Get Bent (27 page)

“You think Hayden's still into this?” Dax asks as I hit the button to dial. Neither Turner or I respond to his statement and he leans back with a sigh.

“Dax, thank the fucking stars. I need to get out of this redneck shit hole before I blow my brains out of my skull.” Nice to know she's retained some of the slang we've been feeding her along the way.

“It's not Dax,” I say and the phone goes completely silent.

“Naomi,” she says after a moment. “Good. You're alive.” Those few words might as well be a shouting, sobbing cry of relief. This is all I'm going to get out of my manager. “Now listen to me. Don't speak. Don't respond. Don't ask questions.” I wait as America sucks in a gasping breath. It sounds wet which scares the crap out of me. If she dies, our band is done for. Fucked. Screwed six ways to Sunday. We need her. “The night of the concert here in Denver, when we were attacked, there were six people that came onto that bus. None of the bouncers stopped them, nobody noticed. Six people in masks.” I stay silent, just as she'd asked. “They were there for you and me specifically. That pothead girl was an accident. They meant to kill me, and they meant to keep you.” She takes another gasping breath, and I hear a voice in the background. “Can't you see I'm on a call for business right now, you addle headed bimbo? Get out.” America pauses and snarls under her breath. “There's no privacy here. It's ridiculous. You'd think
I
was the one that committed the crime.” She sighs. “I need the details, but I don't want them over the phone. Give me a few days, and I'll meet you guys in Wichita. Are you singing tonight? Don't say anything to that. I think you should. Just be careful and watch your ass. This isn't over yet, and I don't imagine it coming to a close for awhile. If the police manage to learn anything, I'll be shocked. Now, hang up and go do your thing. I don't want this little snafu ruining our careers.” Only America would be ballsy enough to call a violent assault/homicide/kidnapping a snafu. I take the joint back from Turner and pull calmness into my lungs. “And Naomi,” she says before I hang up. “If you speak to any of the cops there, tell them I want my wedding band out of the evidence locker. They won't listen to me anymore.”

And then she hangs up.

I put the phone face down on the table and try to breathe.

“Well?” Turner asks, hands on his hips, looking sexy as fuck in a pair of ripped jeans and a plain black tee that pulls tight over his muscles. “What did she say?”

“She says,” I explain to him, looking around at Dax and Ronnie. “That were six people on the bus that night.”

“Six?” Turner asks. “How the fuck did they get past security?” I think of the cop that I stabbed. An incident like that should've had the whole place buzzing with activity. They take assault on an officer pretty fucking seriously, and yet, there's been nothing. No words. My blood chills and goose bumps spring up across my skin.

“I was putting together a theory, but it's kind of gone to shit.” I sigh and run my hands down my face. “Your weird sex cult idea doesn't sound so ridiculous after all. With all of this crap going down, who knows?” I slam my hands down on the table top. “You know what. Fuck this. I just want to sing. Maybe when whoever's involved sees me, their true colors will start to show?” I look straight into Turner's face and just hold my gaze there. He returns the favor and doesn't waver. I hope that when push comes to shove, that he'll really stick around like he says he will. I could use an ally right now.

“Let's knock 'em dead,” Turner says with a slight grin, and I pray to the fucking gods of rock that that sentence remains metaphorical.

We get Naomi all decked out and she goes from hot to fucking delicious. My dick ends up playing hotdog with my pants as the damn bun. Not very comfortable. I reach in and adjust myself while she gives me a look and eyes the shades with distaste.

“You think he sent them?” she asks, and I figure she's talking about her foster brother. Dax stands in my bathroom, slipping compacts and lip liners into a plastic bag. I'm not a big fan of the guy since he is an emo bitch, but I have to admit, he did kind of come through for us. He jacked a bra, panties, and makeup from Blair without her even knowing it. And now Naomi is standing before me, full tits ripe and perky, lifted and swollen into an epic line of cleavage in her mangled Turner Campbell shirt. She sliced and diced that baby until it was unrecognizable, leaving a stripe of pink over her bra and tendrils of torn fabric hanging around her soft belly. The silver skull ring in her belly button winks at me as I scope out her
Real Ugly
tattoo with the angel wings and pretend I'm staring at the broken heart tattoo, so I can check out her breasts.

“Who the fuck knows? Does it matter?” She narrows her smoky eyes at me and I have to wonder if Dax is really a fag or not. I mean, damn, the guy knows how to do makeup. “You're going to use the new Wolfgang tonight, aren't you? Might as well accept the shades, too.”

“Even if an incestuous rapist stalker might've sent them to me?” she asks as Dax flicks off the light and joins us in the kitchen area. Ronnie's out scopin' around the venue looking for more gossip, so it's just the three of us in here with a gray sky and raging rain out the window. I hope there's still a crowd tonight. Tornado watch or no, I can see rage and riffs and blood boiling in Naomi's eyes. She's going to take her anger out onstage and it's going to be killer. It's worth the risk.

“Fucker spent his money on some nice shit. Why? To freak us out?” I reach out to grab the glasses from her hand, and she tightens her fingers around them. I want to snatch her wrist and drag her against me, kiss the fuck out of her moistened lips, but I doubt she'd let that fly. As much as I want to be an item, rock god to her goddess, I don't think she's ready. But I'll wait. She'll come around, eventually. I smile. I sound like a fucking chick. I wait with my fingers resting on hers until she relinquishes the shades to me and slip them on her face. “Screw 'em. We're going to nail them either way, might as well get some free shit out of it.”

Naomi sighs and leaves them on, sweeping her blonde hair over her shoulder and picking up the new hoodie I got for her. It's a bright red Indecency sweater with our logo slapped on the front in white. She pulls it over her head and makes sure the hood is in place.

I don't ask her her plans for the stage. I don't need to know them. I'm going to do what I feel is fucking right, whatever strikes me at the moment. I don't imagine this night ending without me joining her onstage though.

The air is charged as shit tonight, filled with the wild energy of the storm. It's going to churn this crowd up, no matter how big or small it is.

“What do you want to do about Hayden?” Dax asks, tucking the makeup bag under his arm. He looks nervous. He should be. Something's going to happen tonight. I don't know what it is or if I'm going to get all the answers, but shit is going to go down, and I'm going to be ready. Nobody, and I mean
nobody
is touching my woman tonight.

“Let me deal with her,” Naomi says, taking a breath. “She's going to give up the spotlight tonight. Willingly. And then tomorrow, when everybody knows I'm back, we'll figure this shit out.” She shakes out her wrists and takes a deep breath. “My fingers are itching for my baby. If I don't slam some strings tonight, I'm going to go fucking insane.” Naomi moves forward and pushes open the door, and at that same moment, the rain just … stops. I hear her mutter something about tornadoes under her breath, but I grew up in California. I don't know shit about tornadoes.

I jump down the steps after her and Dax follows, keeping close but feeling so far away. I know he can feel it, this thing between Naomi and me. Shit man, anybody could see it. The water beneath our feet evaporates away with the heat. She tries not to look at me too hard or for too long, but I know last night meant something to her. I'm changing her mind one slow, sweet fuck at a time.

“You know,” she says, voice pitched low. She knows Dax can hear, but whatever it is she wants to say, she wants to say it now. “If I hadn't been kidnapped … if I wasn't being stalked and betrayed and screwed with at every turn, I'd be thinking a lot more about this …
thing
with you.” I stop walking and get out a cigarette. Dax glares at me, and despite his earlier proclamation that he didn't stand a chance against me, he doesn't exactly look like he's ready to give up. I wonder how this will all play out. “I spent years with … ” Naomi grabs at her sweater and twists her fist in the fabric. “With you as my saddest secret. Now that it's out, that you know about the baby and,” Naomi pauses and sighs, slapping her hands against the legs of her borrowed jeans. “And everything else. I'm having trouble figuring out where to place myself, how to react. I have one more secret, one more.” Naomi bites her lower lip, looks down at the ground and then up at me. “One more and then I'm free and I don't know what I'm going to do.”

“Hit diamond with Amatory's next album, I imagine. Sit right next to us,” I say and she smiles. I think that it might be the first real smile I've ever pulled from her stubborn lips. My body gets tight and I find it hard to swallow.
What the fuck? You sixteen years old, Turner? Gonna start stuttering and blushing now, too?

“I just wanted you to know that I'm surprised by you.” I wait for her to elaborate. I'll admit, I'm a little slow. I don't get where she's going with this. “For sticking around, for not running off and forgetting me the second I was gone. You might not have actually unlocked those handcuffs, but you tried. You sang my songs, and somehow, I heard you. I didn't realize it until now, but that was one of the things that kept me sane.” Naomi huffs and for a split second, I can see her breath outlined in the still air. It's deathly quiet out here right now, no crowds, no musicians, no crew members. There are a few cops and security guards, but they, too, are few and far between on this gloomy day. “I guess what I'm trying to say is, thank you. And … ” A big gasp of breath, a shake of her head. “I respect your passion and your commitment, Turner Campbell.”

And then she turns and walks away. Dax moves after her and takes up residence by her side. I hear them talking, but I don't register the words. I hear one thing, just one thing only playing round and round inside my thick skull.

Respect.

Naomi Isabelle Knox respects me.

My soul screams a ballad of joy and my heart explodes inside my chest.

I push open the doors and step backstage, reveling in the wild heat and frenzy of it all. I missed it so fucking much, enough so that I realize suddenly that I would never survive doing anything else. I was built for this, mind, body and soul. Dax reaches down and squeezes my hand, and I don't care who's looking or wondering or contemplating my identity. They can guess, but they won't be sure, not until I reveal myself. Let them stare and whisper. My turn for a little mystery.

The venue here is a big, brick building with a massive auditorium and a rounded roof soaring above our head in steel beams and bright, blue paint. It's industrial and old and probably a terrible place to be during a storm. All around the room, phones and tablets crackle with weather updates and reporters in heavy, winter coats, braving the worst of the weather for a good story.
Fucking idiots.
First sign of the sirens and I'm out of here. I'll lay down in the ditch outside the chain-link, and I'll make sure I take everybody that matters with me.

Police are everywhere in here, but whether it's because of the storm or the murder or even me, I have no clue. I ignore them all and focus on the bitch that's moving across the room towards me in gold heels and a white top. With no bra. What the fuck is wrong with this cunt?

“Even tiny tits sag,” I tell Hayden when she gets close and tries to smile at Dax. He can't even look at her. I wonder what happened between them last night, if anything. Maybe he's just disgusted with her after what Ronnie told us? Bitch stormed out after her story and didn't bother to stay to explain her actions, and now we're left with this. A big, fat fucking elephant in the room.

“Thanks for the
tip,
” she hisses and the word falls right off the end of her tongue like a slap. Her makeup is too much, too loud, too raunchy. She's trying too hard, and her skin is ashen. Something isn't right with her. That's pretty fucking obvious. I stare at her tiny, upturned nose and her massive nostrils, and I try to stay calm when I say this.