Absinthe of Malice by Rhys Ford

Author:Rhys Ford
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Gay Romance
ISBN: 9781634773263
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2016-06-21T23:00:00+00:00

“WOW, I didn’t think you could find any place shittier than the last one but….” Rafe took a good look at the broken-down theater he’d pulled up in front of. “Just… fucking wow.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of a dick, Andrade?” Damien slanted a disgusted look his way, but Rafe ignored it. The guy wasn’t telling him anything new, and truth be told, there was no denying they’d pulled up in front of an aging crap hole.

“It’s not so bad.” Forest shoved his hands into his jeans and rocked back on his heels. “There’s no graffiti on the walls, and there’s a lot of parking.”

“It’s like I’m traveling with one glass half-full and the other one half-empty,” Damien replied, then exchanged glances with Miki. “Don’t give me that look. Your glass is cracked.”

“Love you too, fuckhead,” Miki replied. “How about if we go pound on the door, dump our stuff on the stage, and go find our hotel? Because if it doesn’t have AC, I’m sleeping in the van.”

The Box was a wooden building, old enough to have grandchildren who voted and drove motorcycles down the wrong way of a one-way street. Sitting on the corner of Fredericksburg’s two thoroughfares, the building wore a thick patina of dust and grime like an aging showgirl wore her false eyelashes to go shopping for support hose. Once a cornerstone of Southern rock and hard blues, the Box slumped into its foundation, waiting for yet another band to come hammer away on its bones.

Still, there was something magical about the place, even standing in the white-hot sun and the sweltering heat. Miki’d stripped down to a tank top and jeans, his black leather boots nearly as old as the theater, while Forest and Damien seemed unaffected by the clotted air, thick with dust and humidity.

A knock on the front door yielded no results, but a walk around to the back did. Damien found Jasper, the Box’s owner, leaning against the wall near a propped-open fire door. A time-worn, sun-weathered man in jeans and an old Iron Maiden shirt, his beard was yellow from nicotine, and he spat a line of tobacco juice out when they came around the corner, but he grinned broadly when they introduced themselves, shuttling them inside to get out of the oppressive heat.

“Okay, screw the van,” Miki said once they got inside and the Box’s chilly interior gripped them tight. “I’m sleeping backstage. Naked floor’s gotta be better than a motel mattress.”

“You haven’t even seen the place,” Damien protested. “And you’re not sleeping backstage for three nights.”

“If you’re staying down at the Traveling Gypsy Inn, then you’re in a good place. Beds are soft, and Doris puts down a good breakfast spread.” Jasper trailed after them as they walked out onto the stage from the back. “’Course, she’s been my girlfriend for the past twenty years, so maybe I’ve just gotten used to her cooking.”

“Could be. I’ve gotten used to Sionn’s.” Forest turned, then nudged Rafe in the ribs with his elbow.

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