The Brawl (5 page)

There wasn’t a hint of a smile on the woman’s lips, but there was something new...color. Kitt remembered the drive to the jailhouse, her reflection in the rearview. She wore very little on her face, but as she stood before them, a bit of redness lit up her juicy lips.
 

“Kitt. I’m gonna need to ask you some questions.” Then, as if she was convincing herself just as much, she added, “Official stuff for the report.” Her voice was cold and still, but her eyes and the lips said more than her words ever could. Kitt was used to the look, but not the look pointed in his direction. He’d stood beside Colton as women gave the lead singer and star those eyes.

None of them were stupid. They all knew what was going on, but Kitt and Colton were in shock. Not because of the offer, but because of who the offer was being extended to. Colton was offended, but only lasted a second. An almost childish smile came to his face, after all, Kitt was going to get them sprung. “Better go answer the nice lady’s questions, brother.”

Kitt wanted to sock Colton in the face, consequences be damned. His knuckles were already sore and cut in a few places, but what’s one more when it comes to shutting up an idiot brother.

Not turning away from the officer, Kitt just gave her a nod. Their eyes were locked, and Kitt’s heart leapt. When she slid a key into the lock, he couldn’t deny the metaphor at work before them. Later, Kitt would swear that the officer cracked the faintest smile as she turned the key, pulling an ancient metal clank from the cell door.

As Colton stood watching, Kitt moved through the door. Officer Harbaugh didn’t even give Colton the time of day. He made no move for the door, but Colton had the notion that he could pass right by her without making the cop flinch. She had eyes for only one of the Wade brothers, and for a real change of pace, it wasn’t the star.

Once Kitt was in the small hallway and beyond the cell door, she closed and locked it back up. She headed towards the door leading into the offices, confident that Kitt would follow. Kitt turned and gave his brother a shrug. A phrase came to his mind. It was a phrase he could have easily heard coming from Colton if the roles had been reversed.
Gotta do what you gotta do.

Roger’s forehead pressed against the side window. He had worked himself into the most comfortable position available inside the rental, his phone set to wake him at quarter till eight. Just about the time he had given up on sleep, it had come. It was the kind of sleep that would leave his neck sore and cursing, but it was sleep nonetheless. When the knock on the door sprang him awake, he didn’t register that he was still belted in.

He flailed forward before the seatbelt yanked him back and into the seat. “Oh, Christ.” Shoving the belt from his face, he blinked away he remains of his restless, aching sleep. Colton was leaning down outside the car, a fool’s grin on his face. The grin that told Roger something hadn’t gone according to plan. Behind him, Kitt stood with his arms crossed, a stone look on his face. Roger looked past them to the small police building that held them,
until recently, apparently.

Colton knocked again, “Ain’t we got a gig in Austin to get to? And you, out here catchin’ some Zs like we ain’t in a hurry.” He shook his head.

“What?” As Roger took in the scene outside his car, any number of terrible possibilities sprang into his head. Jailbreak. No matter how or when it happened, the two had escaped. “Oh god, I don’t wanna know, do I?” He reached down to hit the unlock button.

Colton’s voice, muddy through the glass, was beyond chipper for five in the morning. “You surely do, boss. You are gonna wanna hear every sordid detail.”

Colton threw open the passenger door, Roger’s mind still reeling and struggling to comprehend, “Just tell me she’s alive in there.” He looked over at the small brick building. No smoke or flames shot through any windows or the roof. There was that, at least.

“Alive and well. Quite well,” Colton clicked in his seatbelt and turned around to stare at Kitt behind him, “Ain’t that right, Kitt?”

Roger didn’t want to know what that look between the brothers was all about. He knew, but he didn’t
want to.
 

“Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell.” Kitt was already finding a comfortable spot to fall asleep. Roger faced forward.
Always keep moving forward.
He fired up the rental and pulled the gearshift out of Park.

“Gentlemen don’t do what you did to that poor girl.” Colton let out a raspy laugh before tilting the seat back and throwing his shades on. The sun wasn’t even beginning to show itself, yet.

Roger began to follow the directions on his phone towards Austin. He saw Kitt in the rearview mirror, eyes closed. He looked over to Colton, who was finding his own comfortable spot, eyes already closed. It was a long drive to Texas, and he wasn’t going to have much company.

Pulling up Spotify, Roger played the latest album by Gracie Hart. She shared the same record label as Colton and The Guilty Party, but most similarities ended there. She was a mega star. What had begun as a strong country career had rocketed into pop with ease. Gracie Hart was a chart-topper. Roger thought her country songs were a little stronger, but he couldn’t deny that the nineteen year-old could write a hit song like nobody’s business.

“The fuck we listening’ to this trash for?” Colton didn’t open his eyes.

Roger shook his head, “This
trash
sells millions of units a year. She gets tens of thousands of plays per day, and she can do
anything she wants
. Gracie Hart should be your model for success. The girl is unstoppable.”

“We’re playin’ ACL, ain’t we?”

Roger nodded, “She’s been on three times, even after she switched to pop.”

Colton twisted around beneath the seatbelt, “Other than lookin’ hotter than fire, I don’t see no point in botherin’ with her.”

“You should. She’s not even twenty, and she’s a millionaire.”

“Hot piece of ass.” Colton’s voice began to lull. Maybe the smooth voice of Gracie Hart was putting him to sleep. “Wouldn’t mind checking her off my list…”

If you enjoyed this brief glimpse into the life of Colton Wade, and you want to read what happens next, check out the full length novel,
Outlaw Country
, available now!

For a taste of Colton Wade and Gracie Hart, here’s the first chapter of
 

“Great show boys!” Colton’s voice was ragged, but it was always ragged. It was his voice. It was
the
voice. Colton Wade was the new voice of country music.

Roy Boy and Lee raised a red Solo cup, other members of The Guilty Party were already too distracted by the groupies to take notice. After all, they played a great show every night. The Guilty Party were one of the tightest bands in the country, and Colton led them with both pride and power.

He threw back a double shot of SoCo, then abandoned the red cup in favor of the bottle. Looking around the green room, Colton took in his empire. The six men in his band had been slowly getting some name recognition over the last two years. A constant string of shows with albums recorded in between had taken them from bar-band openers to a rising contender for country act of the year.

Colton’s heart was still racing from the screams of the fans. It was mostly women who had pushed and shoved their way against the fence just beyond the front of the stage. That’s how he liked it, too. He and the boys had seen their share of tits flashed throughout the two hour show. It was becoming a tradition among his female fans. The band hadn’t started that tradition, but it was one that everyone in The Guilty Party sure encouraged.

Ain’t this life?
Colton thought, looking around him. His best friends, booze, and beauties.
Ahh, the beauties.

Some blonde with legs for days was coming towards him. The legs seemed to go for days because all that stopped them up top was a pair of Daisy Dukes.
Nah, Even Daisy Duke, herself, wouldn’t wear them tiny things.
Colton had seen underwear that covered more. When the blonde turned around to slap the bass player, Lee Watts, playfully on the shoulder, Colton’s eyes went wide.

He took a pull from the SoCo without taking his eyes off her fine, fine ass. He couldn’t pry his eyes away.
I do believe they call that underbutt or a half moon. God damn, ain’t this the life?

She turned back around and gave Colton a confident and naughty smile. After all, they both knew why she was there, so why bother pretending?

“And what might your name be, little lady?” Colton’s raspy voice only sounded deeper after the swig of booze. He liked her already. He liked parts of her, anyway.

“Brandi.” There was just enough twang in her voice for Colton’s taste.
Alabama or Arkansas?
It wasn’t quite sweet enough for Georgia, meaning she had traveled all the way to Atlanta to see them.
Nice
.

He closed his eyes for a second and took in a deep breath. When Colton opened his eyes, he was staring at her tight stomach, bare beneath the cut-off T. Bare except for the sparkling jewelry dangling from her navel. He could already picture his tongue circling that on its journey south.

“Brandi, I can’t tell you how glad I am to meetcha.” He patted his lap, and her underbutt half-moon was soon pressing against his growing cock.

Roger had one phone to his ear as he pecked out an email on another. “Yeah, everything went one hundred percent. No contract issues. The crew just needs another hour for teardown, and we’ll be ready for loadout. Two days off before Jacksonville.”

“About that, Rog.” Arvin didn’t waste time dumping the bad news on Roger’s lap. “We’ve scheduled a quick studio recording for the boys. Three hours, tops.”

After hearing the response from the other end, Roger stopped hitting the screen on the email. “Two days off and you want to throw Colton in the studio on one of them? Arvin, James Brown is dead, and Colton Wade is now the hardest working man in show business. You realize that, right? The band hasn’t had two days off in nearly two months.” Arvin Greenburg wasn’t going to take no for an answer. It’s for charity. Flood victims, I think. It’s a duet. Real PR gold.”
 

“I don’t care if it’s for charity. Charity would be giving my guys the time off they’ve earned.” Roger Ellery let out a sigh. He could already sense Arvin Greenburg’s counter argument coming.
 

“After what happened in Charleston, Colton could use some good publicity. You don’t get to drunkenly smash up a cop car and not suffer consequences, Roger. This is a business to everyone but Colton.”

In the two years Roger had been Colton’s manager, there had been a dozen some incidents. Some were pregnancy scares with groupies, others were run-ins with the law. Not once did Colton clean up his act. Roger knew he never would. The manager could name fifty artists who
called
themselves outlaw country. Colton didn’t need to call himself anything because fans, critics, and anyone who came in contact with him did it for him. Some called him a true artist. Others just called him an asshole.

“Don’t bring that up, Arvin. Colton issued an apology,”
Which I wrote.
“And he’s donated ten grand to the Charleston PD to make up for it.”
Which he doesn’t know I did in his name.