Guarding January by Sean Michael Page B

a terribly scarred face—Roach—looked LJ over. “You know, Scooter, he does. You look healthy. Weird.”
    Rye ground his teeth and stayed right where he was, not saying a word.
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” LJ flipped Roach off. “And you look like a starvation victim.”
    “Sort of been. It’s a thing. You want to work or talk, asshole?”
    “Work!” The entire band spoke together.
    They settled quickly into the music, and Rye sat back. He couldn’t help but compare this session to the music Jeff made when it was just the two of them.
    This was raucous and furious, Jeff screaming and jumping up and down, head whipping around feverishly.
    Rye kind of hated it.
    It was going to be a long fucking tour.
    They played five songs, and then they broke, LJ and Roach’s heads together making plans. The beers came up, and then a couple of people he didn’t know wandered in.
    Whoa.
    Hold up.
    Rye got up and got into their faces. “Excuse me. Who are you?” And how the fuck had they gotten in?
    “We won the 101.2 contest . Lord January! Oh my God!”
    Another man walked in, smarmy written all over him. “Marvin Reynolds. LJ’s publicist. They’re with me. Hey, LJ. Looking good!”
    “You can all stop right there.” Rye started with Mr. Fucking Publicist, patting the man down. He was going to have words with the man later. He hadn’t been informed of this contest. Not to mention this was Jeff’s house—having fans wandering in and out was crazy.
    “What the fuck! LJ, tell this guy who I am!”
    Jeff looked over. “You just did, Marv.”
    “No one gets in and out without a search, Mr. Reynolds. I’m going to have to ask for your key too.” Luckily the guy was clean, and he held out his hand for the key.
    “Dude! LJ!”
    “He doesn’t work for me. Works for Donna. Call her. I’m working.” Jeff looked positively tickled for a second.
    Rye puffed up, making himself look even bigger, and kept his hand right there, waiting on that key. No one was getting past him until he had it.
    The key was handed over. “Your ass is fired, man.”
    “Do your worst. And when these ladies’ visit is over, we need to have a word about these contests .” Turning to the girls, he managed a small smile for them. “Are either of you carrying drugs or knives?”
    “I… I have a pen knife. I was hoping… I mean, everyone knows….”
    He held out his hand. “Sorry, no knives.” People were fucking insane.
    “You’ll give it back later?” The tiny goth handed over a little knife with vampire teeth sketched on.
    “I will.” He turned to the other girl, eyebrow raised.
    This little girl looked terrified. “I just… I’m Amy’s friend.”
    “Barb! My goth name is Dru!”
    “Sorry. Sorry.” This kid was going to lose it.
    Rye crouched down in front of her. “Is that a no, honey?” He really didn’t want to have to frisk these girls if he didn’t have to.
    She nodded. “I have my phone and money for a cab home.”
    “Okay.” He stood and moved to stand behind Jeff.
    “Okay, Roach. Let’s do ‘Fucking and Narcoleptic’ for the girls.” Jeff’s voice was husky, rough. “Give them a show.”
    Rye kept half his attention on the girls, the other half on Reynolds. Frankly, he was more worried about the publicist than the fans.
    The band got to their microphones, and the screaming guitars started.
    Rye pretended he couldn’t hear it.
    They ran through the songs, LJ writhing, humping the air, the act obscene, ugly. No wonder Jeff didn’t have sex, if that’s what he thought it was. Even kinky sex wasn’t meant to be… vicious.
    The girls were clearly pleased, though, screaming and clapping.
    Rye couldn’t wait for it to be over.
    Finally, the music stopped, LJ breathing hard. “Take five, guys. Need a breather.”
    “Lord January! Can you come sign things for the girls?”
    Rye sort of hated that Marv guy already.
    “Sure. Somebody get me a Sharpie.”
    Rye found it and handed it over. “You need some