Bonded

Chapter 2

The Magic Horse Lounge was a small club in downtown Los Angeles. It was never going to attract celebrities or movie stars, but the owner still wanted to make a name for himself on the music scene. He had started a local music night a couple of times a month, hoping to pull in a younger, hipper crowd. His regulars were mostly from the surrounding neighborhood and tended to stop in for a drink or two on the way home from work. Paul Bower had owned the place for the last seven years after he retired from the sheet metal union. He loved the place, but if he was ever going to turn a profit, he needed customers that drank more than two domestic beers before calling it a night. There were enough wobbly tables and uncomfortable chairs for about fifty patrons. With the right bands, he could start charging a cover. Five bucks a head times fifty a couple nights a week added up to actual money. Eventually, if he was able to find the right bands with the right sound, he could have a two-drink minimum. The band scheduled for tonight was one of his personal favorites. GirlHead had a southern rock vibe that reminded him of his youth. They usually put on a good show and the lead singer was a hot chick. Hot chicks always helped to make his customers thirsty.

Paul was inventorying the liquor behind the bar when the front door opened.

"We're not open yet," Paul automatically yelled out without bothering to look up.

"It is just me, Paul." Looking up Paul recognized Greyson as a member that night's band.

"Oh, right. Go on back. Pixie and Boy Band are already back there," Paul really sucked remembering names.

"Already? Those fuckers," Greyson growled out and kicked a chair.

"Hey Kid, careful with the merchandise, that shit ain't free, ya know." Paul didn't care what the kid's issue was as long as it didn't keep him and his buddies from getting on stage.

Greyson took a moment to collect himself. School had been torturous. Teenagers were disgusting, loud and annoying creatures. He hated them all. Even if he was one. He couldn't wait to be done with that place. The only thought that had kept him from going completely insane was the gig he had with the band that night.

"Sorry Paul. I had a bad day. High school really is hell," he tried to smile at his own joke, but it came off more as a grimace.

"You won't get an argument about that from me. Worst six years of my life." Paul went back to his count as Greyson stormed into the back and slammed into the backstage lounge.

"Where the hell were you guys? I told you I needed help loading up the van." He found his fellow bandmates exactly where he imagined he would. Devon was slouching all over the old, cracking leather couch with Rebecca straddling his lap. Devon wasn't as tall as Greyson, but he still was about six feet tall. He was built to be an NFL linebacker - solid, wide and strong. Devon was in his usual baggy jeans and concert tee. His blonde hair was spiked up off of his head thanks to the generous use of hair gel and hairspray. He was the picture of the all-American, boy next door. He was quick to unleash a smile that made girls go weak in the knees. The ease with which he carried himself made him friends with all the guys in their school. In his lap, Rebecca was in a pair of metallic silver short overalls over a purple tank top with her hair piled high on her head in a multi colored fountain of curls. Devon's hands were somewhere underneath Rebecca's shirt. What they were doing under there, Greyson didn't want to speculate. For a split second, Greyson fantasized about just how very satisfying it would be to rip out Devon's throat with his teeth.

"Hey G-Man! About time you showed up! Congratulate me on my C paper!" Devon ignored Greyson's blow up in favor of his own good news.

Greyson shook his head to clear the violent images and gave Devon the answer he was fishing for.