Erika finally arrived at her destination after a journey filled with overwhelming thoughts. As she drove to the club, her mind raced repeatedly with the financial issues piling up like an impending storm.
First, I'm going to pay my rent; the deadline is approaching... then, the water and electricity bills. Restock the pantry. It's also starting to get cold, so I shouldn't forget the gas. If they pay me for the bar all at once, I could keep everything afloat. I'm going to have to persist with that. And I need to start saving for the girls' tuition...
She sighed. She needed the money urgently.
The facade of California Years appeared before her, bright and decadent as ever. There is an excess of neon lights, vibrant signs, and an atmosphere saturated with noise and danger. The place looked more like a dive than a legitimate bar, and yet, that's where musicians, thugs, and underworld figures gathered every night as if it were sacred ground.
Despite the obviousness of certain illegal activities even from the entrance, the police never intervened. Perhaps because they knew what was really going on inside... or because the right people were in the wrong pockets.
Erika didn't give it another thought. She parked in the back and nodded to the guard at the gate, walking through the employee entrance as she did every night.
The backstage hallway smelled of damp wood, cheap makeup, and sweat. She walked toward her dressing room, hung her trench coat on the rack, and before starting to get ready, sat down in one of the worn leather armchairs, closing her eyes for a moment.
No matter how many shows she'd performed, the trembling was still there, persistent. The anxiety before each performance was her private ritual. That mix of fear and adrenaline never went away, and perhaps, in some twisted way, helped keep her alive onstage.
A couple of knocks on the door brought her out of her trance, just before it opened without waiting for a reply.
"Look at that, it seems the queen of the show has finally decided to show up," a voice laced with sarcasm commented. It was Alison Hébert, as always, as direct as she was insolent. The blonde entered the dressing room with her carefree stride, followed closely by her partner, Emma Bernet, who kept her arm linked with the alpha.
"Al, don't be mean," Emma replied, laughing as she nudged him affectionately. Then she broke away to approach Erika with a warm hug. "Hi, Bel-Bel! How are little Rose and Melina?"
"They're fine," Erika replied with a soft smile, accepting the hug and letting the beta's mango pheromones envelop her with a pleasant sense of calm. "They finally fixed the living room TV, so they're happy."
"I hope you're not letting them spend the whole day in front of the screen," Emma said, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "You know how too much TV rots your brain."
The omega looked away, clearly guilty. Emma snorted with a giggle, rubbing her cheeks as if she were restraining herself from squeezing them.
"You're so damn adorable when you make that face!"
"Emma, I told you I don't like being fussed over like that," Erika protested with a slight pout, though her face radiated tenderness.
The moment was broken when the atmosphere suddenly changed. The air became thicker, warmer... more alpha. Both women looked up and found Alison staring at Erika's cleavage, which was provocatively outlined by the position of her embrace with Emma.
The blonde didn't even try to hide it.
"Could you move a little closer?" she said suggestively. "Your embrace is very... warm. I mean, dangerous. You might fall. You should... settle in more comfortably."
"Alison..." Emma gave her a stern look.
"I only care about my beautiful partner!" Alison shrugged, crossing her arms with a mocking smile. "And if I have to watch my girlfriend grinding on our cute, sexy friend... that's a price I can pay."
"A-Alison!" Erika said, blushing to her ears.
"ALISON!!" Emma shouted, louder this time.
Erika quickly pulled away, hugging herself and looking down at her feet, while Emma turned around firmly, placing both hands on her waist.
"What?" the alpha said as if she didn't understand the magnitude of her audacity. "If someone doesn't enjoy such a view, then they don't deserve to have eyes."
"Whatever," the beta snorted before firmly grabbing her partner's ear. "I'll take the perverted alpha. You finish getting ready, Bel. It's almost time for the show."
They left the dressing room amid theatrical complaints and suppressed giggles. Erika, now alone, let out a soft laugh. The scene had lifted some of the weight she felt in her chest.
In front of the mirror, she began applying her makeup: bright red lipstick, and a bit of blush on her cheeks. Then she practiced her best smile in front of her reflection, one that didn't come from the heart, but one she had already mastered perfectly.
"Ready. Show time."
As she made her way to the stage, she couldn't help but think of her bandmates. Creed Sailys wasn't just a group of musicians; it was an unlikely alliance of disparate personalities and backgrounds, a refuge amidst the chaos.
There was Elias Efton, the guitarist, a 28-year-old alpha with an imposing presence. His brown hair, his strong face, and his fresh lemon scent made him stand out even in a crowd. He was reserved, but when he spoke, everyone listened.
Alison Hébert, the drummer, was an alpha with an explosive temper and fierce beauty. Her blonde hair always fell loose, and her peach scent was enveloping. Although she was bold, her talent and loyalty couldn't be denied. She was marked by Emma, her inseparable companion.
Emma Bernet, the keyboardist, was a 22-year-old beta, with bright red hair and a bob cut that highlighted her delicate features. Although she had a calmer temperament than Alison, she was just as passionate when it came to protecting her loved ones.
And finally, there was her. Erika Belion, was a 26-year-old omega, vocalist, and songwriter. With platinum hair and eyes of different colors—yellowish crimson and light pink—her looks weren't what stood out most about her. It was her voice. Her stage presence. Her pain transformed into music.
Creed Sailys might not be perfect. But it was probably the closest thing she had to a second home.