Synister: The Push Series - Book 1 Read Free

fucker Vince, could take away from me. Feeling the bass line and the roar of the crowd as it pulsed through my veins became my focus. I drowned out all the other noise, the doubt, the fear that plagued my mind, and focused on just killing it on stage. If it weren't for my baby brother, Scottie, and music, I would have ended up a corpse years ago.
    After meeting up with the rest of the band and Scottie, I began to again feel the blood forcing through my veins. My heart was pumping in my chest so hard I could hear its cadence between my ears. Scottie reached out and put his arm around me and nodded. A silent gesture to make sure everything was in check. I wasn’t upset Scottie was questioning my sanity—hell, everyone had their entire lives and careers resting on this tipping point. I would not be the one to bring us down. So, like always, I pushed my shit to the back, buried it deep in the recesses of my mind, and cried inside like a winner. Very few people knew the demons I carried on my back. I was determined to keep the circle as small as possible. Scottie’s embrace was innocent, but in a way he was questioning my state of mind, making sure I was ready to go. Even though he was my baby brother, he was solid. Apparently, all that therapy shit he went through helped. I didn’t need that bullshit. I had zero time and patience for some tight assed prick of a shrink telling me to “embrace my past and let it go.” Fuck that.
    As the music stopped and the crowd began to chant our name, the energy was off the charts. Hendrix, lead guitarist for Push and Captain Zen, started bouncing up and down like a pogo stick. What a crazy motherfucker he is. Hendrix St. James was the most positive dude I had ever met, and he had energy for days. I had no idea how he was not eternally tired because he bounced constantly, never sat down for more than a minute. He was the energizer bunny of dudes.
    Hendrix was also the first gay man I had ever met. I don’t mean gay in the overly flamboyant way, but open about his preferences and what made him tick. He was both confident and cocky, but genuine in a way that most people never pulled off. His personality lit up the room, and he was not afraid to let his freak flag fly. He was like a glow bracelet on steroids, always happy, never in a funk, and, dammit, that dude knew how to party. He was the polar opposite of my brooding ass and one of my best friends. I didn’t know how, but we just worked from day one. I met him as I was getting some new ink. Hawke, my resident tattoo guru, was finishing up my tat when this huge dude, aka Hendrix, flopped down in the chair beside me and removed his shirt. Now, I am not one to shrink in the presence of another man, but this guy was fucking ripped. I was sure his biceps had biceps. We started talking about tats and music… Well, the rest is history. It’s crazy how people come into your life, at the exact moment you needed them and just clicked. We were brothers by choice, not by blood, but there was no difference as far as I saw it.
    Turning around on my heels, I noticed Scottie and Zeke exchanging fist bumps, a tradition they started to get each other jacked up. Zeke Trettin was, well, a weird dude in a cool way. He had been my friend since elementary school when he saved my ass from getting beat the fuck up after I ran my mouth to the wrong crowd. Zeke was a man of few words, and even after all these years, there was still so much that I didn’t know about him. He just never talked about shit unless it was necessary. I guess to him the backstory and details were unnecessary. I knew one thing, that motherfucker had my back no matter what. To me, that was all that mattered.
    The new guy, Oscar Mathus, looked scared shitless. Had I not just tossed all my cookies, I, too, might have been inclined to feel sick. Closing my eyes and tipping my head back, I saw her face, and everything started to come together. Brooklyn was my focus, my sun in a life of utter