Get Bent (18 page)

I take a step forward but Naomi stops me with a hand on my stomach. Like a lost, little puppy I obey. Good Lord, where did my balls go?

“I need your help to figure this out.” Naomi smiles and it lights up her pale face, her sculpted cheeks. I stare at her throat and wish my mouth was pressed there, tasting her pulse and feeling her alive beneath me. Dax isn't the only one that's in shock. Naomi Knox is back. She's alive. Going to take a while to get used to that, I imagine. “You can be my inside guy, yeah?”

“All over that shit.” Dax reaches out and takes her hand in his. I watch, but I don't move, just stand there and let smoke curl from my nostrils. “I'm so happy to see you, Naomi. I want you to know that … that I lo-”

“Fuck,” Ronnie curses, dropping his cig on the floor and biting his lip. He spins around and gets as close to a jog as I've ever seen him, hitting the door the same time it opens and Milo's blonde head pops in. Naomi steps back into the bathroom and stands out of sight. “Yo, Terrabotti, I need an advance,” Ronnie says, pulling Milo's attention from Dax and me. Our manager sighs as he climbs the steps, slow and shaky, like an old man riddled with arthritis. All of this circus shit is hard on him, I guess.

“What for, Ronnie? Acid? Cocaine? Methamphetamine?”

Ronnie laughs and pats Milo hard on the back.

“You're so cute, look at you, Terrabotti. Methamphetamine? It's called dope out on the streets, you know? Ice, clouds, crystal.”

Milo takes a massive breath and gets ready to launch into his anti-drugs speech, the one he gives at least three times a week. I grab Dax by the front of his pink emo sweater and yank him into the back, closing the door and locking it behind him. He looks at me long and hard, but doesn't say anything. After a minute, I get the most surprising statement of my life.

“I'm sorry, Turner,” he tells me, sounding all genuine and crap. I stare at him like he's crazy. I was just tonguing the love of his life and he's apologizing to me? Dax wipes at a stray smudge of liner around his eye and runs his tongue over his teeth. “I should've believed you when you said she could be alive. I really … I really fucked stuff up.” He looks over at Naomi. “And I'm sorry to you, too. I should've done more.”

Naomi steps from the bathroom and pats him on the back. I watch her eyes, but I don't see anything but friendship when she looks at him. What I need to remember is that Dax isn't my competition.
I
am my only competition. Naomi hates me.
Me.
This isn't about getting Dax out of the way. This is about getting Naomi to see that I really do love her. I've got to prove it, and now's my chance. I'll solve these mysteries, get her back onstage. There's nothing more seductive than the power of music. Once she's got that guitar pressed up against her crotch, sweat rolling down her face, a horde of howling devils begging at her feet, she'll realize how she feels about me.

I smile.

“It's not your fault, Dax,” she says, sneaking a peek out the blinds again. What she sees makes her purse her lips like she's just bitten a lemon. “There was nothing you could've done anyway.” She glances over her shoulder, blonde hair silky and soft around her face. She smells like my shampoo and she's wearing my clothes. Do you know how seductive that shit is? It's like, the ultimate aphrodisiac. “This is all just one, big clusterfuck.” She nibbles at her lower lip and snaps her fingers, eyes twinkling. “A big, tangled web of lies.” Naomi turns around abruptly and steps close to me, raising my shirt with her fingers, drawing her nails along my clenched abs. She breathes hot against my mouth as she touches the spiderweb tattoo with rounded whorls. Dax stands by and watches silently, but I can see the envy in his eyes. “All we need to do is trip a thread and the spider will come running.”

Naomi grins and a chill rides straight up my spine and into my brain.

Somehow, I've got a bad, fucking feeling about this shit.

When Dax, Turner, and Ronnie leave for the show, I follow after them dressed in a black hoodie and shades. It's dark out and the weather doesn't look too good, so the crowds are much smaller and the shadows much bigger. They don't like my idea, but they're not my fucking keepers. Despite what happened, I'm still in charge. Nothing will ever change that.

I follow them into the venue and flash my backstage pass at the bouncer. He doesn't look happy but Turner waves him away, giving me a look and kicking at a guitar with his foot. He stands over me, keeping watch as I open it, making sure that nobody gets too close a look at this roadie.

I lift the lid and run my fingers over the smooth black and white beauty cradled within.

“Oh God, I missed you,” I whisper, knowing full well that this isn't my original guitar. Just the fact that it's the instrument of the dark and unruly gods of rock makes me happy though. It could've been a cheap knock off from Target and I'd be jumping for joy right now. My fingers itch to scratch the strings, fuck them hardcore and smash up the stage. In my throat, my voice coils poised and ready to strike. When I hear the opening band start up their first song, I almost cry. Even a day without music is punishment, but a whole week? No, fucking thank you.

I lift the Wolfgang out with gentle fingers, examining it with careful eyes. I have no idea what I'm looking for – a lipstick stain? a bit of DNA? a fingerprint? Still, I spin it slowly and keep my eyes peeled, nearly exploding from my skin when Hayden's voice sounds from over my shoulder.

“You look good today, Turner,” she says as I tilt the guitar and try to get a glimpse of her in the reflection. Doesn't work. I glance surreptitiously over my shoulder and find the psycho bitch dressed in a pair of bootie shorts and a tank with no bra to hold her tiny tits in place. Even those mosquito bites are going to flop when she's jumping around onstage tonight. If I were 'here', I'd make sure she put one on. God. She
knows
I fucking hate that. Somehow, I feel like she senses I'm close by and is trying to piss me off. She's so getting the cunt punt when I confront her ass. “Different. Something happen?”

Turner shifts his weight and raises his chin. I can't see his face, but I can hear his grin when he speaks next. He's so lucky his balls are out of my reach or I'd crush the fuckers.

“Had a hot fuck last night. Always makes for a good next day, don't you think?”

“Oh yeah,” Hayden says with a dirty smile. It doesn't reach her eyes though, just sits there on her thin mouth and looks heavy.
How deep into this is she?
“I can't disagree with that one. Last night, when Dax and I were … ” Hayden pauses and puts a hand over her rounded mouth. “Did I say that out loud? God, he is so going to kill me.” She fans herself and backs away a step, glancing down at my hunched form. I look away and focus on the Wolfgang. “I am
so
nervous. My second real night back. I hope I can remember how to wow the crowd.” She growls this last bit and I can just imagine her tossing Turner a wink before she spins away. The sound of her heels clicking on the floor disappears into the melodic rift that's drifting back to us from the stage.

“Naomi,” Turner begins. I cut him off.

“She's full of shit, Turner,” I tell him as I look around the guitar case. As far as I can see, there's nothing here. It's a new case, new guitar, perfect replica to the one I smashed in my confused stage rage. Crouching here, now, with a clear head, all I can wonder is
what the fuck was I thinking?
I smashed my most prized possession because I was messed up about Turner. What a dick. I don't think about the fuck last night or the near fuck this morning. “She obviously said that on purpose. She must've seen Dax get on the bus or something, and she's screwing with you.” I snap the case closed and stand up.

When I turn around, Dax is coming across the room towards us. Turner doesn't waste any time, and in his fucking
way
just blurts out the question.

“You fuck Hayden last night?” he asks and I cringe. Dax looks a little perplexed and then whispers the one word that I did not expect to hear.

“Yes.”

“Ah, shit!” Turner shouts and people scatter. Somebody even tries to hand him a water bottle. Once a diva, always a diva. Turner grabs his head and turns away, but I keep my gaze firmly focused on Dax's face. He's never screwed me before, but there's always a first time for everything. If he wants to mess with me now, he's got a golden opportunity. He looks apologetic and regretful, like he's just been caught cheating. But I don't hold it against him. I mean, look at me. I've got this … dirty
thing
going on with Turner. I can't even touch the guy or my wiring gets all fucked and I can't think straight. “Should've known not to trust this motherfucker.”

“I thought you were dead,” Dax whispers and I take a breath, look him square in the eye. People part around us and take no notice of another extra in a sweatshirt. I might as well be invisible right now. I think of that poor girl, Marta, that Turner told me about. She died so somebody could get a laugh out of fucking with my friends, my fans. When he told me they cut off the skin on her chest, belly, and ankle, just so they'd think it was me, that made my stomach twist painfully. I feel like that girl's blood is on my hands. I've already got enough of that, thank you very much. The bad blood already burns like acid; I can't even imagine what it would be like to have the blood of anyone of a lesser evil splattered there. How could you live with yourself? “I was drunk, high, depressed. And Hayden … if she's involved, it's on a minor level. She's not a monster, not really. She's just –”

“Seriously off her Goddamn rocker,” Turner says, turning around and giving Dax a disgusted once-over, like he's diseased or something, carrying the black plague under his silver fingernails. It makes me so pissed, I just want to deck his ass.

“Turner,” I hiss, trying to keep my voice pitched so that the music from onstage covers it up. “
You messed with me and now you're done. I will finish you. Finish you fast and bleed you dry.
” I listen to the lyrics as I stare Turner's dark eyes down.

“Don't get on his ass because he scooped up some of your soggy leftovers.” Turner leans back like he can't believe I just said that to him. “You fucked her, too, once. Obviously, she has some kind of pull.”
Is that … jealously in my voice? Am I jealous? This is ridiculous.

“She's confused. I think she's trying to figure out how to be a better person, but just doesn't get it yet.” I look at Dax and decide if I should tell him about Hayden's crazy rant in the trailer. I mean, she said she'd try to help me out, right? I want to give her the benefit of the doubt, but she's kind of been holding me ransom for years, so you know, it doesn't come easy. “Let me talk to her.” Before either Turner or I can interrupt, he holds up his hands and continues. “I won't tell her about you. Just … let me see if I can get anything out.” Dax squares his shoulders and locks his gray eyes on me. “I love you,” he declares, and I can tell he wants to say my name, spill it in the air like a fragrant curse. But he can't, not back here.

“Dax,” I whisper, stepping close. I'm not trying to be mean, but shit, I can't handle all of this at once. Things are tough enough as it is. “I'm not looking for love right now.” He stays stone still and doesn't respond. “But if you could talk to Hayden, I'd like that. Don't do it because you think it'll win me over, do it because you want to, okay? If not, I understand.” I step back and watch him watching me for a moment. After a few seconds, he nods and moves away. This isn't going to be easy. He's not going to take
no
for an answer anymore. My temporary death has caused quite a few hearts to rip open and bleed all over the place. I need to stitch them up and move on.

I glance over at Turner.

“You're not looking for love,” he says, taking a drag on his cigarette. “But what if it bit you in the ass?” I stare at his strong face, the star tattoos at his hairline, his lip rings, the single nick on his throat where a razor left its mark. He's pretty, but it's a dangerous kind of pretty, the kind that kills souls. Not going to happen. I start to say something, but he interrupts me. Typical. “Just let it simmer up there in your gray matter for a bit, babe.” I narrow my eyes at him. He takes a step forward and grasps my shoulders. Even through the thick fabric, I can feel his heat. My head drops back and when he presses his mouth to mine, I don't fight. I kiss him back until I realize how fucking stupid we're being.

I stumble back and cover my mouth with my gloved hands. All around me, twitters and cruel giggles ring out. Other girls watching Turner put the moves on a new roadie. Huh.

“Hey,” he says as I move around him and start towards the door. “Don't forget to watch me onstage, beautiful.” I look back at him, making sure to keep my head down in case anyone tries to scope me out. They don't. But I do feel an almost audible sigh of relief backstage, like the crew can finally rest easy. If Turner Campbell has stopped shouting his true love bullshit, then he's over Naomi.
We
can be over Naomi. It isn't a good feeling to be forgotten so easily.