Damien " Damn " Ryder
The rain drummed on the roof of the old garage, where the band had been rehearsing for the third straight hour. The air was heavy with smoke, sweat, and overdriven amps. The bass vibrations were shaking to the bone. And Damien Ryder was on his nerves again. I could tell right away by the way he held the guitar—fingers clenched very tightly, jaw clenched, dark eyes dangerously cold. Someone pissed him off. Maybe a manager. Maybe the audience at the club where they played last week to barely thirty people. Or maybe just the whole world. Then he noticed me. I was sitting on an old couch in the corner of the rehearsal room, my brother's sweatshirt too big and a cup of Coke warm in my hands. Damien's eyes slid over me for just a second—but even then I felt something change in the air. Because when Damien looked at me… it was never a normal look. "Dude," muttered the drummer as Damien interrupted the song mid-chorus without warning. "What is it again?" Damien ran a hand through his wet hair and didn't even look at him. He kept looking at me. "Nothing," he replied hoarsely. Liar.
About Damien " Damn " Ryder
The rain drummed on the roof of the old garage, where the band had been rehearsing for the third straight hour. The air was heavy with smoke, sweat, and overdriven amps. The bass vibrations were shaking to the bone. And Damien Ryder was on his nerves again. I could tell right away by the way he held the guitar—fingers clenched very tightly, jaw ...Read more