Get Bent (13 page)

“You've been mean to me, Naomi. Always calling me stupid, whispering cruel words behind my back.” Hayden's hand snakes out and grabs me by the hair, pulling tight, squeezing hard. “I should want you here, want you to suffer, but I guess it's just not in me.” She lets go and stands up, dashing away tears, glancing at the clock on the stove. She looks so clean and polished right now. Pisses me off. I feel so grubby and disgusting. I would kill for a fucking shower.
Shit.
“I have a show soon,” she tells me, confirming my earlier guess that I'm still on the tour. I'm not out in a bunker in the desert. Things are looking up. “
We
have a show soon, and I'd be kidding myself I thought we'd survive without you for long.” Hayden turns and gives me a look over her shoulder, reaching up to pull the clip from her hair. Perfectly straight brunette tendrils drip down her back and swing as she whirls around to face me fully. Her nipples are erect and she looks a little too excited for the given situation. “Even with Turner … ” She pauses and licks her lips. I don't like the way she says his name, like she's raping him with words. Jealousy surges through me, both surprising and terrifying. How can I be thinking about that when I'm in a situation like this?
The fuck?
“We'd just be a novelty. I don't want that. I want to be immortalized, Naomi.” Hayden moves towards me and purses her lips. “I'll get you out of here. I don't know when or how, but I will. I will.” And then she leans down and presses a kiss to my lips.

Admittedly, I want to strangle the bitch, but I can't alienate her now, so I lay there stone still until she pulls away with a sigh.

“Hayden,” I say as she backs up and turns away. “Don't leave me here.” She ignores me and reaches for the door. “Hayden! Please!” I scream and my voice echoes around the trailer. “Hayden!” Rain and wind pour in through the open door as she descends the steps and hits the pavement, letting it swing shut behind her. Despair crushes me hard, tightens its grip on my throat and strangles me. I start to scream and thrash, kicking and flailing around, bruising my wrists and ankles and drawing blood.

I'm making such a fuss, I don't even hear the door open a second time.

“Naomi?”

The soft voice is almost inaudible above my shouting, but I hear it. It's a voice I haven't heard in a long, long while. I stop screaming and tilt my chin towards my chest, so I can see. Standing at the end of the bed, barefoot and dressed in rags, stands my foster sister, Katie Rhineback.

Getting through Amatory Riot's set is a fucking chore. Hayden's not a bad singer. In fact, she's better than I want to admit. Thing is, having to stare at her skinny ass as she eats up the crowd's pleasure is like watching a succubus rape a man. He might act like he's enjoying it, but he has no idea that his soul is being ripped out through his cock. I want to smash my guitar into the back of that bitch's head and demand that she tell me where Naomi is. I
know
she knows. And that picture? If Naomi had that, and Hayden wanted to stop her from telling people, it would make sense why she'd go after her. Now, why she'd kill Marta and attack America, I don't fucking know. Maybe bitch is just crazy?

I force my way through the songs, trying my best to match up to Wren, getting nowhere near Naomi. Afterwards, I don't even bother leaving the stage, just step up to the plate so to speak, and snatch the mic from Hayden's hand. The audience hisses at this and cackles as I set the guitar on the ground and slide it away with my foot.

“Howdy,” I whisper into the mic, happy to be free of the guitar but feeling a little naked, too, you know? Good thing that's a positive onstage. I tease the edge of my pants and loose a button. The demons below me surge and wail, clawing up at me, worshipping me, having no fucking clue how bad I'm hurting. I want to inflict that pain on Hayden until she gives up her secrets.
As soon as this set is over, bitch better run.
“How are y'all doing this evening?” I lift up my shirt and let 'em get an eyeful while crew members rush around me, breaking like waves when they get close. Nobody touches Turner fucking Campbell. “I'm going to be honest with you right now. I am beyond fucking horny.”

Words filter up to me from below.
Pick me. Fuck me. I want you.

I chuckle softly and kiss the mic, listening to my harsh, angry breath pound through the speakers. I caress my belly with one hand, feeling the hair there, teasing the edge of my denim with my fingers. I sneak over to my pocket and pull out the shades, sliding 'em up my nose and letting out a deep sigh.

“You're all fuckin' lovely, but there's just one woman that can satisfy me now. Just one woman.” I tap my foot on the stage and wait for Ronnie to kick off our first song.
One Woman.
Seems kind of ironic that I wrote it while I was whoring around. Maybe my heart knew something my mind didn't? Maybe it remembered that one woman, the
only
woman, that can match me blow for blow, whose mouth is as filthy as mine? Shit. Damn. And fuck me.

Ronnie slams in sideways and cuts me up through my bones, shaking me hard, bouncing my knee like some sort of old-timey God, like I should be in black and white or some shit, splashed up on a G-rated love story across the silver screen. Trey kicks me in the ass and Jesse follows, dragging Josh along for the ride. I know this is the song he struggles the most with, but I don't care. It's the one I
need
to sing right now.

The power flickers again and kisses me with red, tastes me, eats me up inside while I start the first verse.

“
My one woman, my only woman, the person who is there.
”

“
Who is there,
” filters in softly from Trey's mic.

“
My one woman, the only one who knows me, the person who understands.
”

“
Understands.
”

“
My one woman,
” the softness trails away, the angelic halo around my head shatters and I bend over in a massive scream, sucking in a breath and crushing the eardrums of the crowd with a wailing, breaking shudder of a screech. It rips through them like a hurricane and tears up their souls.
“MYONEWOMAN!
” I suck in a breath, spit it out against the mic. “
She's the ONLY one that understands. That fucking UNDERSTANDS.
” I swing the mic around and spin in a circle, wrapping the cord around my wrist and snatching it in the opposite hand. “
She's the only one that breathes life into this desolate,
” I hiss this last word, grinding it with saliva and sweat against the microphone. When I'm done up here, they're going to have to trash this shit. It's going to have Turner Campbell written all fucking over it. “
Hell hole. This desolate slice of shit. My one woman. My ONLY Goddamn woman.
”

The power flashes again and this time, it stays off for a moment and the emergency lights kick in, kissing my blue-black hair with red, highlighting my tattoos, bathing me in beautiful crimson light. I drop the microphone and tear off my shirt. I'll admit, I'm a little lost in my frenzy, but that's alright. That's what the crowd came here to see, so that's what they're going to get. Me. Bloody, my heart beating outside my chest. They better take a close look because it's the only chance they'll ever get to see it.

“
When she's with me, I am not just a man,
” I slam my fist on my chest and crouch low, shouting my words above the din of the crowd. Ronnie's cymbals ring out bright behind me. Jesse, Trey and Josh keep on strumming it hardcore, even though nobody can hear them, even though it's a serious tonal fuck up. Doesn't matter. Right here, in this moment, the music has transcended amps and speakers and cords and wires. It's all soul in here, baby. All torn up, twisted, fucked up soul. “
I am part of a whole, a LIVING, breathing, FUCKING bit of the universe. And all because of my one woman, my ONLY woman.
” I'm on my knees now and I'm screaming, just shouting this shit out, my voice cracking and breaking like glass, like my balls never dropped and I'm a damn kid again.

The power switches on again and I roll on my back, reaching above my head and using the cord that's wrapped around my wrist to drag the mic back to me. Sweat pours down my face and clings to my lashes, runs my black liner down my face and teases the star tattoos at my hairline.

“
She was there for me when the world was dead.
”

“
When the world died!
” My boys back me up with the lyrics I wrote but never understood. I just sang 'em and I
felt
them. Now, I get it. Might seem stupid. Might even seem like a crock. I don't know much about Naomi, right? Things could get screwed up between us. But you know what? It doesn't matter. When love takes hold of you and bites down, you may as well just surrender because if you fight it, you're fighting the one thing on this earth that's worth living for.

“
She was with me when I was rotten on the inside, when I bled black blood and told white lies. She was with me when the sky fell and the day turned to night, when the seven plagues descended upon me, my one woman was there.
”

And off it goes again, the power fails and succumbs to nature's infinite power. I hope we have fucking generators or some shit because I think that tonight, she's given all that she'll give. It's our turn to take a step back and reevaluate things.

“
And when I go to bed,
” I growl, hoping that somebody can hear, that there's at least one person in this screaming, shouting mass that's absorbing my voice, my words. “
With my only woman, I taste the sweetness and the shame. My one woman's a fine wine to my caving, aching, suffering pain.
” It's so loud in here now that I can't hear the words that are tumbling from my lips, getting caught on my tongue ring and my lip rings, snaking out into the warm air like curses and blessings both. When I lift my chin up, I can see people scrambling around backstage, struggling to get some sense of order going in here.

I roll around onto my belly and unhook the mic from my wrist.

The song is still inside of me, begging to get out, clawing at my throat with hooked claws, but if there's nobody to hear it, I'm holding it in. I want
someone
to listen to me, to understand what I'm going through.

I push up to my knees and gaze out at the crowd. They're in a full on riot now, shouting my name, calling out to me, cussing, screaming, kicking, biting. It's a madhouse down there and I am King. I swipe my arm across my face and glance over to my right. There's a figure emerging from the darkness of the stage entrance, bathed in dark shadows and bloody red flickers of dying light. I look back over the crowd. They're going to start evacuating this place soon, before this pit of demons turns on itself.

“Turner.”

My head snaps to the right. That voice … There is no fucking way. In this craziness, I'm imagining things. I stare hard, squint my eyes and try to focus.

The power flares to blinding brightness for a second, highlighting blonde hair, orange-brown eyes. And then it's gone again and I'm rising to my feet, stumbling towards the figure with my arms outstretched. I can't see
shit.
I trip over one of the lines of tape that keep the cords down and fall against a heaving chest.

As soon as my hands touch her bare skin, I know who this is. Without a doubt, I know I'm looking at Naomi Knox.

My hands slide up on either side of her wet face as I gasp for breath and try to still my whirling mind.

“Naomi,” I whisper as I caress her skin and hot tears slide from my eyes and fall down my face. I can't fucking believe I'm standing up here onstage
crying
like a little bitch. But I can't help it. I can't reign it in and neither can she.

“Turner,” she whispers, and I just want to hug the shit out of her, squeeze her so tight that she melds into my skin. I've
got
to fuck her, just so I can feel her body hot and warm around mine, so I can promise myself that she's really here, that she's really okay. She's back. She's back, and I'm the first person she came to. She came to
me.