Hard Rock Roots Box Set (51 page)

“He pretty much figured it out by himself. Katie's too much of a fuck up to do anything that calculated, so who else? I just confirmed what he already knew. But he helped you out, ever wonder why?” I don't respond. “He's always loved you, Naomi.” I shake my head. I will not stand here and listen to crazy talk.

“I'm taking the stage tonight and you're not getting on it. If you behave, if you redeem yourself to me, maybe I'll change my mind. Until then, watch your fucking ass. I will figure out what you're up to and if it's bad enough, I'll chop off your fucking clit.” Hayden laughs, giggles actually. It's creepy as fuck.

“Seriously? How about, no? You think you can do shit? You got
kidnapped
Naomi, and it took that balding psychopath to get you out. Think about it, what will you do when he finally finds her? Hmm? Once Eric gets Katie back, he's never letting her go. She escaped once. It won't happen again. He wants her almost as much as he wants you.” My turn to laugh, to shake my head and look at the floor. It's rough cement speckled with bright splatters of paint. Artsy, twisted, weird. I like it.

“I can't even believe this shit. Is that what this is about?” Hayden just keeps smiling that weird smile.

“Um, let's think about this. She stole the scissors from Eric and sent them to the police. She killed fucking birds and wrote in
blood
on our trailer. She hopped the fence and got to Turner, screwing up the plans we had for him. She stole his keys, nearly got us caught when she sent Turner snooping around. She set you free. Need I go on? Without her, you're screwed, Naomi.”

“The doll head?” I ask. “The baseball cap?” I figure if she's going to tell me shit, I might as well know all of it. Hayden shrugs.

“I don't know, Naomi. I really don't. I know what they want with you, with Katie.” She bites her lip. “Turner, Dax.” And then she snaps her gaze up to mine and slashes right through me. “Think you're done being my bitch? Not a chance. Not ever. I will
never
let you go completely. Never. And you can't. Have. Them. Both.” She steps closer to me, and I finger the knife I have in my back pocket. “Where's the picture?”

“On a cloud drive waiting to be uploaded at noon tomorrow if you don't tell me everything.” I smile, even though inside I'm a mess, sliding jigsaw pieces across a massive tabletop. I'm starting to see part of the picture, but I don't have the box. It's taking me longer than I want.

“You're a liar.”

“Not as big a one as you are.”

“I'm singing tonight.”

“You're not.”

Hayden stares me down and then she sighs and glances away at the floor. I can't tell if she's actually crazy or playing a game, if she's in this because she wants to be or because she feels like she has no other choice. I don't care.

“Fine,” she whispers. “Upload it.” She backs away a step and scoops hair behind her ear. “Tell the world I'm a monster and they'll love me harder for it. I'll survive.” Hayden smiles. “But I am singing tonight.”

“If you get on that stage, I will kill you.”

I keep very still when I say this. She needs to know I'm serious.

“If my words fall from your lips, you will die and it will not be pleasant. Don't force my hand, Hayden. The death of that girl, Marta, that's on you. I don't know what else you're capable of, but if you fail to see how serious I am right now, I will know without a shadow of a doubt that you're not stable.” Hayden ignores me. She doesn't think I'm a threat, doesn't mind giving me all the behind the scenes bullshit. I don't matter to her right now. She knows that I'm being forced into a corner. I can't ask the police for help because of what I've done. My secret is wrapped around my throat. I'm about to slip free, but if I'm not careful, the noose may tighten around my neck.

But I'm serious about what I said. She better not test me tonight.

A rush of cold air hits my back and Turner's arms slide around my waist, bringing a small gasp to my lips. He presses his face into the crook of my neck and tears prick my eyes. I don't expect it, but something just wells up inside me, making my heart stop, my lungs contract. My hands rise to his and brush against them. Dax scoots by us and intercepts Blair on her way over to us. I don't know why he does it, but he keeps her back. I guess he doesn't want to sabotage Turner. That's not how he wants to win my attention. Good for him. I like Dax a little more.

“Why'd you have to go and say that to me right before a show?”

“Huh?” I ask, trying my best to keep the jiggling tears behind my shades. If they hit my cheeks and fall, I'm done for. I keep my eyes on Hayden's back, but she's just doing her usual before show bitching. She doesn't sneak off and talk to a person bathed in shadows, doesn't try to find Eric. There's already a plan in play and it doesn't matter what I do.

“Say you loved me.”

“But I didn't.”

“Close enough,” he whispers, releasing me and spinning me around, crushing his lips to mine, cupping my face with his inked fingers. “You're going to turn my tiger into a pussycat.”

“Hayden … admitted a lot of shit, Turner. I think we're in trouble.” I touch his chest. “I think this, we, us, whatever this is, is in trouble.” He grasps my hands, pulls me to him. Roadies and crew members, musicians and managers, even a few cops, watch us with disbelief. Here he is, this asshole, this playboy, this guy who breaks hearts in his wake, smashing them like a storm, not even aware that he's doing it. And he's kissing this mystery girl in a hoodie with the sweetest lips the world has ever fucking seen. My heart starts to pump frantically.

“We got this. Fuck the fucking fuckers.” He starts to pull me towards the bathroom door, but I plant my feet firmly on the colorful concrete.

“We can't do that right now, Turner. There's serious shit going on here.” He grins at me and pulls at my Mrs. Turner Campbell bracelet with a snap.
Why the fuck am I still wearing this thing?

“I don't know what your dirty fucking mind is up to. I thought you had something to tell me that required privacy.”

“Uh huh.”

“Come on.” He pulls on my arm again, and I follow, feeling like the world is crashing down around me, making waves. Some of them are good, some bad. I don't know. I'm all sorts of messed up right now.

“I want a bump,” I tell him. “I miss coke.” He laughs, but he doesn't respond. Instead, I get whisked into the tiny bathroom with the silver toilet, slammed against the wall and kissed so hard I can't breathe. Turner sits me on the sink and presses his erection against my jeans. “Turner, seriously?” I ask, but I don't sound as bitchy as I want to. Instead, I sound kind of … happy.
Gross. Fucking disgusting.
“Hayden's got a plan in place. Eric knows I'm here.”

“What's new?” he asks between kisses to my throat.

“If this your idea of talking, you suck at it.” He pauses and puts his hands on either side of my hips.

“Naomi,” he begins, pushing himself back and reaching for my belt. Despite my protests, I don't try to stop him. I also refuse to look at the used syringes on the floor or the walls covered in wet toilet paper. I don't like to make a habit out of fucking in nasty ass bathrooms, but here we are again. When it's the most inappropriate, awkward moment of all. “You can't say something like that to me and not expect to get fucked.” I raise my brow as he tugs my pants down and leaves them dangling from one leg, cupping my bare ass in his hands.

“What the fuck are you babbling about?” I ask him as he fumbles to get his pants undone and slap a condom on his dick. But if Turner Campbell's an expert at anything besides singing, it's sex. He manages.

“Respect, Naomi. You can't tell me you respect me and not thoroughly just … fuck with my head. I might have a bit of an inflated ego right now.”

“Right now?”

“Are you going to shut up and let me fuck you? Frankly, I don't care about any of this other shit. I'll deal with it when it comes.”

“I fucking hate your ass,” I tell him as he jerks me against him, fills my body with his and spreads my hips wide. I'm not going to sugarcoat what happens next. We just screw. We slam together hard and fast, slapping sweaty warm skin against one another and grunting like a bunch of ancient cave fucks. It's ugly. Real ugly. And disgusting. But then, it's beautiful, too. It's a slice of wild nature happening right here in this bathroom, bringing us close, stopping our hearts and starting them again in unison. It's quick, it's messy and then it's done.

He comes; I come.

And then we just sit there while electric guitars and drums vibrate the walls around us. I drape myself against his chest and just try to breathe.

“I don't know what I'm doing here,” I whisper and he gives me an answer. The man I hate, that fucked my life up, that shouldn't have anything nice or constructive to say, gives me a solid, reasonable step to stand on. What the fuck?

“You're learning to love.”

Pure. Simple. True.

And from the mouth of Turner Campbell. The world is full of surprises.

Just not all of them are good.

The stage is set.

The players are all thoroughly entrenched in the game.

Me, I'm standing on the edge of the stage with my eyes closed and hot blood pumping through my veins. I
feel
Turner Campbell standing behind me, and I feel better because of it. I don't want to love him, but I think I do. Or I might. One day, when I stop hating him so much maybe.

The crowd is quiet, almost deadly silent, as they wait in nervous anticipation. The problem is that they're still thinking about the storm. I'm going to kill that fear. When I get onstage, they're only going to be thinking about me.

Dax sits down behind his drums and gives me a gentle nod of his chin.

Without waiting another second, I move forward, out onto the open stage in front of a couple thousand people. I wish there were more, but I'll make do. The word will spread and soon, everyone will know.

Whispers and rumors spread like fire, catching on people and flaming bright and suspicious in the dull light. I ignore them and focus only on Hayden who's coming out the opposite side, walking straight towards me. She doesn't look angry or nervous. She smiles at me when we get close and pauses, leaning forward and putting her lips to my ear.

“I won't ever say I'm sorry, but I'll tell you this. If you think I'm a good performer, let me be onstage with you. You can borrow the spotlight … for now. I won't help tonight, but I won't hurt either. If you survive, we can talk about it.”

She leans back and we look at each other for a long, long moment. Time stretches thin and brittle. I stare at her and then I shift my eyes back to the crowd, a subtle cue. It only takes me about ten seconds to see them both. Eric and Katie. He stands on the left side of the room and she, the right. I don't know if either knows the other is there, but they both see me. That's for fucking sure.
Everybody
sees me right now. There is no retreating inside of myself, diving deep and hiding in plain sight. Tonight, I'm going to have to come out and show them everything I've got.

Turner moves out beside me and steals Wren's mic. He doesn't protest, but he looks confused. He's not the only one. The crowd starts to get restless. I take a deep breath and hold it in my lungs before bringing my hands up to my shades. I touch the nosepiece and wait. Seconds tick by and the wind outside howls so loud we can hear it through the brick. It's roaring like a fucking freight train. I know then that we're going to get a tornado. I don't hear the sirens yet, but I will. Soon. Right now, I will use the force of my will to make Mother Nature wait. She will not fuck me here. Not tonight.

I pull the glasses off and there are some gasps near the front of the room. I toss them to the floor near my feet and reach for the bottom of the sweater, digging my fingers under the fabric and pausing. Turner's voice slithers into the microphone like liquid sex.

“Good evening, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.” He chuckles and wraps both hands around his mic. “We're having a bit of weather tonight, aren't we? But that just makes you lucky. You're going to get a show that not many will see in person but that everyone will be talking about come tomorrow. You're like fucking pioneers, forging their way into new territory, and believe me when I say you've never seen anything like this.”

I lift the sweater up and pull it over my head. Blonde hair cascades down around my shoulders as I face the crowd, eyes blazing, lips already pulling up into a small smile.

For one second, one split, tiny second, the purest of silences hits the room and nobody moves, no one speaks. I drop the sweater; I grab my guitar.

Explosion.

The roar of the wind is nothing compared to the screeching of the crowd as I slam my fingers on the strings and worship a god that's older and stronger and wiser than me, using my music as a prayer, my voice as a sail to carry my ship to the mouth of heaven and the depths of hell.

Dax slams in next, pounding his music down through the stage and up into my bones, breaking my tibias, shattering my femurs, and it feels
so
damn good. They thought I was dead and now here I am, ready to tear their shit apart.