Highway Song: A Smokey's Roadhouse Novel (32 page)

“
Oh, God, yes. Harder, deeper. Fuck me hard, Rex.
”

While she hung on for the ride, I obeyed her every command. Afterward, holding her in my arms, I asked if I
’
d ruined it for her by going too fast.

“
No, how could you think that? I wanted it hard and fast, just like I said,
”
she answered. Her voice was husky. Was she ready to go again already?

“
There wasn
’
t much foreplay,
”
I said, apologetic now that my urgency had been satisfied.

“
I was wet for you, wasn
’
t I?
”
she asked.

“
So wet, sugar. I couldn
’
t help myself.
”

“
Then it was fine.
”

Fine
. That weak word that meant
‘
okay
’
, not
‘
fantastic
’
. I was right
—
I
’
d disappointed her. Intent on doing the right thing, I rolled on my side and began to toy with a rosy nipple. When it drew into a tight little peak, I dipped my head and ran my tongue around it, then sucked it in. I heard her breath catch in her throat. This time, I
’
d tease her into a frenzy before giving her an orgasm. My dick was already showing interest in an encore.

Amy
 

W
hen I peeked out through the cracks of the stage set, the stadium lights were on and the sheer numbers of people overwhelmed me. This stadium must have seating for easily twice what the Seattle stadium had. And very few were empty. An uncharacteristic panic took hold of me, and I ran to Rex.

“
I don
’
t know if I can do this!
”

“
You can do it. Take some deep breaths. You
’
ll get used to it.
”
His hands steadied me as I huddled close to him.
“
Amy, look at me.
”
I looked up to find his warm gaze.
“
You
’
ll be fine. Don
’
t look out there if it makes you uncomfortable. The lights will go out when we
’
re onstage, and you won
’
t be able to see all of them. Forget they
’
re there
—
focus on just the few you can see, as if we were in a bar, and you
’
ll relax and have fun.
”

I took the deep breaths he recommended and focused on him instead of the crowd when we took the stage. I didn
’
t think about the tabloids that would later speculate on our relationship. After the third song, I had loosened up and was having a great time because the crowd obviously enjoyed it. We
’
d worked so hard with the label
’
s resources, which included professional songwriters who helped polish Rex
’
s originals. They also helped find ways to include my voice to best advantage in each song, without taking away my folk rock influence.

I felt vindicated for my original suggestion to the band, way back in Wyoming all those months ago, that our sounds would create a fusion that fans of both would love. Obviously, they did. I had a feeling we wouldn
’
t be needing the bus after this. This was what it was like to be a star
—
an outpouring of love and even a little hysteria from fans, the best of everything supplied by the label, and the ability to live in the moment, with no doubts or fears. I was on top of the world.

I was also hot with desire for Rex. The fans weren
’
t the only ones who went crazy for the shirtless rocker in a leather vest and tight jeans. The other guys looked good, too, I had to admit. But Rex was the one who
’
d had my eye from the beginning. Now he had my heart.

He looked good enough to eat, and I was hungry for a serving of that, even when I
’
d had my fill just last night. Coming from a past that seemed designed to kill all enjoyment of sex, I couldn
’
t believe that an almost unbelievable stroke of luck had put the one person in my path I could trust enough to let go with and allow myself to savor sensuality.

We played for two hours without a break, and then the schedule called for an intermission. Backstage, we were all giddy with a myriad of emotions. Joy in performing for such a large audience, ecstasy that they seemed to love us, with thundering applause and standing ovations for every number, and many feelings I couldn
’
t even name kept us keyed up. We milled around, too excited to sit and rest as the intermission had been designed to allow. Cold beer and water awaited us. I guzzled an entire bottle of water without stopping.

After a few minutes, a few VIP guests were allowed in to congratulate us and have pictures taken with us. This too was a heady experience. No one had ever treated us like stars before. I took a moment when no one was demanding my attention to glance in Rex
’
s direction.

He was reveling in it, or appeared to be. A couple of beautiful women had him sandwiched between them for a photo, one with her hand splayed on his chest under the open vest. Even though he smiled for the camera, on closer inspection I could tell from the tension in his body that he was furious at the familiarity.

Who was she, anyway? If I could be certain she wasn
’
t someone we needed on our side, I could rescue him from something that was clearly uncomfortable for him. I wasn
’
t certain, though, and didn
’
t know whether something I did could ruin our growing careers or not. So there he was, seething with fury, and here I was, burning with jealousy. It was a damper on our fun, so I couldn
’
t wait to get back on stage for our second set. Maybe the bitch would be gone when we were finished.

Soon it was time to do just that, and again I was able to lose myself in the moment. We did two more hours and then ended the night with
“
Freebird.
”
But, of course, they wanted encores. After two, the stadium lights came on and that was that.

We were trying to help and getting in the way of the stage crew when one of the people from the label who
’
d been sent to babysit us grasped my arm. Stunned, I looked at his hand on me and then at his angry face. What the fuck?

“
Rex,
”
I called. He hurried to my side and questioned the man who still held me fast with an angry glare.

“
What are you doing? Let go of her,
”
he said. Just then, two men in dark suits stepped into view.

“
Amanda Bruno, you are under arrest for the murder of Frank Magruder.
”

Before everything went dark, I saw Rex
’
s stunned expression. They
’
d called me by name.
Oh, shit
. And that
’
s all I knew until I woke up in a jail cell.

Rex

W
hen I saw Amy
’
s predicament, with a large, angry man grasping her upper arm, my first thought was to get to her. I
’
d seen the jerk around, so at least he wasn
’
t one of the cartel she
’
d been running from. Or hopefully he wasn
’
t. I yelled at the guy, but I hadn
’
t made it to her through the crew and the mess on the stage floor before two guys that looked like badly-cast extras playing FBI agents stepped between us.

“
Amanda Bruno, you
’
re under arrest for the murder of Frank Magruder.
”

The words stopped me cold. Amanda Bruno? That was her name? Familiarity crashed into certain knowledge. Amanda Bruno was the name of the child who
’
d been my stepsister for two years, until I had to take Mom away from Amanda
’
s father before he killed her. But this couldn
’
t be
that
Amanda Bruno, could it? The woman I
’
d fallen in love with was my stepsister? No, it wasn
’
t possible.

The thoughts raced through my head in a matter of a second or two, but then Amy collapsed, and three sets of hands that weren
’
t mine were all over the woman I loved. I roared.

“
Get your fucking hands off her and let her breathe!
”
I lunged for the Perseid minder who
’
d grabbed her first and swung at him. He turned loose of Amy
’
s arm and dodged my punch, but at the same time, he gave the security team a signal and suddenly two men grabbed me by either arm. As I fought to free myself to go to Amy, I noticed Axel and Cole trying to get free from other security agents to come to my aid. Chad and Jimmy hung back.

I stopped struggling when the two FBI-types lowered Amy gently to the floor and called for a medic. A few minutes later, she was placed on a stretcher with her hands cuffed in front of her and a bad suit walking on either side.

“
Wait,
”
I called.
“
Where are you taking her? When can I see her to make sure she
’
s okay?
”

“
We
’
ll have her checked out at the nearest emergency room. Then we
’
re taking her to county lockup until she can be transferred to Texas on the murder warrant. Your best bet to see her is to get her a lawyer,
”
said one of the men, who flashed a genuine-looking FBI badge at me.

I shook off the restraining hands and sat down on the stage floor, unable to process everything at once. Amy murdered her friend Frank? No, that couldn
’
t be right. And her name wasn
’
t Amy, it was Amanda. Amanda
Bruno.
Well, it made a weird kind of sense. Bruno, Brown. Amanda, Amy. I could see it. Why hadn
’
t she ever told me her real name? We were a couple.

The explanation came to me in a cloud of disbelief. She
was
my stepsister Amanda, whom I hadn
’
t seen since she was ten years old. Had she known who I was?

Little flashes of memory came to me. Times when something had seemed familiar, but I couldn
’
t place why. Her reluctance to tell me her name. My God, the coincidence of where we
’
d grown up and the story of her abusive dad meshing with my mom
’
s ex-husband. There was no coincidence here, except in how we met again. She had to have known.