Free Rock (Hard Rock Harlots #4) by Kendall Grey Page B

town.
    “Happy birthday, Eve,” I mutter, squeezing my thighs together.

Get Your Rock Off
    K iller Buzz Float has played countless stages for thousands of fans. Every city has its own feel, its own skin, its own heartbeat. Every crowd organically develops ranks of leaders and a mass of followers. Every gig introduces me to a new configuration of emotions that are integrated into my memory banks.
    The shifting currents in the air tonight feel not like the evolution of an existing genre of music, but the beginning of a whole new musical era for us. A natural, exciting leap forward, yet far enough outside my comfort zone to be a little threatening.
    Tonight is our awakening.
    Bigger crowds, higher energy, greater demands of our talent. This is what The Rock is all about.
    I suggestively stroke the mic stand and scan the expanse of bodies writhing before the stage. From my vantage point above them, a kaleidoscope effect washes over my vision. Multihued stage lights blend with millions of colorful little shapes banging into each other, creating the illusion of stillness amidst a swell of ever-changing movement. The pungent scent of pot wafts through the crisp November night. Voices high pitched and low, male and female, screaming and chanting, flavor the air.
    But the most fulfilling ingredient in this bath of sensory bliss is the stuff hitting my skin. It’s as if every hair on my body is standing up and stretching in preparation for a world championship rock-off.
    Wow. Just wow.
    “Dallas, Motherfucking Texas! How the hell are ya?” I shout. The answer is deafening and indecipherable, but I’m a pretty good translator. “We’re Killer Buzz Float, and we’ve been given a task by The Almighty Rock.” I lift my hands to the heavens, praise-Jesus style, and get a booming Amen! from the crowd. “Our job tonight is to knock your souls from their perches and deliver you into the arms of some kickass, old school glam rock. That sound like something you can live with?” My goosebumps withstand another 10,000 volts of Rock lightning as the screams of thousands roar their agreement. “Let’s get it on, motherfuckers!”
    Jinx counts off one, two, three, four with her sticks, and Shades, Toombs, and Rax simultaneously shatter the sound barrier as their guitars launch into “The Rock.” I tear the mic from its stand and cut loose the lyrics to my new favorite hymn.
    Candy, Susie, Jenny, or Sandy
    Benjamin, Johnny, Jimmy, or Randy
    The Rock don’t care ’bout your hair
    The Rock gets off when you take that dare
    The Rock don’t see no colors
    To The Rock, we’re all sisters and brothers
    The Rock don’t hate
    So go ahead and masturbate
    No matter how you play
    The Rock is here to stay
    Sing along
    Hit that bong
    The Rock will always make you strong
    Grab your date
    Fornicate
    Bow to The Rock
    You can’t go wrong
    Long live The Rock!
    The Rock lives on
    Ain’t nothin’ gonna bring us down
    Lift your hands in the air
    Wave your middle finger everywhere
    If you believe in The Rock
    Grab ahold of your cock
    Thrust them hips till you can’t walk
    Sing it high, sing it low
    All that matters is letting go
    Long live The Rock!
    Long live The Rock!
    Rax’s manic fingers fly along the frets in a partially improvised solo. He must’ve caught the same wave on The Rock as I did. Toombs and Shades and Jinx hold together the rhythm section with perfectly timed syncopations, calls and answers, and funky riffs to match Rax’s runs. Shades harmonizes with me on vocals, echoing the spiritual harmony we share offstage. We bust into the chorus a few more times. The fans are like a human combustion engine of energy bouncing before us.
    The song nears its end, and I wind it down with my trademark Letty Fuckin’ Dillinger primal scream, feet apart, bent backward at a near forty-five-degree angle, stomach tight to the brink of pain, vocal cords straining. The music of applause flows over me like rain and fire and sex and love. I swear to