Saturday, October 21, 2017

Sneak Peek: Ch. 1 - Metalcore Minx

Hiya Peeps!

My newest novel (more a novella since it's not quite 50,000 words) is called Metalcore Minx. It's the story of Sadie Finch, the lead singer of the metalcore band, Gallows at Dawn, and her new (and erotic) relationship with a guitar player from another band. It's a heavy metal romance that's even heavier on the erotica. I'll have more about it later, including the description that will go on Amazon when I'm ready to publish it (hopefully by next weekend at the latest), but for now I thought I might share the first couple of chapters. So below you will find Ch. 1 of Metalcore Minx. I'd love to hear what you have to say!

CHAPTER ONE

Sadie Finch took a deep breath and let the music wash over her. She’d never heard of this band, but she liked their sound. Rotting Dead or Rotten Dead or something similar. Their singer pushed out pure death metal vocal grunts, but the band behind him proved more than a simple wall of noise so many similar bands pounded out. Their dual guitar assault provided plenty of melody she enjoyed. Hopefully she’d meet the guys after their set, though it would need to be later, as her band, Gallows at Dawn, would be on immediately after them. Such was the beauty of the rotating stage. Not every festival had them, but this one, a few miles outside Paris, used them, which was nice for the fans and kept the energy running high, which the bands all appreciated.

After their latest US tour where they were the direct support for the immortal Judas Priest, Gallows at Dawn hit the Summer festival circuit in Europe. They’d never been, so it was a big thing to not only them but their overseas fans. In addition to those festivals, which were often in front of tens of thousands, if not more, fans, they also played smaller club shows between the big gigs. Sometimes they headlined, but often they were direct support for bigger bands. What it all meant was they got to play a lot of music to rabid fans. And rabid fans always proved the most fun.

“Sadie, you ready?” The voice came from Heidi, her best friend and Gallows at Dawn’s lead guitar player. “Or have you transformed into the Mistress of Death already?”

She laughed. “Not until the slug of whiskey.” But she could understand the question. It was hard to tell when any of them weren’t in character once they applied the makeup and costumes. Her Mistress of Death persona consisted of white face paint with dark rings around her eyes and black lipstick, and she wore colored contacts, today bright red, to hide her hazel eyes. Her blond hair, which ran just past her shoulders, was dyed a bright pink for this leg of the tour, but it could, of course, be any color. She used to make it jet black every show, but bright colors were more fun and easier to see from the cheap seats. She always dressed in skin-tight leather outfits you’d never catch her in outside the clubs or arenas. Way too much trouble for everyday wear. Besides, they were the clothing choice of the Mistress of Death, not Sadie Finch. Today she wore a top with laces up the front to show off the inside curves of her breasts, as well as a tight short leather skirt and tattered fishnet stockings underneath. It all accented her lean but curvy form well.

“Kyle has it in hand as we speak,” Heidi said, referencing the bottle of cheap whiskey.

Sadie followed Heidi to the side of the stage where Kyle, their bass player, all 6’8” of him, towered over everyone. The other guys, Brandon and Race, the rhythm guitar player and drummer, respectively, stood on either side. Kyle wore his huge black hooded robes, as he went as The Executioner on stage. Brandon and Heidi wore their orange prison jumpsuits, Brandon Prisoner Number 13, Heidi Prisoner 666, while Race donned his tattered and broken straight jacket and zombie green makeup for his Experiment Zero persona. When they started the band almost 15 years ago, they had big plans to conduct skits during their sets, but soon learned the audiences wanted rock and roll, not theater, at least from opening acts they’d never heard of. They could get away with it now since they were of the almost-headliner status, had headlined small bars and clubs before, but it didn’t interest them anymore. Their personas, however, stayed, as each member had an easier time dealing with their nerves in their costumes. Sadie knew the Mistress of Death was much more adept at belting out her growling grunts and melodic tunes than she was as herself. She even usually dressed before soundcheck, as it helped her belt out the growls and melodies of metalcore to get the sound perfect.

“There they are,” Kyle boomed out, raising the bottle of whiskey, no doubt the rot-gut variety of their tradition. They did it right before stepping on stage for their first gig and hadn’t missed one yet.

Kyle took the first pull, drinking down a quarter of the bottle in one go. He let out a holler and handed the bottle to Race, who took a long drink. Next, it went to Heidi and then Brandon, who drank something near the equivalent of three shots each. After them, Sadie grabbed the bottle and found three healthy swallows left. She didn’t drink on tour, nor did she imbibe in drugs, tobacco, or anything else. She wasn’t opposed, nor did she have a problem, but those vices proved hell on her voice, and that’s what she brought to the band. She learned her lesson the hard way their first few tours all those years ago. 

“Bring on the Mistress of Death,” Kyle said, and Sadie tipped the bottle back and swigged the rest of the golden and bitter liquid like a pro. Yeah, it was the cheap shit, and it burned like hell going down, but as she grimaced and bent over, Sadie left, and the Mistress of Death permeated her soul. She stood up straight and smacked the now-empty bottle into a passing roadie’s hands. All five then put their hands in the middle of their circle, palms down, and they began their pre-set mantra.

She growled out, in her death metal voice, “Bring on the death, bring on the death, bring on the death,” followed by the four others shouting out, “Die, die, die!” They repeated it twice more, then brought their hands up with loud yells. A stagehand ushered them onto the stage, telling them they had thirty seconds. The other band, Rotting Dead or whatever the fuck they were called, took their bows to an appreciative and loud audience on the other half of the rotating stage. She salivated at the thought those cheers would soon be directed her way, their way. One quick check of the set-list to make sure she knew what to come in on and the stage started to move. They didn’t have any introduction music at this show to bring them on, so Heidi and the guys launched right into their opening song, “Blood Fountain.” The Mistress of Death, no longer Sadie Finch, threw up her left hand, keeping her index and pinkie fingers outstretched in metal horns, and was greeted with thousands and thousands of them back at her, along with raucous cheers that never failed to bring chills.

Once the stage finished its rotation, the band, like a well-oiled machine, stopped, the Mistress of Death screamed out, “What the fuck is up, Paris?” and before she could even relish the cheers, Heidi and the boys brought the thunder, and they were off.

CLICK HERE TO READ CHAPTER TWO


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