A Bleu Streak Summer (The Bleu Series Book 3) by T.I. Lowe Read Free Book Online Page A

anyone can steal Maxim King’s longstanding reign of Guitar King tonight?” His voice picked up volume at the end as the roar of the crowd got fired up.
    “You punks know there’s only one King here,” Max declared with cocky attitude.
    “We’ll see about that,” Ace, a lead guitarist from one of Max’s favorite bands taunted back.
    The half-dozen men standing in the dimly lit space, caught up with one another until a stagehand motioned them forward. Each took a designated spot on the stage, with instructions to move to the center when their time of five minutes in the spotlight came up. Max was in the middle of the lineup this year and he was relieved to not have to open nor close.
    The energy vibrated on the darkened stage even before the first high-pitched sound was beckoned from the performers. Max adjusted the strap along his shoulder and pulled the brim of the fedora even lower just before the stage lights flooded him and the others in an array of techno color. And then the dam of talent burst forth as the first performer lit up his guitar with bright riffs. The guests erupted close to the stage, hands in the air, bodies thrashing in accord to the guitar shredding.
    Max looked toward the middle of the vast room where he knew the judges, blindfolded and turned to face away from them, could feel the energy brushing against their backs from it being so tangible.
    The next guy stepped forward, pierced and heavily tatted with his long hair completely shrouding his face. The intense sound reached up several biting levels as he amped it up, fingers working in rapid-fire along the fretboard.
    With his head bobbing and eyes closed, Max let the aggressive sound take him away. The adrenaline began to course through his body well before his turn, sweat trickling down his taut back and a delicious hum building in his chest. Performer after performer showed their instruments who was boss, making the sounds submit at their fingertips.
    By the time it was his go, music begged to be released from his soul. Without giving the audience any regard, Max began a hostile riff of his own, freeing it in almost an earsplitting scream from the instrument. He manipulated rage and passion from the strings, the two emotions tangling in a complicated force. As he moved to add a hot lick, the tempo changed without his permission. Gone were the violent chords, replaced by a bluesy melody so complex it confused even him. The guitar still wailed loudly, but the anger transformed to melancholy.
    The crowd stilled instantly, spellbound in the emotions he elicited from the riffs. Despair, longing, bitterness, and perplexity merged in and out of the dramatic performance. Tears mingled with sweat as Max expressed just how he felt, knowing he could never put it into words. Music allowed a freedom of expression he had never found with anything else.
    Max dug his fingers into the strings as forcefully as he could, yearning for the bite against his skin. He continued to play as he eased out of the spotlight to allow the next guitarist his time to shine. Even after the last note finished out, his fingers continued to grip the instrument to stave off a panicked tremor ricocheting inside him.
    Without looking up to confirm, he felt eyes trained on him, even though his body was back in the shadows of the show. As the last musician concluded, the stage lit completely to cue the guitarists to finish out in a rehearsed performance, bringing the house down.
    The judging was concurred before the guitars hushed. The MC moved to the stage, carrying the coveted gold guitar trophy and a mic. He made eye contact with Max as he passed by. It was a look of wonder and respect. He spoke to the guests about it being the best guitar shred in history, and they all cheered their agreement. Max tuned it all out, still bewildered by his own performance that ended up being on the fly instead of the one he’d prepared.
    The building erupted to a deafening leveling, pulling him