Hard Rock Roots Box Set (24 page)

“Not a fucking chance,” he tells me, breathes out; I breathe in. Our breath mingles in the hot air for another second before America steps between us, pushing us apart with strong arms and flat lips. It's only then I notice that they're ready for us onstage. Shit.

“I'm going to ask you one more time: where is Hayden?”

“She's not coming,” I spit, turning away, looking around at the rest of the band. They don't look nervous though, just confused. “I'll be filling in for her.”

“Oh? Will you?” America asks, laughing like a hyena on the fucking plains. She sounds like she's ready for blood. “She have somewhere better to be?”

“Apparently,” I respond, refusing to look at Turner's face. My lungs are full of him now though, and I swear that even with all the noise around me, I can still hear him breathing.

America doesn't respond, but the skin on her cheeks and forehead is so tight it looks like she just got a face-lift or something. I look away from her and out at the bit of the crowd I can see from here, buzzing and murmuring, waiting for Turner probably. That's why most of them are here, to see him before Indecency's new record deal goes through and they become untouchable, playing venues so big that a football stadium looks small.

Without another word, I step forward and leave the drama behind, moving with stiff confidence over to my guitar. I slide the strap over my head and step up to the center mic. Okay, so I won't be able to put on the sexed up show they're looking for, but I can blow their mind with music. That's what I have to do right now, for them and for me. I glance over to my left as the rest of the band files out behind me and catch Turner's eye.

He's mad, yeah, but determined. Getting away from him is going to be damn near impossible.

I turn back to face the crowd and take a deep breath, doing my best to pull that inner me out, so she can take over. I can't slide into myself right now or this whole night's going to be for shit. A bad show on top of a bad day will only make things worse. I have to rule this. I'm a fucking rock star, after all, aren't I?

“Hey there.” I pause for a moment and try to remember where the fuck it is we're at. “Colorado.” Some cheers go up but not enough. I see people glancing at one another, disappointed, and once that happens, I start to pick the crowd apart, take the image of these people in my head from a single entity to thousands of tiny dots with frowns and sneers and laughter. I let my eyes shutter briefly for a moment.
Get ahold of yourself. You're a strong woman. You going to let a little stage fright fuck you up?
I open my eyes and sweep the dark mass below me. It stretches out and back, spreading out on either side and tapering off at roped entry points beyond which tables sit, covered in drinks, surrounded by even more people. My throat goes dry, and I find myself having trouble speaking. I open my mouth again and nothing will come out. I blame Turner. This is his fault. I could've handled this. After all, it's not like it's my first time onstage. He just tightened that noose around my neck, and I feel like I'm being choked. Do you know how hard it is to be offered the one thing you always wanted just after you've convinced yourself that you don't anymore? Just when you've accepted that you'll never have it? It's cruel. Worse than never being offered it at all.

“How's it fucking going, Denver?”

Turner's got Wren's mic in his hand and is strolling towards me with a smirk on his face, one that betrays the glint of anger and hope that's warring in his eyes.

“You know Naomi Knox, right?” he asks, and he holds his hand over my head, starting the crowd up like a revving engine, just a slight purr that you know will become a rumble before long. “You're going to have to forgive her. Her leading lady, Miss Anorexia herself … ” A murmur of laughter ripples through the group. “Is MIA at the moment, so tonight, you're going to get the extreme pleasure,” he purrs as he drops his hand and rubs his belly, purposing exposing the taut flesh above his jeans. “Of listening to her sing. I just announced my undying love for her, so she's a little flustered at the moment. I'm sure once she realizes she feels the same way, she'll calm down.” More laughter, a little nervous this time but quite a bit louder, bursts from the group, and then the crowd starts a chant.
Duet. Duet. Duet.
They want Turner and I to sing together. Of course they do. They've all seen that video of us on YouTube.

I purse my lips tight and glance at him from the corner of my eye. God, he looks like an angel again, highlighted under the bright lights, blue-black hair gleaming, tattoos vibrant and popping. I don't want to do this with him, but I don't know how to get rid of him either. A rock and a hard place. Guess I just have to figure out how to make that
hard rock
and we're good to go.

Turner turns to face me, still smirking, still looking arrogant as fuck in the mouth but dangerously unstable in the eyes. What a volatile place to be. I swallow hard and strike a chord. We start up
Turning the Key on the Past,
totally fucking up our setlist for the night. Oh well. Fuck it. I need to play this song. Turner needs to hear it. He was right; it's about him anyway.

I press my lips to the mic and try not to think too hard about this. Either he'll join me or he won't. I don't care.

My voice, when I start to sing, sounds loud, too loud, and lonely. I sound good, I think, but not quite right.

“
Struggling to understand why this pain feels different from what I've felt before.
”

When Turner's voice cuts in through the other mic, I falter and I miss the next line entirely, wrapped up in the golden chords of his voice that curl so tightly around me that I forget to breathe for a second and end up lightheaded and dizzy.

“
Waking up to the sound of your voice, playing in my head, always running in my head.
”

When he exhales at the end of the line, I inhale and start up again. This time, both of our voices join together and mine doesn't sound so lonely anymore. The stage vibrates with sound as Wren and I destroy it with our guitars, pulling Blair and Jesse and Dax along for the ride. The crowd is screaming now, having an absolute panic attack and rushing forward, crushing the poor people in the front against the bars so tightly that the bouncers have to rescue them and pull them over, escorting them to the edges to watch with wide eyes and heaving chests.

“
When I walk, I stumble. When I run, I fall. 'Cause it's the same mistake that will fool us all. I fell in love. I … I fell in love. I. Fell. In. LOVE!
”

Turner curls over with that last scream, folding down and then bouncing back up, spinning in a circle and thrashing his head back down. If I thought things were intense before, I was wrong. That was just a tease.
This is gonna get worse before it gets better, isn't it?
My pulse starts to pick up, moving at a dangerous speed, so quick I can feel it throbbing against the side of my throat.

“
And we, we just can't be. There is no place to go where the pain won't find us.
” Turner leans into me and puts his face close, too close. Unconsciously, I wet my lips with my tongue, and the rest of the band picks up the next verse while Turner and I dance around each other, spinning in a slow circle, stomping the stage beneath our feet with each step.

“
Because we're the broken ones, the halves that got left behind, the hearts that will never stop bleeding. We fell in love. We … we fell in love, and only you fell out of it.
”

My hands comes down hard, hits the strings and vibrations travel through me, take over my brain and close the door on my inhibitions. The inner me is hanging all the way out, kicking around like a fucking maniac, like I've just freaking lost it and gone crazy. It was only a matter of time anyway. See, this is why I didn't want a confession of love. This shit is just … it's insane.

And then it all stops and there's this freakish bit of quiet before Blair starts in on her keyboard solo, fingers flying over her instrument like she's casting a spell, a rock goddess bitch witch of fucking insanity. Turner takes advantage of this moment to step behind me and slide his arms over my shoulders. An unwanted moan breaks its way out of my throat just as Turner lifts the mic to my mouth. My own sound echoes through the crowd, amplified and shocking in its nakedness. I want to throw him off, but I'm busy with my guitar, plucking strings with my pick again, being the leader that I've always been, just without knowing it. Hayden is a front, that's all, like a figurehead. Can't believe it took me this long to figure out that I was in charge.

“Why are you being so stubborn?” Turner whispers into my ear, nibbling it with his teeth while a thousand plus strangers look on. “Just give me a chance.”

“
And we just can't be, and there's no place to go, and the pain will always find us.
” Turner lets me sing the line by myself, moving one of his hands up and over my breasts before he spins away and swings the mic like he's in an old-timey fucking radio. “
Because of love, all because of love.
”

Sweat is pouring down my face, too much for just the venue and the press of people and the movement. In fact, I think it has more to do with what's going on inside of me than what's going on out. I get tongue-tied again, unused to the dual pressures of singing and playing at the same time. Turner saves me again, but I have to wonder if, like our very first meeting, he's saving me so he can screw me later, leave me worse off than before.

“
Faceless faces and barren voices can't pull me out because I'm in too deep, and my love is killing me. If I don't turn a key on my past, oh, my fucking past, then I'll never make it out alive.
”

My guitar solo comes up hard and my mind seriously goes fucking blank. I feel like I'm high, only I'm not. I swear that my hands aren't my own as I finger my Wolfgang, fucking it with demonic strokes and tearing the venue down, brick by fucking brick.

Turner's breath hits my neck again as I finish and hit my guitar, spinning it around my back and to the front again. Screams go up, and the energy increases to a point where it's almost painful. When this happens, it feels like I'm possessed, like I can't make any decisions on my own. It's all the music, has always been the music, because it's a reflection of the soul. And the soul knows best. After all, it's powered by the most powerful thing there is: the heart.

Turner kisses me, and I know it's wrong, and I know I should stop, but instead I let my tongue slide into his mouth, swirl up the heat and the pain and the energy, pulling away only when I have to to finish the song. Between verses, we find each other again, his hands on my neck, his fingers in my hair. We even let the rest of the band pick up the chorus. All the while, I continue to play, my knuckles brushing the erection in Turner's pants, strumming him at the same time I strum my guitar. It's so ridiculous, and I just know I'm going to hate myself later for this, but I can't stop. Until this song is over, I belong to the music. We all do.

A crescendo builds outside and in, and my clit throbs and pulses. My thighs are wet with sweat and lube, sliding together as I jam hard, drawing in the crowd for a collective breath that they'll hold until I damn well say otherwise. Just when they think they're going to burst, that they're going to die if they don't exhale, Turner and I break apart and scream the last words to the song, voices so loud and strained that they break on the last syllable.

The song ends; he steps away from me; I smash my guitar to pieces on the stage and chuck what's left of it into the greedy hands of the crowd.

Chapter 26
Turner Campbell

My emotions are so fucking raw right now that I can't seem to stay in control of myself. I just keep doing shit without thinking it through. My body is pulsing and vibrating, being plucked by the dirty hands of fate. As soon as I get offstage, I start to pace, running my fingers through my hair and doing my best not to think about Travis's hat. It was a prank. Had to be. None of the guys will admit to it, but obviously somebody's trying to fuck with us. I think of Naomi's foster sister, but have no clue how she'd have even known what type of hat Travis wore. I mean, the cap couldn't have been one of the ones he'd
actually
worn, but it was the same style – black with a white brim, eagle with outstretched wings on the back. I mean, if it's a coincidence, it's an eerie one.

I brush Milo off, not really in the mood to hear him bitch, and watch as Naomi is outfitted with a backup guitar. She starts the next song off with a shaking voice but quickly pulls up her strength and pushes through the skull of the crowd, bending them to her will, marking that whole place with her power and her voice.

I want her so bad right now that it hurts. Literally. My dick is smashed up inside my pants, grinding against the denim, and my hands are clenched so tight that my knuckles are straining against my skin. I stalk back and forth and wait, keeping my eyes off of her sweaty body.

I confessed my love to her.

I cannot even believe that shit. I blame it on the conversation I had with Ronnie, the shock of finding the baseball cap. She didn't exactly react positively to the news, but then, onstage, she was all the fuck over me.

I grab a white towel and throw it around my neck, using the end to wipe the sweat from my forehead and end up stealing a beer from one of the roadies, finishing it in one gulp. No wonder I've never bothered to fall in love before. It sucks. Love sucks. It sucks big, fat, hairy fucking dick. My bandmates watch me pace like a tiger in a cage, but everybody keeps their mouths shut tight. Good thing, too, because I'm wound up so tight that anything could set me off.

Testosterone and adrenaline mix in my blood, creating this toxic concoction that has me on edge through Amatory Riot's entire set. It's so bad that I can't even look at them play. All I can do is stand there and close my eyes, let my head fall back and my hands shake. Naomi's voice is crazy fucking good, so much better than Skinny Chick's. I wonder briefly where that bitch is anyway, but figure it isn't all that important.