Chapter One
Ka-chik.
The shutter of my Canon EOS 6D made an almost silent noise. Displayed on the small LCD screen was Bunbury beach, captured with perfect clarity, contrast, and balance.
It was a typical hot Australian summer. The day was almost over, and it was still a scorching thirty-four degrees Celsius.
The underarms of my Children of Bodom tour shirt were saturated with sweat, sticking it to my moist skin. No matter how many times I grasped the hem of it and fanned myself with the humid air, more sweat would quickly seep out from my pores.
“Oh crap.” I swore under my breath.
Glimpsing the mirror-like surface of my phone, I realised the three guys who’d responded to my recent ad would be showing up anytime soon.
Times were a little tougher than in the past. Australia had a good economy, but jobs were very, very hard to come by. For the past two years, I’d been a freelance photographer; roaming all over the great southern land to wherever opportunity called me.
Only these days, the jobs were few and far between.
In a last-ditch attempt to keep myself afloat, I’d spent four solid hours stapling printed ads around town the previous day, seeking three other men aged between their twenties and thirties. The ultimate goal was to form some kind of passable music group with them — and serve a double purpose by fighting crime.
To ramp up my efforts further, I plastered a bunch of digital advertisements all across the web - Facebook, YouTube, Instagram - basically anywhere I knew was a hotspot for screen-addicted people seeking a stable job.
The idea had come to me the previous night, when I’d been sitting on the edge of my bed, fingers steepled beneath my chin. The old bass guitar leaning against the furthest corner of my room had caught my eye. I don’t remember how long I’d been staring at it, my mind a complete blank slate, but I knew it was long enough that by the time I glanced down at my phone, lit up with a text from my sister, the time was 7:10 pm.
In the far distance, over the half-torn down barbed wire fence running unevenly along the perimeter of the beach, surfies were recklessly charging into the water, boards under one arm.
If they weren’t preoccupied with barely containing themselves over the peaceful rippling of the waves, whispering nothings as they sluiced over jagged rocks, the men were turning their heads and wolf whistling at girls passing by in skimpy two-piece bikinis. Some of them spun around so quickly, I was surprised they didn’t get whiplash.
Exhaling a slow breath, I leaned my elbow on the wooden post in front of me and took in the view.
The sun was beginning to descend in the sky, painting slim, translucent streaks of auburn across the ocean — stained a deep shade of space blue. The constant, incessant keow of sea gulls circling in the distance was almost peaceful, if not for the drunken laughter of nearby men sitting topless in the sand and throwing back half-full bottles of Perth draught lager.
It was almost the weekend. As much as Friday had always been my favourite day of the week, it also had the tendency to bring out that one special type of person; the ones who prematurely celebrated the weekend, then woke up Sunday morning with a head full of lead and no recollection of how they’d ended up face-down in a ditch.
I took in the view one last time, before turning my back on the magnificent landscape.
My house was very literally just across the road, nestled snugly on a corner. It was only a standard one-storey house, but it was my safe place; somewhere I felt warm, settled and secure.
No sooner had I made it to my front door, I felt a foreign hand lightly grasp my shoulder.
I spun hastily around and held my camera above my head as some kind of makeshift weapon, relaxing the moment my eyes met the light grey irises staring back at me in alarm.
“Oh my gosh,” I started. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” the bright-eyed man in front of me grinned. “I’m here about the ad you put up, but you knew that of course.” The way he spoke made it sound like a statement, yet I could still pick out the uncertainty laced through his deep voice, almost creating an upward inflection at the end of his sentence. “I’m Asko Sultinan. It’s nice to meet you.”
He extended a large hand, patiently waiting. He was trying his best to hide his eagerness, but I could see it written all over his face, like a dog spotting a shiny red ball in a patch of grass.
Internally chuckling to myself, I grasped his hand firmly in mine and gave it a sturdy shake. “Since we’re doing formalities, it’s nice to meet you too, Asko. I’m Jedediah Pearce, but you can call me Jed for short.” I winked impishly.
When his long, thin lips stretched back to reveal his infectious smile, I couldn’t help but stare, completely transfixed.
He ran a hand through his mushroom brown hair, cropped short around his ears and neck. In the last hint of sunlight illuminating the sandy backdrop, I could see a small amount of gel glistening between the thick strands, holding it up perfectly into a short faux mohawk. He was slightly taller than me – I guessed, standing at six foot two – and held a more muscular build than me, sporting broad shoulders. His lean muscles were practically popping through the thin grey shirt he wore, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“So, um,” I wet my dry lips with a flick of my tongue, pushing my key into the lock and shoving the door open, “Come inside. Can I get you a drink? Or some food? I don’t think the slop they serve on planes would pass as something edible.”
His eyes fell over the carpet I’d just scuffed up with the door, not seeming overly worried, but maybe questioning whether or not I was always that careless. His gaze quickly returned to my face. “I’ll be alright, at least for a bit.”
I couldn’t tell if he was being polite, or was too anxious to speak up.
Shrugging it off, I padded forward into the living space and breathed in the air there. The house had previously belonged to a plant lover, so to pay homage to them, I’d decided to leave the pot plants they’d placed along each window sill in every room. Whenever I came home from a long and tedious day’s work, the familiar scent of lavender and rosemary helped ease my strung out nerves.
It was plant therapy. Just not the kind that was still illegal in this country.
“So, do you mind if I –
A few hasty raps on the wood cut my question abruptly short.
Grunting unintelligible profanities silently to my own ears, I retraced my path back to the threshold and yanked the door open.
Immediately, his olive green eyes took me in from head to toe. With each not-so-subtle sweep, I struggled to comprehend what he could’ve been thinking in those few short moments between us. Whatever it was jostling around inside his head, I highly doubted it would pass with a PG-13 rating or lower.
“Hey.” I put on my most polite smile.
“Hey,” he returned the warm-hearted gesture with a strong undertone of fervency. “Are you Jed?”
I struggled to form a coherent sentence inside my mind. Afraid of overthinking this and embarrassing myself even further by the prolonged silence, I stuck my arm out to him, almost whacking him in the stomach. “Yeah! You must be Janne Järvinen.”
He hesitated for a moment, shuffling his weight from foot-to-foot. “Yeah I am, how did you know that? I don’t think I told you who I was when I made the call.”
Heat rose to my cheeks. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me; waiting, wondering. There was a sudden itch on the nape of my neck, so I scratched it and chuckled a little too timidly. “I uh,” I cleared my throat. “You might as well call me a hardcore Cryptic Death fan. I’ve got both their albums, and I usually listen to them on repeat, non-stop.”
A thoughtful expression flashed across his face then, but it was gone before I could read too far into it. “Those were the days,” he sighed. “So, how –
The second interruption in five minutes was a soft, silky voice belonging to a man in his early thirties, maybe late twenties. “Is this Jed Pearce’s house?”
Gradually – with some difficulty – heaving a bulky suitcase up the stairs was the last man to respond to my ad.
A river of raven black hair half-fell into a pair of slightly slanted dark brown eyes. Behind his mask of apathy was a strong jawline and smooth, oval face, displaying little to no expression. Thick, dark eyebrows made him appear harsher than he sounded. Then again, I hardly knew the guy. He could’ve been a complete asshole.
“Yes,” I said. “You must be Jarmo Pulkkinen. I was just telling Janne here how much I love Cryptic Death, and how awesome they sounded when you were all still a band.”
“Oh really?” His voice peaked with what sounded like an immaculate blend of sarcasm and curiosity. “Hi Janne. Long time no see.”
“Hi Jarmo,” he replied brusquely. “It certainly has been a long time. You look well.”
I couldn’t be certain, but I thought I caught a glimpse of bittersweet nostalgia pass through their locked eyes. Maybe they’d spent years apart, with very minimal contact. Did any of them even know the others were coming here today? If not, this was sure to be an awkward reunion.
“Is this all of us?” Jarmo enquired, quickly flicking his gaze to my front garden. His eyes lingered on one of the many gnomes scattered across the green, possibly the Santa Claus one I’d recently added to my ever-growing collection.
“For now,” I said in the coolest, calmest tone I could manage, allowing my head to fall back on the side of the doorframe. My thoughts were racing, it was difficult to just choose one singular thing to focus on. I didn’t know why this was happening. My thoughts were usually light and breezy. “I’m expecting my brother to drop by at some point during the evening, but for now, you guys are stuck with me for company.” I smirked. “Who wants to fill out a complaint form in advance?”
“I’ll take two,” Jarmo japed, a mischievous smirk curving up the side of his mouth. “Just in case I misplace one throwing it at Janne in a fit of rage.”
Janne rolled his eyes, shaking his head from side-to-side. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
Jarmo winked at him, then turned to Asko.
“That should be fine, Jed.” Both of them spoke in almost perfect unison.
“Alright, well,” I breathed, “Come inside, guys. You must be thirsty, right? I’ll fetch you all some water, fresh from the tap.”
The last thing I saw before I ventured forth into the kitchen was Asko tilting his head in acute curiosity. Underneath the grey of his eyes, he could’ve been thinking anything. I just hoped it wasn’t anything bad. I was taking a major risk here, placing all of my cards on the table and gambling my future away.
Most bands who started up in this country never saw the bright light of the mainstream music industry, peeking around the corner of a wooden door with beckoning fingers. In fact, to date, I’d only heard of three recently successful acts - Hands Like Houses, 5 Seconds of Summer, and Jet.
The more I thought about it, the stupider and more naive my idea sounded. I was crazy for thinking this barely strung together idea of mine would work — where would we even start? There were barely any places within a close proximity to book, and then came the fees. We weren’t signed yet, heck I didn’t even know what our name would be! What would we call ourselves? The shrimps on the barbie? The baggy greens? Get on the drinks?
My heart was palpitating. Anxiety was starting to get the better of me, clawing up my back and wrapping its taloned, scaly hands around my neck until I couldn’t breathe.
Breathe. My sister’s sweet, musical voice chimed through my head. Just breathe.
I drew a slow breath into my lungs, mellowing out my overwhelmed senses.
“So,” I turned to the three men seated comfortably behind the coffee table I’d set up as an improvised desk, leaning only a quarter of my weight back against the counter, “I’ve never really done this kind of thing before, but I guess I should start by asking you all why you chose to answer the ad.”
Janne took a few long moments to collect his thoughts, glancing across at Asko and then away again. If looks could kill, as the old saying went, Asko would’ve been strewn across the floor with dozens of knives protruding from his chest. “I want to put my talents to good use. Since Cryptic Death folded — and my other band disbanded — I’ve had nothing to do. All I do every day is cart luggage across the airport.”
While he was preoccupied with his miniature dialogue, I traipsed over to the opposite side of the mahogany table, carefully seating myself across from the three Finns. Suddenly recalling the blue ballpoint pen sticking out from the corner of my jean pocket, the cap of which was digging into my lower abdomen, I pulled it free and tapped it against the corner of my mouth, feigning an act of professionalism that seemed lost on the casual set up.
“And Asko?” I raised an eyebrow. “Why are you here?”
His body language was full of contradictions. I could see him bouncing his knees up and down in nervous syncopation, lightly drumming his hands on them to a rhythm only he knew. Simultaneously, his shoulders were slumped and his jaw was totally relaxed. If he was grinding his teeth together, he did it in such a way no one else could hear it.
“I dream of being a policeman — and performing music on the side.” He replied. “This sounds like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me.”
There was an earnestness present in his voice, silencing any doubt in my mind that he would make a mockery out of my proposal.
I fixed my attention on Jarmo next. “Jarmo?”
The prominent furrow of his brow creased his face with an expression of immense disdain. He looked like he was moments away from grabbing someone by the hair and slamming them face-first into the table. Deep inside my stomach, my intestines were tying themselves into a bundle of apprehensive knots.
“I’d prefer to live in a house than on the street.” He folded one leg over the other.
Satisfied with his answer, I made a quick dash on the piece of lined paper lying in the middle of the table, forgotten about up until now. I quickly scrawled their names down on the outer edge of the page before any of them could catch on to my sloppy demeanour and call me out on it. I doubted Janne would mind; he gave off a very chilled, relaxed aura. I couldn’t, in good faith, say the same for Jarmo.
“Can you handle danger, pressure, and attention?” I asked all three of them, relaxing back into my favourite reclining armchair.
Janne was the first to answer. “I once worked as a roadie — lugging around heavy amps, moving instruments, and making sure the lights worked. It was a very physically demanding job.” He paused. I could practically see the cogs turning in his mind as he considered how to elaborate. “As a drummer, I always received attention from newspapers criticising my playing style, or from groupies trying to sleep with me.”
Asko patiently waited for Janne to finish, before speaking up. “Danger comes with any line of defence work. Pressure and attention are a guarantee for any and all musicians — whether it’s from tabloids, critics, or fans. I’ve got more than enough experience with all of those.”
Jarmo, looking out the window to neighbouring houses across the road, was too absorbed in his own world to notice it was his turn.
I was about to call his name, when his eyes flickered back to the present. “Life’s dangerous. We all die one day.”
If this rag-tag group of mine were to grasp at success, we needed a bit of that flare on our side. People needed to know that, while we were a group of fun-loving guys who enjoyed partying and hanging out backstage after shows, we also wouldn’t be crossed. Why bring an inflatable baseball bat to a gun fight, when we could bring firepower of our own? It might’ve been meticulous thinking; some might even go so far as to say I was spending too much time focusing on every minuscule detail. None of that hearsay mattered, though.
This wasn’t a pipe dream. This was my future.
Adding Janne and Asko to the equation, I failed to pinpoint any drawbacks in this group not working out in the long run. One was lanky and tall, corded with muscles, while the other took no shame in being beefed up like a fresh cut of porterhouse steak. Both of them were coyly reserved, making small, fidgety motions with their hands underneath the table. Under a set of different circumstances, I imagined Janne cracking open a can of beer, and Asko brightening up the room with meaningless anecdotes, resulting in sore ribs from too much laughter.
“Alright,” I exhaled slowly, “you guys are part of Protective Services.” I rose from my chair to shake each of their hands, which they slapped into my palm in a messy display of excitement. “Congratulations, guys. I’ll see each and every one of you bright and early on Monday morning. We need to rehearse if I’m to enter us in this competition I’ve heard whispers of around town.”
“Thank you so much!” Asko grinned, throwing his arms around me in a bear hug.
“Uh, that’s okay?” I chuckled, uncertain how exactly I was supposed to react. I looked over to Janne, but he only shrugged his shoulders as if to say ‘you’re on your own, kid’. “Do you guys need directions to the closest hotel? There’s a golf resort somewhere, if you like that kind of thing. Or if you want to go back to the early 1900s vibe, there’s a lodge not far from here.”
Jarmo waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine, we’ll figure something out.”
Before I could offer some sort of response, he and Asko were already halfway down the stairs, murmuring softly to one another. I couldn’t make out what they might’ve been saying – it was in their native tongue.
I wasn’t sure where Janne had wandered off to. Scanning the room quickly turned up no hint of his presence, so I figured he might’ve broken away from the small assembly to find the bathroom.
There were toilets on planes, however some people preferred to hold on as long as they could until they found one on land. I couldn’t exactly blame them. I’d been on a plane only a handful of times in my life, and those things they called bathrooms were very small and space constrictive. It was like being trapped inside a tin can floating in the sky. Then there was the turbulence...
Janne sauntered into my peripheral, shaking his hands dry. It was then I noticed the string of tattoos covering his right arm, ranging from the unmistakable shape of skulls to a grim reaper below his elbow, the hem of his ragged, moth-eaten robe billowing across his inner forearm. Only a small number decorated his left arm. Maybe in time, he was planning to add more to his living tapestry of skin.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, tucking a thin strip of dark blonde hair behind the curve of my ear.
He took only one step forward, remaining utterly silent. The frayed arm holes of his black shirt suggested he’d ripped them off, causing him to appear more punk rock. The way the material hugged his body frame left very little to the imagination. I could already feel my body beginning to heat up again the longer I gawked at him, like a schoolboy with a crush. The way his straight, luscious medium brown hair freely cascaded over his muscled shoulders was suddenly leaving my mouth bone dry.
“Janne, can I help you?” I took a cautious step forward, instantly regretting the poorly thought out decision.
His body covered mine, cornering me between the back sliding door and the wall. His hands were already on me, lightly touching my chest. Then his mouth crashed hard into mine, all heat and lust.
I wanted to shove him off me and drive my fist home into his face, but my body refused to cooperate. His mouth was feather soft, and very precise; whispering mutely against my parted lips, swallowing the words stuck in my throat.
My hands loosened their death grip on the collar of his roadie shirt, moving to loosely encircle his hips and bring him closer to me. There was too much space between us. Even though I could feel his lower abdomen pressed up firmly against me, that one small millimetre of space was still too much.
Janne, Janne, Janne.
My thoughts were suddenly consumed by him. Every part of my body was alight, and I was forced to burn in the thick haze of desire slowly shrouding me from head-to-toe. My back was aching. Something sharp was digging into the small of it; undoubtedly the handle. I didn’t care. I was too involved with Janne to pay much attention to my surroundings.
Our kisses were taking a more aggressive turn, stealing the breath straight out of my lungs with each rough movement. I tangled his hair around my fingers more as a way of reassuring myself he was really there, hearing a slight groan slip from my lips. His hands seized my butt commandingly, pulling my body painfully closer to his own. Painful, because of all the unrestricted thirst running loose in my veins.
His lips lightly trailed hungry, wet kisses down the side of my neck. In response to his fervour, I thrust my hips into his and moaned, running my hand up his rippling back. My breathing grew heavier, sounding unbearably loud to my ears.
Janne wanted to wait - I could see it in his eyes, now a dark green with desire, as he tilted his head up to look at me. He was barely hanging on to his last thread of self-control, and neither was I.
In the blink of an eye, he unzipped the front of my jeans and shoved his hand down inside my underwear.
Sucking in a deep breath, I clenched my eyes shut and dug my fingers into the section of his back beneath the arc of his shoulder blades. My breath, hoarse and barely controlled, radiated back on to my chin from fanning out across his neck. His hand was ice cold, but at the same time, it felt incredibly good on my skin. There was no hesitation whatsoever on his part. His fingers were already wrapped around me, stroking every pulsating inch.
I arched my head back against the drywall, hearing a short, breathy series of grunts and moans coming from my own mouth. If I hadn’t been so distracted by what was taking place, I would’ve sworn blind those lucid sounds couldn’t possibly belong to me.
No one had ever had this effect on me before, and subconsciously, I was afraid no one ever would again. It was blatantly obvious he knew how to please someone, and I wasn’t about to stop him when he had such headway. With each circuit his fingers made up and down my shaft, I could feel myself growing inevitably closer to climax.
Using his free hand, he grasped my chin and lifted it towards him, forcing me to look him dead in the eyes as I released. “Oh fuck, Janne.”
My head drooped back like a balloon losing its helium, making a light thud as it hit the wall behind me. I was a panting, hot mess, and I wanted him. I wanted him so bad.
“I just wanted to say thanks for accepting my application for the group.” His eye curved down into a cheeky wink, before he turned away from me and followed the confines of the house, disappearing out of sight.
