Page 40 of Down Beat
“I’m sure you can relate, Valerie?” I cock an eyebrow at her.
She smiles, her gaze positively wolfish. “I sure can, Rey.” The bomb detonates in her eyes before she even opens her mouth to spew the next shower of shit. “The stress has certainly taken its toll on you personally, though. Tell us, because we all love and care about you, are you better now after those unfortunate and traumatic events?”
“The events?” I level with a scoff.
She shrugs off camera, challenge in her smirk.
“You mean, after I tried to top myself?” Her lips fall as she fidgets. “Twice?”
Booyah, bitch.
“Rey has had excellent help,” Toby chimes in, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “And we’re doing great, thanks for your concern.”
“It must have been hard on you especially, being brothers.” Valerie goes in for the kill.
“Blood means nothing,” Kris interjects. “We all felt it the same. We all suffered along with him.”
She seems suitably stunned. Our normally mute band member has felt it necessary to speak up.
You could hear a hairpin drop.
I’m pretty sure one of hers does.
“As always you’ve been a real hoot,” I sass. “Thanks for having us on the blog, V.”
She scowls, aware I’ve probably shaved a minute off the time she was promised. “Likewise.” Her tone doesn’t show her frustration, though. “I’ll catch up with you boys again after the new album is live. Best of luck with the rest of the tour.”
We all give thanks, Emery adding in a shout out to the fans watching.
As soon as her finger hits that damn button to stop recording, my ass leaves the crate. Fuck her shit. Fuck her for bringing up last year, both for Emery and me.
What the fuck is the sabotaging bitch trying to do?
Rick’s eyes go wide as I blaze past him on a mission to get the VIP meet and greets out of the fucking way.
“We’re never doing an interview with that bitch again,” I toss over my shoulder as I hit the stairs.
“Huh?” Rick looks to Toby. “Why?”
My brother hangs back, presumably to fill our manager in on what a jerk she was, as Kris reaches the stairs behind me.
“You okay?”
I slow as I drop off the last step, and half turn to face him. “Yeah. Thanks, man.”
“I can’t believe that woman,” Emery snaps as he barges past the two of us. “Bet the whore would dance on our fucking graves if it gave her a good view count.”
“Don’t let her get to you,” I say, restarting toward the second dressing room.
“Pot, kettle,” Kris murmurs.
I shunt the heel of my hand at the door, flinging it open on eight wide-eyed young women and two very out-of-place-looking guys.
“Who’s ready to party, motherfuckers?”