I stopped. Tension held me fisted in its grip. The realization hitting me hard that wish all I wanted, War would always be a wedge between us.

“What the fuck, Lace?” War’s expression was livid. “Why the hell didn’t you do that yesterday when I asked you to?”

She didn’t answer but her chin rose.

“You’re doing it just like that tomorrow night in Atlanta.”

“No, War. I’m not.” Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. “I was just messing around for King and Sager.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer, Lace,” War bellowed as they faced off like two opponents in a ring.

“I’m my own person, Warren Jinkins!” she yelled, leaning in toward him, her hands moving to her hips. “Stop riding me about this. I’ll decide what I will and won’t do.”

“War,” I walked over to him with my hands out. “Maybe you should…”

“Stay the fuck out of it, Bryan,” he shouted, his anger veering toward me.

Lace took advantage of the distraction I’d provided and spun around, her footsteps echoing as she stomped off the stage.

War’s eyes cut back to me. “Bullet.”

“Not this time, man. I’m through with being the peacemaker. You want her, you go after her. Only let me suggest you let her cool down first if you want to get anywhere.”

“Hey, guys.”

We both turned as Marcus Anthony strutted up to us like he owned the place. “BS is up.”

Was this asshole totally oblivious? His timing certainly sucked.

“Back the fuck off, chief.” War pointed to his watch. “Tempest’s still got five more minutes.”

Marcus frowned.

I grinned. Shit like this reminded me why War and I were so tight. I was tempted to give him a congratulatory fist bump right there in front of Marcus’ arrogant face. I mean just because BS was headlining, and Marcus got to fly around in a big jet while we rode on tour buses with the roadies didn’t mean his shit didn’t stink. It hadn’t been that long ago that Brutal Strength had been an opening band just like us. And it hadn’t been that long ago that Marcus’ fist had made a little contact with my face. Granted I punched him first. But still.

In a blatantly dismissive move, War turned his back on Marcus and stepped up to the center mic. He tapped it once, and looked over his shoulder at King. “’My Way or the Highway.’ Count it out.”

When we got back to the hotel, War jogged up beside me. “Got a minute?’