HALO: Fallen Angel Series #1 Read online

  “Okay,” I said, but my voice came out raspy.

  The door to the studio opened again, and a woman entered with a tray of four glasses half-filled with amber liquid. She passed one to each of the band members, and when Killian took his, he offered it to me.

  “Need some liquid courage?” he asked.

  I wasn’t one to down hard liquor first thing in the morning, but I wasn’t sure I’d get through this audition without it, so I gratefully took the glass and swallowed it in one go. It was a smooth burn going down, nothing like the cheap stuff I was used to. But of course it wasn’t. This was the big time, with fuckin’ chandeliers and velvet in studios instead of ripped egg crates covering a room the size of a closet.

  With all four pairs of eyes on me, I bent down to unlatch my guitar case, which I managed to do on the first try—amazing, considering my hands had begun to shake.

  Just breathe. Don’t think about the rock gods sitting six feet away. They’re just another dive bar crowd half listening.

  I strapped on my guitar and tuned up, and when I was ready, I ran my fingers through my hair, blew out a breath, and faced the four men who held my fate in the palms of their hands.

  “Was there something in particular of yours you’d like me to play?” I asked.

  Killian shook his head. “Anything you like.”

  “Right.” I plucked quietly at the strings as I debated whether to just go for it with one of TBD’s biggest hits, and after a few seconds of deliberation, I figured, fuck it—go big or go home—and began to play the opening notes of “More than Enough.”

  I closed my eyes, humming along with the intro, and then…I began to sing.

  Three

  Viper

  FUUUCK. ME.

  YEAH, that was the thought that ran through my head when Killian stepped aside and Halo had entered the studio around ten minutes ago. And it was still running through my head now, as I sat by myself on one of the couches facing the guy who was singing a song Killian and I had written two years ago, like we’d written it specifically for him.

  Served me right, I supposed. If I’d bothered to look at the video attachment in the email Killian had sent to us all last night, I wouldn’t have been trying to mask the reaction I was having to the guy—and yeah, I was having one hell of a reaction.

  I’d been trying to work out why any hopeful rocker would call himself Halo since Killian had mentioned his name. But when he walked through the door and I’d gotten my first look at him, that had been cleared up for me real quick.

  The guy was a fucking showstopper. He had hair the color of sunshine or spun gold—a shade poets would write about or some shit—and it waved in a sexy tangle of loose curls that hit the collar of his jacket. And that face of his, Jesus. It was perfect. Almost otherworldly. And with eyes a light shade of green, like sea glass…he was almost too damn beautiful to look at.

  I shifted on the couch and wished like hell Killian had asked for the entire bottle of whiskey, because suddenly I wasn’t drinking to dull the pain of someone singing our songs. I was drinking to try and take my mind off how hot this guy was. Especially when you added in his voice—and what a voice he had.

  He delivered the words in a husky, deep way that you felt down your spine and in your soul, and as he strummed on his guitar, he closed those gorgeous eyes of his and lost himself in my song—I mean, our song.

  Shit, this was not good. Of course the first guy who showed any potential had to be someone who made my dick hard, and when I glanced Killian’s way and saw him watching me for my reaction, I hoped to hell he was only looking at my face.

  Halo came to the end of the song, and color me shocked, he was the first guy who’d managed to get through the entire thing without screwing it up.

  When the room plunged into silence, Halo opened his eyes and blinked, and when they widened slightly, I almost laughed. Had the guy forgotten where he was? Well, if that were the case, he sure as shit was remembering now.

  “Wow.” Killian was the first on his feet, as he slow-clapped and looked our way. “I told you he was good, didn’t I?”

  “Good?” Jagger said, and then chuckled. “That was awesome, man.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Slade nodding in agreement, but not offering much more than that, and finally Killian looked to me.

  “Well?”

  My eyes shifted from Killian to Halo, who was looking at me, waiting for my reaction. And while I wasn’t one to blow smoke up anyone’s ass, I was also man enough to admit when I was impressed. “Not bad.”

  Killian’s lips twitched. He knew me well enough to know that that was high fucking praise from me—but the one next to him looked less convinced.

  “I can play another if you like?” Halo offered, but Killian shook his head.

  “Just give me a second, would you?”

  “Okay,” Halo said as Killian crossed to stop in front of me, and as he drew near, I couldn’t help my eyes from drifting back to Halo, who had stepped back a bit to give us some privacy and was now showing great interest in the sound booth behind him.

  With his back to Halo, Killian looked over at Jagger and Slade, who both gave a nod of approval, and then his eyes were back on me.

  “You want to ask him some questions?” That was Killian’s way of asking if I liked Halo enough to give a shit if he was available to come back and really try out with us. As in, run through a full set and see if he meshed. But the only kind of meshing I had in mind didn’t require instruments, my bandmates, and, well…clothes. Somehow I didn’t think that was what Killian meant.

  Again, there were so many reasons this was a bad idea.

  My eyes must’ve relayed at least that much of my thoughts, because the second I opened my mouth to suggest Halo wasn’t the right fit, Killian lowered his voice and said, “He’s fucking amazing, V. What’s your issue?”

  Deciding it best not to voice what my particular issue was, I glanced down at my lap, and Killian’s eyes followed. When he saw just how amazing I thought this guy had been, Killian’s lips quirked up at the side.

  “I’d say that’s a positive response. Wouldn’t you?”

  I ground my teeth together and shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, V. He’s the first guy we’ve seen where you haven’t fallen asleep halfway through.”

  That was true, but I wasn’t sure this was any better.

  “If he can do this to you, imagine what he could do to an arena full of screaming fans.”

  Okay, Killian had a point, and fuck him for that. But did I really want to subject myself to this kind of torture day in and day out? I’d been there and done that, and look how that turned out.

  I narrowed my eyes, but before I could say anything else, Killian straightened and said to Halo, “Right. Why don’t you come take a seat and we can shoot the shit a little?”

  Goddamn Killian. Well, at least he couldn’t say I hadn’t warned him.

  Four

  Halo

  HOLY SHIT. I’D just performed for TBD, and I hadn’t forgotten the lyrics, passed out, vomited all over myself, or pulled any other equally embarrassing stunt. Instead, I’d closed my eyes and let myself fall into the song, blocking out my audience completely. It wasn’t until I’d opened them again and saw the stunned reactions from three of them that I felt the weight leave my shoulders. Who knew what they’d decide, but for myself, I knew I’d killed it—even if they didn’t think I was the right fit, I couldn’t have done any better.

  I put my guitar away and then lowered myself into the chair Killian had pulled around to face the couches. I hadn’t thought about the audition featuring an inquisition, but that was exactly what happened as Jagger, Killian, and Slade lobbed question after question my way.

  “How’d you get into music?”

  “Why do you think you’d be a good fit for TBD?”

  “How old are you?”

  I had a moment of panic at that one. I didn’t think I looke
d young, but I still got carded everywhere I went, so admitting I was only twenty-three—a full decade younger than them—made me wonder if that’d be a deal-breaker.

  But no one reacted to that info, and the questions rolled on. With each one that passed, I began to slowly relax, especially when they veered into the ridiculous:

  “All right, I’ve got one.” Slade leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his expression dead serious. “It’s the end of the world and only one superhero can save you. Who do you choose?”

  Jagger snorted. “Seriously?”

  “What the hell does that have to do with whether he’s right for the band?” Viper said.

  Slade put his hand up, blocking out the other guys’ protests, and then motioned for me to go ahead.

  “I guess I’d say…maybe Thor? His dad’s a literal god, so he might be my best chance.” In truth, I didn’t know much about anyone in the superhero world, so I wasn’t sure if that was a good choice or not. “What about you?”

  “Iron Man,” Slade said.

  “Well, I’d pick Wonder Woman,” Jagger said. “If it’s the end of the world, I wouldn’t mind goin’ out with a bang.”

  Beside him, Killian groaned and gave him a shove. “Ugh. That was fuckin’ painful.”

  Jagger’s head fell back as he laughed, and I couldn’t stop my own chuckle. Was I really sitting here, joking around and laughing with TBD? I just knew any minute now I’d wake up in my shithole apartment, eat some ramen, and head out for a gig. I even pinched myself to be sure.

  “Favorite song of ours?” Slade asked.

  I had a few favorites, but I was going to play my hand wisely. It hadn’t escaped my notice that Viper stayed silent throughout almost all the questions, though his keen eyes didn’t miss a thing. I wished I knew what was going through the guy’s mind, because I had a feeling if I didn’t make it to the next round or whatever came after, it would be because Viper put his foot down.

  “‘Dark Light,’” I said, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Viper smirk. “Dark Light” was one of Viper’s, a song he’d written for the Daybreak album. Yeah, I’d chosen it on purpose, hoping to sway him—so sue me.

  “Was there something you wanted to add, V?” Killian asked, looking pointedly at his bandmate. Viper’s smirk dropped, and he stared Killian down for a long minute before craning his head in my direction.

  My throat went dry as I waited for him to speak. He took his time, running his hand over the dark scruff on his jaw, and as I tried not to fidget under his intense gaze, I finally got a good look at him.

  Bad boy. Player. Heartbreaker. All words I’d heard about Viper, and I could understand why. The warm, bronzed skin, jet-black hair that was long enough he could tuck it behind his ears or let it fall down in his face, and strong jaw line tied together the rebellious look of someone who drove the men and women who followed the band crazy. Rumor had it he had a preference for the former, but that was none of my business.

  Viper stretched his arm out along the back of the couch, those obsidian eyes of his focused directly on me. “Okay, Halo.” He said my name like a challenge. “If you could change something, anything, about the band, what would it be?”

  Shiiit. He’d successfully put me on the spot, asking a question there was no good answer to. It was like in job interviews where they asked what your weaknesses were. The last thing you wanted to do was cop to being less than perfect and fucking up a shot at a job, and that was exactly what was happening here. What would I change about TBD?

  Okay, there were two ways to look at this. I could be honest, or I could play it safe. The safe answer was that there was nothing I’d change about them, blah blah blah, but the honest answer…

  “You need me as your frontman,” I blurted out before I could change my mind. A couple of eyebrows shot up, but I kept my focus on Viper, waiting to see his reaction. But like he knew what I wanted and wouldn’t give me the satisfaction, his face remained impassive.

  Was that good impassive? Bad impassive? Or you’ve-gotta-be-kidding-me impassive? I couldn’t tell. But then Viper said four words that seemed to seal my fate:

  “We’ll be in touch.”

  My stomach dropped. “We’ll be in touch”? Shit. Shit shit shit. I had just bombed that answer. I’d just bombed, and now they were all looking at me like I needed to get the hell out of the room and—

  “I’ll walk you out,” Killian said, getting to his feet.

  I quickly packed up my guitar as a sinking sense of dread came over me. Keep it together until you get outside.

  “It was great meeting you guys. Thanks for the opportunity.” I walked to each of them and shook their hands. Slade and Jagger nodded at me in return, but when I reached Viper, he held on to my hand longer, his grip firm and his gaze traveling down over me before he let go.

  As I backed away, I wondered what Viper saw when he looked at me the way he had. Did he see some young guy trying too hard? Or had he been even the slightest bit impressed at all?

  Guess I’d soon find out.

  Five

  Viper

  “YO, V. PIZZA or Mexican?” Killian called out from his kitchen, as I fell down into one of the leather couches in his sprawling Tribeca penthouse later that afternoon. We’d just gotten home from a long-ass day over at MGA, our record label, where we’d sat in one meeting after another with our manager, Brian.

  Ever since Trent walked, MGA had been putting the pressure on for us to find a new frontman stat, because there was no way in hell a record company was going to “continue funneling money into a sinking ship”—their words, not mine.

  I mean, we’d brought them enough money to last a goddamn lifetime. You’d think it would at least buy us some time to figure our shit out. However, they saw things differently. Assholes. We’d been given a deadline, which we were fast approaching, and that was one of the reasons Killian had been pulling us from our beds at ungodly hours this week to watch these auditions.

  We’d been searching for months now, and all of them had gone nowhere fucking fast. But today’s…today’s had been a different story altogether, and was the reason we’d ended up spending most of the day in meetings across town—something none of us enjoyed.

  “Pizza,” I said, then rattled off my usual topping of sausage, onions, mushrooms, and extra cheese.

  Killian grabbed his cell off his kickass guitar-shaped coffee table. “As if I didn’t know that. Don’t you get sick of ordering the same thing every single time?”

  “I like what I like. That ain’t gonna change anytime soon.” What could I say, I was a creature of habit.

  Killian chuckled as he called the number and placed our order. Once he was done, he took a seat in his favored club chair that sat facing the bank of wall-to-ceiling windows, and then looked my way.

  “Speaking of things you like…” Killian eyed me as he propped his ankle on his knee. “What’d you really think about Halo today? He was good, huh?”

  Uh, that was one way to describe him. Probably not the way I would. But I doubted Killian wanted to know I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Halo might look stripped naked in my bed.

  “Yeah,” I said, giving my standard noncommittal response. “Like I said, he’s not bad.”

  “Not bad, my ass. That guy is fucking brilliant. Admit it. He’s almost as good as—”

  “If you say Trent, I just might kick you in the balls.”

  Killian laughed, and I decided I just might kick him anyway. “Why? Because there might be someone out there who can actually match him or—”

  “Because his name makes me want to commit violent acts.”

  Killian sobered in an instant. “I swear, one of these days you’re gonna have to stop talking shit about him every time you open your mouth.”

  “Yeah? Well, one of these days I might stop hating him. There’s hope for us all.”

  Killian let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, and I knew it was too much to hope for that all conversa
tion would be over, and the TV be turned on. And not a minute later, Killian was right back on topic. “So…Halo. Did you finally look at the video I sent you last night?”

  Had I looked at it? That would be an affirmative. As soon as Halo had left, and the guys had gone outside for a smoke, I’d been quick to open that email and the attachment. Quick to get another look at that face—because what a fucking face.

  “Yeah, I looked.”

  “Aaaand?”

  “And what do you want me to say, Kill? He’s good. Really fucking good. You’ve got ears, but—” I drew up short, and when Killian just sat there giving me his what look, I thought, To hell with this. “He makes my dick hard, okay? I can’t stand on a stage with that guy. Did you see him? He’s too damn pretty for his own good.”

  “Which is exactly why he’d be perfect for TBD.”

  Killian had lost his mind. “Are you deaf? I just told you that—”

  “I know exactly what you told me. I saw it too. But I’m not worried. He’s straight. Didn’t you hear the lyrics in the second song he wrote?”

  Lyrics? I was too busy focusing on the way his mouth moved. Not what was coming out of it.

  Killian grinned. “He was singing about his broken heart—about how she broke his heart. But good to know you didn’t notice. You think he’s sexy. And you think he’s sexy singing our songs. I haven’t seen you act that way since—”

  My glare had Killian biting off his name, and then he scooted forward to the edge of his seat. “Chemistry, V. It’s all about chemistry on that stage. You know that better than anyone, and you need to have it with our frontman.”

  “Chemistry? If I have any more chemistry with him, I just might explode all over him.”

  Killian snorted. “Maybe keep that to yourself when we call him back in, yeah? Don’t want to scare off the newbie.”

  “So we’re really going to do this? Invite a guy into the fold who looks as pure as a fucking angel?”