Hard Rock Roots Box Set (79 page)

“Back at the hotel, I guess. That stupid cock sucking scrag, KK, doesn't tell me anything more than she has to. At some point, she'll come find me. All I can hope is that I didn't blow everything to shit tonight.” Naomi laughs and shakes her head.

“Not just you,” she says, and we all look at Turner. He raises his hands up in the air.

“I never said the fucker's name.”

“You could've compromised everything,” I tell him, keeping my voice low. Now we play another waiting game. First step, getting out of here without getting mauled. Or raped by fangirls. I shudder.

“Alright, up and at 'em,” Milo says, directing us like cattle with his hands. “I want everyone in a group right here. We need to make this quick. We don't have the space to pull in a second van, so everyone's riding together.” I grab Lola's hand and haul her to her feet. We're all dragging from the show, shuffling into place in front of the doors. I'd love to have a fucking hit right now. I had no idea how much I relied on outside forces to keep me going when inside, I was barren and empty. I'm having to build up an immunity to
life
for fuck's sake. That's pretty pathetic.

But at least there's Lola. She grabs onto my arm and rests her head against my shoulder while we wait for Milo to give us the all clear next to the white doors. Security guards flank us on either side and in front, ready for this group of fans to morph into something else, to become so entangled in the
us
that they forget the
me
, forget that they even have a voice to begin with. One bad apple can spoil the whole bunch. How fucking sad is that?

One of the officers gets a call on his radio, and Milo nods.

“Okay, go ahead,” he says, giving Turner an extra special glare. “But be careful. No autographs, especially on people's body parts.” He turns his look on Treyjan, too. Lola squeezes my arm in nervous anticipation. Being famous really isn't all it's cracked up to be. Pain is so personal and such a big part of life. But sometimes, people want to be alone to process their hurt, sort out their emotions. Where we're at in our careers, that might not be a possibility for much longer. “No fooling around. Just get right into the van and buckle up. We're getting out of here sooner rather than later. Is that understood?”

“Yes, mother,” Trey says with a roll of his eyes, stopping only because he doesn't see Turner doing the same. Milo nods, and the doors come open, spilling sound into our already fragile ears. I keep my right arm tight around Lola's waist and guide her out. The temporary fences on either side of us seem to be doing their job, at least for now. I have no fucking clue how much this shit must all cost, but we have a damn army now. Not just security officers, but police, too. Not sure if they're here because of the murders or just as simple crowd control, but I'm glad to see 'em.

“Remind me to write a book about this one day,” Lola says, clinging close to my side. I wonder if she's thinking about the other members of Ice and Glass who are only a part of this group in the same way a tumor's a part of a human body. Eating away at the insides, carving out a space for itself where it doesn't belong. “Might actually sell a copy or two of something as fucked up as this.” Her voice is almost drowned out in the screaming, the shouted endearments, the buzz of a good mystery.
Thanks a lot, Turner. You stupid fucking asswad. Now the whole world knows. The whole damn world.

I look around at the fans, the signs with our names scrawled across them. The shades keep the colors around me muted, blur the flash of lights and cameras. Turner and Naomi lead the pack, walking side by side down the narrow alley that's been carved out for us. Lola feels perfect by my side, like she was designed to fit under my arm. Small, fierce, and perfect. The air might be buzzing with danger, and the stakes might be higher than a tweaker on the pipe, but I feel good. Optimistic. Bad shit's happened, but it always does. We'll get through this, all of us together. Just one big, fucked up happy friggin' family. And Lola and I, well, we'll see where that goes. I have high hopes, I'll tell you that much.

The doors to the van slide open in front of us, and a second later, there's a sound, like a shot being fired. A single explosive noise that slices right through the groaning mob, cuts straight into my brain and literally splatters my face with blood.

People start screaming, dropping to the ground. I fall with them, hitting the concrete, desperately clawing at my eyes, wiping the blood away so I can see. So I can see who got shot. The only people around me are my friends, my family.
Turner, Naomi, Lola, Trey, Jesse, Josh.
Who got shot? Who? Who?

In the midst of the writhing insanity and the blood, Tyler Rutledge checks a name off his list.

Chapter 1
Naomi Knox

There is blood fucking everywhere.
Everywhere.
I mean come the fuck on. It's dripping between my breasts, stuck in my ears, crusted in my hair. In my lap lies a white towel stained red. It's not enough to get all of this … this
stuff
off of me. Because it's not just blood. There are … other bits. Pieces of Turner's friend all the fuck over me.

I lean my head back and stare up at the ceiling.

Glug, glug, glug.

A water fountain starts up down the hallway. I turn my head to look and startle a man in scrubs who's staring at me like I'm either the most beautiful or the most horrifying thing he's ever seen. I've gotten both tonight. I throw him the bird and kiss the tip of my finger while he scurries away, sliding down the hall and around the corner before he gets in trouble with one of the security officers or cops standing nearby. Oh, yeah. We're in big time lockdown now. Big time.

The sound of a gunshot, the feeling of wetness behind me, screaming, the fences caving inward.

I shut my eyes tight, squeeze them so hard they hurt.

“Ugh.” I drop my chin back down and stare at Lola Saints sitting across from me.
The enemy,
my mind hisses. But that's not true, not anymore. She told us everything she knows which is a hell of a lot more than we had before. Not that it stopped what happened tonight. Who woulda thunk? Who the fuck would've, huh? The cops asked so many stupid ass questions, but I get the gist – they don't know who did it. Not some random shooter in the crowd, that's for sure. This was a planned hit from on high. Oh yeah, a professional job. That's great, just fucking fan-flipping-tastic.

I swallow hard and wait for Turner and Milo to come back. What else can we do? Can't go back to
that
hotel – too many reporters there now. Honestly, this is one of those moments in life where a barrel in the mouth sounds like a good idea.
Or a hit in the bathroom.
But I don't have any drugs with me. If Kash or Wren did, then I'm sure they've already used them. I glare at them snoozing in the chairs across from me. I only
wish
I could sleep. But I can't. Not knowing if Turner's best friend is …

“I'm sorry,” Lola whispers, her voice so soft I can barely hear it over the scuffle in the hallways. I don't say anything, just sit there and stare at her, dark hair falling over her face, skin pale as crack. Her lips are trembling slightly and her hands are falling over one another like they're trying to climb a ladder to nowhere. “I'm such a … ” She pauses, takes a deep breath. Her blue eyes bore into mine like ice. She leans forward and whispers to me, like she's afraid Dax might hear her. Far as I can tell, he's also asleep. “Such a bloody fuckface.” She runs her fingers through her hair and drops her elbows to her knees. I watch as the pair of guitar earrings she's wearing swing forward and sparkle under the parking lights from outside. The ones in the waiting area are dimmed, presumably to try and keep us all calm. Though how calm anyone could be after what just happened is beyond me.

I lift a hand to my face and see that it's shaking. I think I'm in shock.

Dropping to the ground, crawling forward, Turner screaming.

I have to resist clamping my hands over my ears to block out the sounds. I'll never tell a soul, but the only thing I want to do right now is take Turner in my arms and hold him tight, brush his hair back and tell him it'll be alright. Don't believe me? You should've seen his face when he saw Trey.

“I really believed you and Turner were the only targets scheduled for … you know.” Lola sits back and sniffs, glancing around the room like she expects to see some of the members from Ice and Glass come around the corner. But they all left on the first bus, with Burning the Bleeding and Terre Haute. Little Lola here just happened to be onstage pounding the shit out of her kit with me and Turner and the rest of the fucking gang.
Damn you, Turner. Why did you have to open your big mouth?
“I'm such an idiot.”

I try not to get too angry with him. He is, after all, paying the ultimate price for his words. Then again, we have no way of knowing this
wasn't
pre-planned. The hit may have already been set to go
before
the show even started. In fact, the more I think about it, the more sense that makes. How easy is it to get a hit man up in a nearby building with an hour's notice? Not all that fucking easy would be my opinion.

“And now all I can think about is Poppet,” she says, slumping in her chair, fingering the edges of her skirt with nervous hands. “Fuck me swinging. God, Poppet, I hope you're alright. Please be alright. Please, please, please be alright.”

“This is fucking bullshit!”

Turner.

I stand up so quick, I startle Dax from his sleep.

“You can't do this to me!” Turner storms out of an office with his hands in the air, moving past a pair of security guards. As soon as he gets out of range of them, he swipes his hand across a metal cart, knocking various instruments to the floor. “You can't fucking keep me from seeing him. He's my best friend.” Turner slams his palm against his chest and there, in the corners of his eyes, I see the tiniest flicker of tears. “He's my best Goddamn friend.”

Milo comes out after Turner and puts a hand on his shoulder, patting him gently. The other members of Indecency file out, all except for Josh who's off somewhere with Hayden and Blair, getting checked for minor injuries. Fuck, we're all lucky we didn't get killed. The crowds nearly crushed us. If it wasn't for the bodyguards, the fencing, the van, we may have been trampled to death.

Ronnie slumps back against the wall, face a lot cleaner than it was when I last saw it. He was covered in blood, just drenched in it. His eyes though, God. I look over at Lola and see that she's shaking twice as hard as she was before. I can tell she wants to go to him, but doesn't know their boundaries as a … couple or whatever. I tuck my own hair behind my ear and try not to think about that either. Instead, I just watch as Jesse walks slowly towards us, swaying a bit on his feet. He's not crying now, but he was; they all were. The sobbing of those boys pierced through my head. It keeps playing on a continuous loop in my brain, drowning out everything else. They really, truly fucking love that guy. It's hard for me to comprehend since I've never had a family like that, but Indecency – at least the four original members – really do care about each other. Kind of surprising for such loser drug addict, womanizing fuckwads.

I feel water stinging my eyes and look away.
Poor Turner. Poor fucking Turner. Turner fucking Campbell.
I look back over at him and stay where I am, feet twitching to step off this carpeted area, clack across the linoleum floor, so I can throw my arms around him.

“I want to see Treyjan. He doesn't have any fucking family left. He grew up three trailers down from me.” Turner points his arm down the hall and swallows hard. His jaw is clenched tight and the muscles in his arms are quivering. “Except for his piece of shit stripper sister, there's nobody. Come the fuck on.” I watch in tense anticipation. Turner looks like he's about
this
close to taking off down the hallway and trying to find his friend, whether they like it or not. Whatever the doctor says, I can't hear, but Turner spins away, putting his head in his hands and storming down the hall towards me. My skin starts to prickle and my throat goes dry. I can
feel
his pain thrumming through my body, can still hear his voice as he scrambled to his knees and crawled over to his friend's broken body.

Trey got shot. Trey got shot. Trey got shot.

Turner repeated himself over and over again as he held his hands over his friend's bullet wound. I want to hate him, but I can't. Especially not right now.

When he gets closer to me, I take a step back. The energy crackling between us is so strong it almost hurts, like a really bad case of static. I touch my hands to my jeans, rubbing my palms across the denim. He's still looking at the floor, focusing on the space where the shiny white linoleum becomes dull blue carpeting. Like me, he's got blood crusted on the back of his neck, his shirt, his hair. I can't even
believe
that Trey is still alive. Obviously, that was not the intention of the shooter. Somebody is going to be pissed when they find out. Well, if he makes it. There's still a chance he could die.