Tough Luck (Hard Rock Roots) (16 page)

“Phone.” Trey appears beside me, holding up my cell. With a sigh, I take it in my hand and press it up to my ear, trying to drown out the desperate animal sounds from the audience. They're thirsty for blood, like tattooed little vampires.
Suck, suck, suck the lifeblood.

“Milo, how's Lydia?” I ask because I figure that's the only person who'd be calling right now. There are maybe a dozen or so people in this world that have my number, and five of them are standing right here in this room with me.

“Ronnie.” It's fucking Lola. I blink in surprise. I'm not sure I'd be any less shocked if I got a dildo shoved up my asshole.
How did she get my number?
“I need to tell you something. I … It's not the same thing I was going to tell you earlier. Things changed. They … happened sooner than I thought.”

“I'm not sure what you're talking about,” I tell her, suddenly worried about the detached tone in her voice, like she's trying to separate herself from something. I recognize the sound because I'm a fucking expert at it. Been doin' it for years. “But you tell me what you need to tell me, doll face, and I'll listen.” Silence on the other end of the line. I shift nervously, biting back a groan when the fabric of my boxers scrapes across my dick. I hear Lola breathing into the line, but she takes her sweet time responding.

“You see that staircase in the back corner of the room? There's a chain across it. Just step over it and come up. There's a bodyguard at the top. Show 'im your badge and come into the parking garage.” I hesitate for a second. I like Lola, I do. I … feel like there's a possibility for more, and I've
never
even considered that with a single other person besides Asuka, not even with my babies' mothers. But I'm also not an idiot.

“The fans'll eat me alive,” I tell her, and she laughs, her throaty chuckle traveling straight through the line and down to my crotch. If I don't get to feel her body clamping around mine, spasming in the throes of a fucking orgasm, I'll probably go crazy. Ideally, I can imagine sliding into her bare and wet, flesh to flesh, feeling her silken pussy against me. But unlike my friends, I
have
caught things before, nothing that wasn't curable, but there it is. Now you fucking know. I think I'm clean now, but I wouldn't risk that with Lola. Probably the first time in years I've even
thought
about STDs. A person has to give a few fucks about themselves to care about that.
I should get tested.

“Nobody up here. It's locked from the outside. Not really supposed to be in here, but we're fuckin' rock stars, right?” She laughs again, and I realize with a start that I'm already moving forward. If Lola's out to get me, I'm probably screwed six ways to friggin' Sunday. The key card incident crosses my mind again. Why'd she want to see me so bad? For that matter, why'd she even start talking to me in the first place? Was it really about Cohen? Guess I won't know unless she decides to tell me. “Should have some perks, right?” she asks, and I smile. I pause next to the chain and look around. It's so chaotic in here that it's hard to really pay attention to a single person. I wait till nobody's looking directly at me and step over it, climbing the stairs as quick as I can and pausing at the top.

The guard that's there is staring at me with a blank expression. He doesn't seem particularly surprised.
Must look like we're up something naughty.
I keep smiling and move forward, pausing next to him. I recognize this guy. He always gets me good weed when I ask. I don't say a word, just dig around in my back pocket for some cash and hand it to him. Bless his fuckin' heart, he even opens the door for me.

I step inside and pause as the metal door slams shut behind me, locking automatically. Wonder if I should be concerned that it requires a key card to open it?

“Ronnie.” I hear the voice double, one on the phone, the other a few paces to my right. I hang up and tuck my cell away. When I turn to Lola, I see that her face is stained with tears. Immediately, I make the assumption that it's got something to do with Cohen. I have no idea why that is. I'm feeling irrationally protective of this girl, like she already belongs to me. “I'm so sorry, Ronnie,” she says, stumbling forward. I catch her before her knees can hit the pavement and pull her up against my chest. She's obviously had some to drink, but I don't think she's actually drunk, just buzzed. And upset. Hopefully not hurt or I'll have to destroy some more faces. The strength of emotion I'm feeling makes me feel like I'm on an acid trip or something. This can't possibly be real.

“What happened?” I ask her, closing my eyes and relishing the way her body fits against mine. She's round and soft in all the places I'm not, and her figure just molds around mine like it's meant to be there. I get a fucking head rush from that, and my vision gets all cloudy, little spots of color dancing in front of my eyes. I haven't held a girl like this in forever. It feels nice, so nice. Like I'm the one that's protecting her. It's a big change from my usual routine where my friends are tiptoeing around me like I'm made of glass, shielding me from not only the world, but my own emotions. “Did he hit you?” I whisper against her hair. I can practically taste her shampoo the scent's so strong.

“Cohen?” she asks with a small laugh. Lola leans back and puts her hands on my chest, touching the sweaty, dirty fabric of my shirt with gentle fingertips. She has a small nose and a tiny piercing in her right nostril that's only visible when the parking lights catch on it and reflect back. It's fucking cute. Yeah, I said it. Cute. Lola Saints is short and feisty with big tits and an even bigger personality. Her accent makes me want to cream my damn pants, and her body is friggin' killer. What more do I even need? Screw getting to know her. I should just slip a ring on her finger while I have the chance. We can get to know each other later. I know better than anyone what happens if you wait around for good things to happen. Sometimes bad ones come along first. I should've married Asuka the day she turned eighteen. Then her twat-waffle parents wouldn't have been able to take her body away, horde her ashes like the trolls they are. I could've had a piece of her. Instead, I got nothing. I don't tell any of this to Lola. Even I have the mental capacity left to tell that I sound like an irrational nut job with more screws loose than Jeffrey Goddamn Dahmer.

“Cohen could barely stand up, could hardly sing,” she says, startling me out of my thoughts. Lola smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. “Used the same stool Turner Campbell took on stage.” She winks at me and pulls away. Reluctantly, I let her go. “This isn't about him, not exactly.” She wipes at her eyes and shrugs her jacket off, tossing it onto the roof of a silver Mercedes.

I reach my hands into my jeans and adjust my junk. Can't help it. I'm so horny, I can hardly see straight. Seeing the sleek curve of her back, the art that adorns her body like the world's finest gallery … I shiver. Logical thought is getting harder and harder to come by.

Lola turns around and slides onto the hood of the car, hooking her heels on the bumper and leaning back. Miraculously, there's no car alarm, and the garage remains silent. I can, however, hear the fans surging outside on the ground floor. No doubt Milo's planned to pick us up in here. I wonder why we haven't been loaded up yet?

“So, listen Ronnie. This is really hard for me to explain, but it's gotta be done before it happens again.” I move up beside Lola, running a hand over the hole in the knee of her jeans. I don't miss the goose bumps that spring up on her arms as I pause in front of her, right between her legs. The position is achingly familiar, reminding us both of this morning. I touch my fingers to her thighs, sliding them up the torn denim until I find an opening near her sweet spot. “Ronnie, don't,” she says, but she doesn't stop me when I slip my fingers under the fabric and move them forward until I hit hot wetness. I run my fingertips down Lola's pussy, searching for her opening. “I have to tell you,” she says, but her voice is so breathy, I can hardly make out the words. I push inside her with my hand, enjoying the look on her face, the switch from melancholy to euphoria.
Oh, baby, yes.

“Tell me then,” I whisper, moving slow, enjoying the feeling of her body raw and sopping friggin' wet. Lola's lips part, but no words come out, just a moan, a purr, like a little kitty cat. “Tell me whatever it is, so I can make things right. Remember, I owe you one from this morning.” I reach out with my other hand snap the
Mrs. Ronnie McGuire
bracelet against her skin. Lola's mouth works, but she still can't seem to get anything out. Two tiny tears prick the corners of her eyes but don't fall. I mistake them for sexual frustration. “Say it.”

“Ronnie,” she says as I pull my fingers out and use her own juices as lube, running them up, straight to the magic fuckin' gumdrop. I might be a deadbeat sack of crap with a lone talent for drumming, but I know how to spell the word orgasm:
c-l-i-t-o-r-i-s.
“Ronnie,” a whispered moan, a snippet of pleasure dragged from the throat of a fucking Goddess. “I'm sorry.”

I can't speak the words Ronnie needs to hear. I just can't. I've already failed, so what's the point? His hand feels so good, good enough to make me forget.
Shannon is already dead.
I got a text just minutes after I brought the sleeping beauty back to life.

Deed's done. Make sure he finds out tonight.

I was too caught up in moral debate with myself to take action, and now it's over. Shannon Capone is dead and her body is en route to the hotel. With the baby, with that tiny baby. I didn't fail just her though. Or even her mother. I failed Ronnie and myself. I'm irredeemable now.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper to Ronnie, hoping he'll forgive me, wishing I'd made my decision in time. I could've saved lives and changed fate, but now I'm just here, riding a wave of lies and dirty promises all for the sake of what? For fame? Money? What do those things mean without dignity, and now, I have none. “I'm so sorry.”

“What for, I have no fucking clue,” Ronnie tells me, massaging my clit with one hand, using the other to undo my pants. My body has no clue that there's a moral dilemma going on, that my soul is eternally damned to Hell. All it cares about is the way my pussy feels when he touches me, how good it is to open up, let him in. “But I accept your apology anyway.” His words cut me straight through and bring a gasp to my lips.
Fuck a muff, Lola Saints, you really are worthless. You shoulda stayed in Queensland and got yourself married off to the first random bloke that came along, had a few kids, and stayed the fuck out of everyone else's way. You're like poison.
I really regret not finishing off my bottle of vodka. I want to get drunk, so drunk I can't remember where or who I am, and then I want to pass out and sleep it off. When I wake up, Ronnie will know. He'll have two kids and there'll be two bodies, and he will be lucky as shit
not
to get blamed for all this. I thought Naomi's punishments were bad, or Turner's, but Ronnie might just have it the worst of the whole group.
Why am I doing this? Why is
he
doing this?
Fuck Tyler Rutledge. I might just kill him if I ever see him again.

I slide my arms around Ronnie's neck, playing with his feathery black hair, touching his snake tats. They suit him so well, enhancing the muscles in his neck, showing off the fact that he's got a man's body. He might be a little skinny, but he's big and hard in all the right places. Strong jaw, sexy lips, hands that move across my body like flames.

“Fuck me, Ronnie,” I growl into his ear. “And do it quick. I want it
now.
” I don't tell him why. He doesn't need to know that I'm using him like any other drug. I press my face into his neck, smelling the sweat of a good show on his skin, flicking my tongue across the bright red ink of a rose tat for a taste. He was incredible with those drums tonight. I'd always thought he was bloody brilliant, but this was a whole new level. He wasn't just playing music, he was commanding sound and demanding sacrifice. I wanted to crawl on his lap and feel the vibrations around me, savor the sensation of hot breath on my ear. Ronnie's a master with his kit, and I'd be lucky to learn anything from him.

This is why they have God power and we don't. Why Indecency was headlining the show and Amatory Riot was nipping at their heels. Ice and Glass is good, but we don't stand a chance no matter what we do.

I sag against Ronnie, hiding the tears behind a growl and a bite. I scrape my teeth along his throat, loving the way his muscles turn to jelly beneath my tough. I have the power to melt him into nothing, let him evaporate into the wind.
But I won't do it, not for some ass crack in a suit. Fuck you, Mr. Rutledge.
I might have already failed, but I'm not going to keep failing. I'm not that kind of person, or if I am, I don't want to be anymore. My mum was that kind of person. She'd exploit anyone and anything to get what she wanted. I could die for this, but so what? Somebody already did.

Might as well enjoy myself now.

Ronnie finally gets my pants undone and pulls them down my hips, not far, just enough that he can get a better grip on my chick dick, stroking and caressing with the rough whorls of his fingerprints for texture. He's rubbing my clit gently, not stabbing at it like it's a magic button that'll get his dick wet. He's feeling me, really feeling me, listening to the sound my body makes and, instead of steamrolling over it, he starts up a sympathetic beat. I lean back and look into his brown eyes and trace a nail across his lower lip, stroking him like the strings on a guitar, plucking a shiver instead of a note but getting a beautiful sound nonetheless. Ronnie groans and bites down on my thumb, flicking his tongue over my fingernail and sucking it into his mouth, right up to the knuckle. When he was onstage earlier, he was staring straight at me, channeling my feelings into his music. I tell myself that everyone in the audience felt that way, that I'm nothing special. Still, it felt like I could be.