Dead Serious (16 page)

I pause next to the bed, my knees pressing against the mattress.

“I'm not going down until Indecency rules the world, until you marry me, until we make some fucked up little rocker babies. When I say trust me, I mean it. No secrets. No bullshit.” He lifts up his hand and beckons me forward with fingers wrapped in ink. When he licks his lower lip, I catch sight of his tongue ring and have to clench my thighs together to keep Niagara Falls back.

I suck in a big breath, put on my big girl panties, and hold out my fucking hand. I let Turner take it and pull me into the bed. Underneath the covers, he's – wait for it – buck freaking naked. I shouldn't have expected any less from the King of Rock. But he doesn't try to hit on me, doesn't grab my hand and put it on his junk – something he's done before. He cradles my face to his firm chest and holds my head with gentle fingers.

Oh my God.

My heart starts up a beat, a little hi-hat barking that makes me desperate for the stage. This concert in L.A. night turn into another nightmare from hell, but at least for those few moments I'm onstage, it'll be heaven. I'm practically drooling. Or maybe that's because of Turner.
Nah. Nah.
It's definitely just my Wolfgang I'm lusting after.

“If you ask me to marry you onstage, I'll say no,” I whisper, but Turner only chuckles.

“Whatever you say, Knox.”

“The name's Naomi,” I whisper, but my heart isn't in it. Knox is okay. Knox is more than okay. I let my eyes flutter closed, let my body relax into Turner's, and find just enough strength for one more request. “This right here,” I breathe on the end of a yawn, “better not end up on Instagram.”

Private. Fucking. Plane.

That's what I'm talking about. I can't wipe the grin off of my face as our Brayden Ryker supplied SUV pulls onto the tarmac. I know I should be worried about what's to come or upset about Naomi's sister – and I am, really – but come on? I can enjoy the moment, right?

“We're like royalty now or some shit,” I say and hear Josh making all sorts of rude fucking noises behind me. I spin on the little blonde bitch and he shrinks back. I've been in such a good mood lately because of Naomi that I haven't been giving him the ass kickings he so rightfully deserves. I point at him with an arm covered elbow to wrist in those stupid
Mrs.
bracelets. I've got a couple
Mrs. Turner Campbell
bracelets in various colors
,
a
Mrs. Ronnie McGuire,
a
Mrs. Treyjan Charell,
and a
Mrs. Jesse Decker –
though I suppose that one oughta be
Mr.
, right? I don't wear a
Mrs. Joshua Drake
bracelet. That little bitch can go fuck himself. “You ruin this plane ride for me, and I swear to Christ, I will shove my mic so far up your ass, you'll be singin' when you shit.”

Josh glares at me, but doesn't say a word. Good for him. I wait for the SUV to come to a complete stop and then wrench the door open. Naomi's riding in the
other
fucking SUV because, ya know, that's where America wants her to be. She didn't even argue the point although I was ready to back her up.
Pick your battles, Turner.
Her whisper still lingers in my ear, turning my cock into a raging Naomi Knox pussy addict on a come down.
Fuuuuck.
And last night? That whole, like, cuddling thing we did or whatever?
Damn.
I feel like a fucking grizzly bear, like I just want to curl up around my mate and protect the shit out of her. Might have to, considering how things have been going.

“That was so crazy at the hotel,” Jesse says for the fiftieth time since we left. Yeah, it
was
crazy. The media frenzy only got
worse
overnight. Hearing about the whole Katie thing sent those vultures into a flapping, squawking frenzy, but whatever, fuck 'em. Time to get the hell out of Kansas, Toto. Or Oklahoma, I guess. Whatever. Midwest sucks man. I've had enough tornadoes to last me a fucking lifetime. Tornadoes and suicides. “Did you see all those rainbow flags in the crowd?” I roll my eyes and move over to stand next to Naomi. Her manager's on her cell, acting like nothing's amiss, like everything is business as usual. I don't know what she thinks we know or if she even gives a shit.

“You're a real icon for gay pride, we get it. Now shut the fuck up.” America gives me a scathing look and takes a few steps towards the plane.

“Wonderful, thank you.” When she hangs up, she turns to Amatory Riot with a slightly somber expression on her face. I don't buy it for a second, but whatever. “We've officially renamed the concert the
Hayden Lee Memorial Show.
” I look sharply at Naomi and see her nostrils flaring in anger. “This way, we can play for all the fans that have stood there with us through these terrible tragedies
and
honor our illustrious lead. Tomorrow night, we'll memorialize Hayden in the most amazing live music performance the world has
ever
seen.” The words slide off America's tongue with a practiced perfection that makes me desperate to hear Naomi's rough, sexy rocker voice attacking my ears and my cock with its raw frenzy.

“We shouldn't even be playing this concert, America,” Naomi says, leveling her brown eyed gaze on America's blue one. “Hayden, however I might have felt about her, was a part of this band. She built this group from the ground up with me. This is not how things should be.”

“Don't you think I'm aware of that!” America screams, but then she immediately collects herself and swipes a hand over her blonde hair, touching her bun to make sure it's still in place. “But it's how things are, so we're going to deal with it.”

“My sister died yesterday.” Naomi states the facts simply, even though we both know it doesn't matter. We're getting on that plane, going to L.A., playing that show like nothing's changed since Indecency's first concert way back when, since the opening night of this tour in Seattle. But everything's different, and we all know it.

America says nothing, turning away and moving towards the steps that lead up into the cabin of the plane. We all stand in silence for a moment before the sound of tires breaks through the early morning air. I turn and wrinkle my nose at the sight of four more SUVs rolling our way.

“The fuck is that?” I ask, turning to look at Milo, then at Brayden Ryker as he motions Sydney and Lola out of the black van we had to use to transport Trey. I made fun of his ass because he had to be carried downstairs on a stretcher and lifted up into the back of the van. Now they're setting him up in a wheelchair, an IV bag at his side, a frown on his face as he flips me off. We both know I'm going to make some really offensive cripple jokes at some point today. Me, I got shot in the leg and I'm still kicking ass and taking names. Does it hurt like a bitch? Sure it does, but as long as I change my bandages and pop a few pain pills, it's nothing to write home about. My momma made sure I knew how to take my pain with a smile. God bless her shriveled, black little soul.

“
That
would be your opening act,” Brayden says, pausing, this little half-smile on his lips curling my mouth down at the corner. “Or should I say opening
acts.
Burning the Bleeding, Terre Haute, and Ice and Glass. Or most of their members anyway. I understand they had to make a few substitutions?”

Milo steps between me and Brayden when he sees my eyes widening. My manager's dressed in a powder blue suit that looks horrible against his pale skin, making him look washed out and overworked. Which he is. Sorry. I realize Indecency's put him through a bit more than his contract ever specified.

Milo holds up his palms to placate me. If he's already starting down that road, I know I'm not going to like what I'm about to hear.

“Oh, hell no,” I say, backing away a step and shaking my head. “I am
not
sharing a plane with those motherfuckers.”

“You told me I could make the final decision on whether to invite the other bands along with us. Mr. Campbell, please don't make a scene. This entire show's been planned on the sly, away from the ears of the press, and with the utmost discretion. Finding a new set of opening acts was going to be impossible. It was that or have none at all, and frankly, I feel like we need to get this right.”

“Isn't that guy Jesse fucked still in the hospital?” I hear my friend grunt behind me, but I don't turn to look at him. Milo sighs and touches a hand to his blonde hair.

“Yes, Turner, Rook Geary is still in the hospital though I'm happy to report his condition is stable.” Milo takes in a big breath and meets my eyes, for once in his life. Usually he tries to look anywhere but directly at my face. “But we're going to make the same substitutions we did in Little Rock.”

“Because Little Rock was such a major success?” I ask, gesturing at Trey.
God.
The pain of that night, the blood, the screaming, thinking of it just gives me a massive headache. “Milo, come on. I'm not sitting on a plane with Cohen Rose.” I risk a glance at Lola and see that her mouth is so pinched I can hardly see her fucking lips.

“Yes, Turner, yes you will,” Milo says, but he doesn't sound happy about it either. I'm about to rip him a new asshole when I look up and find Brayden Ryker scratching the back of his head with the barrel of a pistol. Pretty sure it's the same one he put up against my fucking face.
I hope his finger slips and he accidentally blows his Goddamn head off.

“Blow a fat fucking dick,” I curse, turning away and stomping across the pavement to rejoin Naomi. I realize that I'm breathing hard, and my knuckles hurt from squeezing my hands into tight fists.
Crap. Crap. And crap.
“I, uh, think Milo's been persuaded to keep us on track if you catch my drift.”

“I can see that.” Naomi's voice is clipped. After a moment of staring over my shoulder, probably at the fucking soulless ginger dickhead, she scoffs and turns towards the plane. I think we're all at a point where it's becoming damn near impossible to shock us.

“Why the hell is he waving a gun around?!” This from Josh. Okay, so I guess we're not
all
jaded. Little bitch boy still seems surprised.

“It's okay,” Milo says, herding us forward and up the steps of the airplane.
My
private airplane that I now have to share with those cum wads from Ice and Glass. Okay, okay, so the plane's a rental, but fuck, I still feel like I'm getting gypped in this scenario somehow. “I've got everything under control.”

“Like hell you do,” I say as I duck inside and find myself a seat near the front. “Getting bullied by America and the Brayden brigade just like everybody else.”

Milo gives me a pleading look from over Naomi's shoulder.

“I'm trying to take care of this band the best way I can,” he whispers, and I don't like how weak his voice sounds. Me, I'm still trying to fucking figure out when this happened, when he sunk all the way into this crap, right up to his fucking eyeballs. After the whole hospital scene with Stephen Hammergren, Milo acted like he was going to let the secrets lie and allow Brayden to handle things. Now it looks like he's being bullied into it. Fuck. Fuck. And fuck. I feel bad for Milo Terrabotti, I really, really do.

“I'm sitting next to Blair,” Naomi informs me, plopping down in the seat directly behind mine. I'm sure there's a frown permanently etched into my face now, but whatever. This whole day is already setting up to be a clusterfuck.
I can't wait till we get back home.
I don't care if I have to shoot somebody in the fucking face, Naomi and I are getting out of that hotel. We're going to party, remember what it feels like to be human, and then we're going to play this concert. Provided nobody else dies in the next forty-eight hours, I'm getting us out of this. For fucking real.

Milo moves into the back to sit near America – probably so she can slap him around a little more – while the rest of the band files in.

“Aw, man,” I bitch when two of Brayden's men set Trey's wheelchair down in the aisle next to me. “I have to sit next to the invalid?”

“Fuck you, asshole,” Trey rattles, cringing when one of the guys lifts him up and sets him down in the seat. A nurse follows in their wake, fretting over the tube in Trey's arm. To be honest though, I couldn't be happier to have him here with me. I thought he was going to die. That shit only reconfirmed what I'd already learned the hard way. Life. Sucks. The first chance that vampire bitch gets to jab her teeth in your throat and drain you dry, she will.

I decide to pull a Ronnie and touch Trey's shoulder, just for a second though. Jesse's the only person in this band that's going to get rainbow flags waved at him.

“I'm happy you're here, man. Seriously, thanks for not dying.”

“I hate you,” Trey tells me and that's as close as the two of us get to saying
I love you, bro.

“You should. Considering I'm replacing you as lead guitarist for Indecency. That's Naomi's job now.” Trey groans and swats his nurse away, trying his best to look between the seats at my leading lady. I have no idea what kind of look she gives him, but when he turns back to me, he's smiling. I can tell he's still in pain, but if he can exchange insults with me, we're cool.