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Copyright © 2024 by K.A. Knight
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Written by K.A. Knight.

Edited By Jess from Elemental Editing and Proofreading.
Proofreading by Norma’s Nook.
Formatted by The Nutty Formatter.
Art by Dily Iola Designs
Cover by Moonstruck Cover Design & Photography
 CONTENTS

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Epilogue
About K.A. Knight
Also by K.A. Knight
Find an error?
 PROLOGUE

“S candal has shaken the rock world once again, with Beck Danvers’ surprise departure in the middle of a Dead Ringers
performance at Warped Tour. Beck, the new lead singer, was on a sold-out world tour with the infamous bad-boy
band when she suddenly stormed off stage and didn’t reappear. So far, three dates have been canceled, and there’s no
news from the band⁠—”
“Beck Danvers, the drama queen⁠—”
“Dead Ringers, who are no strangers to drama, have once again made headlines with spoiled singer Beck Danvers. The
mysterious new lead singer landed them in hot water⁠—”
“The question is, will the band ever recover from this? Will Beck Danvers come back for one last melody, or is she
rebelling?”
Scoffing, I turn the TV off and recline on the cheap motel bed. If they only knew the truth about me.
If they only knew Beck Danvers doesn’t exist.
If they only knew I am a fraud, just like my bandmates know now.
 ONE

“I can’t“Rude,”
deal with another fucking audition, man. They are all useless.”
Trav interjects.
“But true.” Kolton nods, drumming his fingers on the sticky wooden table. “They’ve been okay, but not showstopping
worthy. We need raw talent, the voice to match our own, or⁠—”
“We’re fucked,” I conclude as I lean back, slinging my arm over the back of my chair. “Nobody wants to be our singer after
the shit show that’s our history, and I can’t fucking blame them. We are dead in the goddamn water, and if we don’t find
someone soon, our label will pull their offer and we’ll just be some washed-up rock band who could have made it big.”
“If they stayed out of trouble,” Trav mutters, shooting me a side-eye.
Swallowing hard against my guilt, I incline my head, about to apologize once again, when the sound of a throat clearing has
us all jerking our heads up to check out the stage. We were so lost in our own shit, we didn’t even hear the next audition take to
the tiny black stage in the bar we are using. We get free drinks because the manager has a crush on me, which reminds me. I
need to throw her a fuck in gratitude—not something I do anymore but it’s necessary. I have a lot to make up for with my
bandmates.
My eyes finally adjust to the bright spotlight again, and my jaw actually drops at the woman standing there, ready to
audition. Her blonde hair hangs in waves past her hips, and her brown eyes pop from her thick eyeliner, contrasting nicely with
her bright purple lips and pale skin. She’s tall, almost as tall as me, with huge boots that buckle to her knees. She wears a
ragged band T-shirt made into a dress, with the sides of her boobs clearly on display. Tattoos are spread across her skin like a
storybook.
She’s fucking stunning, and she knows it.
“Well, are you ready, or should I wait for your little huddle to finish?” she deadpans.
I feel my cheeks heat.
Who the fuck is this woman?
I must say it out loud because one dark eyebrow arches as Kolton and Trav shoot me a dirty look. “Name’s Beck Danvers.
Now, shall I sing, or are you going to keep trying to shoot your eyes through my shirt to see if I’m wearing a bra?”
“Well, are you?” I ask, flirting coming naturally as I lay my arm across my chair with a cocky smirk I’ve perfected—the
one that makes every woman wet and mine. She simply rolls her eyes.
Interesting.
I do like a fight. An elbow hits my gut, making me double over. I turn my glare to Kolt and see him glaring right back. “No,”
he tells me before smiling warmly at her.
“What will you be singing today?”
“‘Cherry Bomb,’” Beck replies, shooting me another stink eye. “Unless that’s an issue.”
“How cliché.” I groan, disappointed. “Listen, babe, if you’re here to get close to me, fine, leave your number, and when I
have time or I’m bored, I’ll call you. This is a serious audition⁠—”
“How about you shut the fuck up for once, Chase Reed. and listen to me sing? I sure as shit didn’t drive five hundred miles
to have two minutes in your van, which would probably be the worst two minutes of my life.”
My mouth snaps shut in shock as Kolt and Trav double over in laughter.
“Oh, I like her,” Trav says.
“Shut up,” I hiss at him. “Fine, Beck. Take it away. Blow us all away with your incredible talent.”
“I will.” She smirks as she counts in the music.
The music starts up, and despite her bravado, she closes her eyes nervously, licking her perfect lips. Her hands shake
slightly as she grips the mic. There’s a guitar around her neck, but she doesn’t touch it yet. It’s an older Fender Stratocaster, and
from the coloring, I’d say it’s rare and pricey. The first note she lets out is in the wrong key, and I wince, but she carries on,
getting into the rhythm and fixing it until the music flows from her. That’s when the transformation comes over her, one we all
feel. Her eyes open, and her body sways along as she gets bolder.
I lean forward, my breath catching in my throat. I’m scarcely able to take my eyes off her. She’s raw, that’s for sure, and she
needs coaching on stage presence and vocalizing, but her voice?
She sounds like a goddamn fallen angel.
Shit.
When the last note fades, she’s breathing heavily, and her eyes focus on us like she forgot we were here. For a moment, so
did I. Trav gets to his feet and whistles, clapping.
Kolton grins and looks at me. I quickly school my expression because despite her talent, she’s trouble. I can see it a mile
away. No one comes here who looks like her, with that talent, without baggage. Trust me, I know. Beck Danvers has a story,
and I have a feeling it won’t end well for us. I won’t put my bandmates through that shit again.
We’ve faced enough for a lifetime.
“Nope, not her,” I snap.
“She’s good—no, she’s fucking great. I haven’t heard a raw voice like hers in years,” Kolt argues.
“She’s clearly untrained,” I protest, ignoring her.
“So we fucking train her. You were like her once. She’s powerful, good,” Trav counters, annoyed.
“You know I can hear you, right?” she drawls, and Trav grins.
“And she clearly takes no shit from you. We need that.” Without waiting for my thoughts, the two knuckleheads turn back to
her and grin.
“You’re in. Welcome to Dead Ringers.”
 TWO

art of me didn’t actually believe I would do it. I didn’t think I would get into the audition, let alone become Dead Ringers’
P new lead singer. I hoped, but I never . . .
“And this is the game room.” Trav grins sheepishly. “It’s a bit of a mess. We aren’t used to houseguests.” Nodding, I
grip my duffle bag tighter. “Is that all you own?”
I bring my eyes up to meet his bright blue orbs, and he winces again, scrubbing at his head and mussing his styled black
hair, which is shorter on the sides and longer on top. His nose and lip rings glint in the light as he watches me. He has to look
down since he’s so tall. He’s skinny too, but I can see muscle peeking out from under his clothes, as well as lots of tattoos.
He’s hot in that bad-boy rocker way, and he even has the eyeliner to go along with the look.
“I mean, it’s cool if that’s everything. I was just going to take it to your room for you.”
“My room?” I tilt my head. They dragged me here after the bar, barely even giving me a minute to grab my shit from the
back room. I got some hasty introductions on the short drive here, but that was about it.
“Well, yeah.” He blushes hard. “Shit, we didn’t even tell you, did we? It’s in our contract. We have to live together.
Bonding or some shit. It, um, came up after, well, after something happened. So you’ll be living here with us in your own room
and with privacy of course. Is that okay?”
“I don’t have anywhere else to go.” I shrug, looking around. It’s true, I don’t, but sharing a house with three rock stars? This
should be fun. I guess it will help me get close to them though.
“Oh, well, that’s good, I guess.” He sounds unsure. Kolton and Chase disappeared as soon as we pulled up to the grand
mansion on the hill. “So it belongs to our management, but you can decorate or do whatever you want. There are a few house
rules. Here, let me take that while I show you to your room.” He reaches for my bag, and I step back.
“It’s okay. I’ve got it,” I mumble, not wanting to part with a thing inside.
He blinks but nods, and I follow him out of the basement game room, around the foyer, and up the stairs. When his voice
comes, it’s unsure. It’s obvious he doesn’t know what to make of me, and that’s fine, but then I remind myself I need to be
friends with these people, which means making an effort, something that used to come naturally to me.
I was always a people person.
Before.
“Okay, well, no houseguests—i.e., no hookups here at all. Take it elsewhere.” He shoots me a sideways look. “That came
in because of⁠—”
“Chase?” I guess with a grin, making him laugh.
“Yep, one too many crazy one-night stands who kept stealing from us or live-streaming, so management made it a rule. No
drugs. None at all. That’s a band rule.”
“I don’t use.” I shrug.
We stop on the second floor, and he gestures at three closed wooden doors.
“Good. These are our rooms in case you need us.” He coughs and speeds up. “We do party, but no scandals or we lose
bonuses. I think that’s about it. Oh, here is your room.” He opens the plain wooden door and sweeps inside.
I follow after him, wondering if this is where she slept—the singer who came before me.
There’s a gray upholstered bed pushed against the back white wall and two bland gray side tables with lamps on either
side of it.
I see two doors, and Trav nods to them. “Bathroom, so don’t worry, you don’t have to share with us. Kolt is a mirror hog.”
He smirks. “And a closet.”
Wandering into the room, I drop my bag on the unmade bed and move to the windows that take up the entire left wall from
floor to ceiling. A small, circular balcony outside looks out across the city. For a moment, agony tears through me, so I turn
away and swallow it down.
I can’t afford to break.
Not now, not here, not with them.
“I guess I’ll let you get settled. Just holler if you need anything. We’ve set up a meeting for tonight with our label to sign all
the boring paperwork, and they will go through everything. You’ll be thrown into the deep end. Our tour was rescheduled for
this year, and you only have a few months to prepare.”
“Not a problem.” I know all this already, but I don’t tell him.
I don’t tell him I don’t plan to be here that long, but I have to keep up appearances.
“Okay then.” He smiles softly at me, so warm and welcoming. “I’m glad you’re here, Beck. Remember, you are one of us
now.”
“Thanks, Trav, I mean it.” I look around, and when I glance back, the door is shut and he’s gone. My shoulders drop, and I
blow out a breath, looking at the room with my hands on my hips.
“Well, I made it, Terrie. What do I do now?” I grumble.
Pulling my hair tie from my wrist, I wind my long blonde hair up into a messy bun and take off my jacket, tossing it onto the
bed and unzipping my bag. I might as well get unpacked.
My hand lingers on the box inside the bag. I look for a place to hide it. I don’t know if they will come in here, but I can’t
trust that they won’t snoop, especially Chase, so I explore the bathroom before opening the closet. There’s a shallow shelf
running along the top with spare bedding and towels, so I shove them aside and press up on my tiptoes, carefully sliding the
box to the back and covering it again. Dropping back down, I grab bunches of clothes and start to hang them.
While I do, my mind wanders to the person who lived in the room before me—the one no one talks about and the reason
they are on a deadline.
There’s nothing here. It’s bare, clean, and repainted.
I’m almost sad not to have that connection, but I remind myself I don’t need it. I need to focus on working, but as I unpack
my one measly bag, I spot something.
Stepping closer to the back of the walk-in closet, I can’t help but smile. Carved into the door is a slanted smiley face.
Swallowing, I reach up and caress the carving, wondering if she felt as alone and unsure as I do.
I wonder if they were as kind to her.
I wonder if she sat here, pouring her dreams into lyrics.
I wonder if this is where it happened.
Closing the door on the past, I turn to face my future and the three men who are waiting there.
 THREE

“I ’m just saying,” Chase grumbles as he lines up his shot. I watch his ball sink into the pocket and smirk. Groaning, he
straightens from the pool table and grabs his beer, gripping the neck hard as he glares at the pool cue like it’s the reason
he’s losing.
Chase Reed has always been a sore loser and a bit of an asshole, like now.
“I know what you’re saying. You don’t like her. Well, tough shit,” I reply. “She’s talented, and we need that. We need fresh
blood, old man, so get over it.” I sink my shot as he glares at me.
“Who are you calling old, you punk? I’m only five years older than you,” he scoffs, pushing his hair back and posing like
there’s a camera around. I don’t bother pointing it out, since it’s a habit for this royal prince. He’s such a poser. I hated him
when I was first brought into the band. He’s a know-it-all, stuck-up bastard, but he’s damn talented, so despite all his flaws, I
stuck around.
We became friends, fucked if I know how. He loves attention and spending sprees, while I prefer the quieter side of life,
but it works, and Trav keeps us in check when we butt heads, but there’s always a space where our fourth should be.
It used to be Ila, Trav’s sister, who was our second lead singer, but then she decided to go solo and is killing it. We’ve had
a few replacements since then, but none stuck around. Either Chase drove them away or fucked them and dropped them . . .
Well, until the last one.
Tamping down the guilt and pain, I focus back on Chase, forcing a smile. I don’t want to go down that dark road again. It
took me a whole bunch of fucking counseling to come back from what happened, and I’m determined to give this tour our best.
It’s our last shot to make something of ourselves again.
We can’t afford to fail.
It would be the end of us all. We’d lose everything and go down as nothing but wannabes who couldn’t cut it.
“Is that a gray hair I see?” I taunt, and Chase’s eyes widen, his beer crashing to the floor as he races to the closest
reflective surface and searches through his hair.
“Where? Where—oh, you little fucker!” He turns and launches himself at me. Laughing, I step to the side to avoid him.
“Getting slow. Is it your old age?” I tease.
We run around the pool table, keeping it between us as I grin and feint left. Pointing at me, he shouts, “You’re dead!”
“Sure, old man, but you have to catch me first!”
“No bloodshed inside. Take it outside,” Trav calls. “I’m sick of cleaning the floors.”
“Stay out of this,” Chase hisses. “I need to teach this little punk a lesson.”
“You are both children.” Trav sighs, and when I glance over, he’s nursing a cup of coffee, leaning against the door. “You
aren’t setting a good example for Beck.”
“I don’t know, I’m kind of curious who will win,” comes a purring voice. We all whip around to see Beck curled up on one
of the armchairs before the gaming TV, a beer in her hand as she watches us.
“How long have you been there?” I ask, confused.
“Long enough.” She smirks, and damn if my heart doesn’t skip a beat, especially when she meets my eyes with a knowing
look. The woman is far too attractive. She could be a model, but here she is with us. When she stands and stretches, her dress
rises, flashing her supple thighs. My dick hardens, and my mouth turns dry.
I know she’s bad news, and I know I should keep my distance.
Nothing good will come of this. How many times did we warn Chase away from fucking our new singers? I’m debating if I
could cross that very same line now, one I’ve never even been tempted to cross.
Not until Beck Danvers.
 She’s completely oblivious of the three hard gazes watching her as she saunters around the couch, the magnetism that makes
her a natural singer stopping us in our tracks. She’s like a goddamn movie I can’t look away from.
“So who usually wins?” she asks as she stops next to the pool table.
“What?” I blurt, completely blinded by her.
An arm wraps around my neck and squeezes, dragging me down.
“I guess I have my answer.” She smirks.
Elbowing Chase, I feel him grunt as he tightens his grip. He’s surprisingly strong for a little motherfucker. Trav sighs and
heads our way. “Break it up. No more broken bones, remember?”
“How many times has that happened?” She looks between us. “Should I be worried about you guys not being able to
perform?”
“Oh, darlin’, we can perform just fine,” Chase flirts.
“I think I just threw up in my mouth,” she comments and covers her lips. “I’m going to shower. I have the overwhelming
urge to scrub my skin.”
I can’t help but laugh, and Chase lets me go, glaring at her. “You would be lucky if I touched you. Others beg for a taste.”
“Good for them. You’re not my type.” The shock on his face is comical, and Trav and I lean together, watching the show. I
don’t think a woman has ever turned Chase down before, never more than once either.
“I’m not your type?” he exclaims. “Impossible.”
When she just stares at him, his jaw drops again. “Not your type,” he whispers, absolutely shell-shocked.
“Well, this was delightful,” she drawls. “I’ll meet you downstairs in time for the meeting.” She downs her beer and tosses
it into the bin without looking. She, of course, makes the shot as she leaves.
“I’m going to marry that girl,” I tell them.
“You aren’t her type,” Chase snipes.
“Aww, little baby, did she hurt your feelings?” I mock. “She only said you weren’t her type, nothing about us.”
I watch his mouth drop again, and I leave him there, shocked to his core and reeling.
Oh yeah, Beck Danvers fits with us.
I can’t wait for the tour.
 FOUR

here is she?” Chase asks.

“W “Why? You are always late.” I smirk, and he turns to throw me a perfectly practiced glare and then flips his hair as
he turns back around.
“When I do it, it’s style, but when she does it, it’s rude. Singer girl⁠—”
“Should I get you a Post-it with my name since you have memory issues in your old age?” she calls as she comes down, not
stopping until she’s before Chase. Most would wither at the idea of going toe to toe with the famous Chase Reed when he’s in a
mood.
“Careful, little girl,” he warns, getting in her face.
She doesn’t back down, and my tongue catches between my teeth as I take the chance to look her over. She’s changed, and
the scent of peaches hits me, hardening my cock. Wearing some loose ripped jeans, boots, and a cropped shirt that ties around
her back, she looks good enough to fucking eat.
“Or what, old man?” she challenges. When he’s silent, she smirks. “That’s what I thought. You keep standing there looking
pretty, since the talent is now here.” She moves past him, hitting his shoulder with hers, and I cover my lips to hide my smile as
he turns to glare after her, but I catch his eyes dropping to her ass, so I block the view, pointing from my eyes to his.
I might look, but I won’t touch. Beck Danvers is hot as fuck, but we need her, which means no crossing lines. We can be
friends, and I can think about that tight, little body while I fuck my hand, but nothing more. Chase, on the other hand, would fuck
her just to prove he could.
I won’t let him ruin this one as well.
“Behave,” I warn.
“Whatever.” He goes to step past me, so I grab his arm, tightening my hold on his leather jacket to stop him.
“I mean it, Chase. We can’t afford to fuck this one up. It’s our last chance, or have you forgotten that?”
“I haven’t.”
“Or how you owe us for all the times you fucked up in the past?” I snap.
“You said you forgave me,” he mumbles. I see a flash of hurt in his eyes, and although we understand the issues he faced
and why he did what he did, it takes everything in me not to throw it back in his face.
“We do, but we won’t if you ruin this one for us, Chase, and you can’t afford to lose any more friends. We are the ones who
stuck by you, so if not for the band or your dreams, then how about just for that? Please don’t ruin our dreams just because you
can.” I let him go and turn to follow her out.
“I’m sorry, Trav.” He sighs. “I really am. I won’t. If you say she’s in, she’s in. I’ll behave as much as I can.”
“That’s all we’re asking, man.” I wrap my arm around his neck and drag him out with me. “She is hot though.”
He elbows me, making us both laugh.

“So, Ms. Danvers, does everything look in order to you?” Michael, our manager, asks. He’s very hands-on and a good man to
have in a pinch. Michael and Rachel keep us in line. I look around, wondering where Rachel is now because she’s not in
attendance, which is weird. She’s usually so picky about our choices.
Shrugging, I lean back in my chair and watch as Beck reads over the contract again before picking up the pen and signing.
“All good to me. When do I start?”
 “I like her.” He grins. “Take a few days to get settled, then come to rehearsal with the guys on Monday. We can alter
anything we need to fit your style and voice, and it gives us time to perfect the set before the tour, which will be hitting over
eighty cities worldwide.”
Beck grins. “I’ve always wanted to travel.”
“Good.” Michael grins over at us. “Good choice. Behave this weekend. If you celebrate, remember⁠—”
“No scandals,” we all repeat.
“Good, that includes you, Beck. See you all Monday.”
“Let’s go get fucked up!” Kolton grins, and when Michael sighs, he throws his arms open. “Responsibly.”
Filing out of the office, we get to the elevator before I realize Beck isn’t with us. I’m just glancing around for her when
Rachel appears from the elevator. Chase holds it for her. Surprisingly, she’s about the only woman on staff he’s never tried to
fuck. Who knows why. Maybe because she’s off-limits since she’s technically our manager too.
“Boys.” She grins but it fades, and I turn to see Michael bend toward Beck as they walk toward us, laughing at something
she said.
“Ah, Rachel, meet Beck Danvers, our incredible new lead singer,” I introduce her.
Beck meets her eyes as they join us. “Nice to meet you, Rachel, is it?” She holds out her hand.
Rachel swallows before I see her force a smile, making my brow furrow. She shakes Beck’s hand. “And you. I didn’t know
they picked someone.” She glances at us.
“Spur of the moment.” Kolton grins. “We are off to celebrate.”
Rachel sighs. “Oh, I’m working late.”
“Oh, I mean just the band.” He coughs awkwardly. “But you can come if you want.”
“No, go ahead. Just remember to behave. Beck, I will meet you more formally next week. Welcome to the band.”
Beck steps into the elevator with us as Rachel steps out to join Michael.
“Behave,” he warns again as the door starts to close, and then she meets our eyes in the reflection of the door.
“So what trouble can we get up to?”
 FIVE

“I ’m so“Megladtoo.”
Reign is back,” Kolton says, the news of her surprise return spreading.
Trav sighs. “I hope she’s okay.”
The bar we are in is quiet and exclusive. Only the rich and famous play here, so no stories can leak. The beer I’m
drinking is worth more than the entirety of my bank account, but they fit right in, something I wasn’t expecting. I need to
remember they are rock stars.
“What are we talking about?” Chase asks as he throws himself down on the sofa opposite me. His dark eyes watch me
carefully. “How we can get in just the right amount of trouble, I hope.”
“Reign Harrow is back.” Kolton shows him his phone, and Chase’s eyebrow rises.
“Good for her.” Chase nods, surprisingly serious for once before he sits up, rubbing his hands together. “Now, about that
trouble . . .”
“Hey, guys,” a dark voice says, and we all swing around to see a beefy Adonis guy in a suit standing next to our booth.
“Hey, Andrew. Saw the new movie. It looks great,” Trav tells him.
“Thanks, man, and who is this?” The man, Andrew, turns a bright smile on me, his perfect white teeth almost blinding me.
He’s pretty as fuck and definitely an actor, but I just smile.
“Oh, this is Beck, our new lead singer. Beck, this is Andrew Jackson, Hollywood’s biggest star.”
Andrew scoffs but plays it up, and I nod. He deflates, watching me. “So you’re a singer, huh?” he asks.
“Yup.” I pour myself another drink as he slides into the booth next to me.
“I’m an actor. You might have heard of some of my movies.” He flexes his arm.
“Probably not. I’m more of an oldies fan,” I admit, and the horror on his face makes me hide my smile behind my glass.
“Right, uh, so have you been in many bands?” he inquires, still flirting his ass off.
“Not really,” I answer truthfully and turn back to the guys. “So talk me through the setlist.”
Trav indulges me, and Andrew eventually gets the point and grumbles a goodbye, heading to another table filled with what
looks to be models. He might be trying to get laid tonight, but it won’t be with me. I can’t be distracted by a pretty face or rock-
hard muscles. I have more important things to do.
When Andrew leaves, Chase leans forward. “So what is your type then, Beck, if it isn’t grunge, bad-boy me or pretty boy
Andrew.”
“I guess you’ll never find out.”
He leans back, and I watch as he moves into Kolton’s side. “Girls, I knew it.”
Rolling my eyes, I kick the table at him. “I love men, especially ones with pretty faces I can ride. Just not yours.”
He chokes on his sip of beer as the others burst into laughter with me.
“You’d be so lucky,” he mutters.
“No, darlin’,” I mock. “You would be.”
“Oh yeah, she fits right in.” Kolton nods, grinning wide. “So you told Andrew not many bands. Is that true?”
Careful, Beck, I remind myself.
“A few here and there, but never found anything that stuck, you know? Either they were posers just wanting cash or pussy or
we just didn’t get along. I saw your open auditions as I was passing through.”
“To where?” Trav asks curiously.
“Anywhere and everywhere. I wanted a fresh start, and I told myself I’d know the place when I found it. I guess fate had
other plans.” I’m not exactly lying, and that’s the best way to get away with lies—keep them as close to the truth as possible so
you don’t trip yourself up in the long run.
 “Well, we are lucky you did,” Kolton admits.
Downing more of my drink, I meet Trav’s curious eyes, ones that see too much, and quickly look away. I didn’t expect them
to be so nice—well, except for Chase—and it’s throwing me off a bit.
Can I really do this?
I guess I’m in too deep to back out now.
 SIX

here’s a shadow in Beck’s eyes, one I see in mine every day that I bury behind the music and the lifestyle. It makes me
T wonder who or what put that there.
What is Beck Danvers’ story?
I shouldn’t care since she’s a good singer, one we need to make it to the top, but for a moment, I find myself softening
toward her.
She’s a risk to our band, but we are all about risks.
There is a reason we chose Dead Ringers for our name.
Like she knows I see too much, she smirks at me, downing her drink, and stands. “I’m going to dance.” Unconcerned that
she’s completely alone in unfamiliar surroundings, she heads right into the middle of the dance floor and starts to move to the
beat. Every eye turns to her—how could they not?
Sitting back, I drape one leg across the other, my arm thrown over the back of the sofa, and watch the show.
“Are you okay?” Trav asks softly. “Need to get some air?”
It’s our code for getting me away from temptation, giving me time to work through my addiction. After all, addiction
doesn’t just go away overnight. It’s a constant battle to say no. Some days are easier than others, and we’ve made it a point to
stay as far away from temptation as possible, but this life goes hand in hand with the darkness that drove me to the needle in the
first place.
For the first time in a long time, though, I’m not thinking about what I could numb myself with or where a dealer could be—
no, my focus is completely on her.
Beck Danvers is a goddamn mystery, and I used to love mysteries, but not anymore.
She’s dangerous to everything we’ve worked so hard for, but I can’t seem to stop myself from watching the show she puts
on. She’s completely oblivious to every single person watching her with need and envy. It’s like she exists in her own world,
free of judgment and rules. I envy that. I want that.
I want the freedom and ecstasy I see on her face, something I used to find in the high of my addiction, but here she is, mostly
sober and dancing like no one cares.
How does she do it?
“Nah, I’m good, man,” I admit, sipping my beer.
“You sure?” Trav worries, watching me with concern before he glances to the side. I follow his gaze to see someone
snorting coke off a woman’s chest in the dim corner. Usually, that would send me fleeing, but not tonight. Tonight, I want to stay,
so I harden my resolve, ripping my eyes from the sight and back to Beck. I allow her to distract me from the clawing ache at my
insides demanding I join them.
Trav and Kolton have seen me fall off the wagon more times than I can count, but this time I’m determined to stay clean. I
won’t wreck my life or theirs any further. It’s been six months, and so far, so good. I see them share a worried look, one I was
always too fucked up to notice, but I ignore it.
“What do you think her story is?” I ask over the music.
“Who knows, but she’s exactly what we need,” Kolton replies.
“But can she perform?” I retort. “Has she ever been on a stage? We didn’t check that shit.”
“We didn’t have time since you kept chasing off the good talent,” Trav grumbles. “But I like her. I have a good feeling about
her.”
Something in his tone makes me look at him. He’s watching her, and I see his eyes soften and flame with desire. Shit. Trav
never fucks around, not after . . . Well, he doesn’t. When he feels, he feels hard. Something aches in my chest as I watch him
watch her, because why wouldn’t she fall for Trav? He’s the whole package. He’s a good man, he has his life together, and he’s
practically a fucking saint for putting up with me for so long. I want him to be happy. He deserves it.
I tell myself it’s because of the band. If they broke up, it would ruin us, and we can’t afford that.
It’s the only reason I do what I do next—to protect them. “We should make a pact. No touching this one.”
“What?” Trav spins on me, his mouth agape.
“We can’t afford to lose Beck if she is as good as she seems. It’s our last chance, and there isn’t room for mistakes. So a
pact, we don’t touch her.”
“That would be a you problem,” Kolton scoffs, but I see him shoot her a sad, longing look. “But fine, a pact. We don’t fuck
Beck. Trav.”
We both look at him, and his eyes go back to her before dropping. “For the band,” he murmurs.
“It’s done then. Beck is off-limits. Now, let’s finish our drinks. Tomorrow, we’ll work on getting her stage ready.” I grin
with glee, knowing just how much she will hate it.
“I don’t like this new side of him,” Kolton whispers to Trav, even though I overhear. “He was more fun when he was an
addict.”
I flinch, knowing he didn’t mean to hurt me, but it cuts into my chest, ripping open the insecurities I’ve fought since I was a
child.
I’m too old, too outdated, and no longer talented.
I’m a boring workaholic.
Closing my eyes, I fight through them, trying not to fall back into old habits. A noise startles me from my meditation, and all
three of us leap to our feet when we realize it’s Beck.
There is a guy grinding on her and pulling her back, even though she tries to pull away. “She can handle it herself,” I tell
them. We aren’t her boyfriends, and we aren’t even her friends. We are just bandmates and barely even work colleagues.
“We should help.” Trav and Kolton start to head her way when Beck turns in the creep’s arms and, with a feral smile,
smashes her head into his. He stumbles back with a yelp as a chuckle bursts out of me.
“Told you,” I comment, even as I watch her mouth move. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but it’s clear she’s reaming the guy
out. He pales, looking ashamed, before fleeing, still holding his head.
I can’t help but grin widely when she flips him off with both hands as he runs. Tossing her hair back, she turns to find us all
watching and rolls her eyes, storming over.
She smirks at us. “Don’t worry, I’m stronger than I look.” She tips her beer back, draining it all before wiping her mouth.
“Time to go?”
I smirk. “Time to go, pretty girl.”
“Don’t call me that,” she warns, “or you’ll end up like him.”
“Promises,” I tease, unable to help it.
The rise it gets out of her is better than any drug.
Trav elbows me on our way past. “Pact,” he hisses in my ear.
“I didn’t forget,” I grumble. “Come on then, rock star, tomorrow is the start of your training, and trust me, you’ll need all
the sleep you can get.”

Like always, when my door is shut and the world is quiet, the sky shining brightly with the moon, my demons come, chasing me
from the sheets until I find myself in the kitchen. No one told me fighting my addiction would lead to me becoming an
insomniac. Usually, I grab a pen and pad and head outside, spilling everything I hide onto the paper into lyrics no one will ever
hear, but after I make herbal tea, I find myself at the back window, my eyes widening.
Beck is already out there, wearing nothing but a long, oversized Dead Ringers T-shirt with her hair in a messy bun, her
bare, pale legs glistening in the moonlight. She looks so alone and lost, the shadows almost concealing her from me.
She stands in the darkness, in the silence of the middle of the night, alone and hollow.
I know because that’s how I feel.
My body and skin are no longer my own, since so many lovers and needles made it their home.
Holding my mug, I watch as Beck wanders aimlessly around the garden, an old-school Casio on her ears. She seems sad,
her shoulders hunched and eyes downcast. A better man would go out there and see if she is okay, but it’s not my issue. I need
to mind my business and not get too involved.
That’s how we ended up like this in the first place.
Gripping my mug, I leave her to her demons and prepare to fight my own until the sun rises.
For a moment, I want to stand with her and help her fight her battles so she won’t get lost like I did, but my fists and soul
are already scarred from fighting so many, and I’m so tired of it.
I don’t even have the strength to fight my own battle, never mind hers, so I turn away.
I leave her there alone, seeking solace in the night, and I slip between my sheets, my soul crying out to be saved.
I’ve always been damned.
It seems Beck Danvers is as well.
 SEVEN

ritting my teeth, I keep my eyes straight ahead as I’m circled by the sharks. In this case, the Dead Ringers’ wardrobe
G department. There are three women and a man standing around me, picking me apart like I have no ears, and I have no
choice but to endure it. Everything is on a tight deadline because of the upcoming tour, so I had to get up at the ass crack
of dawn for appointments. First hair, then makeup trials, then earpiece fittings and equipment, and now this.
I’m exhausted and cranky, and these fuckers didn’t even bother to introduce themselves. They just hustled me into the sitting
room and made me stand on the chair while taking my measurements and making notes on iPads. I’m coming to hate those
fucking things. I know they are only just doing their job, but fuck, where’s the compassion?
I feel like an object, not a person.
Is that how she felt?
“So I’m thinking we do something gothic but high-end.”
They talk between themselves.
“No more band shirts. I’m thinking skin-tight dresses⁠—”
I’m losing every part of me.
I remind myself this is what I signed up for.
I have no say. To them, I’m a mannequin, an object to dress.
“Keep her style.” My eyes jerk up to see Chase leaning into the doorway, one leg crossed at the ankle.
How long has he been watching?
My mouth goes dry at the sight of him, and he looks at the gathered sharks. “Her style is raw, grungy, and real. Keep it.
Enhance it if you want, but don’t change it too much. It wouldn’t be Beck.” He pushes from the door and wanders away.
I watch him go, my mouth slightly open.
He stood up for me. He likes the way I dress.
“Well, fine, what do we do now?” one of them mutters, but I’m still staring at the empty doorway where Chase just stood.
Why did he protect me? Chase hates me, and it’s clear he doesn’t want me here, but he knows they need me. Is that the reason?
Maybe he’s trying to be nice to get me on his side, but something tells me Chase is not nice to anyone. Unsure what to make
of it, I refocus on the team trying to nail down my style for the upcoming tour.
“How daring do you want to go?” one asks, waiting with her iPad at the ready.
My eyes go to the door once more, my heart skipping a beat.
That’s the question, isn’t it?
“Ms. Danvers?” she prompts impatiently.
“All the way.”

Escaping the prying eyes and commands for a moment, I hustle to grab a coffee, needing the kick more than ever. Peering
around the corridor to see if they are looking for me, I almost jump out of my skin when a whisper sounds in my ear.
“Who are we hiding from?”
Clutching my mug and heart, I turn to find a grinning Kolton close behind me. “Wardrobe,” I admit.
“Ah.” He nods, jumping backwards and hoisting himself onto the counter, swinging his legs as he grins. “You get used to it,
trust me.”
 “Is it always so . . . ?”
“Invasive?” he offers with an arched brow and easygoing grin.
Sighing, I lean into the counter next to him. “Yes.”
“Always.” He nods. “I remember the first time, I had to strip down to my boxers and let them inspect me.” He shudders.
“There was an older guy then, and he was rough and used to touch us inappropriately. They are good at what they do, and you
don’t want any wardrobe malfunctions while you’re diving around the stage, trust me.”
“Did that happen to you?” I’m unable to stop smiling.
“Once,” he admits with an adorable blush. “My pants split, and I had to play the rest of our set with my ass hanging out.
There are still memes on the internet. I will never live it down.”
“Whoa, poor baby.” I grin, grabbing my phone. “I’m looking these up.”
He grabs for my phone, but I dart out of his way, laughing when I find them. I set one as my lock screen and show him. “It’s
a nice ass.”
Groaning, he covers his face. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Says who?” I counter truthfully.
His hand drops as he eyes me, the silence stretching on as he searches my gaze.
Does he see the truth?
For a moment, I’m sure he does.
“Ms. Danvers,” I hear someone yell, and it breaks the tension.
Groaning, I down the coffee and search for somewhere to hide before looking at Kolton with pleading eyes. “I seek
sanctuary.”
“Nope, no can do, sweetheart. You are on your own.” With a wink, he hurries out.
“Ah, Kolton, have you seen Ms. Danvers?” The woman is much more cordial and almost nice to him. Figures.
He chuckles. “In the kitchen.”
“Traitor,” I call as I hear him laugh and retreat just as a woman rounds the corner.
“Ms. Danvers, we are ready for our next outfit. This way.” She gestures for me to follow her, and with no choice, I do as
I’m told.
Once back in the sitting room they turned into a dressing room, I let them hurry me back to the middle of the space and into
the next outfit. This time it’s to get management’s approval of the outfits, but I don’t even get any privacy. They tell me they
need to know my body to dress it, but it feels so invasive, my skin crawls.
“This scar, we will need to cover it,” the man comments.
“No,” I snap, putting my foot down, knowing which one they are talking about. It’s on my side, and it’s all I have left of her.
“But—” He starts to protest, and I meet his eyes.
“I will wear what you say, do what you say, but we do not cover that scar, understood?” I warn.
He recoils slightly but nods, and I turn back, stroking it for a moment before I drop it and let them see so they will
understand, but of course, they don’t.
They are so blind.
It will ruin us all.
 EIGHT

itting on the sofa, squeezed between Chase and Kolton, I roll my eyes as they jostle, trying to take up the most room.
S Rachel is typing away on her tablet while we wait for them to finish dressing Beck. It has to be approved by everyone,
including us, and I’m excited to see what they chose for her tour outfits.
My foot taps impatiently as I hear her grumble, and it makes me smile.
When Beck comes out, my jaw drops.
She was beautiful before, but now she looks like a rock star.
I hear them talking as they explain the first outfit and when she’ll wear it, but I ignore them and stare into her nervous eyes.
They are lined and completely shaded with black eyeshadow, making them pop, and her lips are a soft pink. Her hair is in
messy beach waves, hanging down to her hips, and around her neck is a spiked collar with DR proudly emblazoned on the
front. My eyes dip to her body, and my dick hardens as I gape.
She has on a deep V-cut bra, her breasts almost spilling out. So much of her pale skin is exposed. Over the top of the bra
and matching black panties is a fishnet body suit, with long sleeves and legs going right into platform boots.
She looks like a rock star’s wet dream. How the hell are we supposed to perform with her looking like that? I can barely
speak, never mind sing, and my hands ache to touch her, not my drums.
“Jesus,” Kolton whispers.
I want to reply, but I can’t speak around the lump in my throat as she smiles at me like she knows my thoughts.
“I love it,” Chase states roughly, breaking the silence.
Rachel sighs in displeasure and all eyes turn to her. “I don’t know. I don’t think it works.” She frowns, eyeing Beck. “She
looks cheap.”
I expect Beck to shrink under her gaze, but if anything, she stands taller. “Well, I’m wearing an outfit worth more than yours,
so . . .” She shrugs.
Rachel’s eyes narrow as I cover my chuckle with a cough. She’s always been so judgmental, and although I know it’s
because she cares, that wasn’t cool. “Amusing, fine, this one can stay. Oh, you need to cover that scar. We represent the fantasy
of perfection.”
“No,” Beck argues. “The scar stays. It’s my body and my choice. We aren’t just a fantasy, we are people, and that’s what
they want. They don’t want to look at us and just think we’re perfect, untouchable beings. They want someone they can relate
to. They want to know we are people too, and that our music is real. This isn’t just a show we put on for money, but because
we can’t do anything else, and we are right there with them through the good and bad. That’s rock and roll. I thought you would
have known that.”
I glance at Rachel, who narrows her eyes. “Cover it,” she commands.
“No,” I say, frowning at her. “She’s right, keep it. It makes her real. Without it, she’s too perfect. She looks like a model.”
Beck grins at me, and I ignore Rachel’s glare. “Next outfit?” Beck asks, and we all groan. Chuckling, she ducks behind the
curtain.
“How the fuck do we survive all the outfit changes?”
“Pact,” Kolton grumbles.
I turn to look at him and find he has a pillow over his junk. “Maybe remind yourself.” I smirk. “Huh, Chase?” I elbow him
and turn to see him grabbing a pillow too. “Jesus fucking Christ.” I groan, dropping my head back.
“Well?” Her voice makes me lift my head, and I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood.
She twirls, and the tiny silk slip flares out, showing the lacy shorts underneath. The deep red-and-black lace slip hugs her
figure, barely covering her ass. All I can do is nod, and they swiftly push her back inside to try on the next outfit.
 This one is a long, baggy band T-shirt they made into a dress, the sides completely gone.
The outfits get better and better until all three of us are sweating and holding pillows in front of our jeans. I don’t know
how we’ll survive the tour, but when she steps out again, I lose all hope.
“This is for the new rebranding, the album work, and the posters,” they begin.
Across her pierced nipples are X’s made from black tape, and she has on a thong and nothing else. She turns, and I
swallow my fucking tongue. Down her spine is an arrow, which points at our logo situated just above her ass. Standing, I throw
the cushion and flee, unable to stay any longer.
I can barely see where I’m going. I hit the first room and lock the door, realizing it’s the downstairs bathroom. Shoving my
jeans down, I grip my cock.
My grip is tight as I remember her twirling in the skirt, the hint of her nipples, and the curve of her ass. I work my dick
hard. My balls are already tight just from the memory, and my loud pants fill the room as I spit in my hand and stroke my cock
harder.
Would she look at me with flashing eyes and a cocky smirk while I sank into her tight pussy? Would she scream?
Fuck!
Groaning her name, I spray my hand and the sink, the orgasm storming through me.
Fuck. Breathing heavily, I wash up and shove my dick back in my jeans. When my heart stops racing, I open the door and
step out, only to freeze when I see Chase storming from the room with Rachel on his heels.
She grabs his arm before he hits the stairs, and he frowns at her. “What’s up?”
“Are you sure about her?” Rachel asks, moving closer to Chase. “I can get rid of her if you want. She doesn’t seem like the
right fit.”
Chase frowns down at her hand before stepping back. “The band voted, so Beck is in. Do as she asks.” He hurries upstairs
with heat in his eyes, and I know exactly what he’s going to do.
I watch her as her jaw ticks and she spins away with a huff. For a moment, I notice the venom on her face before it
transforms to a bright smile when she sees me. “Everything okay?” she asks.
“Sure, is everything okay with you?” I ask, leaning into the wall.
Sighing, she clutches her iPad. “Yep.” It’s too bright, too fake.
“You don’t like Beck, huh?” I question, needing to know what her issue is. She’s never been like this in the past, and she
cares about the band more than anything, so it must be Beck.
I need to figure out why because we can’t have anything getting in the way of the tour.
“I’m just worried,” she admits. “We can’t afford another mistake. It will cost us our jobs. I don’t want to see you all get
hurt, and you know you’re like family to me. Plus, she’s so . . . combative.”
I soften toward her, knowing she means it. She’s always had our best interests at heart and tries to protect us. She has
always stood with us, so if she’s worried about Beck, it’s only because she cares.
“Give her a chance.” I squeeze her shoulder. “Trust us, we need this, and so does she. I promise if she hurts the band in any
way, I’ll be right there with you, but we have to give her the benefit of the doubt.”
“Of course,” she replies. “You’re right. I’m sorry. With⁠—”
“I know.” I get it. After everything that happened last time . . .
Well, it’s understandable.
“Come on, cheer up, we have a sold-out tour coming up.” I grin, making her giggle. “It’s time to make history.”
Hooking my arm across her shoulders, I steer her back into the dressing room where a pained-looking Kolton is sitting,
clutching his pillow like a lifeline as Beck poses and he checks the outfit.
He turns to me with pleading eyes. “Help,” he whispers.
Sitting heavily, I lean into him. “I’ll suffer with you.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to walk again,” he grumbles, our eyes locked on her perfect ass.
“Walking is overrated,” I whisper.
“Definitely,” he agrees.
 NINE

’m exhausted. After spending all afternoon in fittings, I had another meeting with management before they finally let me go
I when it was dark. I crawled to my room and collapsed, needing silence to regroup after being on for them all day.
Tomorrow, we shoot promo videos and pictures, so I need to be rested, but after showering and changing, I find myself
staring at the ceiling. My mind whirrs, even as my body begs for it to shut off.
Closing my eyes, I try to count backwards. When that doesn’t work, I open them and close them again, trying to hum to
myself, but lyrics don’t come. Instead, memories do, and I give up. I reach under my pillow and grab my headphones, putting
them on carefully, then I rewind the tape I was listening to last night and hit play.
Settling back, I close my eyes and focus on the sound and nothing else.
It takes me far away from reality.
“Hey,” the voice starts, as soft and familiar as my own heartbeat. “You’ll never guess what happened today⁠—”
I fall asleep with her voice in my ear like a lullaby, missing her like I’m missing the other half of me.

Sitting between Kolton and Chase, I hunch in on myself. Kolton shifts to give me more room, but Chase just moves closer,
opening his legs wider to touch me. Rolling my eyes, I meet Trav’s amused gaze across from me. I have on a loose shirt and
shorts, my face makeup free and my hair undone, ready for them to attack me like yesterday.
The boys are in sweats as well. Kolton’s hood is up, his eyes closed since it’s so early. They are used to this, but me, not
so much.
“Here.” Trav hands over a travel mug. “You’ll need it, trust me.”
Taking a sip of the overly sweet coffee, I smile in thanks. “So what should I expect today?”
“There will be no paparazzi since we are shooting outside of the city without warning. We’ll be there for hours, and they
will bark orders at you.” Trav sighs. “Basically, they will tell you what to do, so don’t worry. By the end, you’ll want to die,
but it’s worth it.”
“And if you get bored, we can always shoot some raunchy content.” Chase smirks.
I elbow him, making him grunt, and then open my thighs, taking up my space again and making him squeeze into the
doorway. “Man-spread somewhere else, asshole.”
“Jesus, did anyone tell you that you have anger issues? My therapist would say you should talk your feelings out,” Chase
grumbles.
“You have a therapist?” I ask in shock.
His jaw ticks, and he glances out of the window. “Addiction requires healing and talking, so yes, I have a therapist.” He
turns his dark gaze on me, making me want to shrink. “Problem, pretty girl?” It’s an insult this time. He’s ready to fight.
“Not at all, that’s very healthy of you and not what I expected at all,” I admit and then glance back at Trav. “So today is just
a promo shoot. What does that mean?”
Chase groans. “Fuck, are we going to have to teach you everything?”
“Shut up, old man,” Kolton grumbles. “Remember when you went to a shoot and thought it was live? We all started
somewhere.”
“We don’t have time to teach her everything though,” Chase snaps, breaking whatever truce existed between us. He was
nice to me all day yesterday, and I didn’t know how to handle it.
 I’m better with his venom. It makes it easier.
“Well, make time,” I say. “You need me, remember? You chose me, and I’m doing the best I can here.”
“We know,” Trav interrupts, glaring at Chase who huffs and looks away. “Before the tour, we do promo shoots to help
advertise, and since we need a new album cover, we’ll do that and merchandise photos as well. Everything is riding on this
tour, so they aren’t sparing any expense. There will be billboards, posters, advertisements⁠—”
“So don’t fuck it up,” Chase interrupts.
Can he still sing without balls?
“So make sure to smile,” Trav says over him, “but we’ll be right there with you. It will be okay, and then tomorrow, we’ll
practice. We negotiated for a stage we used when we first started. It’s soundproof and private, and it will give you a good idea
of what to expect so we can fit in your performance and work on it. We only have a few months until we leave, and the first
time can be terrifying, so we’ll work through any kinks. Don’t worry at all.”
Nodding, I sip the coffee even as butterflies take flight inside me. Why didn’t I think so far ahead? I’ll have to perform.
Unless I’m done before then, I’ll have to sing in front of thousands of people who are judging me and wondering who I am.
Fuck.
Chase is right. I’m going to fuck up.
Kolton squeezes my hand like he senses my thoughts. “You’ll do great, Becks,” he murmurs. “Just do what you did in front
of us. We can fix the showman side, but not the talent side, and you have natural talent. Everything will be okay. You’ll see.”
 TEN

was poked and prodded for hours once we reached the studio. I’ve already been told they can edit anything in post-
I production, including the background since they scouted areas, but today is about the base, about us, selling sex and
perfection.
Rock and roll, baby.
When I’m placed in front of the camera, I seize up. I don’t mind photos, but with all the lights and people watching, I can
barely breathe, positive they can see right through me to the truth. My heart races, and I know the smile on my lips is more of a
grimace, especially when the photographer leans around his camera and frowns at me.
“What’s wrong, Beck?”
“Oh, um, nothing,” I respond, my voice tight. “Sorry, I’m ready.”
I swallow my nerves and try my best to smile, but after a few clicks, he sighs. “Okay, this isn’t working. Do you hate
photos or something?”
“Uh . . .”
“You need to relax and make it look natural. No one will buy an album where you look terrified. You need to own the
camera. You look constipated⁠—”
“Enough,” Trav barks, and a hand suddenly hits my shoulder and spins me until I face my new bandmates. Trav looks
worried, Kolton looks annoyed, and Chase looks confused.
Great, more prying eyes.
Trav kneels, blocking anyone from listening. “Relax, that’s it, just breathe for me.” I suck in a breath like he instructs as he
takes one with me. “And let it out. Good, again.” I breathe slowly, calming my racing heart. The heat of his hands in mine
centers me. I still feel eyes on my back, but Kolton and Chase move to block anyone from seeing me.
They are protecting me, but I don’t know why.
Maybe they are just worried I’ll storm out and they will be up shit creek again, but not Trav because I see worry in his
gaze. He’s unable to hide it. “That’s it, keep breathing and ignore them. There is no one else here. Just us.”
I nod and breathe slowly until I slump. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, it’s a lot, and he’s being an ass,” Chase scoffs behind me. I peer up to see his back to me as he glares at anyone
who dares to approach. A quick smile graces my lips, and I hear a click of the camera, which startles me.
“Stop it,” Kolton barks loudly.
“Hey, Beck, look at me, okay? Only at me.” I focus back on Trav’s kind eyes. “Ignore them. They aren’t here. Picture the
camera as someone you love, someone you are trying to seduce, or even someone you hate, whatever works for you, but
remember, they are here for you, not the other way around. This is your time, not theirs. Fuck what they think, and fuck the
overthinking happening in your head. You don’t need to be perfect, you just need to be you, and if you can’t do it today, then we
can leave and try again later.”
“Really?” I whisper, knowing that would get them in trouble and cost millions.
“Really,” he promises.
I look into his kind face and shake my head. “No, I’m okay. I want to try. It’s just . . . a lot.”
“I have an idea.” Standing, he squeezes my hand. “Wait here.”
Unable to do anything else, I drop my head back, and it hits the backs behind me. I jump, ready to move. “You’re fine,”
Chase says, surprising me, so I relax back, just breathing as I lean on them. I hear Trav whooping, but I can’t see what’s
happening.
“Okay, turn around, Beck.” I do, and when I tap Kolton and Chase, they move aside. I blink in shock. The entire team of
bustling people, all staring or on their phones, is gone. All that’s left are the guys, me, and the photographer, who smiles at me.
“Shall we try again?” he asks kindly.
Whatever Trav said to him clearly got through, so I relax as I look around, realizing there is no one to laugh or judge. When
they move behind me again, I nod confidently.
“Let’s try again.”
Trav hurries back as we get into position, and this time I feel calmer.
“Focus on the lens,” Trav murmurs behind me. “Look through it and pretend.”
Someone I love. Someone I want. Someone I hate.
That’s not hard.
I focus on the lens, not the photographer, and let my expression transform. “Great! Good! So good, Beck, keep that!” The
camera clicks as he moves around. “Okay, another pose.”
And so it goes. With each picture, I relax more, until a genuine smile covers my lips. I have to look stern, sexy, and aloof.
We try it all. The guys work the camera, owning it, and when I glance at them, my mouth goes dry.
Trav’s head is tilted back with a smile flirting on his lips, looking every inch the nice guy but still unattainable.
Chase wears a smug smirk as he looks up at the camera.
Kolton has one hand on his lip, pulling it down slightly.
Jesus fucking Christ, they look like sex incarnate, but when Trav grins at me when he catches me staring, I realize they
might act like it, but they are still human. Behind the carefully posed photos is the truth—Trav’s kindness, Kolton’s insecurity,
and Chase’s addiction.
They are people, and that relaxes me even further, knowing I am as well.
We have our flaws, but here, we can be the perfection people crave but isn’t real.

Hands hit my shoulders as I tilt my head and smirk like they instruct. We do so many different poses, my body aches.
I even start to enjoy it a little, laughing when they pick me up and lay me across their arms or when they lie down and I put
my heeled foot against them—not that I would tell them that. Glancing down my leg to my heel, I meet Kolton’s eyes. They are
hot with desire. He blinks and it’s gone, but for a moment, I saw it, and when he turns his head, his hand sliding up my ankle to
grip my thigh, and places his lips on my foot, I know it’s for me and not the camera.
This seems to call off all bets because Chase sits up and rests his head against my side, his hand sliding up to grip my neck.
Trav slides closer, sitting at my feet and arching his back to look at me like a puppy, but there’s a wicked grin on his lips I
didn’t expect, and when he grabs my hand and slides it down his shoulder to his chest, I swallow hard.
They are taking advantage, but I can’t seem to care.
“Relax, pretty girl.” Chase smirks up at me, his whisper low. “It’s just for the photos.”
Right, the photos. I had almost forgotten.
Unwilling to look meek before them, I play back even though I shouldn’t. I should draw a line, but I can’t seem to back
down when it comes to them.
Taking Chase’s hand, I slide it under the dress so it’s hidden for the camera. What they don’t see is that it’s on my thigh,
right at the top near my pussy. His eyes widen for a moment before they smolder, and his grip tightens as he holds me. Lifting
my foot, I press it to Kolton’s head like I’m pushing him away, flashing leg, then I slide my hand up and grip Trav’s throat,
tilting his head back.
I smile for the camera, looking completely in control.
We get a few more poses like that, with them touching me while I push them further, unwilling to back down, until we are
all breathing heavily and glaring at each other.
“We’re finished! Well done, that was such a good shoot!” The photographer’s voice interrupts our staring contest.
A grin of victory covers my lips as I kick Kolton off my foot and release Trav. Without a backward glance, I walk off the
set, knowing they are watching me.
What they don’t see is me locking the bathroom door and pressing my back to it.
My heart races as I clench my thighs in want and hate.
Fuck!
 ELEVEN

watch Beck go, my cock uncomfortably hard, as foreign feelings of desire tug at me to follow her and finish what we
I started. My hand curls into a fist to trap the heat of her skin, and it takes me longer than I want to admit to shake it off.
I see the others watching, too, before they seem to realize something and glance at me.
Panic filled me for a moment before I met Beck’s eyes, and then it seemed to fade. Sometimes, even when the guys touch
me, I jerk away, but I reached for her first, expecting I wouldn’t be able to do it. When I touched her soft, bare skin, though,
something relaxed in me for the first time ever.
I don’t tell her that she’s the first person I have voluntarily touched or let touch me, but I know the others sense it, and they
are watching for my freak-out. Once, after a show, a fan posed with us at the meet and greet and grabbed onto me. I managed to
stay for the photos but ran back to the green room and had a panic attack. They found me hyperventilating and scrubbing my
skin.
From that moment on, they have never let anyone touch me without my permission.
They never asked, and I never told them—they simply adapted.
I owe them for that, but I can’t meet their eyes now and explain why Beck is different.
I don’t know, other than it felt right to touch her. With her above me, looking so beautiful and perfect, I needed to see if she
was real, and when she met my eyes and I saw her want there, I felt like a real fucking man for the first time ever. I felt
undamaged and needed, and for a bit, just a little bit, I wanted to be the man who can touch a beautiful woman without
memories destroying him, and today, thanks to Beck Danvers, I got to be that man.
I will always owe her for that, and she doesn’t have a clue.
“Let’s look at the photos,” I say, trying to ignore the unspoken questions. It switches their focus to the photographer and
distracts them, thank fuck.
The photographer turns the camera as he flicks through, showing us our options. “Fuck,” Chase mutters. “Some of them are
amazing.”
“We’ve never looked so good.” Trav grins. “All thanks to Beck.”
“I wouldn’t push it that far,” Chase grumbles as he continues to scroll through until he lands on one of the first pictures we
took.
It’s Chase and me with our backs to Beck, and she’s peeking around and smiling up at us. Trav is moving away, his hand
still linked with hers. It’s cute as hell, and I take the camera from him, careful not to brush him with my fingers. “I like this
one.”
“It doesn’t meet the brand’s criteria, but it’s nice,” the photographer agrees.
“Print that one for me,” I murmur softly.
“Uh, I think we’ll go with one of the last ones,” he says, and I meet his gaze.
“Not for the promos, for us. Print that one.” Unwilling to meet their examining eyes, I head back to the dressing room.

“Well?” Chase demands when the line is silent.

Beck sits squashed between us again as we are driven from the photoshoot. We have the rest of the day free, thank fuck.
“What did you think?” Trav repeats. We know the photographer sent some examples to our management.
“They look great,” Michael gushes. “They are exactly what we are looking for. You look perfect, Beck. Aloof and sexy but
down to earth.”
“What about us?” Chase asks.
“You always look good, Chase,” he says. “I like them. We’ll get them edited.”
“I feel like the last shots are too sexual,” Rachel says calmly.
“Huh? Really?” I lean into the phone, even though they can’t see us. Trav rolls his eyes and moves to give me more room.
“Don’t be silly. They are perfect,” Michael interrupts. “Sex is part of rock and roll, plus it’s not obscene. We’ll go with
them. Rest up and have fun—not too much fun—and practice tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” Chase says as Trav hangs up. When Chase looks at us, he wiggles his eyebrows.
“What should we do for fun?”
Beck groans, knowing him well enough to understand it’s probably something that will get us into trouble. I can’t help but
smile at her.
“Oh, I have an idea.” Trav shoots off a text. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”

“A karaoke-style diner?” Chase gawks, turning to us in disgust. “I was thinking drinking.”

“We know.” Trav claps his shoulder. “This is better. Come on. Food and a show, what could be better?”
He grabs Beck’s hand and leads us inside. I follow with a shrug as a bewildered and angry Chase stomps after us. There
are stars and photos everywhere when we get inside. It looks like a fifties diner, but as we linger at the seating podium, my
mouth drops. There are multiple floors, and it’s bright and chaotic with a strip between the booths in the middle. As I watch, a
lady belting out Whitney Houston dances across it, laughing with customers as they eat.
Holy shit, this place is cool.
“For five?” A smiling guy in a bow tie rushes over, grabbing menus. “We’re busy today, but I think we have a booth in the
pit. Follow me.”
Trav tugs Beck along, who is gawking, and we slide into a slightly sticky leather booth, craning our necks to see the woman
singing and dancing right next to us. “I’ll be back to take your order shortly, but enjoy stardom.” The man winks and hurries
away.
We all ignore the menus, watching as the lady bows, and we clap as it changes to another song. We glance up to see a big
guy singing in a deep voice up top, hanging over the railing and waving at everyone.
Beck grins. “This place is epic.”
“They better serve booze,” Chase grumbles, but he’s sitting up taller and watching the man.
There’s one thing musicians can’t resist—music.
Melodies beat in our hearts, and lyrics race through our blood. We are born with music in our souls.
It’s not something you can ignore, not even Chase.
I grin when I catch his fingers drumming on the table along to the music. We order distractedly, watching the performance,
and when I glance at Beck, she’s smiling widely, totally carefree. Trav made a good decision. This is more than drinking and
partying. This is bonding with someone we are going to end up very close to.
Her foot hits mine, and I startle. “Sorry,” she says and tries to move her foot back, but I spread my legs in the booth, placing
my feet on either side of hers and capturing her shoe so she can rest comfortably. She smiles at me and turns her attention back
to the stage.
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, our excellent singers are going to take a break now, but in the meantime, do we have any
guests who want to perform?”
“Oh, Trav.” She elbows him, and his hand jerks up. He quickly tugs it down, but it’s too late, and the lady on the mic
hurries over.
She grins. “Did I see a volunteer?”
Trav blushes, sinking down as Chase and I chuckle. Beck rolls her eyes at us. “Some rock stars, scared of a little diner
rush. Fine, I will.” The lady hands over the mic, and Beck leans over Trav to whisper to her. I watch Trav’s eyes drop to her
breasts. She’s completely oblivious as she sits back, and the lady hurries away.
Moments later, music starts up. It’s a Reign Harrow song, and Trav smiles, winking at her as she starts to sing and climbs to
her knees, singing to us before standing. Trav holds her hand, helping her up as she climbs onto the stage. She leans down and
blows us kisses as we laugh, watching her twirl and wave at guests as she belts out the song.
The guests start to clap, and cameras come out. I don’t blame them. Her voice is perfect, and you can’t help but join in
while also wanting her attention on you.
She’s a star through and through.
She was made for the stage, and we were made for her.
When she spins back to us, she offers me her hand with a hopeful look in her eyes. The crowd starts to chant, and I lay my
hand in hers. She grips mine, the warmth giving me confidence as she tugs me up onto the stage before turning to Chase.
He narrows his gaze on her, so she rolls her eyes and grabs Trav. A server appears and gives us more mics as we join in. I
move around the room, the natural feel of the stage loosening me up. I sing to tables and laugh with them, and when I glance
back, Beck is before Chase, and we trail off, letting her hit the chorus. Her back bows as she drops back for the high note. She
stills then, offering the mic to Chase.
There’s an audible sigh, and then he leans in, singing the next line with her.
Grinning together, they climb up onto the stage as we join and work our way back until we stand in a line, with Chase and
Beck singing into the same mic, their bodies pressed together. When the last note fades, people leap to their feet, chanting and
clapping for more.
We stand there grinning, and when I glance at Beck, she is smiling so broadly my heart leaps.
Oh yes, she was made for us.
Beck Danvers was born to be a Dead Ringer.
Another random document with
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drawer of the same width and height, and as deep as may be
desired. Twenty-four inches will be quite deep enough.
Rabbets are cut in the ends of a front piece, and the sides are let
into them, as shown in Fig. 5. The bottom and back are fastened in
with screws, and the drawer is arranged to slide on runners that are
fastened across the bench inside the aprons, as shown in the upper
corner of Fig. 3.
At the front of the drawer a cove may be cut out, and a thin plate
of iron screwed fast across the top of it, so that the fingers may be
passed in behind the plate to pull out the drawer (Fig. 5). It will not
do to use a projecting drawer-pull, as that would interfere with pieces
of work when clamped in the vise. In planing strips, or boards, that
are too long for the vise to hold securely, a wooden peg, inserted in a
hole at the opposite end of the apron from the vise, will be found
convenient. Two or three holes may be made for boards of different
widths, and the peg adjusted to the proper one as occasion requires.
A planing-stop, with teeth, may be purchased at a hardware store
and set in place near the vise-jaw. The complete bench will then be
ready for use.

A Tool-rack

For the accommodation of chisels, gouges, screw-drivers, awls,

compass-saws, pliers, and other small tools a tool-rack will be found
convenient. It should be fastened against the wall immediately over
the work-bench.
The one shown in Fig. 6 is thirty-six inches long and twelve inches
high, with a ledge projecting two inches from the back-board. A
leather strap is caught along the upper part of the board with nails to
form loops, into which the tools are slipped.
The ledge is made from two strips of wood. One of them, one and
a half inches in width, is cut with a saw, as shown in Fig. 7, and the
superfluous wood, between the saw-cuts, is removed with a chisel.
When all the notches are cut, a narrow strip, half an inch in width, is
screwed fast to the notched strip. The ledge is then attached to the
lower edge of the back-board with long screws, as indicated in the
illustration.

A Tool-cabinet

The hanging tool-cabinet shown in Fig. 8 should be constructed

with two doors of nearly equal size, so that four instead of two
surfaces may be available, against which to hang tools.
The body part of the chest is thirty inches high, twenty inches
wide, and nine inches deep, outside measure. It is made of wood
three-quarters of an inch in thickness, fastened together with screws
and glue, and varnished to improve its appearance.
The right side of the cabinet is but three and a half inches wide,
and to this the inner door is made fast with hinges, so that it will
swing in against a stop-moulding on the opposite side, as shown at
A in Fig. 9. A small bolt will fasten the door in place when shut in,
and on both sides of this door hooks and pegs may be arranged for
the reception of tools. The back-board of the cabinet may be used
for hanging saws, squares, and other flat tools, as indicated in Fig. 8.
The outer door is provided with a side-strip (Fig. 9 B) of such size
that when the doors are closed in and locked the appearance of the
chest will be uniform, with a cross-section appearing, as shown in
Fig. 9 C. With a little careful planning and figuring it will not be a
difficult matter to construct this cabinet. Take particular care to have
the doors fit snugly and close easily. The doors will keep their shape
better if they are made from narrow matched boards, held together
at the ends with battens, or strips, nailed across the ends of the
boards, as shown in Fig. 9 D. Two-inch wrought butts will be heavy
enough for the doors, and a cabinet-lock at the edge of the outer
door will make all secure.
 Fig. 6. Fig. 7. Fig. 8. Fig. 9. Fig. 10.

On the inside of the outer door some tool-pegs may be arranged.

Near the bottom a bitt-rack should be fitted, with a leather strap
formed into loops, as described for the tool-rack. Under each loop a
hole should be bored in a strip of wood, into which the square end of
the bitts will fit, and thus insure their orderly position. For chisels a
similar set of pockets may be designed as shown in Fig. 8.

A Tool-chest

The tool-chest shown in Fig. 10 is twenty-eight inches long, fifteen

wide, and twelve inches high. This is a good size for the
accommodation of a moderate-sized kit of tools. The interior fittings
should include two or three trays arranged to rest on runners and to
slide back and forth, so that tools may be reached at the bottom of
the chest without removing the trays.
Obtain a pine or white-wood board fifteen inches wide, and free
from knots or sappy places. Cut two pieces twenty-eight inches long,
and two shorter ones twelve inches long. These will form the top,
bottom, and ends. Cut out the front and back pieces twenty-eight
inches long and twelve inches wide; then with glue and screws form
a box, and let it stand a day until the glue is hard. Make the joints as
perfect and tight as possible, so as to present a good appearance;
then mark a line around the box two and a half inches from the top.
With a rip-saw cut the cover free from the body, and plane the
rough edges of the cut, so that the cover will fit the body snugly. Bind
the lid and the top and bottom edges of the chest with a strip of wood
three-eighths of an inch in width, as shown in the illustration; to look
well, the corners should be mitred. The lid is attached to the chest
with stout hinges, and a lock is arranged at the front. Stout handles
at the sides will be found a convenience.
Two or three coats of olive-green paint, with a slightly darker
shade for the bands, will improve the appearance of the chest. To
keep the hardware from rusting, the lock, hinges, and handles
should receive a coat or two of black paint.

Joints

One of the first lessons for the young carpenter to learn will be that
of making wood joints. Without good joiner-work there is no such
thing as carpentry, and it is the sign-manual of the competent
artificer. There are a great variety of joints employed in carpentry, but
many of them are too complicated for the boy carpenter to make,
and the simple forms will answer every reasonable requirement.
The easiest joint to make is the straight, or box, joint. It is
constructed by butting the end of one board against the edge of
another and nailing, or screwing, them fast.
 Fig. 11 shows a lap-joint made by cutting away a portion of the
wood on opposite sides of the ends which are to be joined. When
fastened the wood will appear as a continuous piece. For corners
and angles, where a mitre-box is not available, the lap-joint is a very
good substitute, and for many uses it is stronger than the mitred-
joint, and, therefore, to be preferred.
Fig. 12 is another form of lap-joint, where the end of a strip is
embedded in the surface of a stout piece of wood. This joint will be
found useful in furniture work, and also for frame construction in
general.
Fig. 13 is a bevelled lap-joint, and is used for timbers and posts,
particularly under conditions where the joint can be reinforced by
another piece of wood at one or two sides.
Fig. 14 shows a mortise and tenon. The hole in the upright piece is
the mortise and the shaped end on the stick is the tenon. The
shaped end should fit the hole accurately, and the joint is usually
held with a pin, or nails, driven through the side of the upright piece
and into the body of the stick embedded in the mortise. The mortise
and tenon is used extensively in framing, and for doors, window-
sashes, and blinds. In cabinet work it is indispensable.
Fig. 15 is the mitred-joint. In narrow wood it is usually cut in a
mitre-box with a stiff back-saw to insure accuracy in the angles. The
mitred-joint is employed for picture-frames, screens, mouldings, and
all sorts of angle-joints.
Fig. 16 is the tongue-and-groove joint, and is cut on the edges of
boards that are to be laid side by side, such as flooring, weather-
boards, and partitions. Before wood-working machinery came into
general use the tongues and grooves were all hand-cut with planes,
but a tongue-and-groove plane is now almost obsolete, all this class
of building material being mill finished.
Fig. 17 A is a rabbet. It is cut on the edges of wood, and another
similarly shaped piece fits into it. It is also useful where wood laps
over some other material, such as glass or metal. The inner
moulding of picture-frames are always provided with a rabbet,
behind which the edge of the glass, picture, and backing-boards will
fit.

JOINTS, RABBETS, AND BENCHES

Fig. 11. Fig. 12. Fig. 13. Fig. 14. Fig. 15. Fig. 16. Fig. 17. Fig. 18. Fig. 19. Fig.
20. Fig. 21. Fig. 22. Fig. 23.

Fig. 17 B is a rabbet-joint made with a rabbet and groove. It is a

good one to employ for box corners, and where the edges of two
pieces of wood come together.
Fig. 18 is the dovetail-joint used for boxes, drawer corners, chests,
and sometimes in cabinet work, where the corners are to be covered
with mouldings or edging-strips.
Fig. 19 is the straight dovetail employed in the cheap construction
of small boxes for hardware, groceries, and other wares. Since the
edges are straight, this is the easier one to make, but care must be
taken to have the fitting accurate.

A Low Bench

Small benches are useful to work upon when sawing, nailing, and
matching boards; and they are handy for many purposes about the
house. The low bench shown in Fig. 20 is fifteen inches high and
twelve inches wide, and the top is twenty-two inches long. The foot-
pieces are cut as shown in Fig. 21, and at the upper end at each
side a piece is cut out to let in the side-aprons. The aprons are three
inches wide and seven-eighths of an inch thick; they are held to the
foot-pieces with glue and screws. In the top a finger-hole is cut so
that the bench may be quickly picked up and the more easily
handled.

A High Bench

The high bench shown in Fig. 22 is twelve inches square and

twenty-four inches high, with a top fourteen inches square. The wood
is seven-eighths of an inch thick, and all the joints are made with
screws. A hand-hole is cut in the top with a compass or key-hole
saw, and all the edges are sand-papered to round them off.

A Step-bench

A step-bench will be found useful for various purposes. It does not

take up so much room as a step-ladder and affords a more solid
footing. The bench shown in Fig. 23 is thirty inches high, fifteen
inches wide, and eighteen inches deep. The uprights that support
the sides are five inches wide; the treads of the first and second
steps are six inches wide, and that of the top step eight inches wide.
The wood is seven-eighths of an inch thick, planed on both sides,
and all the unions are made with screws. The cross-brace at the
back and near the bottom is set into laps cut in the edges of the
upright supports, and to prevent the support and side-pieces from
spreading, stanchion-bars may be screwed fast to the sides, under
the first tread, and to the foot of the uprights.
Two or three coats of paint will finish these benches and make
them fit for use about the house.

A Shoe-box

A shoe-box and seat (Fig. 24) is a useful piece of furniture in any

bedroom. Two boxes, purchased at a grocery store, may be made to
serve the purpose, but for a really neat and workmanlike job the
frame should be constructed of boards three-quarters or seven-
eighths of an inch in thickness. A good size for the shoe receptacle is
twenty-four inches high, fifteen inches deep, and sixteen inches
wide. The seat-box should be thirty inches long, and fifteen inches
high and deep.
 Fig. 24. Fig. 24 A.

These boxes are to be attached to each other with stout screws,

and a back the length of the two boxes, and having a rounded corner
is to be securely fastened to the rear of each box, as shown in Fig.
24 A. In the shoe-box two shelves are screwed fast, and to the lower
box a corner should be arranged on hinges so that it may be raised
from the front. The back and seat and also the top of the shoe-box
should be covered with denim, under which a padding of hair or
cotton may be placed. The denim should be caught down with
carriage-buttons and string, the latter being passed through holes
made in the wood and tied at the underside. Around the front and
sides a flounce of cretonne or denim may be gathered, and hung
from the top edge of the box and seat. If finished with gimp and
brass-headed tacks it will present a good appearance. Where the
drop-curtain at the edge of the shoe-box meets the seat the fabric is
to be divided, in order that it may be drawn to one side when taking
out or replacing shoes.

Fig. 25. Fig. 26. Fig. 27.

A coat of shellac, or paint, will cover such parts of the wood-work

as are not hidden by the upholstery. Fig. 24 shows the finished
article of furniture.

A Shoe-blacking-box

Every boy should own a shoe-blacking-box, such as is shown in

Fig. 25. Otherwise, the brushes and blacking-box are apt to get
widely separated, and are never at hand when they are wanted.
Moreover, it is a slovenly practice to use a chair or stool as a foot-
rest when engaged in polishing one’s shoes, since the blacking is
sure to discolor and dirty whatever it touches. This shoe-blacking-
box is twenty-four inches high and eighteen inches square, the
compartment being four inches deep. Four sticks, two inches square
and twenty-four inches long, will form the legs. Each stick should be
cut away at one end three-quarters of an inch deep for a distance of
five inches, as shown in Fig. 26, so that when the side boards are
fastened to them the joints will be flush. Two sides of each stick
should thus be cut away, and the small end of the stick may be
tapered slightly. The side boards, of three-quarter-inch wood and five
inches wide, are screwed fast to the top of the legs.
A bottom sixteen and a half inches square is cut from boards and
fastened inside the frame, where it is held in place with steel-wire
nails driven through the lower edge of the side boards and into the
edge of the bottom, all around.
Four brackets are cut and fastened with screws at each side of the
box, under the side boards. A cover is made and hinged to the box,
where it is prevented from falling too far back by a chain attached to
the underside of the lid and to the inside of the box.
Over the front edge of the box bend a strip of zinc and tack it fast
to both the in and outside of the front board. This will prevent shoes
from chafing the wood away, and is easily cleaned when muddied
up.
With a thin piece of wood make a division in the box at one side,
where blacking and daubers may be kept. Also a drawer may be
fitted to slide in and out under the box. It should be constructed, as
described for the work-bench, and arranged to work on runners
fastened to the inside of the legs. Screw-eyes or staples should be
driven into the ends of the brushes and daubers, so that they may be
hung up in an orderly manner on hooks set in the wall immediately
over the ledge.
A few thin coats of olive-green or light-brown paint will add to the
appearance of this shoe-blacking-box, and the owner should take
pride in keeping it clean, and the brushes in good order.

A Shoe-blacking-ledge

In a cellar where one of the chimneys is built with a recess, a

shoe-blacking-ledge may be made from four boards five inches wide.
The bottom is slatted, so that dirt will fall through. Fig. 27 shows
quite clearly how this can be done. One end is partitioned off to hold
the box of blacking.
 The ledge is twenty-four inches high, and the front board is bound
with a strip of zinc along the upper edge. The blacking-brushes may
be kept in the tray, but it is a better plan to hang them up against the
brick-work on steel nails. If the brushes are to be kept inside the tray,
a lid should be made and hinged to the back strip of the tray. When
the lid is raised it may be held against the brick wall with a wooden
button.

An Easel

Boys who have a talent for drawing and painting would

undoubtedly like to have an easel on which to work, and a good
strong one may be made, at moderate cost, in the following manner
(Fig. 28).
Obtain four pieces of clear white pine six feet long, two and a half
inches wide, and seven-eighths of an inch in thickness. These
should be planed on all sides. Two of the sticks should be tapered off
at one end, and slightly bevelled at the other. Nine inches from the
top and twelve inches up from the bottom laps are to be cut in the
sticks at the back, as shown in Fig. 29. Into these the ends of cross-
pieces will fit. If the concealed lap is too bothersome to make, it can
be cut clear across the sticks, as shown in Fig. 30. Glue and screws
will make a strong joint.
 Fig. 28. Fig. 29. Fig. 30. Fig. 31. Fig. 32. Fig. 33. Fig. 34.

The remaining long stick is the back support, or leg, and is to be

hinged to the upper cross-piece. With this leg the easel may be
pitched at any angle, and to prevent it from going back too far a
guide-chain should be attached to the leg, and the ends secured to
the back of each upright with staples. Holes are bored along the
uprights at even distances apart, and two wooden pegs are cut to fit
snugly in the holes, and so hold a drawing-board or canvas-
stretcher.

A Clothes-tree

A clothes-tree is a most serviceable article of furniture, and helps a

boy to form habits of neatness and orderliness in the care of his
wearing apparel. To make the one shown in Fig. 31 obtain a clear
pine or ash stick one and a half inches square and five feet long for
the upright, or staff. Also two pieces eighteen inches long, two inches
wide, and three-quarters of an inch thick for the feet; and four braces
twelve inches long, one and a half inches wide, and three-quarters of
an inch in thickness.
Cut a lap in the middle of each foot-piece, as shown in Fig. 32,
and with glue and screws fasten them securely together, as shown in
Fig. 33. Screw this foot fast to the bottom of the upright stick, and
strengthen the four projecting feet with braces bevelled at the ends,
so that they will rest against the upright and on the foot, where they
can be fastened with screws, as shown in Fig. 34. Under the end of
each foot, the half of a small wooden ball, or a castor, may be
arranged to raise the tree from the floor. With a chisel and plane
taper the top of the upright stick, as shown in Fig. 31.
At a hardware store purchase eight hooks and arrange them in
alternating pairs, as shown in the drawing. The wood-work should be
shellacked or painted to give it a finished appearance.
When hanging clothes upon this tree place the coat, vest, and
trousers on the lower hooks, the shirt and underclothing on the
hooks next above, and on the top hooks the necktie and collar and
cuffs. When dressing, the clothing needed first will then be the
nearest to hand.

Hanging Book-shelves

In a room where space cannot be given up to a standing

bookcase, it may be possible to arrange a set of shelves to form a
book-rack that will hang against the wall. The construction of the
hanging shelves shown in Fig. 35 is very simple, and will require but
a few boards, two wall-strips, and a few yards of strong rope.
For the shelves, obtain five pine boards eight inches wide, seven-
eighths of an inch thick, and from three to four feet long; also two
pine strips three inches wide, an inch thick, and four feet long. In the
rear edge of each board, at the ends, cut notches three inches long
and an inch wide, as shown in Fig. 35 A, into which the wall-strips
will fit. Round off the top of each wall-strip and screw them fast to the
notched edges of the shelves, first boring gimlet holes in both strips
and shelves to prevent splitting of the wood.
 Half-inch holes at the top of each wall-strip will admit the
suspension rope, which is of manila, and half an inch in diameter.
Knot one end of the rope and pass it up through holes made at the
outer corners of each shelf, and finally through the hole at the top of
the wall-strips, and cut it off three inches back of the hole. With a
gouge-chisel a groove should be made at the back of the wall-strip
for an inch or two below the hole, so that the rope end may be
carried down and ravelled out. It can then be glued and held fast to
the wood with staples. Where the rope passes through the hole in
each shelf, drive several long steel-wire nails into the edge and end
of the board, allowing the nails to pass through the rope and into the
wood.
Paint or varnish the wood-work, and securely anchor the wall-
plates with stout screws driven into the frame timbers, through the
lath and plaster of the wall.

A Corner Cabinet

A corner cabinet of odd design and simple construction is shown

in Fig. 36. The total height of the wall-plates should be thirty-four
inches, and at the top the shelf measures eighteen inches across.
Each shelf is rounded out at the front so as to afford more surface on
which to place books and bric-à-brac. The ends of each shelf are
securely attached to the side or wall-plates with screws, thus
insuring a perfect anchorage and a strong construction.
Fig. 37 is a plan showing the shape of the sides or wall-plates. At
the widest part they should measure twelve inches across. Fig. 38 is
a plan of the top shelf, which is followed in shape by the others. They
decrease, however, in size as they near the bottom. The notch at the
middle of each shelf breaks the long curved line in a pleasing
manner. Two light metal rods from which curtains hang may be
arranged under the top shelf and the one next the bottom. Shellac or
paint of some appropriate shade will add to the appearance of this
useful piece of furniture.
 HANGING BOOK-SHELVES AND CHAIR CABINET

Fig. 35. Fig. 35 A. Fig. 36. Fig. 37. Fig. 38. Fig. 39. Fig. 40.

When fastening this cabinet to the wall, care should be taken to

pass the screws securely into the studding or uprights. Otherwise the
screws might pull out under the accumulated weight, and a fall would
be disastrous to both the cabinet and its contents.
 A Chair

The construction of a chair is perhaps as interesting as anything in

carpentry. The one shown in Fig. 39 may be made from either soft or
hard-wood, the joints being all open and simple to cut.
The legs are two inches square, the seat is sixteen inches square
and eighteen inches high, and the back posts are thirty-six inches
long. The front and back posts are cut out, as shown in Fig. 40 A and
B. These receive the cross-pieces that bind the legs and back
together. The posts are two inches wide and three-quarters of an
inch thick. The side braces are set two inches up from the floor and
the back one four inches. The front brace is let into the rear of the
front legs, and is eight inches from the floor to the lower edge.
The seat is made from matched boards, and the back, ten inches
wide, is made from a single board, all the joints being glued and
screwed together. Chairs that are made in shops usually have the
joints dowelled or mortised, but the lap-joint is the easiest and
strongest one to make. Take care, however, that the cuts are
accurately sawed, and that the cross-pieces fit the laps so snugly
that a mallet is necessary to help drive the strips home.
The seat and back of this chair may be covered with denim,
leather, or other upholstery material, drawn over curled hair, or
cotton may be used for padding, and fastened down around the
edges with large flat-headed tacks or upholstery nails. Shellac,
varnish, or paint may be used to give the wood-work a good
appearance.

A Table

It is not so difficult as it may seem to make a good strong table,

but care and perseverance must be exercised to obtain a
satisfactory result. When constructing a table bear in mind that every
joint should be made to fit accurately; otherwise it will quickly rack
and become useless. The proportions and shape for a serviceable
table are shown in Fig. 41. Only well-seasoned wood should be
employed, and it should be free from knots or sappy places.
For the legs, obtain four sticks thirty-three inches long and two and
a half inches square. From two sides, near the end of each stick, cut
the wood away for five inches to a depth of seven-eighths of an inch,
as shown (at the top) in Fig. 40 B. Now cut two boards five inches
wide and forty-two inches long, and four more thirty inches long for
the frame. Six inches from the uncut ends of the legs saw and chisel
out laps, so that two of the thirty-inch lengths will fit into them, and
with two long and two short boards unite the legs, thereby forming a
frame thirty inches wide, forty-two inches long, and thirty-three
inches high. An under-shelf may be made twelve inches wide and
long enough to extend two or three inches over the cross-strips.
The table top extends over the framework for three inches all
around, and it is made of narrow tongue-and-grooved boards driven
together and screwed down to the band around the top, formed by
the thirty and forty-two-inch boards. To finish this top nicely it may be
covered with felt, or with imitation leather, in old-red, green, or brown
shades, caught under the edge and made fast with stout tacks.

A Settle

A comfortable settle (Fig. 42), for the piazza or yard, may be made
from pine, white-wood, cypress, or almost any other wood that may
be at hand.
It is fifty-four inches long, eighteen inches wide, and the seat is
eighteen inches above the ground. The sides are made from strips
three inches wide and seven-eighths of an inch thick, as shown in
Fig. 43 A. The arms are twenty inches long, six inches broad at the
front, and cut the shape shown in Fig. 43 B. The notches or laps cut
in the rear posts are to let in the strips forming the back and lower
brace.
The joints should be made with screws rather than nails, as they
hold better and do not work loose. Small brackets support the arms
at the front corner posts, and a batten at the middle strengthens the
back of the settle. A close inspection of the drawings will show the
joints clearly and indicate how the frame is put together. A few coats
of paint will finish the wood nicely, or it may be stained and varnished
if the wood has a pretty grain. Cushions and a sofa-pillow or two will
add to the comfort of this commodious seat.

Fig. 41. Fig. 42. Fig. 43. Fig. 44. Fig. 45.

A Suspended Settle

A suspended settle (Fig. 44) is a convenient piece of piazza

furniture, and not a difficult thing for the young carpenter to make.
The corner posts are two and a half inches square, and the boards
used in its construction are seven-eighths of an inch thick and four
inches wide. The seat is forty-two inches long and eighteen inches
wide, and the back is fifteen inches high from the seat. The arms are
cut as shown in Fig. 43 B, and securely screwed to the corner posts.
The frame-pieces supporting the seat-boards are let into the back
and front posts, in which laps have been cut, as shown at Fig. 45 A
and B. They should be securely fastened with flat-headed screws.
Both the rail to which the backing-boards are attached and the rear
ends of the arms are let into the corner post and fastened with
screws.
The seat is suspended from the ceiling of the piazza on four
chains that may be purchased at a hardware store or from a ship-
chandler, or they may be made by a blacksmith from iron three-
eighths of an inch in diameter. If it is not possible to obtain the
chains, rope may be substituted, but it will not look or last so well.
Two yokes bolted to the top of the back posts and eye-straps for
the front posts will anchor the chains securely to the settle. The yoke
is shown at Fig. 45 C, and the eye-strap at Fig. 45 D. A bolt passed
through the top of the rear posts and through the holes in the yoke
will secure the latter firmly, and a nut will prevent it from slipping
loose. Holes are made in the arms, and the eye-straps are passed
down through them and attached to the front corner posts with
screws, as shown in Fig. 44. The back of the settle is composed of
boards four inches wide and placed an inch apart.

A Coal and Wood Box

A combination box for coal and wood may be made from an

ordinary shoe-box, the sides and one end being cut down as shown
in Fig. 46; but a more serviceable one is constructed of boards
seven-eighths of an inch thick, planed on both sides, and with the
joints securely glued and screwed.
The sides are twenty-six inches long and twelve inches high at the
back. At the front they are but four inches high. A back-piece ten
inches wide and twelve inches high is cut and fastened in place, and
a front strip four inches high is also made fast with glue and long,
slim screws.
A division-board is placed in the middle of the box, as indicated by
the line of screw-heads, and a bottom, ten by twenty-four inches, is
held in place with screws passed through the lower edge of the front,
back, and sides, and into the edges of the bottom.