Get Bent (19 page)

I turn and reach for the handle of the door, realizing as I do that the one person that was keeping me alive while I was gone was that fucking asshole chuckling wickedly behind me.

I wish America was here.

I could feed her all of the bits and pieces, like typing information into a computer program. Give her a few minutes and she'd print out an entire dossier on the subject, who did what and when and why. She'd know everything. I think about calling her, but I don't know what I'd say.
Sorry I got you fucked up. They were after me, but you got in the way?
Or maybe that's not even true. Maybe they wanted her dead? How should I know? Dax said she's okay now, out of intensive care, but that she was pretty bad when they first got to her, that she'd have died from the bleeding. Hearing him and Turner talk about the blood on the bus makes me so sick. The suffering the two of them alone went through is enough for an ass kicking to take place. Add my shit and America's shit and Marta's death, and these motherfuckers have it coming.

I step outside, and flash my pass at the security guard before I start to walk the perimeter. In my front pocket, I've got a knife and a can of mace. Ain't nobody getting the jump on this chick again. I make sure to stick to the lighted areas and avoid the shadows. There are guards posted here and there, so it's not like I'm all alone. I'm safe enough for now. Still, it's kind of hard to shake the feeling of shock and amazement at this whole set up. I mean, we've always had the chain-link fences, but not this type of security, these locks, the spotlights. This is a big thing now.
And I have to sit on the sidelines. I bet that crowd is like a pulsing heartbeat.
I sigh and pull out a smoke, fingering Hayden's picture when I reach into my pocket. Turner gave it back to me, but we didn't show Dax. Not Ronnie either. So I guess Blair, Turner, and I are the only ones that know about Hayden's secret. Guess if worse comes to worse, we can always use this to blackmail her. I'd rather not, but hey, payback's a bitch.

I make it around most of the camp before I spot the champagne colored car from before.

“Katie,” I whisper. I move up to the gate and show the guard my badge. He glances at it and then looks up at me with an irritated expression, rolling his eyes as he unlocks the bolt and unwraps the chain. Lucky for me, she's idling up on the side of the overpass outside the south entrance. Easy out, easy in.

“You people have no work ethic, you know that?” the man says as I move past him. “You come and go as you please, smoke like chimneys, screw like rabbits. I mean, get a grip for God's sake.” I ignore his rant and hop the small stone wall at the edge of the lot, using the hardy shrubs that dot the highway as handles to climb the steep hill. When I reach the top, I climb over and hit the moist pavement just as the sky overhead crackles. Looks like the storm's following us. Raindrops splatter my face as I check the window and find that I was right. Inside the car, is Katie Rhineback. She rolls the window down.

I put my hand in my sweater pocket and clutch the knife. I imagine that if Turner found out I was up here, that he'd be pissed. But he's not my keeper, nobody is. If I want to do dangerous shit, I'll do dangerous shit.

“Get in before he sees you,” she whispers, and I can't help but glancing around. I figure she's probably talking about Eric, but who the hell knows? “Hurry,” she urges, eyes wide and forehead drenched with sweat. I check and double check, making sure the new cell Turner's manager got him is still in my pocket. If I need to make a call, he's got Ronnie's on him. Strangely enough, there's no doubt in my mind that he'd come running.

I open the door and slide in, leaving my shades on and hood up.

“How'd you know I'd be here?” I ask her as she eases onto the highway and gets in the fast lane. “Were you waiting for me?”

“I was looking for
him
,” she says, keeping her eyes forward and her hands steady. Her head is shaved and her cheeks are hollow. I don't like the look of her, like something else has managed to come in and screw with her since we last talked. Her sorrow hasn't lessened, only gotten deeper. What the fuck? What did I do all that for? I
want
Katie to have a good life. She deserves it. Even if she is obsessed with me. I shiver, but I tell myself that she was never a threat. She kind of stalked me for awhile, called me her hero, but nobody ever knew why. Nobody but her. She knows I killed her parents and for the longest time, she worshipped me for it in the worst ways. I stare at her hard and try to get a feel from her, some sense that I'm in danger. I get nothing. If she really was trying to screw me, she wouldn't have let me go.

“Eric?” I ask and she shudders, her pain almost palpable, hunching over the wheel and swerving the car dangerously. I reach over and grab the wheel, but she recovers quick.

“No. Not Eric. Eric is gone. The Devil. I'm looking for
him
.” I raise my eyebrows. Okay, here we go. More of the crazy talk. Great. Just great. I watch Katie's lower lip tremble and then let my eyes fall to the plastic purse in her lap, the dirty dress. She looks like a character from a dystopian novel, wild and frightened yet somehow fierce, crazy but focused and determined, too. It's scary as shit.

“You sent the video, didn't you?” I ask and her eyes fill with tears.
Bingo.
I knew it. One mystery solved, a thousand more to go. “Why?”

“You needed to know who your friends were,” she whispers. I lean against the door and watch her face, the play of emotions under pale skin lined with blue veins. In the background, I hear a bit of jazz on the radio.

“You really put me in an awkward position, Katie. Not fucking cool.” I pause and wait for her to explain herself further. She doesn't. Figures. “Are you stalking me again?” I ask as calmly and politely as possible. I can't imagine Katie as a murderer, but maybe she's responsible for the other stuff, the dead birds and the doll head, the hat and the guitar. Maybe there are two stories here intertwining? That would explain the convoluted shit hole I'm now swimming in.

“Naomi, I wanted you to know who you could trust because he's after you. They all are.”

“Who?” I grind out, desperate for answers. My head is spinning with all of this crap. On the outside, I'm okay, but inside, I'm confused. Lost. Empty and bursting both. Things are changing around me faster than I can blink. My secrets are being spilled from my soul, taking away that reeking rot I've been carrying around for so long. But what do I fill those spaces with? Love? It's never worked out for me before, never been that healing balm that poets promise and authors employ for giggling fangirls. I've hated Turner from afar for so long and now … he's in reach and I'm not sure if I even want him. I press my hands to my face and try to breathe.

“The demons,” Katie whispers, her voice almost lost in the rush of wind and water outside the window. I've always loved the rain, but for once in my life, I wish it was sunny outside. The weather is thick and heavy, bearing down on my already burdened shoulders. I press my fingers to my temples. Eric was right about at least one thing: Katie has gotten worse. But why. That's what I want to know.

“Did you steal the scissors?” I ask her, figuring I already know the answer to that question.

“Satan did. So he could bind you under his dark graces.” I drop my hands to my lap and push up my shades, so I can see her better. I'm probably fifty shades of fucked for getting in this car with this crazy woman.

“And the dead birds, the message in blood, did you write that?” Katie bites her lip so hard it starts to bleed. She takes the next exit and goes under the overpass, getting us back on the freeway in the opposite direction. “What have you done?” I ask her, not wanting to give much more away, just in case. “Other than the video, what else are you responsible for, Katie?” She doesn't answer, just sits there and stares out the windshield with glassy eyes. I slam my fist against the dashboard, and she whimpers. “Goddamn it, Katie. I've never asked you for anything, but please,
please
, whatever it is that you know, tell me.”

“This is big,” she says to me. “Much bigger than you and I. We're just fish, caught in a net. I sent the video, Naomi, but only so you would know who to trust. They kept your secret, didn't they?”

“Who else did you send it to?” I whisper, thinking of Turner and America. She's right though. Even though they didn't have to, even though they should've gone screaming to the police with it, they didn't. Says a lot, doesn't it?

“Dakota and America,” she whispers as she pulls into the parking lot of the venue. It's
packed
, but she manages to find a spot in the back and turns the car off, leaving us buried in silence. “That's it, I swear it, Naomi. I would never hurt you.” She turns and looks at me, eyes wide as marbles, lips quaking and chapped. Her whole body screams
pain, pain, pain.
She's cut so deep that she's bleeding inside and there's not a surgeon in the world that can save her from that. I hate to say it, but I don't think Katie will ever recover. I used to think so, but right now, I'm not so sure. “You're my sister, Naomi.”

I give her a tight-lipped smile and reach for the door.

“Foster sister,” I say, and then climb out into the eye of the storm.

I head straight back inside the gated area and around to the back, moving in the door and crouching in the shadows, so I can listen to Turner sing.

He is so on tonight that I get chills over my entire body when I hear his voice, can practically feel him crawling inside of me and splitting me apart, the most delicious kind of torture. He's singing that stupid
One Woman
song again. It's enough to make the audience swoon and flutter like a cluster of butterflies, desperate for a taste of his nectar. The word
mine
pops into my head and is dismissed immediately. I will
not
think that way. I told Turner no before. I have to stick to my guns.

But then I watch him rip the stage up and destroy it. I see that passion in him that I admired before raging bright, that happiness and joy spilling out into the crowd and promising them that you can have everything if you just try hard enough. It's fucking mesmerizing. And it's all because of me? Or just the idea of me? The thought that he'd found love and then lost it? I have no clue.

What I do know is that when Turner walks offstage, smelling like sweat and cigarettes, I almost jump him.

Instead, I wait stone still in my spot while I listen to the sounds around me dying down, fading away to whispers. Just as I'm about to go after him, get out before the last of the crew leaves me alone and in a vulnerable place, he comes up behind me and whispers in my ear.

“Boo.” I jump, a little, and then chastise myself for not paying better attention, turning around to find him grinning like a Cheshire cat. I frown.

“I almost shanked you,” I promise, which is true. At least my reflexes aren't complete shit right now. It's not easy staying away from the good stuff, the booze and the coke and the dope, especially not in a situation like this. But it's necessary, life or death crucial even. Turner just reaches out and tries to touch my lower lip. I push his hand away. I've seen that move pulled on a dozen or more girls since we started this tour. I'm not going to play that game. “And stop smiling so much. Don't you think people will find it odd if you go from mourning and pissed to happy and carefree in a day? Can you tone it down a little?” He reaches a hand in my hood, inked fingers tangling in a stray strand of hair.

“Not if I pick up a new roadie girlfriend. That's more my MO anyway. Besides, I always thought you might be jealous of that chick.” I raise my eyebrows and take a step back.

“The one you left with her panties down around her ankles, crying on the PA speaker?” Turner wrinkles his nose.

“She was crying?” I shake my head and sigh. He's a rich, rock star, piece of shit, asshole cock sucker. He will never change. I have to keep that in mind when making my decisions. I look around and decide I don't like how quickly this place is emptying out.

“Look, just forget about that. I don't want to be rammed over a speaker, alright?” I pull the morning after pill out of my pocket, pop it from the foil and swallow it. Turner watches silently, but for once, has nothing smart-alecky to say about it. “Let's just get the fuck out of here and get on the bus, so we can talk.” I start to move past him, and he grabs my arm. Again, I get
this
close to shanking his ass. “What?” I snap.