Page 1 of Jude

Chapter 1

JUDE

‘Sinner’s Army, we love you!’ I growled into the mic.

‘Sinners! We love you more!’ came back the emphatic roar from the churning sea of fans below us.

Midnight, and the feedback from my custom Martin guitar cut through the humid air of Austin’s ACL arena with a reverberating ring.

The last chord of our signature sign-off and encore song, ‘Redemption’s Call’, echoed in my in-ears.

Signifying the power of a shared communion of true connection through music.

To our 20,000 screaming devotees, it was a masterclass in rock showmanship.

To me, it was relief, as the final chords of the set faded away and a thunderous roar rose from the audience.

We’d been playing for six nights straight, and I was way past shattered.

The six of us bowed out to screams, cheers, a wave of cellphone flashlights, and applause.

We gave one more final bow as wristbands, glow sticks, and confetti rained down on us, before heading backstage.

In the green room, we huddled together for a moment of thanks for getting us through another day.

It was a grounding ritual, a reminder of the purpose behind our expression.

I glanced at my brothers as we stepped back and fell into packing up gear, leads, and instruments.

Angel, my co-vocalist, was wild-haired, his black tresses falling to his broad shoulders.

Muscled and tall, he was always in a midnight vest, dusky denim pants, and military boots.

His ink was fire, as were his acclaimed electric guitar skills.

A fan of all things artistic, he sketched knockout pencil art in his off time.

Most of the scenes are from our tours, when he was not texting or brooding about his on-and-off-again fiancée, Evangeline.

Deacon was towering, dark, handsome, with a shock of striking, inky curls.

Of Mixed Kenyan and Australian heritage, he favored tees and jeans, and his saxophone playing almost always brought our grown male fans to tears.

He practiced martial arts whenever he had a chance and was a black belt with multiple awards.

He was a single dad to Raff, a highly precocious and the smartest nine-year-old on the planet.

Deacon juggled parenting duties with his ex-wife, Ana De Stella, a stunning ex-model now a world news photographer.

I didn’t quite understand why the pair got separated, because they seemed made for each other.

However, Deacon had his reasons, which he kept private even as he stood firm by them.

Bishop was our wild child.

His hair was a spill of black tresses to his shoulders, and his inked muscles were impressive.

He had an aversion to clothes in general and, offstage, almost always wore only shorts, open shirts, and slides, even in the middle of winter.