning people down, he allowed it.

  “Dope. All right, Jet, kick it.” Sway, the lead lyricist, did just that while he moved to the beat.

  Malakei liked it and bobbed his head too. He loved when artists made their own beats instead of sampling from the classics. Not that he minded it, but in his opinion, when groups did their own thing, it gave them a better sound.

  “Check it. My momma told me long ago, don’t get distracted by worthless hoes. Stay your ass in school….”

  The emcee continued, and Malakei drowned out his nasally voice, getting immersed in the rhythm, until….

  “Fucking faggot!”

  Malakei’s eyes bulged, and he gasped, watching Sway go into the most homophobic rant he’d ever heard.

  How the hell did he get from hoes to fags? Malakei shook his head and sat up in the seat. Listening to Sway continue his expletive-littered rap about the hood, Malakei gripped the arms of his chair. His nails dug into the fabric, and after a couple more lines, he’d made a hole in either side.

  Trying his best to stay under control, Malakei blocked out Sway’s voice and kept up with the background music. It was on point, amazing, but he couldn’t allow someone who was so interested in dissing his community to mix an album with his name on it. They could use his studio, but only if they changed their tune.

  Literally.

  Malakei pressed the button on the board so the performers would hear him. “Stop!”

  The minute Malakei yelled, the music stopped.

  Sway froze.

  Malakei’s assistant producer and friend, Barry, cleared his throat.

  “Yo dawg, wassup?” Sway asked with confusion.

  Malakei stood and crossed his arms in annoyance. He glared at Sway through the glass, as if that look could cut right through it. “In all seriousness, your song insults the LGBTQ community. Obviously, you’re not a fan. Why do you feel the need to talk about it?”

  “Because it’s a damn shame, fam. Too many people—”

  Malakei put his hand up, cutting him off. “Save it. You’re in my studio, and I’m asking you to mix a demo that will make me proud. If you want to do one that degrades the queers and women, then this isn’t the one for you.”

  Sway shrugged. “All right, fam. Sorry. We got anotha cut you might like. It’s a tribute to my momma called ‘God’s Gift.’”

  “That sounds better. An
d I have to ask you. Do you think your mother would approve of the way you’re disrespecting people, especially women?”

  Sway bowed his head and put up his hands. “Man, I meant no offense. I didn’t think of it like that. I suppose you’re right. I don’t like fags, though. I don’t mind disrespecting them.”

  “Well, how about this? Regardless of how you feel about anyone, I won’t allow you to use my equipment spewing hate. So, your hatred of gays needs to stay outside. Do I make myself clear?” Malakei was fully ready to have this clown thrown out if he didn’t.

  “Crystal. Like I said, my bad. Can we start over?”

  Malakei bowed his head and uncrossed his arms. He took his seat. “Yes, you can.” He looked down at Barry and tapped him to record once they started again.

  The beat to this song wasn’t as tight, but the lyrics were better. While Malakei bobbed his head again, he wondered what Sway was thinking when he wrote lyrics calling women hoes. Did he even consider his mother’s feelings? His sisters if he had any? What about his grandmother? Aunt? He understood that many words came out of rage. Heck, many rappers made a living off of it.

  However, Malakei didn’t. His raps were soft-spoken. Music critics called his words thoughtful, compelling, but never weak. He grew up in the hood like Sway and Jet did, but was never moved to write about it. Not that it was wrong. He only wished people put some thought into their words before they spoke. Words could be as hurtful as stones, and Malakei, though he’d been insulted many times and cared nothing about it, well knew of the effects.

  Barry nudged him and smiled as if to say everything sounded good.

  Malakei agreed, especially now that he wasn’t being assaulted through the microphone. Perhaps Sway would see that and pick up on his gratefulness. If he wouldn’t, that was cool too since Malakei wouldn’t be inviting them back into his studio to record.

  By the time they finished three songs Malakei was okay with, he wished them well, and the group left. After having them escorted out, Malakei exhaled and took a seat next to Barry. “So, in your honest opinion, were they good?”

  Barry shrugged. “They were all right. I just don’t get into hip-hop the way I used to. Everything is so stale and boring. I long for the early days of the genre, man.”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” Malakei said with a wry smile. Although he was still young, he appreciated the great rappers who’d come before him.

  “Who’s up next?” Barry asked.

  “Nobody until next Monday. That’ll give you a chance to mix their tape and get it ready for them to send to record companies. Maybe cut a copy for Pete.”

  “Pete? Why?” Barry cocked an eyebrow.

  “Because he’s looking for new talent. Actually, he asked me to help him find YouTube sensations and assist with their careers.”

  “Like, as in mentoring or producing?”

  “A little of both. I know Pete desperately wants me to come back on board with Mustang, but I can’t. I like doing my own thing. I’ve made plenty of money with music and other endeavors. I don’t need any more stress.”

  “And you don’t want to work with your ex.”

  Malakei nodded. “Yeah. If Peter’s father ever found out we dated, he’d keel over from a heart attack.”

  “He sure would. Talk about homophobic!”

  Malakei sat up straight and rolled around his neck. “Yeah. Another reason why I had to get out of that contract. It’s cool, though. Pete and I had a good run. It’s better this way.”

  “Do you still care for him?”

  Malakei turned to meet Barry’s wild brown gaze. He nibbled on his bottom lip and gripped the arms tightly under his nails. He had a crush on Barry, but they were friends. He didn’t want to cross that line of boss and employee again with anyone.

  “Yeah, I do. It didn’t work out, though. He wanted to come out, and I wasn’t ready. His father still hates that he’s gay, but he deals with it because he loves him. Although my parents know, my mother won’t stop trying to set me up with women.”

  Barry laughed. “That’s why you need to come out. If she finally saw you exclaim to the world that you were gay, she’d probably stop trying.”

  “Why? It’s not enough that I repeatedly refuse?”

  “Might not be. Do you know how long it took for mine to get over the fact I’m bisexual?”

  “How long?”

  “At least two years. Now I don’t hear a peep out of them. It helps that they live across country.” Barry chuckled.

  “There is that.”

  “All I’m saying is, it’s time to stop being afraid. You’re at the top. Worth a mint. Stop giving a crap about emcees dissing you and live your life.”

  Malakei knew he was right, but the insecurities of coming out and shocking the world bothered him.

  Kwan Phelps and Genie Letty came out with no problems, but they weren’t household names like Malakei. Malakei, otherwise known as M. Prophet, was on many people’s lips, and if he came out as gay, the hip-hop community would definitely disown him.

  Chapter Four

  “SO YOU really did it this time, eh?”

  “Wot?” Seth asked Morty. He lit another cigarette and blew smoke into the air of their makeshift practice space otherwise known as his upstairs bedroom.

  “He’s cheesed off, so he quit. You shouldn’t have been so mean.”

  “Bollocks! Johnno couldn’t handle the truth.”

  “You know to be bent, you are rather rough and tumble.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  Morty put up his hands in surrender. “Dude, just saying.”

  Seth glared at his friend. “Are you done telling me how bad I treated Johnno? I want to record this song for YouTube. Now is the time ’cause my mom’s not here. That way we can play as loud as we want.”

  Gio gasped at that. “What? I’m not ready to go on camera. I haven’t even fixed my hair.”

  Seth looked back at Gio and grinned. “And you give me flack cause I’m gay! Fluff it up a bit, mate, and quit whining.”

  “How? We ain’t got a backup guitar,” Morty asked.

  “We don’t need one. We’ll do this as a three-piece. We’ll add a fourth later on. We ain’t got time now.”

  “‘Finders’ requires two guitars and bass.”

  “Not the way I’m playing it. I worked on it with a hangover yesterday, so it would fit the two pieces. Same sound and beat, but a different angle. C’mon, are you in or what?” Seth pinched the end of his cigarette and placed it behind his ear.

  “Yeah, in.” Morty turned around and picked up his bass.

  Seth spun on his heel and harrumphed. After pressing the record button on his mother’s ancient video cam, he picked up his guitar and slung it over his shoulder. Then, Seth plucked a few strings while pressing the pedal.

  “Okay, ready, a one, two….” Seth counted, and Gio started banging the drums; then Morty came in on the back end. Seth cleared his throat and moved along to the beat while running his fingers across the neck of the axe. He stopped at the edge, then plucked a few more strings before screaming like a banshee into the microphone.

  Morty and Gio appeared to be as into the song as Seth was. Who would’ve known the three of them would play like this in front of no one?

  While he furiously thrummed the guitar, Seth headbanged to the rhythm. He wanted “Finders” to be the tune someone would pick up on right away. “Finders” was a good mix of old punk and genuine thrash without all the frills. With no Johnno, it would be an assaulting four-minute track.

  Seth pumped his fist in the air while he growled the newest lyric. He’d written them himself after Johnno quit. The best words to come out were the angrier ones, and Johnno’s departure gave him all the fodder he needed.

  Once they finished, the three of them played the tune on Seth’s laptop, admiring themselves on screen.

  “Wow, dude, that was fucking amazing. Maybe you’re right about us not needing anyone else.”
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br />   Seth smiled confidently. “Yeah, at least not now. We’re gonna grab whoever sees this by the balls and not let go.”

  “Ah, betcha love that analogy,” Gio quipped.

  Both men laughed, but Seth didn’t find it all that amusing.

  “Piss off, you tosser. I’m sure I’d get more pussy than either of you if I were into it.”

  “Ooh. Is that a challenge?” Morty laughed.

  “It is. When we go to the pub, we’ll see who gets more numbers. Me, you, or Gio.” Seth smiled.

  “And if one of us wins?” Morty asked.

  “Hmm. I don’t have much money, so let’s say, I’ll carry your bass or your drums to the next few gigs.”

  “And if you win?” Gio asked him, cocking an eyebrow.

  “One of you lot will carry my guitar; then the other buys me a pack of cigarettes.”

  “Hey! Why don’t you buy one of us liquor, too? That’s only fair.”

  “No, because it’s only one of me against you two dicks. And since I made up the bet, arseholes, we do it under my rules. Now, take it or leave it.” Seth yanked the cig’ from behind his ear and lit it again.

  “Fine. You’re on,” Morty said.

  Gio chuckled heartily along with Seth. He shook hands with Morty, well aware this would be easy as pie.

  Morty and Gio should’ve known that Seth drew attention like moths to a flame. Men, women, children, dogs, didn’t matter. His charm and Brummie accent were like pheromones to most. Too bad it hadn’t helped to snag him a boyfriend as of yet, or at least not one he could see himself with long-term.

  Although Seth considered himself pure rock and roll, Seth didn’t want just any bloke in his bed. He had to be strong, preferably out, and financially stable. Seth didn’t need to be caught up with someone stuck in the situation he was. What kind of fun could they have if Seth and his partner lived with their parents?

  Seth’s prime choice would be the main object of his affection, but when would he ever get the chance for that? He had about as much of a chance with Malakei Oakley as he had getting voted in as the next mayor of London.