Gone for You (Sixth Street Band #1) (2 page)

“Dude, it’s not funny.” Christian winced, clutching his side. “My ribs are killing me.”

Sitting at the foot of the bed, I shook my head. “That’s what you fucking get. Why would you go for a bike ride in the middle of the city when you don’t even know where you’re going?”

We usually stayed in Irving, close to the old AT&T Stadium. We knew that area. But this time they booked us at the Omni Hotel in the middle of downtown Dallas. No bike lanes, and nothing but four lane highways and busy side streets as far as the eye could see.

“I needed the exercise.” He shrugged sheepishly.

That proved my theory that the cure was worse than the disease. Of the four of us, only Christian would have a bike delivered so he could get in his ten miles instead of going to the gym at the hotel like a normal person.

“When are they letting you out of here?” Logan said seriously.

“Tomorrow.” Christian stifled a yawn, his eyes drifting closed for a second as he spoke. “They’re keeping me here in case I have an aneurysm or something.”

The frown lines etched on Logan’s face deepened.

Christian had suffered a slight concussion and bruised ribs. Other than the pain meds that were making him drowsy, he didn’t appear any worse for the wear. The door swung open, and Sean Hudson, our drummer and the only member of our tight little foursome unaccounted for, stepped inside.

“Took you long enough, dickhead,” Christian said, a drowsy smile creeping over his face. “I could have been dying while you were wolfing down a burrito.”

Ignoring the comment, Sean crossed the room, laying a hand on Christian’s shoulder. “You ever pull something like this again; I’ll kick your ass. You’ll be playing that bass from a wheelchair.”

Christian smiled up at Sean, patting the hand that was pressed to his shoulder.

“I’m good, bro. Just a few bumps and bruises.”

“Jesus,” Logan groaned. “I need to get the fuck out of here. Before I grow a vagina.”

“Don’t…shit…don’t make me laugh,” Christian snorted, clutching his side. His shoulders quaked as he tried to suppress a laugh.

Our heads turned to the door when Lindsey’s high-pitched squeal drifted into the room.

“I’m Mr. Sears’s manager,” she huffed. “Of course, he wants to see me.”

Lindsey swept into the room with a nurse on her tail, her five inch heels clicking on the linoleum.

“Christian,” she cooed in a saccharine sweet voice. “I’m so glad you’re ok.”

Christian nodded at the nurse, who looked at Lindsey like she wanted to snatch our manager’s Chanel purse and strangle her with the gold chain. Giving Lindsey’s back a withering glare, the nurse retreated from the room, her ponytail swinging behind her.

“Spreading sunshine wherever you go, eh, Lindsey?” Christian asked wearily, throwing an arm over his forehead.

Her mere presence and fake show of concern cast a pallor over the room. Dismissing Christian’s comment, she looked at her watch.

“I hate to break this up.” Lindsey reverted to her usual emotionless tone. “But I need all of you back at the hotel for a radio interview. Christian needs his rest. There’s a limo waiting outside.”

“Don’t even start, Lindsey,” Logan spat. “I’m not doing a fucking interview. Issue a statement or whatever. I’m not going to talk about the show, or the single, or anything else.”

Rising to his feet, Logan pushed Sean out of the way, leaning over to say something in Christian’s ear. I followed suit, grabbing Christian’s hand and squeezing it.

“Let me know if you need anything.” I cleared my throat to hide the emotion. “Get some rest.”

Christian smiled, his unfocused eyes at half-mast.

Sliding his sunglasses on, Logan stepped around Lindsey and headed for the door. Sean followed, turning to smile at Christian before he stepped into the hallway. Surveying Lindsey in her monochromatic suit, with the flat smile frozen on her lips, I shook my head.

“Damn, Lindsey, do you have anything resembling a heart in there?” I matched her cold stare. “If I were you, I wouldn’t push it.”

She rolled her eyes, her heels clicking against the linoleum when she followed me out the door.

Chapter 2

W
hat the fuck is this?” I looked out the tinted window of the limo at the crowd of people, mostly female, milling around the parking lot of the Omni Hotel. They spilled out of the lobby, holding makeshift signs with “I LOVE YOU, CHRISTIAN” and “GET WELL, CHRIS” scrawled on them.

I didn’t appreciate the intrusion, but their hearts were in the right place. Taking out my cell, I snapped a couple pictures and sent them to Christian. The warm feeling faded when a group of screaming girls descended on the limo. A smug look crossed Lindsey’s face. This was no surprise. To her, at least.

“How did they know where we were staying?”

Lindsey’s smile disintegrated under the weight of my stare.

“Aren’t
you
supposed to keep shit like this from happening?” Glancing out the window, I tensed when several faces pressed against the glass.

“Yeah,” Logan cut in. “isn’t that what we pay you for, to keep us safe and anonymous between shows?”

“If you wanted to remain anonymous, maybe you should’ve stayed in Austin.” Lifting her chin, Lindsey crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s no such thing as bad publicity, boys.”

Leaning forward, I clasped my hands in a death grip to keep from choking her. “And if Christian were in a fucking coma, would that be ‘bad publicity’? Or would you arrange a competition to find a new bass player? Maybe have it televised?”

The sparkle in her eyes told me I wasn’t too far off the mark.

“Of course not.” She picked an imaginary piece of lint off her skirt. “Christian’s fine. I just thought since you missed the interview, we’d bring the interview to you.”

Logan stared at her incredulously while Sean just shook his head, looking out the window. A van was parked in front of the entrance with “97.1 The Eagle” emblazoned on the side.

“Come on, boys.” Lindsey plastered a smile on her face, sliding her sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose. “Your adoring fans are waiting. I’ve arranged for security to meet us.”

“Security?” Logan roared. “Did you arrange for that before or after we found out that Christian was in the clear?” His blue eyes bore into hers, hidden behind her huge glasses. “Never mind, I already know.”

“It doesn’t matter, Logan,” she said in a patronizing tone. “You’re scheduled to do the interview, so
do
the interview. It will probably be broadcast all over the state with this crowd.”

She looked out the window appreciatively, scooting closer to the door.

“Fuck this,” Logan muttered, reclining against the seat. “I’m not going to be trapped in a room at this hotel all week because you wanted extra publicity.” He turned to me. “Any ideas, Cam?”

Shrugging, I pulled out my phone, glancing at each of my bandmates.

“Make the call,” Logan grumbled.

Hitting the button, I held the phone to my ear, waiting for my brother to answer. He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, Chase.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “No, Christian’s fine, but we have a little problem.”

My brother was a miracle worker. He came through, just like always. It didn’t take him ten minutes to firm up the arrangements. As the limo sped down the freeway, I sipped my beer, watching the landscape turn rural. Well, rural was a stretch, but at least skyscrapers weren’t dotting the skyline any longer. After kicking Lindsey out at the Omni to deal with her mess, our group had relaxed.

“So what’s the deal with this place?” Logan asked, looking absently at his phone.

“I dunno,” I sighed. “Chase said it’s the shit. He knows the manager. It’s got great food and a spa. All the amenities.”

I trusted Chase more than anyone else in the world. He was more than a brother to me. He was a mentor, a surrogate father, and the financial backer for the band from its inception. Before we even wrote our first song, Chase let us play at his club in Austin. He owned The Parish Bar, the largest venue on Sixth Street. Without him, Caged wouldn’t have gotten any traction.

My phone vibrated next to me on the seat. Picking it up, I opened the text from Chase.

Your contact at the property is Lily Tennison. Get some rest. I booked three bungalows. There’s another bungalow on hold for Chris when he gets out. Don’t tell that bitch where you are.

Chuckling, I tapped a response.

Thanks, bro. No worries, Lindsey doesn’t have a clue where we’re headed. She’s going to be blowing up your phone.

Seconds later, he returned:
She’ll be lucky if I don’t blow her ass all the way back to L.A. Call me later.

Tucking my phone in my pocket, I took the last swallow from my Shiner Bock and tossed the bottle in the trash. The limo turned at the sign marked “Rosewood Mansion on Turtle Creek.” Red bud trees dotted the long driveway, their pink petals scattered on the concrete.

Logan looked up when we pulled to a stop and stretched his arms over his head.

“I hope the staff at this place is as accommodating as the Omni.” He gave me a wolfish grin.

We had only been at the Omni Hotel for two nights, but Logan already managed to bang one of the bartenders. From the look of the cute little maid that I spotted leaving his room this morning, she delivered more than fresh towels.

“And you call me a dog?” I slid across the seat to wait for the driver to open the door. “Don’t shit where you eat, Logan. Chase will kick your ass if his buddy tells him you defiled half the female staff.”

“Whatever.” Logan ran a hand through his long, blond hair. “I need something to occupy my time.”

Logan’s sexual escapades landed us in the press more than our music. The dude had an endless supply of energy when it came to entertaining the more willing of our fan base.

I was no slouch, but tonight I was worn out. If he were on the prowl, he’d be doing it without me. The only thing I needed was a good meal and a soft bed. Since this place didn’t look like it specialized in happy endings, I’d wait until we ventured down to Harry Hines Boulevard, where the good old-fashioned massage parlors were. The girls there might not be licensed, but then what licensed therapist would let you bend them over the table when you were finished?

Squinting from the sudden brightness, I placed a foot on the pavement when the limo door swung open. I took in a lungful of the fragrant flowers from the trees that surrounded the circular driveway. After a string of nondescript hotels in cities I couldn’t even remember, it was nice to be someplace that actually had some character.

My gaze fell on the figure that exited through the wooden doors a few yards away. Her blond hair swung from side to side, mimicking the sway of her hips. A smile played across her lips, crinkling the corners of her piercing blue eyes. My heart nearly stopped.

“Dude, close your mouth.” Sean knocked shoulders with me when he stepped to my side.

Giving him a sidelong glance, I saw Logan smiling appreciatively at the girl, looking her up and down.
No way.
Stepping away from them, I nearly knocked her over in my attempt to reach her before she got caught in Logan’s crosshairs.

Startled, she looked up at me, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear. Fuck me, the girl was hot. Taking off my sunglasses, I gave her the most seductive grin I could muster.

Nothing.

“Mr. Noble?” She glanced down at the paperwork in her hand without acknowledging my lame attempt at flirtation.

“Knight, actually.” I was hoping for a glimmer of recognition.

Her brows knit together, causing an adorable little crease to form on her forehead.

I
was
Cameron Noble. At least that’s what my birth certificate said. But I dropped that shit as soon as Caged had a single on the charts, changing my name to Knight. My old man, Tyler Noble, the drunk that chased fame his whole life, was not going to get a nod of acknowledgement from me for anything I achieved.

“But you can call me Noble.” Not to be deterred by her cool demeanor, I quirked a brow and leaned in. “Or anything else you want, as long as you say it with a smile.”