Resisting Velocity Online - Trinity Evans

Chapter One

He lived for this, the roar of the crowd, girls screaming their names, holding up huge poster board signs with bold letters and glitter. The pulse of Micah’s drums behind him, all staccato beats and the crash of the cymbals. The rock-steady rhythm of the bass, strings plucked by Benji’s deft fingers. And the weight of the Fender in his grip, fingers pressing against frets as he spiraled into a solo that would’ve given Lucifer himself a run for his money—if the devil was the frontman of a rock band.

The lyrics leapt forward like powerful horses, led by the siren’s call of the music, and somewhere in his throat they went from simple words to something beautiful, his voice husky and soft in the echo of the microphone. He crooned the words and he could’ve sworn a woman in the front row fainted. Cocky, sure, but it was true.

Zane Alexander knew how to sing, and sing well. The music thundered around him, shooting straight through to his veins, stronger than any street drug. His nostrils flared at the tinge of sweat dripping from the crowd, wolf senses heightened by adrenaline. In that moment, he was a sponge, absorbing the pulse of body heat and the zing of excitement. Their band—his beautiful brain child—was selling, and selling well. High Velocity’s second album had gone double platinum in a matter of days. Their Kiss and Tell tour was sold out.

His heartbeat was a steady thump-thump in his chest, a blend of pride and excitement nearly burning him alive. His spirit was floating around somewhere up on cloud nine. It was amazing, being the top dog—something Zane had only ever achieved in his dreams.

Their final song dwindled down to gentle acoustics before ending with the shrill of an electric guitar, loud enough to make his ears ring. The crowd screamed as the lights dimmed and a haze of fog spread across the stage like ghostly fingers, reaching for them. Under the mask of darkness, the members of High Velocity bounded backstage, adrenaline still riding them hard.

“You kicked ass tonight, man.” Micah Tate’s beefy hand slapped down on Zane’s shoulder, drawing a grin and a chuckle out of the other man. Zane handed his guitar off to the only assistant he trusted to take care of the custom Fender.

“We all did. We really blew them away. Another damn-near perfect performance, if I do say so myself.”

“Cocky.”

“True.” Zane’s lips quirked into a lopsided grin. He ran a hand through his hair and spun around in a tight circle. Excitement burned through him and he yearned for a run, yearned for release. He set his jaw and shook it off. Not yet. Be patient. The beast that slumbered deep within his soul, a beautiful white wolf that was his second half, twisted beneath his skin. Patience is a virtue. But one look around his band mates—his fellow pack mates—told Zane that the other werewolves were just as eager to stretch their legs as he was.

“Whaddaya say, Zane?” Parker Wilde’s voice made him glance up. The keyboardist’s long fingers tapped impatiently on the edge of a Coke can and Zane tilted his head. Parker sighed, as if exasperated. “Expensive booze and cheap girls after the big romp tonight? Let loose and celebrate a little?”

“Like we don’t do it enough?” Benji gave a hoot and pumped his fist, his bass still slung around his neck. He was a little paranoid in that regard. He always put his instrument away himself; he didn’t even trust Zane with it. “I’m in.”

“In,” agreed Micah.

The three of them turned to look at Zane, expectant, waiting. They looked up to him, followed his lead. Maybe it was the fact that his parents were the alphas of Elysium Pack, that Zane himself was their named heir to the throne whenever he was ready to step up and take it. Even if he had no desire to lead anything besides leading High Velocity to fame and fortune.

But how could he say no to good alcohol and beautiful women? A slow grin spread across his face. “In,” he said and the guys crowed. Zane held up a hand. “And I’ll even buy, how’s that?” Another round of cheers.

“Besides, I heard Lola was looking for you.” Parker winked in an exaggerated way.

Oh, Lola… Innocent flair, blonde ringlet curls, and all that smooth, pale skin. No man could forget a face like Lola’s, but while she had him locked in her sights, he was interested in someone else.