Hard Rock Roots Box Set (73 page)

“Fuck you,” Turner growls, and I hear slamming cabinets in the kitchenette area. “As far as I'm concerned, you're my woman now. Get used to it. And get used to this because it's going to be the last cock you ever suck.”

“You know what I find amusing? It's how ridiculous you are. There's a three year old sleeping here and a baby on my chest. The last thing I want to see right now is your flaccid fucking dick. Keep your pants on, asshole, and cut the possessive caveman crap. If you're lucky, I'll let you call me your girlfriend someday. As of right now, I just want to live to see the end of this God forsaken tour.”

There's a moment of somber silence before Turner breaks back in with his
shit-don't-mean-shit
attitude that's been carrying me for years.

“God forsaken? This tour is making our career. Nobody's going to forget Indecency or Amatory Riot anytime soon. We're made after this. No matter what we do, everyone'll think our shit turns to gold.”

“Yeah, but three innocent people are dead, Katie's pregnant with a rapist's baby and
in jail,
and I … ” Naomi stops and the room goes silent again. “We have to press Hayden. She's the only person we know for sure is involved in this though I don't doubt there are a whole handful of others. Frankly, I think we'd better off without any bodyguards at all. How do you think those bodies got in the hotels? Somebody obviously knew they were coming. There's at least a guard or two that would've had to let them in.”

“I still think you should see Katie,” Turner says, bringing up yet another point of contention among us.
Damned if you do; damned if you don't.
Katie has at least some of the answers, but she's locked up in a federal prison awaiting a mental-health evaluation. Nobody here thinks she'll be deemed sane. Naomi could, in theory, visit her. But theory's a long way away from practice.

I roll over and prop my head up on my hand.

They both look over at me, facial expressions unreadable.

“Did the cops tell you the first guy they arrested confessed to Chelsea's murder?” I ask, watching their eyes open wide in surprise. “He even showed them the murder weapon and told them how he did it. Curious and curiouser that Shannon should just happen to get murdered a few days later. You know what they said their theory was?” I sit up and rub my hands down my face. My stubble's back with a vengeance, scratchy and itchy as hell. I'm going to get up, shower, and shave it off, and I am
not not not
going to touch the eight ball Turner has in his suitcase. I'm not going to smoke anything, not going to pop any pills. I seriously considered it last night. I even got together a hit and pressed the needle against my arm. If I hadn't heard Lydia sobbing outside the door, I would've done it. But I need a clear head for this. It's the difference between life and fucking death. “They said they think it's a copycat killer. That maybe some crazy fan's trying to 'help me out' by giving me custody of my kids.”

“Are you fucking shitting me?” Naomi asks, leaning over and cupping Phoebe's head with her hand. She looks amazing sitting there in short shorts and a loose tank, blonde hair waving softly over her shoulder. Turner is a lucky man. My mind immediately switches to Lola Saints. While I was fucking her on the hood of a car, somebody was laying my baby down next to a corpse. It makes me feel like slitting my fucking wrists. And yet, I can't wait to see Lola again. Instead of talking to Asuka in my head last night, I dialed Lola's number six different times and waited for her to answer. She never did. I wonder if all this crap is scaring her off. “You're telling me that's the best the FBI or whoever can come up with?” I shrug.

“I told them … not everything but a lot. They really don't think Marta's death and your kidnapping has anything to do with this. It's such a big fucking mess right now. Everyone just thinks we're stirring up controversy, that our music is drawing all the psychopaths out of the woodwork. They
strongly
suggested to Milo last night that we call the concert quits.” Naomi laughs and shakes her head while Turner fingers an unlit cigarette.

“America pretty much told us point-blank that we can kiss our careers goodbye if we leave. She knows a lot, maybe even everything, but she won't talk over the phone. Said she'll tell us more when she gets here on Saturday.” Naomi sighs and slumps a little, rubbing her hand across Phoebe's back to comfort her. “Hopefully then we'll have the buses and we can get the hell out of here.”

“What about the others?” Turner asks, dropping the cig on the table with a sigh. “The other mothers. Can't remember their names, but, uh, Rhett's mother, and Ria's?”

“I told the cops about them,” I say, thinking of last night's disaster. I thought spilling some more of the information I had would help, but they didn't take me seriously enough. Nobody fucking takes me seriously anymore. I've been a joke for so long – a strung out tweaker who could barely remember the names of his kids. It's going to be hard for me to change people's perceptions. At least Naomi and Turner are taking me seriously. Dax, too. He seems like a nice guy. I feel bad for him being stuck in bed like he is. See? Midwest, no thank you. You've got fucking tornadoes. “They said they'd put them under police protection, but … I don't want to. I called them both last night and explained.” Luckily, Eve and Maria and I have more of an understanding than I did with either Chelsea or Shannon. Eve always sends me pictures and gifts from Ria, and I've spent more time with her than any of my other kids. Her mother made the effort even when I didn't. She's six years old now, just a few weeks older than her half-brother, Rhett. Rhett's mother, Maria, and I don't get along that great, but she's arranged a few visits between us.

“Think they took you seriously?” Turner asks with a sigh, grabbing a bottle from the counter and shaking it up before testing the temperature on his finger. Honestly, I'm surprised he even knows which end is up. Just goes to show you should never judge a book by its cover – or its filthy fucking mouth. I sit up fully and put my feet on the floor. My muscles are screaming that I'm a sadist for putting them through that fight. My arms hurt so damn bad, and my knuckles … Ugh. I stretch my fingers out and thank the Rock Gods there's no show tonight. Instead, today I get to take my kids to the airport. That, and I get to talk to Shannon's parents. Should be real fucking fun. Basically, what I heard from the cops is that they want Phoebe back. Not sure what to do about that.

I close my eyes and relax my head back, counting to three before I shake out my neck and shoulders and stand up.

“I'm going to shower,” I say, rubbing at my eyes. There's sweat staining my forehead and stinking up my pits. Withdrawals blow balls, man. But I can handle it. I look down at Lydia and squeeze my fists tight. I have to handle it. “I want to go find Lola before I head to the airport.”

“Lola, huh?” Naomi says, adjusting Phoebe so she's lying comfortably in her arms. Her tiny face makes my eyes water. She's so fucking beautiful, and I've missed out on so Goddamn much. If my tough luck holds, maybe I'll make it out of this okay. Maybe.

I smile.

“Yeah, Lola Saints, the drummer from Ice and Glass.” Naomi grins at me and puts the bottle to my baby's mouth. She's so Goddamn awesome. Her and Turner. Fuck, my whole band has been there for me, doing things they shouldn't have to do, helping me out in ways unimaginable. I've been so blind to it for so long, it's coming as a bit of a shock.

“Yeah, I know her. Sort of.” Naomi tilts her head to the side while Turner retreats back to the kitchen and starts going through the food Milo had ordered in for us. “She's Cohen's ex, right? They had some nasty as fuck fights in the parking lot before.” Naomi pauses and purses her lips tight. “I've seen that dumb ass pig playing around with Hayden lately. I wonder what that's about. Especially considering she just preached her love for Dax and Turner to me.”

“Ugh,” Turner groans from the kitchen. “That skinny tramp can go fuck herself. She doesn't stand a chance. Even if I wasn't fucking committed to marrying your ass and making tiny Turner babies, she's a little below my usual standards.” Naomi's eyes narrow, and I can't hold back my smile.
God, I love the shit out of these stupid assholes. I hope they buy a house down the street from me, so I can watch Naomi throwing Turner's stuff out on the lawn every other Christmas.
I don't admit to myself that in that fantasy, Lola Saints is in the kitchen with nothing but an apron on.

“The night all of … this crap started, I walked in on you balls deep in her skanky pussy. You should probably go get tested. If I get herpes from you, I'll slice your dick in half and call it a statement piece.” Turner frowns for a minute before he narrows his brown eyes on her and swipes a hand through his blue-black hair.

“You're jealous, baby? Oh my god, that is so fucking hot.” Turner pulls some shades from his pocket and slips them on his face. I do my best to forget that he's also slept with Lola. Who am I kidding? He's slept with
everyone
on this tour, just like I have (minus the dudes).

“First night of the tour, Treyjan and I had a little fun against the back of your tour bus.” Naomi looks over her shoulder at Turner and smiles wickedly. “I almost forgot about it because I was piss ass drunk, and I'm pretty sure he's avoiding me. But I was trying to figure out why he seemed so … ” Naomi licks her lower lip. “Familiar.” Wish I could explain the look on Turner's face. I definitely don't envy Trey their next interaction.

A knock at the door breaks us all out of the conversation. Glances are exchanged.

“I'll get it,” Turner says, moving to the door with a frozen burrito clutched in his hand. I open my mouth to tell him to check the damn peephole, but of course, he doesn't. He wrenches the door open, and I expect we'll see cops or Milo or one of the guys. Nope. Instead, standing at the door with watering eyes and shaking hands is Lola fucking Saints.

My first instinct is to cross the room and take her in my arms. That feeling alone is enough to knock me flat with shock. I sit down hard on the bed and watch as she steps into the room. Turner closes the door behind her and immediately, she falls against it and rests there with her eyes shut tight.

“Are you okay?” Naomi asks, adjusting herself on the bed, so she's facing Lola. “Did something happen to you?” I wonder if she's thinking about Cohen. I know I am. Lola opens her eyes and the blast of emotion in them makes my hands tremble. They're so blue it's unreal, like she's wearing contacts or something. I get the strongest urge to sit her on my lap and watch her play the drums. Just the thought makes me hard as a rock, my cock straining against the fabric of my jeans like it's possessed.
Down boy.
Even I can see that now is not the appropriate time. Something's wrong; I can tell.

Lola's still wearing the same clothes from last night, minus the jacket and the shoes. She's got on flats and a frown that could crush mountains. She takes several deep breaths before speaking.

“Are we alone in here?” is her first question. Never a good precursor. She looks down at the floor and her dark hair falls across her face, shielding her eyes.

“As far the fuck as I know,” Turner says, putting his hands on his hips and taking a step back from her. I don't blame him. Neither he or Naomi really knows Lola. Fuck, I don't even know her. But it feels like I do, like we've known each other forever.
Asuka, tell me this is okay, that these feelings don't make me a bad person. That I can love you forever, but still find someone else to bring into my heart, someone to fill that hole inside of me and take away the pain.

“Put some music on,” she says quietly, removing her hand from the jacket and bringing out a knife. Immediately Turner goes for her, but Lola just drops it onto the floor by his feet. “Please?” Turner pauses and looks at Naomi then over at me. I nod at him and he tosses his phone onto the table, pulling up our playlist and starting 'Breaking Pretty'. That's how Lola looks to me right now. A broken pretty, a shattered beautiful, something that could cut a person up and leave them in pieces, something that they'd go crawling back to, bloody and begging for more.

“What's going on?” Naomi asks, her voice hard and dark, full of suspicion and unspoken threats. I watch Lola carefully and wait with my heart pounding in my chest. I fucking trust her even though I know that's irrational, that I'm being blinded by a pretty face and big tits. But then, that's not true, is it? I've had plenty of pretty girls, but none that grabbed me like this, held me so tight I could barely breathe. And from a single look, too.

Lola looks up and grabs me with her eyes, holding me in place like I've been chained. I can't look away. Something changes in the air, like it's suddenly stale and full of rotting secrets. Turner's always believed secrets kill, and now, here, without even knowing what Lola's going to say, I'd have to agree. Something isn't right. Something here is ugly. Real ugly. And totally and completely fucked.

And that's just my initial impression.

“I have to tell you something,” Lola says, her beautiful accent caressing the gray matter between my ears, seducing my soul and promising sweet things in dark places. I run my hands up and down my arms to keep myself from standing up and going over to her. “You're not gonna like it. And it's going to – ” Lola scoffs and shakes her head like she can't believe she's doing this. “Fuck me. I knew I should've gotten fried before coming over.” Lola rubs at her eyes for a moment and crosses her arms under her breasts. I focus my gaze on her tattoos, on the drum kit on her belly, the colorful birds up her arms. She's a piece of artwork, one I'd like to study the hell out of.