Chapter 67: NO GROUPIES

Flynn pushed the main door open and strode confidently down the hallway. I cursed my boots and the tick-tack noise the heels made against Bernie's ceramic-tiled floor. I remember wanting the hallway to be twice as long, because I had no idea what I was about to face.

Six people sat in the room, but one stood out like a sore thumb. Iria. She was sitting with another woman a few years older than her. Tommy Alzaci, their drummer, turned his head, objectified me and grinned. I recognized each of the band members from their videos. "Whoa, if Flynn has to leave the party, he brings the party back with him."

Iria stood up and stared at us. She looked irate as she began to walk toward Flynn with a frown on her face. She was stunningly beautiful, but her face had an ugly expression. Before she reached us, Tyler Chisholm stood up and adjusted his jeans at the waist.

"What the fuck are you doing, dude? We agreed, no groupies in our homes."