Rock Me Deep (5 page)

Nodding, I adjusted on the bench, music sheets on my knees. The papers moved slightly from my trembles; I forced my feet flat to stop them.

Colt tapped his sticks, Porter strummed briefly, and Drez took a swig of water.

Then they began. It was my own private show with Four and a Half Headstones.

A show I was part of.

“You fight me,” Drezden began, his words all wet sand. “Backed into a corner with your hands, and I can't keep my feet beneath me!” He crooned in low vibrations, his voice soaking me from scalp to belly.

I almost forgot to strum my notes.

He's so good,
I thought in awe.
He was born to sing.

Drezden had closed his eyes, the texture of his voice gliding over my throat, into my ears, like it belonged. “Fight me, hate me, kill me!”

Colt emphasized the cries with his cymbals, my world becoming an ancient war of metal and smoke.

I'd never fought so hard to keep myself together. To just
breathe.

“Fight me,” Drezden growled. “One more night until we fall. Fight me with curled nails and wicked teeth.” His eyes opened, fixing on me, their green depths a sea of hot desire. “You fight me, and I can't keep my feet beneath.”

I fumbled, the off chord sickening in my ears. With my face in flames, I ducked my head and kept going.
The way he sings, I can't concentrate.
If Drezden had put his hands on my shoulders, he couldn't have gotten any closer.

What was wrong with me?

The heat in my stomach warned me this was more than admiration or star-struck nerves. I was feeling a pull towards Drezden that I'd only ever felt while indulging in my private fantasies.

The one boyfriend I'd had was brief, and we'd broken up just after graduation. Harold, his name had been. Horny Harold, I'd teased him, because he'd always wanted to fuck me... but I'd always been too scared.

One time, he'd convinced me to go down on him, and that—
I shouldn't be thinking like this,
I thought desperately.
I need to make this work, it's a huge opportunity.

Maybe the only one I'll ever get.

There was shame in me, and when merged with my baffling excitement, I was losing ground. I couldn't play like I usually did.

And everyone sensed it.

“Stop!” Drezden's shout made me startle, fingers striking the wrong strings again. The brittle screech of music turned my hairs into rusty needles. He was glaring at me, eyebrows narrowing low enough to create a sea of lines on his perfect skin. “Fucking stop, everyone. You,” he snapped at me, “What the fuck was that?”

“I—what—it just—”

“Shut up,” he growled, crushing the microphone until his knuckles lost blood. I imagined he wished it was my throat. “Are you messing with us?”

“No!”

“Then get your head in place and try again,” he said, swiping his hair back. Porter jumped when Drezden pointed at him. “Play No More Stars.”

The bassist scowled, challenging Drezden with a glare. “Sure man, calm down.”

No one said anything else, the silence punctuated by Colt tapping his sticks together uneasily.

Where before there had been anticipation, now there grew a sticky tension. These guys had been impressed with me when I'd auditioned. Their admiration was melting away.

It galled me to imagine the version I'd presented to them, a crafted piece of myself that had looked like a prodigy. Now, I'd become a disappointing accident.

I'm not an accident, I know how to play,
I reminded myself.

I'll remind them, too.

The stiff pick in my fingers snapped along my guitar strings. No More Stars was a song that began with a warning. Brooding notes, building with foreboding that came faster, louder, spreading to give space for the words that would soar between.

Deep, hollow punches erupted from the drums. The three of us, we were there to herald the birth of Drezden's lyrics.

That time, when he sang, I scrunched my eyes closed. I wouldn't fuck up again. No matter how good his voice was, or how it slipped into my ribs and tickled a piece of me it never should have, I wouldn't falter.

He parted his lips, but I didn't look. “In the black, you walk with me. In the black,” he croaked, “You never see. Walk away and you won't bleed, walk away and I am... I am freed.”

I slammed my hand down, hard music striking the brief silence. Together, we all crashed in unison.

“No more stars!” Drez screamed, pure power that stabbed at my core. It was a demand, he forced my eyes open. Drezden was an accident I needed to witness, even when I knew it would bring me nothing but horror.

Wild green centers found me, his face flushed, lips proud across bared teeth. The face of a man who wanted to fight, or to flee, or to fuck.

Pure energy.

He didn't even get to the second part of the chorus before I missed my notes. The sharp explosion, so off key, made Porter shout.

Drezden froze, mic hovering in front of his clenched jaw. I wasn't confused by his expression anymore. That face said 'fight' in every crease of furrowed skin.

Fucking fuck,
was all I could think. I was glad I didn't accidentally blurt the words.

The last painful note faded away. Drez let his arm fall, and for a terrible second, I thought he'd just drop the mic entirely.

He strode forward, the small gap between us erasing. I didn't see his hand, I just felt him lift me. We were nose to nose, his tang of sweat filling my head. “Are you doing that on purpose?” he growled.

“No!” I coughed, scrabbling at his wrist. My toes were the only thing on the ground. Was he really that much taller than me? “No, I'm sorry! I'm just—”

“Just what?” he snapped, giving me a shake. I wished that his rage would help the flutter in my heart dissipate. Instead, I just felt a flicker of heat. The cords of his arms flexed under my nervous touch.

He's making it so hard to think! I need to get away from this, from him, I...

“Drez.” It was Colt who'd spoke, forcing himself between us. He was strong, too; all sinew and bone. The body of a swimmer, he even had a smooth scalp free of hair. I saw him glance at me, pushing me back. I fell onto the bench like I was made of wet noodles. “Leave the kid alone. She's just nervous, this is a lot of pressure.”

I'm not a fucking kid,
I thought in a moment of clear rage,
I'm not much younger than the rest of you!
I was a bundle of tremors. Never,
ever
, had a man dared to do to me what Drezden had. I'd been in actual bloody fights, but they'd never left me as drained as this.

The way the singer snorted, sneering at me in derision, turned my belly to ice. “Nerves? That's no problem, then! It isn't like she'll have to perform in front of a giant fucking crowd in a day or anything!”

“Calm down,” Porter said from the corner. Looking up, I saw how the bigger man was staring at me. Dark brown eyes, full of pity.

I hated that.

Rubbing my forehead, then my neck, I made myself stand. I hoped they didn't see my knees shaking. “I'm fine. Colt is right, it's just nerves. I'll get over it, I just need to keep practicing.”

“Yeah, you're going to keep practicing,” Drez said. He showed me his wide back, hands digging something from his pocket. “I'm going to go have a smoke. Play without me.”

“Drez—” Porter started, but it was too late. We all watched the singer push from the room, stomping further into the tour bus. Sighing, Porter looked at me again. The pity was gone. The sympathy wasn't much better. “Sorry about that. Drez isn't the most patient guy.”

I shook my head, touching my chest gently.
My heart is easing up, finally. Why the hell was I so worked up that I couldn't play?
It had to be the nearness of someone as famous as Drezden, it had to be. “It's alright. He's not wrong, I need to keep practicing. Can we try No More Stars again?”

I wanted to do something with my hands. They itched to feel something.

Or someone.

“Yeah,” Colt said, moving back to his drums. “Fuck Drez, we'll play without him for now.”

My smile was weak, but it was there. Hearing their casual rebuking of their leader made things feel less professional. It reminded me of playing with smaller bands, of being around guys who didn't have the pressure of a giant tour over their heads.

When we played the song a second time, my fingers didn't trip once.

It was obvious they were pleased. They became actually impressed when I made it through the second piece. By the third, perfect performance, there was a quiet unease stretching between us all.

Setting his bass down, Porter came my way at a frightening speed. Giant arms coiled around, crushing me and nearly my guitar in a hug. “Holy shit!
Were
you fucking with Drezden?”

“No. Of course not,” I said. Slipping free, I adjusted my shirt. Porter could break ribs if he wanted to.

“Then why were you so much better this time?” Colt asked, chugging some water. He was gleaming from working the drums over.

My mouth opened, yet I shut it quickly.
How do I explain it? Can I even explain it?
I was spared the attempt when Drez shoved his way back inside.

Glancing at me, setting my neck and cheeks on fire, he crossed his arms. The scent of cigarettes was heavier than usual on him. Sharply, he said, “I could hear everything.” Amazingly, I felt a flicker of guilt. Drez stared me down, his eyes hard with... something. Distrust? Pride? “Nerves or not,” he said, “You were playing much better.”

My heart swelled. “Thank you.” I didn't know what else to say.

He cocked his head, looking from me to the other band members. “Let's give it one more go.”

There was some uneasy shuffling. Some of it was on my part. “You sure? Maybe we should all take a break,” Porter mumbled.

Drez already had the mic in hand, fingers curling around it solidly. “One more song. Then we'll break.”

“Easy for you,” Porter said softly, “You already took a smoke break.”

Settling on the bench, I waited on the razor's edge that was my nerves. Was I going to fuck up again? Or could I reel in whatever part of me was turning to mush when Drez sang so close by?

There was little time to wonder.

“No More Stars,” Drez demanded, eyes raking over the three of us. In response, Colt tapped his sticks, and Porter hit a belly-grinding low note on his bass.

I was slick with sweat when I strummed. Even the air conditioning couldn't solve the issue of the heat inside of me. But I wasn't fumbling, not yet. Even with Drez staring me down, expecting—was he expecting it?—my failure, I was controlling myself.

I could handle this.

My guts wriggled like snakes as Drezden licked his lips. His first whisper slid into my ribs, tangling up and choking my heart. “In the black, you walk with me. In the black, you never see...”

That whisper went lower, brushing my core until my inner thighs were hot and sticky. The air in my lungs fled. I was glad I wasn't the one who had to sing.

My mouth was somehow dry and liquid at once. Pushing my tongue on the back of my teeth, I went one step further and bit down. The pain gave me focus, though I wasn't proud of the method.

It hit too close to home, too near a memory of my rough teenage years where inflicting pain solved every problem.

It's solving this one,
I realized. Honing in on the sharp taste of copper, I listened in wonder to my own music. Against the forefront of Drezden's lyrics, I was shaping a background that was flawless.

The air in the room was heavy. Glancing up, I saw how Drez was eating me with his eyes. He didn't blink, like watching me was all he ever wanted to do. All he
could
do.

Flushing hotly, I dug my teeth into my tongue.

“No more stars!” Drez screamed, shattering the hanging note. We all scraped down on our instruments, creating a tune that was wild, ambitious.

This was the sound of Four and a Half Headstones. A sound I was now a part of.

The end of the song rolled over the room. Drez had two hands on the mic, cradling it close to his curling lips. “Walk away and you won't bleed, walk away and I am... I am freed.” He had shut his eyes, I didn't know when. I only knew when he was looking at me again, making me flinch.

The last of the beautiful music flitted away; ghosts in our ears.

“Well, fuck,” Porter said eloquently. Setting his bass down, he stared around at our faces. The grin was slow to grow, but when it was done, his teeth were showing. “The kid can do it. Convinced now, Drez?”

Placing the microphone aside, he cracked another bottle of water and chugged all of it. Wiping his mouth with his arm, he shrugged. “Guess it was nerves after all.”

Squirming, I gripped the neck of my guitar. The squint Drezden shot my way said he wasn't as convinced as he claimed.

“Break time. I need some air,” Colt said, shoving out from behind the drum set. He smiled at me as he passed. "You hungry, Lola?"

Clutching my stomach, I stood. “Yeah, actually I—oh!” Saliva and blood slid from my mouth. Clasping a palm over my jaw, I swallowed. I wanted to hide the evidence of my brutal tongue gnawing.

Lifting my eyes, my paranoia revealed only Drez looking my way. Porter and Colt were both brushing past the curtain, laughing together about something else.

Did he see?
He wasn't moving, just standing there with his arms folded.
Fuck. How bad did I bite my tongue? But I needed to, it worked! I played the song perfectly.
My heart was hammering in my throat.

“How bad is it?” he asked me.

I shook my head, voice muffled on my own hand.

Lowering his eyebrows, Drez leaned in close. That froze me on the spot. I didn't fight when he grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand away. He looked me over, but not like a doctor would. It was more like a coroner examining a corpse. He studied me, but there wasn't a level of caring anywhere. “Open up,” he said flatly.

To my amazement, I hesitated. Drez was stunned too, his eyes glimmering as they went wide. That was replaced by a grim set of teeth. “I said open up, kid.” Without waiting, he squeezed my cheeks, thumb digging in one side and fingers the others. It
hurt
, my lips parting with my gasp of pain.