Real Ugly (21 page)

Turner stops only when we're cloaked in shadows, hidden from the lights of the venue by a windowless stone wall. His fingers relax, and then his phone's in my face.

“Naomi,” he says as I snatch it away from him, examining his wide eyes and sallow skin. I don't know what he's been doing all night, but sleeping certainly isn't it. And he's wearing the same pants he had on yesterday. Different shirt though. Probably since I ended up stealing his. I tap my fingers on the side of the phone and wonder what happened to my underwear. If they end up on eBay, I swear to God, I'll kill him.

“What is your fucking problem?” I ask him, switching my gaze to the screen and the picture that's already pulled up and ready for my viewing pleasure. My heart starts to pump and dizziness sweeps over me, making me stumble. Turner catches me, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Dax watching us. I keep the phone tucked tight against my chest. “Where did you get this?” I sound breathless, desperate. Afraid. And I don't like to sound that way. It isn't in my nature.

I look down again, examine the picture.

There I am with the scissors in my hand, pale fingers clenched tight around the metal. In this particular still, the pointed blades are half buried in Mrs. Rhineback's miserable throat. Blood is just starting to spill from her neck to join her husband's. Oh, how fun.

“A video followed shortly thereafter,” Turner says, lighting up a joint. I steal it from him before he has a chance to smoke it and purse my lips around it. Wow. Just wow. Thanks a lot, Katie. I look up and let my eyes scan the darkness around us. She could be anywhere and that scares the shit out of me. She was never dangerous before, but people change. I have no idea what she's capable of. I mean, that baby head thing? That was just cruel.

My breath is coming in short, sharp gasps and my chest feels so tight that I'm afraid my ribs might just open up and let out my heart. As I drop Turner's phone to the ground, I notice that the lower half of his shirt is covered in blood. His swollen lip and nose explain the source but not the cause. I smash the heel of my boot into the screen and pull the joint from my mouth with one hand, gesturing casually, as if Turner didn't just discover the fact that I'm a murderer – one who got away with it.

“What happened to you?” I ask, noticing that my voice is still strained and weak. I'm not fooling anybody. I crush the phone into a pulp and Turner doesn't stop me. Instead, he steals his joint back and smokes it.

“Doesn't matter,” he says, and I notice that his voice is just as weak as mine, so light that it nearly gets stolen away by a gust of dry wind that sweeps in and tangles my hair around my face. “The question is, what the fuck happened to you?” I look up at his eyes and notice that they're not judgmental. Nervous, maybe, but that's about it. And he hasn't called the cops. At least I don't think so. They're not here now anyway.

“Who sent this?” I ask, realizing too late that I just destroyed any chance I might've had of tracking the message.

“Blocked number,” he replies, shaking his head. “Which is fucking weird because there are, like, five people on this fucking earth that know mine.” He takes another drag and hands the joint back to me. I stare at the strong lines of his face, the perfect jaw, the sloe-eyed gaze. Turner is one of those people that was born to be famous. He just oozes confidence, a natural born leader. I wonder when he's going to get it together and focus all of that intensity and that passion on one woman. God help her when that happens. Once he locks on, I doubt he'll ever let go.

“You tell anybody?” Turner laughs and then leans forward, putting his arm out and pressing his palm against the wall. I take a small step back, so we're not so close. I can still feel his sweaty body against me, still feel his hips grinding against mine. I look him in the face, meet his eyes unflinching. I just got free of Hayden, no way I'm going to become anybody else's bitch, especially not Turner's.

“You really had to ask?” he says and then he just stops, lets go, steps back. He puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head. “God, I knew I smelled another secret. You got anymore I should know about?” I watch him carefully, trying to judge his mood, his intent. What's he going to do with this new information? How is he going to abuse it?

“That's the last one,” I admit, trying to be as honest as possible. He nods like he believes me and rubs his hand over his stubbly jaw. His dark hair is mussy and unkempt, tangled and just a tad greasy. He's not so perfect right now, not his usual decorated self. And it's turning me on. Even through all of this shit, my pussy starts to pulse and I get soaked.

I bend down and start to scoop the bits of phone into my palm. No way I'm leaving them here for somebody to find. Even broken, they could still have information I don't want getting out. I'll burn them or something later.

“So what happened?” he asks again, bending down to help me, taking the joint back and trying to smirk at me. It falls flat. Turner's inked up fingers come out and brush against mine accidentally, sending chills down my spine.

“Well, to make a long story short,” I begin, wondering when the demands are going to start trickling in. I wonder if he'll ask me to fuck him to buy his silence. I'm not a whore, so that'll never fucking happen. I try to come up with something I can offer, something that won't put me in the same position as I was with Hayden, where she had the upper hand always. “I … ” Turner interrupts me.

“No, I don't want the abridged version.” I hold open my palm and he drops the cracked bits of plastic into it. “Tell me everything.” I roll my eyes as we stand up together, surreptitiously checking for any signs of Katie. She could just pop out at any moment and fuck me hard. Not that she isn't trying her best from afar. That is, if it's even her. I just kind of assumed it was, but you never know.

“Why?” I snap, forgetting for just a second that he has my freedom in his hands right now. I look down at the long fingers, at the cluster of stars, the paw prints. Doubt there's any rhyme or reason to the designs. After all, he'd fucking
forgotten
about my name on his back. I start back across the parking lot, but Turner grabs me around the arm and pieces of phone fly everywhere as he spins me in a tight circle and pulls me into his arms.

His hands dig into my back, rumpling my shirt, squeezing me hard, and his lips find mine, pressing, tongue sliding deep into me while his stud teases the sensitive flesh on the roof of my mouth. My entire body explodes into a million parts, comes back together and lights up the night sky with lust. I kiss him back fiercely, wildly, grabbing Turner's hair and tugging so hard that he groans into my mouth.

And then I shove him back violently, stumbling and falling to my knees as I scramble to recover as much of the phone as possible.

“What the hell was that for?” I growl at him, feeling strange. I can't put my finger on it, but something isn't right. I can't tell yet whether that's a good or a bad thing. Turner doesn't bend down to help me this time, but I can feel his eyes boring into my back. “If you think you can control me now … ” Turner laughs at me, and the sound isn't entirely unpleasant.

“Oh, please,” he tells me, smoking his joint and watching as I stand up and glare at him. He seems a lot calmer now, a lot less nervous. I realize then that I do, too. Much better. I look away and focus on the car near the exit. It's still there, waiting. I wonder if I should go over there. “Is that even a possibility?”

“So what do you want? Obviously, I need you to keep your mouth shut about this.” I squeeze the broken pieces so hard that I draw blood into my palm, turning my gaze back to Turner again.

“Let me lay it out for you,” he begins, running his fingers through his hair and cringing like he can't believe how dirty it is. “I won't tell your secret if you don't, how's that?” I stare at him like he's crazy.

“Come again?” Turner steps forward, and I step back. Car lights flicker across his face, and when I turn, the car is pulling away. Strange. Turner grabs my chin and forces my gaze back to his. I come
this
close to punching him in the jaw again.

“I won't tell anybody what I saw,” he says and then pauses like he's just thought of something. My throat gets tight. “But I want you to do one thing for me.” My lip curls in disgust. If he asks me to suck his cock … “Forget that promise we made.” I blink rapidly, confused.

“Promise?” Turner releases my chin and brushes some hair off my forehead.

“About being done with each other, not seeing each other. I changed my mind about that.”

“I see.” He grins and drops his hand, looking for all the world like a fucking devil again.

“And I want your story, all of it. From birth to death, or at least as close to it as you can get.” He pauses again and rubs at his split lip with the back of his hand. “And I need to know all about
that
night, everything we did, everything I said.”

“You're fucking nuts,” I tell him, but I know I'll do it. I tell myself that it's just so he'll keep his big, fat mouth shut, but in actuality I'm just keeping another secret from myself.

Naomi Knox is a murderer.

The thought doesn't bother me as much as it should. I get the feeling that the people in the video had it coming and try not to delve too deep into that line of thinking. She'll tell me about it. I can tell from her body language that she's already accepted that she has to spill her guts for me. If I find out they molested her though, I might go ballistic. Any man that thinks he can take a woman without her will disgusts me. Pathetic.

I trail behind Naomi and finish my joint, ending up standing in awkward silence next to her drummer friend while he glares at me, and she stashes the phone bits somewhere in the back of the bus. I do my best to ignore him, pretty fucking sure that if something starts between us, it's gonna end up ugly.

I take deep breaths to calm my nerves and try to bring myself down from the nervous high I've been on all night. That video seriously screwed with my head. I mean, I admit to myself how I feel about this chick and then I get railroaded with crap like that? What a load of bull. Whoever sent it had some pretty fucked up intentions in mind. I point at the fridge and keep my eyes off that emo dude's face and on Naomi's ass as she bends down and messes with something under her bunk.

“I'm gonna grab a beer.” I reach for the fridge door and yank it open, grabbing a couple cans and tossing one to Knox when she starts back this way. She catches it in her hand and then drops it in her purse, pausing next to me to reopen the fridge. She grabs a six pack and then gestures at me to follow her outside again, past groups of loitering people, trailers, buses, until we end up sitting on the curb as far from the action as humanly possible.

Behind us, the highway flashes with lights and rumbling engines, busy and getting busier. In the distance, I can see the sun rising up from behind the mountains. I pop the top on my can and swig it.

“I'm going to be blunt with you, okay?” she says, and I shrug.

“Haven't seen you as anything but,” I tell her as I study her face and wonder when she'll figure out that I'm after her, for keeps this time. A smirk curls my lip, but I force it back. I can't let her know that I've come to this abrupt decision. She'll think I'm fucking nuts.
I
think I'm fucking nuts. Everybody does. But shit, when the heart wants something, it'll do anything to get it, and right now, mine's in a fucking frenzy.

“Well, I was born, put up for adoption, adopted.” She puts her beer to her lips, and I watch as her throat works, swallowing the alcohol down like it's water. When she's finished, she takes a deep breath and crumples the can, tossing it into her purse and starting in on a second. I rush to catch up. Turner Campbell doesn't get drunk under the table. Nuh uh. “My adoptive parents were killed in a car accident when I was seven.” She smiles tightly at me. “Am I going too fast for you?” I lick my lips and lean in close.

“You go as fast as you want, baby.” My fingers trace down her upper arm, and she shivers. “But when you're finished, I might have you go back for all the little details.” I smile, and Naomi curls her lip at me. She acts like we never fucked, and it annoys the shit out of me. I wonder if she's doing it on purpose. She can't lie to me though. No matter how she acts, what she says, what she does, I saw her eyes wet. Thinking back, I figure she probably thought I meant something else. But all that dryness there was lit up for a brief second. I do my best to keep the smirk off my face.

“I want to know why you give a shit all of a sudden, why you care to know all those little details. What do you want from me, Turner?” I lean back with a sigh and put my arms out behind me.

“Okay, so they died and then what?” I ignore her question.

“Then I'm no different from every other troubled foster brat. I was bounced from place to place, ended up with a family who liked to fuck their own daughter, starve her, and beat her unconscious. When they came for me, I got rid of them. And then I went searching for you, found you, and left with an even bigger problem. I got an abortion and then I moved around the country for awhile.” Naomi pauses and shakes her head hard, like she just wants to forget everything that ever happened to her. “I ended up back in Tulsa which was either a curse or a blessing, haven't decided which yet.” She stops again to narrow her eyes. “Hayden and I formed Amatory Riot and then I ended up here. Any questions?”