Hard Rock Roots Box Set (38 page)

People are pounding past us, calling out orders, dragging the equipment back as the first few fans manage to ascend the stage, snatching anything they can find and smashing it against the wall, against Ronnie's kit, tossing it out into the crowd.

The sexual electricity between us clears and more practical bits take over as I slide my cock out and button up my pants, helping Naomi into hers and grabbing her hand to drag her to her feet. I don't know what it is, but I don't want anybody to see her. When she looks at me and raises her shades, I think maybe she's got the same idea in mind.

I shove my way out of the curtains and punch a dude square in the face, knocking him back and snatching my discarded shirt from his hand as he falls flat on his ass. Too dark in here, too messed up for anyone to see. I actually get to deck someone for once and not worry about them pressing charges. I elbow a bitch in the throat when she claws at my hair and yanks my head back. Before I can spin around and push her away, Naomi's there. She pulls a hard knuckled punch out of nowhere and hits the woman under the chin. She drops like a sack of potatoes and grabs my shirt, tying it around her head like a sweaty scarf. In this melee, ain't nobody gonna notice.

I grab my one woman's hand and guide her safely out the back door.

Chapter 22
Naomi Knox

Turner takes me back to his bus and leads me up the stairs, locking the door behind us and checking around to make sure we're the only ones on it. I think his bodyguard saw me, pretty sure I saw the dude smile, but there's not much I can do about that. As far as his band … I don't know how he plans on keeping me here for long without anyone finding out. As soon as that mess inside is cleared up, they'll all be back.

I collapse at the table and hold back a sob. I don't really know what was going through my mind when I went inside. Katie unlocked my cuffs and let me go without a word, releasing me with a flurry of garbled words that didn't make any fucking sense.
I'm sorry. Stay away from him. Be careful of the Devil.
So now I'm safe for the moment, filled with confusion and anxiety and fear. I don't know who had me or why, don't know what happened while I was gone. All I know is that I don't see our bus anywhere, that Hayden is obviously fucking insane as well as involved, and that I can't do shit about it. I should go to the police probably. I mean, that's the most logical step isn't it? But I can't. Not with the secrets I'm carrying around with me. If Katie's here, this might all have something to do with that video, with the murders, with all the shit that's gone down around me in the past fucking decade.

I got out and went inside, looking for Turner. I didn't expect his voice to ignite a fire inside of me, to promise that angels really did exist, to make me feel loved and honored and cherished. I didn't know I would hear him singing about me, calling to me, begging. When the lights went out, I knew I had to get to him, so I walked onstage in front of a room full of fucking people.

I drop my head into my hands with a groan. Obviously my judgment at this point is a little compromised. A week in solitary fucking confinement will do that to a person.

“I've been missing for God only knows how long and the first thing I do is fuck bareback onstage?” My heart is pounding and my body feels sweetly sore. I want to take Turner into the back and fuck him again. How messed up is that?

He comes back from checking the rest of the bus and tilts the slats on the blinds, so it's harder to see in. He's feeding off my energy, but he doesn't know why yet, doesn't know that this tour is a web filled with spiders, just waiting for a little tickle, a flicker of wing, so they can swarm down on me and bite hard. I've got to figure out who the players are in this little game, and I've got to take them out one by one. However that needs to happen, whatever I need to do, I'm going to be the one that comes out of this on top.

“Naomi,” Turner says, and his voice is more serious than I've ever heard it. I turn and look at the playboy asswad that left me alone and pregnant, that uses girls up the way he uses condoms, fills 'em and tosses 'em aside. I look at him and his face is
different
somehow. While I was gone, he changed. He doesn't know it yet, I don't think, but it's there. My being missing changed him. For the better.

“Are you sober?” I interrupt before he can say anything else. His eyes are clear, surrounded by sweaty streaks of smeared black liner. His hair is a mess, but his gaze is straight as an arrow.

“Dead sober,” he tells me, moving close tentatively, like he isn't sure I'm really there. His hands come out and touch my face again, pulling my gaze to his and locking brown eyes with me. “God, this is like a fucking dream.”

“Try nightmare,” I say, pulling away from the molten hot tips of his fingers, fighting my basic biology. I won't admit yet that I'm fighting my heart. I don't love Turner anymore. I don't. I
don't.
“I can't … I just escaped a terrifying possibility and then went and had unprotected sex with you.”

“I'm all clean, baby,” he says with a stupid smile. Okay, a sexy smile. It's sexy
and
stupid. “I always use balloons and I get my shit checked, you know?” I glare at him.

“That's not what I'm worried about,” I say as I stand up and move over to his fridge. He follows me and watches as I open it and scan for food. There isn't much in here, but I manage to wrangle up a pre-made sandwich and some cheese sticks. May as well be filet fucking mignon for all I know. I'm so hungry and yet
not.
Whatever was in the stupid IVs kept me alive, but it wasn't living, you know?

Turner gets me a glass of water
with
ice and brings it to the table, going back over to the window to check on the house of horror we just vacated. I don't know what the hell happened in there, but it was off the charts insane. Too bad I couldn't be a part of it.

“But fuck that,” I say, waving my hand around, figuring I'll go get a morning after pill. Or Turner will. I'm not leaving this bus until I figure out a plan. “That's not important. What's important is this.” I take a bite of the sandwich and groan in pleasure, drawing his eyes back to me. He moves over and slides onto the bench next to me, rubbing his body along mine and cupping my thigh with his pretty little inked up fingers.

My gaze catches on the bat tattoos on his hard belly and stays there, unwilling to look at his eyes. Right now, there is a tender something or other opening up inside of me like a flower. It scares the crap out of me, makes it harder for me to hate him and wish for his untimely death. Right now, I think I might …
like
Turner Campbell.

“I want you to know everything, just in case.”

“Where were you?” he asks, unwrapping the cheese stick for me and setting it back on the granite tabletop. “I had this key … I thought you were in one of the RVs.”

“I was in an RV,” I tell him, finishing the sandwich, gulping it down like a starving wolf and wiping the crumbs off on my pants. “But it wasn't any of the ones in here. It was parked outside the lot, on the street. The only reason I knew where to go was because I heard the music.”

I pick up the cheese and start to peel strings off of it before I give in and just shove the whole damn thing in my mouth.

After Katie let me go, she bolted and disappeared into the night like she'd never been. I didn't bother going after her, just ended up stumbling out barefoot into the rain and letting the sound of rumbling riffs draw me where I needed to go. Music's never let me down before, so I knew I could trust it. Looks like I was right.

“Fuck,” Turner curses, pulling a key out of his pocket and slamming it down on the table. “You were in plain fucking sight, and I missed you.” He runs a hand through his blue-black hair and breathes out slowly, flicking his eyes over to mine. A spark passes between us and before I even really know what's happening, he's folding me up in his arms and pulling me onto his lap, pressing me against his sweaty chest. I go stiff at first, but after a moment, I relax. And I hate to say it, but it feels right.

“I have to hide, Turner. There are a lot of layers to this shit that I can't even begin to peel away yet. All I know is that Hayden is involved somehow.” Turner's hands squeeze me hard and when he next speaks, I can hear his teeth grit in anger.

“I knew that fucking cunt was a part of this shit. Fucking Christ.” I sit up and I look him right in the eye, pulling off the shades,
my
shades, that he was wearing onstage.

“Turner,” I begin, keeping my voice low and serious. This is some hardcore shit, and if he's going to be a part of it, I need to know that he's in all the way, that he's ready to jump in the deep end. This isn't a time where a toe in the shallows will do anybody any good. I need someone I can count on. This fucker is telling me he loves me, and in his face, I see dedication unmatched. If I'm honest with myself, it scares the crap out of me. “I need help. I need somebody I can count on. I don't know what this is between you and me, but if you're offering your assistance, I'll take it.”

A slamming fist on the door startles us both, and I rise to my feet like a fighter in the ring, ready to defend myself, fists raised.

“Who the fuck is it?” Turner asks, standing up and moving behind me, pressing his heat against the back of me. I can't hold back a shiver, and I know he notices, but I guess that's just the way it is. I blame it all on my fucking crotch.

“It's me. Let me in.” I don't recognize the voice, but Turner does. He spins me around gently and looks me straight in the face. His eyes don't waver and his voice is as sharp edged as a sword.

“I love you, Naomi. I don't mince words and I don't sugarcoat shit. I said what I meant, and I meant what I said.” He smiles wickedly and brushes his thumb over my lower lip. “I don't like to keep secrets, but if I have to, for you, I will. I'll hide the world in my throat, and I won't tell a damn soul. As long as I can be honest with you and vice versa, that's all that really matters to me.” He pauses and looks up at the door. “So if you'll have me, I'll be your knight in shining fucking armor.” Turner looks back at me and lets go of my shoulders. “And if you're willing, I want to bring Ronnie in on this.” I start to protest, but he interrupts me. “And Dax.” My heart leaps in my throat, and I turn away, running my fingers through my hair. It's matted and greasy and nasty. First thing I need to do is shower. I'll think better that way.
Especially since right now, I've got Turner's fucking cum all over me.
I shiver again and it has nothing to do with the weather.

I have to make a decision right here, right now. Who do I trust? I look back at Turner, shirtless and pretty and fucking dangerous as hell. I let him in before and he screwed me. Can I give him a second chance? Does he even deserve one?

When he steps forward and wraps his hands in my hair, kisses my mouth and sighs against my lips, I decide. I decide and I know then that there is no going back. Whatever happens in my life from this point on, Turner will play a part in it.

“Okay,” I say and I can't help but kiss him back. “You're in. Help me, Turner, and we'll figure this out together.”

“Jesus mother and shit,” Turner says after I'm finished with my half of the story. Putting what I know together with what he knows hasn't done a damn thing for us. It's all still a big, fucking mystery. And who planted the guitar? Well, when I find the fucker I'll make sure to thank them for replacing my Wolfgang
before
I blow their brains out. “Skinny Bitch has a few screws loose, huh?” he asks, pitching his voice low, so that Ronnie and I can hear him, but the rest of the band can't. I don't know how the two of them plan on hiding me from the rest of the group, but I'll let them work on those logistics. They know their friends better than I do.

A knock at the door hushes us all for a moment.

“We're about to move out, is everything okay in there?” a voice asks.

“Peachy fucking keen,” Turner responds, kicking his feet up on the table. We're sitting in the back of the bus, a circular area with a table and a shit ton of ashtrays. There are windows on all sides but one where the second bathroom sits, door cracked and light off. “You're cleared for takeoff. Now leave us the fuck alone.” He takes a drag on his cigarette and offers it to me. I grab a fresh one from the carton on the table and dig the lighter out of his pocket. When I slide the smoke between my lips, I feel like I'm coming home.
Oh God, yes.
My forced separation from nicotine was not exactly pleasant. As the smoke fills my lungs, I sigh with pleasure.
Shit yeah. That's where it's at, baby.

Ronnie cranks up the stereo to help drown out our conversation. He's a nice guy, I could tell the moment I laid eyes on him. Nice guys are easy to spot because they're so few and far between, like roses in a field of weeds. Even if you've never seen one before, you'll know it when you stumble on one because its presence is like nothing else. Ronnie's the one I should be falling for, but right now, I'm knee-deep in Turner La-la Land. I scowl at nothing in particular and smoke my cigarette. Ronnie watches me and brushes some hair from his face with a pale, skinny hand. He was handsome, once upon a time, but sorrow and longing, drugs and alcohol, all of that has wiped away his pretty and left nothing but sore, sad and fucked. I feel bad for the guy, really. He looks like he needs a hug.