Hard Rock Roots Box Set (39 page)

“Why don't we do this the simple way,” Turner suggests, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. He's still trying to pull that masculine machismo bullshit on me, but it isn't working. His heart is bleeding all over his chest. I might be the one with the tattoo, but he's got the real thing, right there above his rock hard fucking pecs. I told him he didn't understand love, but he thinks he does. Whatever I believe about him, all I have to do is look in his eyes to know he truly feels something for me. I guess thinking I was dead pounded it in hard. No way I'm getting rid of this guy so easily this time. I am so stuck with Turner Campbell. Better get used to it. “Let's just corner Hayden and beat the shit out of her until she spills.” I roll my eyes.

“This goes so much further than Hayden, Turner. There are other people involved, and if I'm right,” I smash my cig in the ashtray. “Then it's not just me they're after. Think about it. Why send you the guitar? The hat? You're involved whether you know it or not. Beating up Hayden might help us scratch the surface, but it won't give us access to the root.” I pick up my water bottle and down half in one gulp. It feels
so
good to have liquid pouring down my throat. IV fluid is
not
the same. This shit may as well be ambrosia it tastes so sweet.

“You think somebody's targeting Turner?” Ronnie asks. I notice he likes to repeat things. I think he's committing them to memory. I have a good feeling about that. Ronnie is the type of man that notices things, little details. He watches and he absorbs, like our own walking, talking guidebook but with zero paper trail.

“I'm almost sure of it,” I say as Turner's hand slides up my thigh, brushing softly over the bare skin. I'm not wearing much right now, just a pair of his boxers and one of his tees, so he's got pretty easy access. I just have to make sure he knows his place, where he stands and all that. I asked him to help me, but I didn't say we'd take the romantic route. Maybe I'm the only one in that room that misses the fact that I'm wearing the
Mrs. Turner Campbell
bracelet on my arm still. I push his hand off. “What we need to do is find Katie. She obviously knows more than she's letting on, which is understandable considering her upbringing.” I sigh and try not to relive those old memories. I can't help but wonder if all of that has something to do with this, but what are my options? Burying this secret for good is the only thing I can think of. Letting this one fly isn't a good idea. Confessing my bloody past to the world will only make my life worse, not better. Best this shit gets shoveled six feet under, right next to the bastards I shanked.

“So how do we find her?” Turner asks, adjusting himself so that the long line of his thigh brushes against mine. I pretend not to notice. Just because I went missing, just because he mourned me with the angels on high, doesn't mean that we're suddenly an item.
So, genius, why on earth did you decide to rut with the bastard onstage? And without a condom? Damn, girl, you're in deep.
I ignore my subconscious and start on my next cigarette.

“We don't,” I tell him, glancing at him sideways. “We wait. She'll show up eventually.” I take a drag and blow smoke rings. I don't miss the rising bulge in Turner's pants. “And we need to find Eric before the cops do. If he's still around, that is.” I don't like the idea of the police hovering so close by. Not the FBI either. It's not
impossible
to do things without them knowing, but it sure as shit isn't easy either.

“You trust that slick son of a bitch?” Turner asks me, turning sideways and draping his arm over the back of his seat. He hasn't bothered to put a new shirt on, just sits there with his nipples hard and his muscles gleaming under the bright, yellow light that swings above us when we start to move. Outside, the rain smashes against the windows like a thousand fists, helping shield us from prying ears. But it won't last long. All it'll take is one slip and somebody will see me and everything will just go to shit. I have to make sure I'm in control, that the inevitable downward spiral goes where I tell it to.

“I don't trust anyone,” I tell him and then glance across the table at Ronnie. “Not even you.”

“Good,” Turner's friend says, pressing his palms against the tabletop and rising to his feet. His dark eyes take me in, and he smiles. “You shouldn't. Keep that wariness around and you'll be alright.” He groans and sighs, dropping his chin to his chest. “I am fucking beat.” He lifts a hand up and gestures absently at the back of the bus. “All of that bullshit in there was too much for this old man. I'm calling it a night. I'll keep my eyes and ears peeled tomorrow for gossip.” Ronnie pushes away from the table and reaches for the door handle, glancing over his shoulder at Turner and me. “You want me to bring some blankets and shit back here?”

“Yeah. Tell the guys I'm in a rank fucking mood.” Ronnie nods and doesn't question this. I raise an eyebrow.

“And this will what, keep them away?” Turner shrugs like I shouldn't be surprised, gazing at me from half-lidded eyes. He is such a posh fucking prince. Thinks he's all hardcore and shit, but that's a load of bull. He might've survived the trailer park when he was young, but he'd never last now. I watch as he runs his fingers down his abs, playing them like a friggin' washboard and drops them below the hemline of his jeans. He pretends he's just adjusting himself, but I know better. He's trying to get me excited.

I blow smoke in his face.

He just breathes it in with a smile.

“Let's just say, when Turner's on a warpath, people stay out of his way.”

“Uh huh.” I lean back and wait until Ronnie shows up with blankets and pillows, depositing them on the tabletop and retreating with a little wink. Turner locks the door behind him and settles back into his position across from me. I put my feet up and rest my toes against his legs. “You think you're so tough, but I see right through you.”

He leans forward and breathes hot breath against my face.

“Really, Naomi? And what is it that you see?”

“I see a man who thinks he knows what he wants, but doesn't understand it. I see a guy who – ”

Turner interrupts me by grabbing my chin and pressing his forehead to mine. I don't move away when he crawls between my legs, keeping those fingers locked tight on my face.

“Naomi, you see a guy who thought he lost the only thing he ever really wanted. The one thing he craved and never even knew about,” he whispers, and his voice is soft, like kitty cat fur soft. It's
weird
as shit. This is the same guy who left that roadie half-naked over a PA speaker, that knocked me up and left my pregnant and alone at sixteen, who parties and fucks and sings and doesn't care whose heart gets broken in the process. This is also the guy who's making my chest tight and my eyes wet, who's created a throbbing pulse between my thighs and slicked my skin with sweat. “You see an asshole with a whole laundry list of faults, who doesn't even know how many chicks he's slept with, but who only wants one.”

“What if I said you can't have her?” I tell him, not liking the ache I feel when he pulls away and sits back down across from me. My body is
begging
me to fuck him again, to hold him tight inside of me and make him
mine.
I want to piss all over him and claw up his back and make sure that all of these other bitches know he's off limits. I want them to know that he wants me in ways he's never wanted them, that he craves me in ways he's never felt before. I shiver and snatch a cigarette with angry, shaking hands.

Turner just grins, all cocky and arrogant. It's not a front, not necessarily, but something about it rings fake when he looks at me. I've found a crack in the Campbell shell. And it's me.
I'm
the fucking crack.

“I'd have to say too damn bad. I get what I want, Naomi, and what I want is you. Get used to it.” I flip him off.

“Hey, Turner,” I say. “Fuck you.” He leans forward.

“I just did that.” I shake my head and grab the water bottle, alternating sips with drags.

“I fucked you.” He laughs, loud and raucous, like a fucking cheese grater scraped over an old record player. I hate to admit it, but I kind of like it.
Oh God, no. You're not falling for him, are you? What is all of this sappy shit? This isn't you, Naomi. You don't need a man. You need answers and then you need closure and then you need to get back to your career. Your career. The music. Your music that he's been borrowing.
I debate talking about that with him, but I don't know how to broach the subject. It's too sensitive. I pick an easier topic. “When we get to Dallas, I need you to get me a morning after pill, do you understand? Like, before the parking brake is even in place, you're going out to get it.” Turner gives me a loaded, cocky ass fucking smile. I want to eat his face off and rape him at the same time. Something is seriously wrong with me. I blame it on my week in captivity.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” he growls, taking a nice, long, slow drag on his new smoke. He lets tendrils of gray drift from his nostrils.

“And if I get herpes, I'll fucking kill you.” His grin gets bigger, and I notice something different about his face, like he's gotten more handsome all of a sudden. It takes me a minute to figure out what it is. He's
happy.
For the first time since I've met him, I can tell that Turner fucking Campbell is actually happy. Why? Because of me. I look away.

“I told you, babe, I'm clean. I've used more rubbers than an English school teacher.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I snarl, grabbing a pillow and fluffing it. Might not seem all that comfortable to sleep on a bench, but to me, it all still feels like heaven. I've got gauze and Neosporin on my wrists and ankles, I'm not drugged, and best of all, I'm
free.
I could probably fall asleep in an alley with a bag of trash as a pillow and diseased rats for bedmates and I'd be alright.

As soon as my head hits the pillow, my eyelids start to droop. There is so much going on in this little room that it makes my head spin. What happened to me, what Turner went through while I was gone, America in the hospital, Katie, Eric, Hayden.
Ugh.
I've had more than enough for one night.

“It means,” Turner whispers, grabbing a blanket and laying it over my curled body. “That I'm in love with you, Naomi Knox.”

Chapter 23
Turner Campbell

Naomi has no fucking clue how I feel inside. To her, the last week was a nightmare, a trial she had to overcome. To me, it was an aching pit of hope and despair, fear and need and want all mixed into one. I'm not saying I had it worse or anything, but shit. Thinking she might be dead, wanting to believe she wasn't … Right now, staring down at her sleeping face, I want to do a fucking river dance. I want to jump on this table and scream and shout my joy to the world. The high I'm on right now is better than any drug ever invented. I am King today. I am God. I am Happy. Yeah. Happy. That horrible H-word that we spend our lives searching for.

Naomi's asleep, so I figure I can get away with brushing her hair from her forehead, kissing her cheek, without getting my balls torn off. I touch her arm, press my palm against her shoulder and just breathe. Without even knowing it, I've been holding my breath for days waiting for this girl. Looking at her now, I can't believe I ever touched another woman. I'm repulsed by the idea, fucking sickened by it.

I stand up straight and finish my cigarette.

I don't even know what to do with myself now. I just want to pace back and forth and guard Naomi with my life. I want to snarl at anybody that comes near, and I swear to fuck that I will defend her to the
death.
Truth be told, I don't even care about anything else now. I mean, think about it. I have money, fame, respect, music, and my girl. That's it. What else is there? I've even got friends that'll stick by my side no matter what, and let's just be honest, a hot smokin' body. So now what?

“Now,” I tell my cig as I press it in the ashtray. “Now I find the fuckers who are threatening my shit, and I take them down. I destroy them one by one until there's nothing left on this earth to challenge me.” I smile and look down at Naomi. “Except for her,” I whisper. “Because I know this chick will be challenging me every day for the rest of my Goddamn life.”

Morning rolls around, and I haven't slept much. I pretty much sat up and watched Naomi sleep like a fucking stalker. I almost fell asleep a few times, but woke up startled, thinking it was all a dream, that I'd never found her and that she'd showed up dead in a ditch somewhere the next morning. It was kind of a shitty night. And a perfect one. Dichotomous bullshit.

“Get me some fucking orange juice,” Naomi whispers when I push her feet off my lap and stand up, rolling my head around and getting a crick out of my neck. “And something to eat.” She pauses and then, mouth muffled by the pillow, manages to get out a forced
please.

I smile and kick open the door, closing it carefully behind me. Ronnie's already up, so I give him a nod and he stands up, moving into the back and slipping inside. I wonder what he and Naomi will talk about when I'm gone.