Wicked Indulgence: A Wicked Innocence Novella (5 page)

Chapter Seven

There is something pretty fucking amazing about hearing your song on the radio for the first time. With all the promotion we’d put into launching our first single, hearing that it had debuted at number one on the charts made everything worth it.

After celebrating with the guys, I call Stace.

“Sax, I’m watching it right now on MTV. The video clip is amazing. It’s crazy seeing you on TV.”

“I know,” I chuckle. I run my hand through my hair. I’m still trying to get my mind around it all myself.

“Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?” she asks.

I laugh. “Is there a point?”

“You never know—”

“Come on Stace, you know that’s a load of crap. They haven’t shown any support up to this point—they’re not going to start now.”

“I just…” She sighs. “You deserve their support, you know? I know you don’t want to keep trying with them, but eventually they have to see how hard you’re working, right?”

I sit on the edge of the bed and sigh. I think I see where this is coming from.

“What’s this about, Stace? Do you think if they break for me it’ll make things easier for you?” I ask gently.

“What? No!” She hesitates. “I didn’t mean it like that. I guess I just see myself struggling along the same path you are in a few years.”

“Which is why you don’t need their blessing, sis,” I remind her. “You’ll always have me behind you.”

“Thanks, Sax. And I’m so happy for you.”

I’m pissed at my parents for being the way they are. Hearing Stace stress about what life is going to be like for her years from now makes me so angry. She’s a fucking kid. She should be enjoying her life, not worrying about how she’s going to please everyone. Reaching for my jacket, I can feel my whole mood has changed. I’d planned a relaxing night for once, but now all I want to do is drown my sorrows.

****

I’m a fucking mess as I sit in the hotel bar, empty glasses surrounding me. This should be one of the happiest days of my life, but having your family shit all over your achievements kind of dulls the mood.

Lyndall sinks into the seat next to me, but I don’t even acknowledge her. “I thought you guys went out.”

“They did. I didn’t,” I say bluntly, stating the obvious.

“Well, you’re cheery. I can see why they left you behind,” she mutters, clicking her tongue. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I sigh. “Just some family shit.” I nod at the barman, watching as he pours me yet another straight whiskey and slides it across the bar to me.

“You wanna get out of here?” she asks, resting her hand on my arm.

“To where?” I ask. My head is cloudy from drinking too much and I’m not sure how mobile I’ll be on my feet. But if it gets me out of this hole I feel trapped in, I’m more than willing to risk it.

“I know of a small party happening in one of the rooms here. If you’re up for it.” She studies my face.

I shrug and get to my feet as she tells the barman to add my bill to her tab.

“You didn’t have to pay for me,” I mumble, following her to the elevators.

She throws me a grin. “I didn’t. Work did.”

We stand outside of a hotel room waiting to be let in. I have a massive headache and I’m not really in the mood for socializing, but I figure I’ll stay for a little while and then collapse into bed.

The door swings open and we walk in. “Small gathering” is right. There’s like a handful of people here. Music plays softly in the background as people laugh and joke. I spy what looks like coke on the dresser by the bed and I shoot Lyndall a look. She shrugs as if she doesn’t know anything about it and encourages me to sit down. I do, on an oversized chair near the bed, despite the uneasy feeling rising in my stomach. She sits on my lap, and I look at her in surprise.

“They’re kind of short on chairs.” She shrugs as if it’s nothing, but my cock disagrees.

“Here, Man.” Someone shoves a beer in my hand, and even though it’s not my choice in drink, I twist the cap and take a mouthful my body relaxing against the comfort of the seat.

Maybe I just need to let go and forget about everything
.

****

I feel like shit.

Groaning, I turn and crack my neck. My head pounds to the point where moving it isn’t an option. My whole body aches, even the hairs on my head.

What the fuck happened last night?

I don’t remember much, apart from the odd flashback of drinking way too much and participating in a few other activities I don’t normally do.
Fuck, Sax.
You know better than to mess with drugs.
I made a mistake and I’m paying for it now.

What feels like hours later, I wake again. This time I feel like I have a little more control over my body. I try and roll over, the weight of my body pushing through layers of what feels like rubbish underneath me. I force my eyes open. It’s dark, but I can see the sunlight shining through a crack to the side of whatever is above me.

I take a deep breath and nearly vomit. The smell is unbearable, and I finally realize where I am. I’m in a fucking dumpster. Gasping, I push the lid off and climb out. I hunch over, wheezing as I try to breathe in some clean air.

I look around me, recognizing the structure in front of me. I’m out the back of the hotel. Relief washes through me, until I glance down and realize I’m naked.

Fuck. This isn’t good. I need to get inside and up to my room without being seen. But how the hell am I going to get inside my room with no fucking key? I reach into the dumpster and grab the first thing my hand hits; a grubby black plastic bag.

Wrapping it around my waist, I sneak over to the back door, praying that it’s open. My heart races as I pull the handle. It opens with ease.

Thank fucking god.

Somehow, I manage to navigate my way to Max’s floor without being seen. I reach his room and bang loudly until he opens it. His eyes widen when he sees me.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks, laughing.

“I wish I knew,” I mutter. “Can I use your shower and borrow some clothes?”

“I wish you would. You reek,” he replies, screwing up his nose.

I scowl at him and then head for the bathroom. I stand under the hot water for what feels like hours. I’m sure I still smell of trash but I don’t care. All I want to do is get into my room and get some sleep.

Max tries to talk to me once I’m dressed, but I’m not in the mood, mostly because I know that he’s going to say. I promise to make time for him later. I call up reception and explain I’ve lost my key.  Young woman meets me at my room door with a new one. I thank her and go inside.

Walking over to the bed, I flop down, wishing the last twenty-four hours didn’t happened. I have no idea where my phone is, nor do I know what happened to Lyndall. The phone in my room rings. Gingerly, I lean over and answer it.

“What the hell happened to you?” Lyndall gasps. “You’re all over the news.”

Huh? I sit up and reach for the remote, hitting power. Sure enough, there I am in all my glory, passed out in the dumpster. Rock star out of control splashes across the bottom of the screen. Groaning, I turn it off.

I hadn’t even noticed the fucking paparazzi.

“I don’t remember anything,” I mutter. “And I’ve lost my phone.”

“I have it,” she replies. “I went to the bathroom and when I came back your phone was there but you weren’t. Are you okay?”

“I think so,” I groan. “I’ve got a killer headache that I think I need to sleep off.”

“Then do it. I’ll come over later, okay?” she asks.

“Sure. See you then.”

Chapter Eight

“Dude, can we talk?”

I turn and see Max standing in front of me, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. I’m juggling two coffees and some pastries that I got from a café down the road for Lyndall’s and my breakfast.

After a long nap last night I felt loads better. Lyndall came over and we stayed up half the night talking…among other things. She didn’t give me a hard time over the night before, which I’d been expecting. In the end, she stayed over and we fucked all night.

“Sure,” I say, hoping he makes whatever this is fast. These cups are fucking hot. “What’s up?”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

I stop fidgeting with the cups and stare at him. Since when did he get all deep and meaningful?

“I’m fine,” I reply slowly. “Is this about anything specific?”

“You’ve been going out every night—”

“So have you,” I point out.

“Yeah, but that’s who I am, man. You’re not usually the guy who passes out naked in a dumpster.”

“Yeah, and I promise I’m not going to be that guy again,” I groan. “Look, Max, I appreciate what you’re saying, but I get enough shit from my family. I don’t need it from my friends too, okay?”

I walk off, feeling a little annoyed that he thinks
I
have the problem. Max is the definition of unstable rock star. So I fucked up. Big deal. I’ll learn from it and move on—that’s the difference between us. I’m starting to think that maybe going solo isn’t the worst idea in the world.

At least then nobody can tell me how to behave.

****

“The media adore you,” Lyndall says, wrapping her arms around my neck.

I roll my eyes and laugh. We’ve finished our breakfast and Lyndall seems to be intent on picking up where we left off last night.

“No, the media love having someone they can always rely on for a story. That’s what sells magazines.”

“And that’s what sells records too,” she points out. “Have I told you how sexy you are when you don’t shave?” she asks, running her fingers over my uneven stubble. I laugh and press my mouth against hers, savoring her sweet taste. “I have to go for a little bit, but I’ll be back soon.”

I nod and kiss her once more. As she turns, I slap her on the ass, making her jump.

“They’ll be more of that later,” I chuckle.

“I can’t wait,” she laughs, buttoning up her shirt.

She leans over and kisses me again, before walking out. As the door closes behind her, something catches my eye. Her phone is still on the coffee table. I walk over and pick it up.

Before I can chase after her, it beeps with a new message, bringing up her most recent conversation. I don’t recognize the name, but seeing my own name in the conversation catches my attention.

Jay: You need to make him believe it. The media won’t if he doesn’t, you know?

Lyndall: Trust me, I got this. Sax is eating out of my hand. You wanted a rock and roll bad boy and that’s what you’re getting.

Jay: And because of it, you’ll get what you deserve too.

Livid, I kick the edge of the bed, ignoring the pain pulsing through my big toe.

The fucking bitch is playing me.

Chapter Nine

Picking up the paper, I snort and toss it in the bin. So I’ve made the gossip column again, this time for being out late the night before a show. Who gives a shit? And how is that even gossip? It’s not like I’m hurting anyone.

Fucking Max.
I’m sure he is the one who left the newspaper under my door. How many times do I need to tell the guy to keep out of my life? I glance at my clock and see it’s nearly three in the afternoon. Shit. I hadn’t meant to or expected to sleep this late.

My thoughts go back to the night before. That fucking text. After I’d calmed down, I’d tossed the phone out in the hallway hoping that she’d come back looking for it and think she’d dropped it. Either that or someone would hand it in to reception. Either way, I didn’t want her knowing yet that I knew. Not till I got my mind around it.

My phone rings. Sighing, I reach for it and press answer.

“What?” I growl, my voice raspy from just waking up.

“Where the fuck are you?” Max asks. “You were supposed to be here for this interview fifteen minutes ago.”

Fuck
. The
Rolling Stone
interview. How could I have forgotten?

“I’m on my way,” I mutter, dragging my ass into a pair of jeans. “Stall them for me, will you? Is Lyndall there?”

“Yep, and she’s annoyed.”

Great. Just what I need.

I have no idea what Max said to keep them from freaking out, but the interview goes smoothly, even with me showing up nearly an hour late. Lyndall stares daggers at me as we walk out of the conference room.

“What?” I mutter. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Barely,” she hisses. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to secure this interview?”

“And as I said, I’m here, aren’t I?” I rub my messy hair, which I now realize I forgot to brush. “Besides, this is what you wanted, isn’t it? A bad, self-absorbed poster boy that the media can go crazy over? That’s what sells records, right?”

“Where is all this coming from?” she asks, her shoulders sinking forward.

For a moment, the genuine look of concern in her eyes has me, but then I remember the text message. I stalk off, not bothering to answer her question. Max and the other guys have left, and I get the feeling that they’re annoyed at me too.

Fuck them all. I
am
this band. Without me, they’d be nothing. The fans, the screaming chicks, they’re all there for me and a huge part of that is the “I couldn’t give a fuck” attitude. If they don’t appreciate me, then fuck them if they think I’m going to kiss their ass and apologize.

Anger courses through my veins as I storm back in the direction of the hotel. It’s a fifteen-minute walk, and by the time I arrive, I’m feeling much calmer. Why can’t I shake this mood? A voice in the back of my head tells me what I already know: I need to watch myself, because I’m on the verge of breaking.

Up in my room, I fall onto my bed and stare at the ceiling. My heart is pounding so fast I can’t even track the number of beats.
Too many
. After a knock on the door, I hear Lyndall’s muffled voice.

“Sax?” she asks.

I sigh, but get to my feet to let her in. I walk back over to the bed and sit down, staring at her, waiting for her to speak.

“What the hell is with you?”

“Nothing,” I mutter. I’m so close to confronting her about the text, but truth be told I feel like a fucking fool. I thought we had something, but all of it was just a show to make herself look good for her career.

“It’s not nothing,” she says, her voice firm as she steps closer to me. She nudges my legs apart and lifts my face until our eyes meet. “I thought we were closer than this. What’s with all this bullshit?”

All I wanna do is make
her
feel used.

Standing up, I cup her face in my hands and drag my lips across hers, roughly kissing her. She lets out a whimper but relents to my quest for control. I steer her back toward the bed and throw her down, nudging her legs apart.

“Take off your shirt,” I order as I undo my pants. I slip out of them and my boxers, and lift my t-shirt over my head. She obliges, unbuttoning her cream colored shirt and tossing it beside her on the bed.

I lean forward and curve my hand behind her neck, bring her up into a sitting position. I yank open the back of her skirt and shimmy it down her bare thighs. My cock twitches.
She’s not even wearing underwear
. My lips lock on hers roughly before I push her back on the bed, this time with me on top of her.

I lock both her hands in mine and lift them above her head, using my free hand to explore her body. She gasps as I massage her breasts as my mouth closes in on her neck.

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” I murmur, as I roll on a condom. She does as I ask, and without warning, I’m inside her. She cries out, her eyes glistening with tears. For a brief second I’m worried I’m hurting her, but then I remember why I’m so pissed.

She
lied
to me. She
used
me. This is about me getting what I want without caring about her needs. I force myself to focus and finish the job I’ve started.

I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at her as I push myself inside and out of her. My release comes thick and fast. I groan as I explode, my body aching from the rush. As soon as I’m done, I pull out and begin to dress.

“What’s wrong?” Lyndall asks. She sits forward, grabbing the sheet to wrap around her body, her usual bright eyes full of confusion. “Where are you going?”

I do up the last of the buttons on my shirt and stalk to the door, not bothering to answer her. Hell, I don’t even look at her as I slam the door closed.

Hopefully she’ll take the hint and be gone when I get back.

****

As I take what is now my usual seat down at the bar, my phone rings. I poise my finger over the ignore button, expecting it to be Lyndall. It’s Stace.

“What the fuck are you doing, Sax? You’re all over the magazines, they’re saying you’re a sex addict. They have photo’s to prove it!”

“I’m okay, Stace. I promise. It’s not as bad as it looks.” I rub my head, wishing there was a way out of all this. “I’ll be home soon and you can see for yourself.”

“I gotta stop reading the gossip mags,” she says, attempting a joke.

I chuckle. “I’ve been telling you that for years. I gotta go, but I love you, okay?”

“Okay,” she sighs. “Love you too.”

Nodding at the barman, I down my glass as he pours me my next. I’ve lost count of how much I’ve drunk—enough to dull some of the pain. My phone vibrates again. Another text from Lyndall. I press delete without reading it, just like I did with the thirty messages before it.

Take a fucking hint.

I keep drinking until the barman cuts me off. Angry at being treated like a child, I stagger to my feet and make my way to the door, somehow managing to stay upright.

There has to be another bar in this shithole that will serve me.

Groaning, I roll over. For a second I wonder if I’m dead, because every fucking muscle hurts. I ache in places I never knew I could ache. The soft rippling of water hits my ears. I tentatively move my fingers back and forth through what feels and sounds like water. Cracking my eyes open, I stare at the sun shining down from above me.

Not again.

I struggle to sit up, trying to ignore the sound of the Japanese tourists standing to my right, snapping pictures of me. I glance down and see why. I’m a grown ass dude who was passed out half naked in a fucking water fountain.

God knows how I didn’t drown myself.

Sighing, I shiver as I exit the water wearing only my jeans. At least I’m not naked. Though I wonder how long before those shots are on the front page of the newspapers.

Guilt rushes through me. I promised Stace I was okay. If she sees these photos, she’ll be over here looking for me. Not that I blame her. If it were the other way around, I’d have dragged her ass back home weeks ago.

I can’t deny it any longer: I’m a fucking mess.

****

As I wait to board my plane, I take a look at the magazines, something I never usually do. The most recent edition released today. There on the cover is a full color photo of Lyndall and I. Not that you can recognize her. Me, other the other hand, there’s no denying it.

Angry, I toss the magazine back on the stand and storm out of the small shop. All this has done is confirm what I already knew. I need to get away for a few days. I need a break.

And I hope like hell heading home will give me that.