Hard Rock Roots Box Set (122 page)

“Is she dead?” I ask him, thinking of Arnold's statements in the kitchen. “Are we visiting her grave?” It's okay if we are. Some people are very touchy about how they deal with and talk about the dead. If Dax wants me to meet a dead chick, I'll do it.

Dax is already shaking his head no.

“She's still alive,” he says, but he doesn't sound entirely convinced of that fact. “Or she was a couple of months ago.” He swallows and the color drains from his face. “I want to see her, tell somebody about her, take the sting out of the secret. Then nobody can use it against me.” Dax sighs. “Then the only secrets I'll have to protect will belong to the hearts of other people.”

I smile.

“Well, then, I'd love to meet her.” Dax moves as if to stand up, but I put a hand on his chest. “However, you're drunk right now. Sober up a bit first and then we can go?” He wrinkles his nose at me.

“What about our friends?” I glance over at the guards. They don't ever fucking let up which, I guess, is a good thing, but I still think there has to be some way to get away from them. After all, they're here to protect us, not keep us prisoner. If we were to slip away to the bathroom … It would be a really stupid idea. I could be putting Dax's life in danger.
Scratch that, Sydney. Use some common sense.

“I guess we'll be taking them with us,” I say, but I can tell Dax doesn't want them to go. When he says he wants to tell
someone
about Tara, he doesn't mean just anyone. I feel honored, even though I have no clue what this is about. He's trusting me enough to show me something nobody else knows. Now whether that's because I'm here, because I'm the most convenient person to confide in at the moment, or because he really likes me, I don't know. I suppose it doesn't matter. I'll roll with it and see what happens. “Though they'll probably call back and report to Brayden, if they haven't already.”

“I don't give a fuck,” Dax snaps, but not at me. I don't take it personally. He's mad at the world in general, I get it. I haven't even been through a fraction of what he has. Murders, kidnappings, tornadoes. Weeks of being trapped on a bus with people like America, the stuck-up bourgeois bitch who's dragged my boys, her band, even me into this crap. Trouble by association. “I'll be back in time to get on the plane. That's all that matters, right?”

I scoot off of Dax's lap and straighten out my skirt with a smile.

“That, and the fact that your arms remain unbroken.” I reach out and squeeze his bicep, as a joke at first, but then, as soon as my hands make contact with his hard flesh, I start feeling lightheaded. I snatch my fingers back right away, but the damage has been done. Dax is licking his lips and clenching his fist tight around the drum sticks. I think I hear one of them crack. “Sorry,” I say, although I'm not sure that's even the right word. “Did you ever have this sort of … unique problem with Naomi?” I don't even know why I ask that question. It shouldn't even matter, but somehow it does. If he's fucking me, is he going to be picturing her?

“What?” Dax asks, looking a little disoriented. Maybe it's not fair to grill him when he's drunk and I'm barely buzzed, but I'm going to do it anyway. Curiosity killed the cat and all that.

“With the whole touching thing? The uh, proliferation of hard-ons. Was it like that? Or rather,
is
it like that?” Dax stares at me while I settle back onto my stool and finish my drink. In the span of time it takes him to answer the question, three girls come dangerously close to the bar. I almost trip one with my heels.

“Sydney,” he says as I drag a vodka shot away from him with my fingernail. “You're the only woman that's ever given me a three day erection.” In a certain way, that statement could be read as romantic. I smile again. “And Naomi … she … I don't even know what to do about that. She's the only woman I've ever been able to see myself with, you know?” I watch as he searches around for the shot and has trouble finding it. Definitely time to cut off the drinks. I tell myself I don't care about Naomi, and maybe I don't. Not really. It's been so long since I've had anything or anyone to care about that I'm not even sure I can do it anymore. But I do know one thing: I want her out of his head. I like being in it, like the way he looks at me, how he jumps when I brush against his skin.

“You need a Naomi cleansing,” I tell him, tilting my head to the side and examining the thin sheen of sweat on his jawline.
Yummy.
I would lick that shit off in an instant. “I look a little bit like her, don't I?” I ask, and I'm glad that he's drunk because the question still makes him uncomfortable.
I knew it.

“A little, maybe,” he says and then pauses. “You're both blonde, I guess.” I tap my fingernails on the counter and think for a moment. I know I'm a class A freaking weirdo sometimes, but Crazy Sydney comes out when Dax is around. I just can't help myself.

“Do you want to play a game?” I ask him, reaching out and running my hand up his leg. His entire body stiffens. “I'll be your Naomi, if you want.”
What the hell are you doing, Sydney?
I ask myself as I lean forward and inch my way closer to the prize. His cock is already up and happy to see me, straining against the fabric of his jeans. I've never been this eager in my life to see what's underneath a piece of denim.

“What?” Dax looks both terrified and thrilled at the same time.

“Fuck me, pretend you're fucking her. Get her out of your system.”

“That's weird, Sydney,” he says, but I see he doesn't resist when I move my hand from his leg to his wrist and pull him to his feet. I grab the shot, down it and slam the glass on the countertop. If I hit it a little harder than normal, who would even notice?

There are back rooms in the club for, you know, those special ladies who are willing to provide 'private dances' for their clients. I'm not one of them. I might be a stripper, but I am definitely not a fucking whore. The information comes in handy though when I slip the bouncer a couple bills and get him to unlock one of the doors for me.

It might not be fair to Dax, what I'm doing. But I can't wait anymore. And I can't fuck him if I think he might be dreaming about Naomi. I might as well know ahead of time, right?
Sydney, you jealous bitch.
But I like Dax, and I think his tattoos are killer, and his drumming is beyond fucking amazing. So I'm going to have sex with him in the back room of a strip club. I pause as I close the door behind us and glance up at the ceiling, towards the pair of black speakers mounted on the wall. An Amatory Riot song is playing. How … weird. I'm surprised nobody in the club recognized him. I bet they'd have been able to pick Hayden out of a crowd, or Naomi. Personally, I think Dax is more interesting than either of them, but I could be bias. He is fucking cut as hell, and his eyes, when they do meet mine are captivating.

“I don't know what I'm doing in here. Maybe I should lie down?”

“You don't want to fuck me?” I ask him, leaning against the mirror on the back of the door and reaching my fingers under the black fabric of my shirt.

“I'm not supposed to,” he says, his voice a little stronger. “Love can't be turned off. It can't just be turned on either. It's a slow build, right?” I shrug, my heart palpating in my chest. Above us, the sound of Dax's drums ring out, echoing around the small room with its red velvet walls. There's a single chaise lounge, a chair, and a black metal pole, cutting straight through the center of the room. I'd dance for him, but Naomi doesn't dance, and Naomi is what he's going to get. And then, when I can look in his eyes and see that she's gone, maybe I'll find out what's in there for me? Anyway, they're going to L.A.; I'm going to L.A. This isn't the worst place in the world to meet someone new.
Dax is trouble, Sydney. You're going to get yourself into a hell of a mess with this one.
I ignore my inner voice. She's cool and all, but I already tried it her way, and I can't stop myself. I want Dax so bad it fucking hurts.

“Take off your pants, Dax,” I tell him, watching my fingers shake as I slip my top off and toss it to the floor. I know it's probably not the cleanest place in the world, but this is part of the fun, the gritty taboo nature of knowing we're standing somewhere a thousand fucks have taken place, maybe more. I'm not here to make love to Dax; I'm here to fuck him.

“
Tearing me up, shredding me inside; my walls are coming down in flames.
” I listen to the lyrics of the song, but only as a way to accent the chatter of Dax's drums. He watches me carefully, turning away after a moment to put his forehead in his hand.

“The security guards aren't going to like us being in here,” he whispers, but he doesn't sound convinced that we should stop. When he looks back at me, I can see he's close to losing control. I think I picked a good time. All alcohol really does anyway is lower the inhibitions, and those are fine and dandy and all that, but occasionally, they get in the way of a good thing.

“Okay,” I tell him, sliding my hands up my belly, over my breasts, my fingers alighting softly on the tattoos that run across my chest. “Tell me to stop.” Dax licks his lips, but he doesn't say a damn thing.

“
If you break me, baby, be prepared to pick up the pieces.
” The song comes to an end and freaking piggybacks right up against an Indecency track. It's an old one, with Travis on the bass. I squeeze my hands into fists, listening to the hum of his instrument. I sat at so fucking many of their concerts, and I never saw America, not once. If she was there, Travis did a damn good job of hiding her.
Sneaky, sneaky little bitch.
But she doesn't matter right now. Right now, the only thing I care about is the size of the bulge in Dax's pants.

I reach behind my back and unhook the clasp on my skirt, letting the insignificant piece of fabric fall to the floor. Did I mention I wear nylons without panties? Why bother to double up, right? Dax groans and sits back, letting his head fall against the wall.

“Come on, Dax,” I whisper, hating that Turner's voice is oozing into the room. I do my best to ignore it and run my hands back down, teasing the waistband on the tights. If he wants these off, he's going to have to do it himself. “Come show Naomi exactly how you feel.” I lean forward, letting my hair fall and then swipe some of it back with my hand. I bend low and rise back up, so slowly that my muscles quiver and ache. It's a stage trick, sure, but it works. Dax rises to his feet, a little unsteady. I ask myself if I really want to fuck him while he's drunk, and the answer is
no.
So 'Naomi' is going to do it. And then tomorrow, when Dax wakes up, we can start fresh. I get that I'm copping out a little, using the booze and the unrequited love to shield myself from having to feel anything real here, but that's okay. It's alright.

“Sydney, this is not a good idea,” he tells me, biting down hard on his lip. I think I see a fleck of blood staining his mouth ruby red.
God, that's hot.
“I don't even have a condom.” I smile. Aw, how cute. I reach into my bra and pull one out, holding it between two fingers and waving it back and forth like a flag.

“Always come prepared, Dax,” I tell him as he moves a step forward. I lift my gaze up to meet his eyes. “Because you never know when life is going to fuck you.” I grin. “Now,” I lift my arms out to the sides, raising them up and sliding them along his shoulders. “Take me. I'm yours.”

I expect Dax to come in slow, kiss me, touch my breasts, feel me up. I want him to, want to feel that icy touch sliding across every inch of exposed skin. I'm always doing things in a rush, exploding into situations without a second thought of how I got there or what I'm doing. When Dax touches me, I feel some of that frenzy sizzle away, leaving room for an intense ache that eats away at my soul. It's the kind of ache people die for. It's a Helen of Troy sort of a thing. A lust, a desire, so powerful it's worth betting everything on. Everything.

Instead, as I'm closing my eyes and leaning into him, he grabs my arms and spins me around, smashing my face against the mirror on the door. My cheek scrapes the glass as I struggle to get a view of him in the reflection. With my neck at this angle, the only thing I can see is his face. And it's dark, much darker than I expected. My lips part and I grunt when I feel him grinding his erection against me.

“Show her who's boss, Dax,” I whisper and he grits his teeth so hard, the muscles in his neck throb. One of his hands holds my wrists together against my back while the other roams over my ass, dipping down to cup me tightly with his hand.
I wonder if he'll find the piercing?
And then I grin because I'm just that fucking weird, and Dax pauses, sliding his hand back with a groan. He releases my hands and I press them into the glass, holding myself in place, letting him get a good look at me, open and desperate for it. I watch his face as he takes the condom from my fingers, listening for the sound of a zipper buried in all of the metal music screaming into the room. I keep talking. I don't know why. I'm not usually much of a talker, but I want to hear Dax's voice. It's low and melodic and laced with spots of darkness that make me feel like I could close my eyes and just let things go. “I want you to go for it. Take me. Make me yours.” I'm supposed to be playing a part right now; I'm supposed to be Naomi. But truth is stranger than fiction sometimes, isn't it? Not even I can tell how much of what I'm saying is true.