Hard Rock Roots Box Set (72 page)

KK flashes her badge, and neither officer really looks at it. My eyes shift slowly from theirs to my manager's bulging orbs. Recognition flashes between them. Understanding.
No! This can't be happening! NO!

“Thank you, ma'am,” says the cop on the right, and the doors are opening and we're stepping through them, aiming for the stairs that look like cliffs, ready for me to jump off and impale myself on the rocks at the bottom.
These are dirty cops. These are Tyler Rutledge's dirty cops.

The room around me spins, and my legs collapse. It feels like the floor is falling towards my face, not vice versa. Next thing I know, my view is of KK's ugly brown work boots, and the world just falls away to darkness.

When I wake up, I have a monster of a hangover, clinging to my face like spiderwebs. I reach up to brush it away, but it just makes my head pound harder. I don't know what it was that I had last night, but tequila and crystal? Doubt it. Usually when I mix my hard alcohol with a hit, they balance each other out. I don't doubt that Honesty probably tossed something in that drink.
Thanks a lot, bitch.

“Shit,” I groan, looking around the room. Everything seems relatively normal. Honesty's sleeping in the bed next to mine. Our suitcases are on the floor near the couch, and the sound of talking can be heard whispering through the walls. I swing my feet out of bed and groan, putting the palm of my hand to my forehead.

Shannon. Blood. Ronnie. Poppet.

Fuck! Poppet. Poppet is here?

I fling myself up and stumble a bit, reeling from the effects of God only knows what. But now that I'm sobered up, I feel better, like I puked up most of my anxiety along with the alcohol. I'm still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and I smell like a dirty muff, but I don't have time to change. I have to find KK and figure out what's happening. If my sister really is here … I try not to think about that. I slip my feet into some black and pink flats and open the door.

There aren't as many cops as last night, but the halls are still fairly full of people. Most of them ignore me as I work my way though the crowd towards KK's room. I should feel safe here, surrounded by these people, people who've pledged their lives to protecting others. Instead, I feel like a rabbit in a fox hole.
How many of them are in Rutledge's harem of horrors? Is there a single person here I can trust?
I can't risk it, especially not if KK was telling the truth last night.
My sister.
I haven't seen her in almost two years, but we email a lot. I told her how I was feeling, discreetly of course. I didn't exactly come out and say that I felt like shit because I'd murdered a woman. Guess even what I did say was too much.
Fuck you Tyler. Fuck you and your entire family, if you even have one that is.

I cross my arms over my chest, feeling a lot less confident in my lacy bra than I did last night. Maybe I'll wear a shirt today. Maybe.

I pause outside KK's door and raise my hand, gathering my mental courage together like a blanket against my anxiety. I want to bury my head in the sand again and pretend that nothing bad's happening, that we're just a band on tour. Sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, right? Unfortunately, that's not all it is. There are lives at stake, maybe even my sister's though I can't imagine that she'd fly all the way over from France to see little old me.

I knock on the door and wait. After a while, KK comes to the door with a smile. When I step into her room, it smells like pot and dirty sex.
Oh, fuck me gagging. That's just nasty.

“Good morning, Lola,” she says, skating across the carpet in her bare feet. She's so happy she's practically skipping. In her bed, a still form lies with the blankets pulled up to his shoulders. The bald head's pretty much a dead giveaway.
Oh, Joel. Come on, where are your standards, buddy?
“I assume you slept well?”

I cross my arms over my chest and breathe in deep, hoping the weed will help me relax.

“I guess you know why I'm here, KK.” I keep my voice even and steady. I had a meltdown last night. It happens. But now, in the warm light from outside, I feel better, reinforced, like I just slipped a suit of metal armor over my tight jeans and ballet flats.
I can do this.
“What's all this babbling about my sister?” KK pauses in the mini kitchen area and pours herself a cup of coffee, swaying with the sound of light music filtering from a pair of headphones on the table behind her. All she's got on is a robe, and I feel the urge to reach up and touch my ankh necklace, throw up a little prayer that it stays belted. I'd rather not get a face full of pasty, saggy tits and a hairy beaver this early in my day.

“Poppet,” she begins, spitting the name out like it disgusts her. “Is with Mr. Rutledge for the day today. You missed out on your chance to see her last night.” I narrow my eyes.

“I call bullshit,” I say, and KK laughs, making my blood boil. When I look at her, I just feel disgusted. Sometimes, I wonder if she really is ugly, or if I'm simply projecting what I know of her personality into her looks. She smiles at me with her wide mouth and coasts over to her laptop, flicking open the screen and spinning it, so I can see the image.

I don't waste any time crossing the room.

There's a picture on the screen with me and Poppet. I'm passed out, wearing the same outfit I've got on now. And she's sitting in a chair looking ticked the fuck off. It's obviously from last night, that much is clear. But why? Why would she fly all the way to the USA? And how would she even know where I was staying? We just moved hotels.

“She didn't come here looking for me,” I say, pointing at the screen. I can't take it anymore and flop down into the chair, grabbing a smoking joint from the ashtray and pinching it between my fingers. “She wouldn't. We're not even that close anymore.” KK grins and pulls the computer away from me, flicking her finger across the mouse and closing the picture. She pulls up a video next and plays it.

“Just so you know it wasn't doctored,” she says, thoroughly enjoying herself. I watch the video of Poppet brushing her blonde hair, sighing a lot and looking over at me with tiny flickers of fear. The rest of the time, she puts on this bored expression that doesn't give away what she's thinking. They didn't bother to tie her up or drug her. She's just sittin' there nice and pretty, hands wrapped around a paperback book. I take a drag on the joint and close my eyes. And just when I thought I'd gotten things worked out in my head. If I'd only told Ronnie about Shannon when I had the chance, maybe none of this would be happening. I exhale and set the joint back down. I'm not about to sit here and get blazed with KK and Joel. Frankly, I'd rather leap off a bridge to my death.

“Where did you find her?” I ask again. KK just smirks at me. I look up at her and curl my hands around the edge of the tabletop. I hate the way she's looking at me, like she owns me. Nobody fucking owns me. I'm my own bitch, always have been, always will be. All of this following orders I've been doing lately is killing my soul. That's probably one of the reasons I feel so sick. I don't like feeling like I'm caged, an animal on a leash here to do its master's bidding.

“Did you know Cohen tried to take advantage of you last night?” KK asks, making my heart skip a beat. When it starts up again, it's at a painful, irregular rhythm. Every time I wake up after a blackout spell, I wonder about that. I've gotten lucky so far, but … I swallow a cold lump of fear and keep staring, making sure I've got on my best bitch glare. KK's always been intimidated by it before. I think of Naomi Knox and how Cohen tried to prick her with his icky candy stick. If I hadn't been watching him, he would have. What's wrong with men nowadays? Can't get tail on their own? Have to go and force it. Pathetic. I click my fingers against the tabletop.

“You're lucky Tyler was there. If he hadn't been … ” KK shrugs and picks up the joint, taking a nice long toke with a greasy smile on her face. “Just saying, you should be more loyal to the man. He only has your best interests at heart.”

“Go suck concrete, you fucking scrag,” I snap at her, rising to my feet with rage boiling hot and dangerous in my veins. KK takes a step back, but she doesn't stop smiling. She's enjoying this way too much. The powerless, the pathetic, given temporary power. It's sad to watch. She has no idea what a puppet she is in all of this.

“Your sister, though. Well, she's not always so well kept, if you know what I mean. I always thought Cohen would make cute kids. Maybe your bitch sister will take after a couple more goes?”

I lunge forward, grabbing KK around the throat. The joint topples out of her mouth and hits the tiled floor beneath our feet. I'm blinded by anger right now. Everything around me is tinted in crimson and violet, a kaleidoscope of fear and frustration coalescing into one frightening surge of rage that I can't seem to control. I smash her head back against the cabinets.

“Where is my fucking sister?” I scream. “You're going to tell me or I'm going to cut off your tits and feed 'em to the dogs.” KK struggles, slapping at my face and hair, grabbing a handful and pulling as hard as she can. I won't let her go though. I can't.
Poppet
. Nothing bad can happen to Poppet. “Where is she?” I'm crying now, tears running like waterfalls down my face. I slam KK's head back against the wood as her bulging eyes pop out even more, and her cheeks turn purple. “Where?” I let go. A gurgle escapes her throat, and she drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Joel is standing up now, naked and fully erect, looking around the room in a daze.

“What's happening?” he asks, but I ignore him, kicking KK in the stomach with my shoe. I'm not like them. I'm not. I can't kill anybody, especially not someone as pathetic as KK. I might make an exception for Tyler or, if KK's telling the truth, Cohen Rose. But not her. She's just a victim of desperation, and the need to belong to something bigger than herself. It'd be like murdering a puppy for piddling on the floor. She hardly knows what she's doing.

“Where. Is. My. Sister?” I ask with gritted teeth. “Last chance, or I cut something off.” I grab a knife from the counter and drop to my knees, snatching one of her hands in mine and pressing the blade against the tip of her finger until she starts talking.

“She's with Mr. Rutledge in his hotel. I don't know which one. He says you can see her tomorrow night after the show.” She's sobbing now, looking over at Joel for help. He doesn't do shit, just walks over and picks up the joint, taking a drag while he watches. He doesn't know what's going on here and doesn't give a fuck. Only person Joel gives a fuck about is himself.

“Did Cohen really touch her?” I ask, deadly serious. I might just take this knife to his balls if I find out that that's true. KK just starts sobbing then, bawling like a baby.

“I don't know,” she groans, body going limp as a rag doll. Her robe really does open up then and I get a horrible flash of ugly tits. “I really don't. All I know is that if you keep doing your job, she'll be safe. That's all he said. He just wants you to spend time with Ronnie McGuire. That's all.” I withdraw the knife and lean back. It's disturbing that she even
has
a knife like this in her hotel room. I can only imagine what it was used for.

“Where is he now?” I whisper, wondering how he's handling this newest set of shit to be flung his way. He's so sad already. Why add more pain to that? How much can one person really take?

“He's in room 615 with Turner Campbell,” Joel says, reaching down a hand to stroke his cock. I don't look away, just keep my glare on him and lift up the knife. His smile fades a bit, and he stops fondling his junk.

I rise to my feet, feeling like I've just picked up a prime mover truck and draped it over my shoulders. The knife goes inside my jacket and a heavy pall rests over my heart. Last night, I felt like a bad guy going rogue. Today, I feel like a good guy being duped.

I've no fucking clue which is worse.

Chapter 13
Ronnie McGuire

The murmur of a contented baby wakes me from my sleep. If I'd been hit by a Mack truck and scraped off the highway, I'd probably feel a lot better than I do now. Last night was … Fucked. A nightmare from hell. One of the worst days of my life. All of the a-fucking-bove. It was one of those moments where a barrel in the mouth sounds like a fine idea.

“You sure you don't want one of these?” I hear Turner whisper. The sound of creaking springs and rustling blankets follows. “A little Campbell-Knox baby would be cute, huh?”

“You're hardly capable of taking care of yourself let alone a kid. Why don't we see how the next few weeks goes, and then maybe we can talk seriously about becoming a couple. If that works, we'll take the next step and so on and so forth. I'm not having your baby right now, so fuck off.” I can practically hear Turner's frown.

“We
are
a couple.”

“We're in consideration.” More creaking springs and the sound of footsteps.

“You told me you loved me.” A pause.

“I was feeling desperate. There was a tornado. Enough said. Now stop simpering and get me that fucking bottle.”