“The what?” Damien replied, cutting a look at Zakk who could only shrug in response.
“Man, the organizers have planned a shred-off between all the guitarists who wanna take part,” a dark-haired guy in the front row said. “They’re gonna have a drum battle too. Hey Dez, you gonna play?”
“I will if Damien will,” Dez shot back, sparking several cheers.
Damien! Dam-i-en! Damien!
“It will be an honor,” Damien said, which only drew more cheers.
At least the focus was all on the music now, and the festival that would start tomorrow night. For tonight, it sounded like there was still going to be music, and some friendly competition to see who the fans favored. Zakk looked forward to cheering his buddies on and wondered if anyone from Bleeding Dawn would take part too.
Just as he was pondering what a blast the night would be, and what sauces to put on the ribs he’d rubbed with seasonings the night before, he caught sight of movement out of the corner of his eye. Standing in the shadows, arms crossed, hateful glare frozen upon his face, was Wade. No doubt he’d listened to the whole shit-show unfold.
For a moment, Zakk forgot where he was and turned to confront him, only to be stopped by Damien’s hand on his arm. Once again, his drummer leaned closed and issued a warning.
“You keep your ass exactly where it is. The best revenge is going to be what we do on Saturday.”
Damien might be right, but it wouldn’t be as satisfying as dragging Wade off somewhere and staking him out on a bed of cactuses.
“Dez. Dez!” One eager blogger called. He was practically standing on the short woman with the rubber-ducky shirt in front of him, cell phone extended as close to the table as it could get. “I’ve got a music question for you.”
“Sure, shoot.”
“Is it true that you play one of the late, legendary Adrian Lee’s guitars?”
Voices went from buzz to soft murmurs as bloggers waited for a response. “You want the answer to that, come to the shred-off tonight.”
Chapter 32
Lords of the night
After the barrage of questions Tattered Angel faced, Zakk made certain he was lurking just inside the bloggers tent when Bleeding Dawn faced the vultures. Every question fired at them had to do with Winter. Where he was, when and if he was coming back to the band, if he was in rehab, if he’d left the country, if he’d be at Rocktoberfest, and who’d play in his place if he wasn’t.
“This is gonna suck,” Tripp groaned on their way over to the blogger event.
“Yeah. I know.”
“It’s just, this is Winter’s thing, ya know.”
“No, I’m not sure I do no,” Zakk replied.
“Something like this, we always just sent Winter too, even if they asked for the whole band. He had a way of making them forget that they weren’t getting everything they were asking for.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not going to be able to do that,” Tripp muttered, nervously fishing around in his pocket while they walked. They are going to want Winter, and they are going to be disappointed when all they get is the boring twin.”
“You are far from boring. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation after….”
Zakk’s words trailed off when he caught sight of what Tripp pulled from his pocket: a brand-new roll of antacids.
Oh hell no!
“When did your stomach start acting up again?” Zakk asked.
“Almost as soon as I realized I was gonna have to do this.”
“That should tell you something right there. We’re back in the public spotlight and you’re back comparing yourself to Winter. You need to stop that shit.”