Hard Rock Roots Box Set (125 page)

“You sure this is where you want to go?” she asks me, glancing out the window at the massive line that's already formed down the block. Some of these assholes have been camping here since last night, but I didn't have that luxury. Last night, the cops came over to my foster home for a few more follow-up questions about my
previous
foster parents, but I just shrugged my shoulders and snapped my gum until they left.
I'm getting away with murder.
The thought doesn't thrill me, even though I
am
relieved. What happened between me and the Rhinebacks … it was a necessity, but not a joy, you know?

“This is where I
need
to go,” I tell the lady, flashing her a smile and climbing out of the car while she sighs and lets her shoulders slump. I don't know what she thought would happen when she picked me up, that she'd get to take me home to some loving family and 'rescue' me. I don't need to be rescued by her.
There's only one person I really want.

I drag my backpack and my guitar down the block, scoping out the line, the girls shivering and dressed in even less clothes than me. I see their gazes tracking me, watching me, sizing me up. None of them look particularly threatened by my presence, but that doesn't matter. Turner Campbell crawled out of the shit that was his past, triumphed over adversity and all that crap, so I know that he'll see the same in my face when he looks at me.

In the back of my mind, I'm aware of how crazy this all sounds. A famous rock god is going to pick
me
out of all these girls? And even if he does, he'll probably just want to …
you know.
But that's okay. I came here promising to give that to him. And anyway, even if he doesn't realize what he's seeing in me at first, surely he'll get it after we … fuck?

I shiver and head around behind the building, looking desperately for somewhere to stash my things. I can't do what I need to do tonight if I'm hauling around a bunch of crap.

“I'll come back for you, I promise,” I whisper as slide my stuff underneath a green dumpster and empty a bag of trash from inside, kicking it around the edges to disguise my shit. I know there's still a chance I'll lose some or all of it tonight, but that's okay. It's worth it. So worth it.

I squeeze my ticket tight in my hand as I make my way over to the line, standing behind a group of guys arguing about Indecency's dead bassist, Travis Gaborone, and whether or not this new dude is as good. Personally, I don't think the guy'll last, but I don't bother to insert myself into their conversation. It's not important, not tonight.

I slide a smoke from the pocket on my skirt and light up.

“Oh my God,” this girls squeals from behind me, playing an
Indecency
music video on her phone while her friend watches in awe. “He's so fucking hot. Like, seriously, who has that much swag in real life?”

“I bet he's gay,” her friend whispers and then they both chuckle. I squeeze my smoke tight and keep my eyes on the backs of the guys in front of me. I get to stand here for three hours and listen to this drivel while the sky spits down on us from on high, rain drizzling in a fine mist over the gathered crowd.

“But he's not though. My friend's sister went to one of their shows in Oklahoma City, and she said that these guys in security shirts came around and picked girls out to go hang by the buses. She said Turner looked right at her and winked and that they spent all night doing it.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, filing that information away for later. It might be complete crap, but if there's even a scrap of truth in any of that, I have to keep my eyes open. I will do anything—
anything—
to get to Turner Campbell, even mill around in a group of brainless bitches and wait for him to choose me.

I exhale and settle in to wait.

When I finally pass over my ticket and squeeze inside the venue, the sky is darkening outside and the crowd is clustered tight against the front of the room, leaving the rest of the area open for me to mill around in. I've got to find the best spot. The front won't work. With those lights and the clamoring, screaming bullshit that'll be going on up there, I think the middle is best. Besides, I'm not down for getting stuck in a mosh pit with flailing idiots.

I stand dead center on the cement floor and cross my arms over my chest, daring anyone to push or shove at me. God help them if they do. Overhead, Indecency music leaks through the speakers, titillating the crowd and drawing goose bumps up on my arms. I have all their songs mesmerized—and not just the lyrics. I mean, like, I can
play
them all on my guitar.

Closing my eyes, I let the words sink into my skin and poison me, make me lightheaded, twist my insides into knots. My right foot taps in time with the music, my fingers drumming along my arm as I feel the crowd sliding into place around me, getting close but not too close. Maybe Turner isn't the only one who can tell how fucked up I am.

When my eyes open, there's this little bubble around me, a half foot of space that's not easy to come by as the room grows more and more packed, drinks get passed around, blood gets heated and adrenaline starts to pump.

This is it. Tonight, here, everything's going to change for me.

I open my eyes and watch the roadies setting up the stage, dragging equipment into place for the opening act. Nobody gives two shits about them, but oh well. Their job is to warm us up, get us riled so that when Indecency hits the stage, the people in this crowd are gone, leaving room for the demons that crouch ready to fight, that darkness we try to hide that'll never really go away.

Deep breath.

My demon is ready, raging at the surface, eyes locked onto that stage.

When Turner Campbell takes it, I'm going to be ready.

“Big crowd tonight,” I say as I light up a smoke and peek out the curtains, my lips curling into a smile as my eyes rake the people gazing up at the stage with artificial euphoria coloring their expressions, a mix of drugs and booze and sex that makes the music go down all that much easier. “
Real, real big,
” I drawl as Trey shoves me over with his shoulder and I laugh. “Almost as big as my dick.”

“Fuck you man,” Trey says as he takes a look and then drops the curtain, shivering at the size of the crowd out there. It's our biggest show yet, a real clusterfuck of devils and mad things just waiting to be unleashed on the city. “Everyone knows you have a tiny dick.”

“You want me to open up my pants and show it to you, bitch,” I say as I unbutton my jeans and flash some cock for Trey's benefit. A sexy little roadie slides by at that exact moment and flicks her eyes up to mine. I grin as my cock hardens and her gaze moves right back down and lingers.

“Put that fucking thing away,” Trey says, turning his head and sneering at me. “I've seen it plenty, thanks.”

“Don't go gay for me, 'kay? I love you and all, but not like that. Much rather have a sweet, wet pussy than some dude's peen coming straight at me.”

“You only wish,” Trey grumbles as he digs around in his pocket and comes up with a white baggy, laying out a few lines of blow on a nearby speaker. We take turns snorting that shit up with a rolled twenty and then stand around, waiting for our high to get even higher. Onstage, some no-name band starts to play and a smile curves my lips. Just a few years back, that was us, a bunch of stupid high school fucks struggling to put together a tune. Only thing that held us together then was Travis, and he's dead. I never thought we'd make it this fucking far. Kind of assumed I'd be dead by now. I know for damn sure that I gave it my best shot.

“You guys partying without me?” Ronnie says, slumping against my back, putting an arm around my shoulder and blowing smoke out at Trey's face. “Not cool.”

“You're so fucked up you can barely stand,” I say, shoving him off of me and breathing out the smallest sigh of relief when he finds his feet. One of these days, the asshole's going to fall over and crack his head open. Not sure if he could OD if he tried though, and man, have I seen him try. “You gonna be able to play tonight?”

“The hell you talking about?” Ronnie slurs, staring at his cigarette with dilated pupils, fingers shaking as he struggles to form a complete sentence. It's been years since his girlfriend died, since we lost our best friend, and he's just barely alive. Sometimes I think he only sticks around for Trey, Jesse, and me. God knows it's not for his own sake. And the asshole just had
two
kids like, a few weeks apart, with two different baby mamas. If that's not enough to shake him out of his pain, then nothing will. Maybe he needs to fall in love again?
Not like that would ever happen.
“Have I ever let you down?” he asks, glancing up and looking at me with a strange sudden burst of clarity.

We lock eyes and I scowl at him, but he doesn't look away until I do.

“I might be fucked up, but I can still play. It's all I got,” he says, his voice taking on that note of pain and sadness that I just don't need right now. Tonight, here, this is my night and I'm going to fucking rule it like the King of Rock that I am.

“At least that's something,” I say, glancing over my shoulder at our new bassist. He's standing in the back using Indecency's reputation to hook some tail. Whatever.
Enjoy it while you can, you amateur fuck. You won't last.
They never do. “New guy couldn't play to save his life.”

“Cut him some slack,” Jesse says, sliding into the group with a sweaty forehead and a rumpled shirt. Somebody just got laid. A grin splits my lips. “I just saw him get turned down three frigging times in a row. Someone spread the word that he's packing something nasty downstairs.” I flick my cigarette ash at Jesse and he raises his brows. “It was you, wasn't it?”

“May or may not have told a few roadies that he's got the herp.”

“You mean herpes?” Trey asks.

“That's what I said: the herp.” I inhale and close my eyes, letting the tobacco smoke fuck my lungs and get 'em all nice and wet for the stage. Oh yeah, baby. Tonight, I'm going to screw this crowd so hard they won't be able to walk in the morning. “So, who'd you just slide out of?”

“Jesus Christ, Turner,” Ronnie says, running his fingers through his dark hair. Even messed up on whatever party drug's been circulating tonight, he still has it together enough to roll his eyes at me.

“Me?” Jesse asks and then blushes. Yeah, big guy with the long hair and the pinup tats is blushing. The hell? “Nobody.” I look him up and down and then shake my head. If he doesn't want to tell me, fine. Whatever. I don't give a shit.

I scoot forward and take another peek at the crowd.

So many beautiful girls and just one night. Such a shame.

I let my gaze dance around the bouncing, heaving crowd, watching as the room swirls with a dark energy that you can't find anywhere else but here, in this den of rock and sin. I live for this shit; I'll die for it, too.

I'm about to step away and ask Ronnie what other party favors he's got up his sleeve when I spot something interesting.

Stillness.

Here, in this room, that's a goddamn rarity. I pause, tilting my head to the side as my eyes catch on the face of this girl, this blonde young thing with blazing eyes and pursed lips. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her body is stiff, contained, like she's waiting for something.

Like she's waiting for me.

Holy shit.

She's hot and she's fierce as fuck, I can see that even from here. And
goddamn
she's got a face that could kill angels and a body that's rocking harder than the assholes onstage. But she also looks like she's on that cusp, maybe eighteen, maybe not. I don't mess with that shit, can't do it. Last thing I want is to get thrown in jail at age twenty-one because I banged some seventeen-almost-eighteen year old with angry parents.

Damn it.

I pull my gaze away reluctantly and turn around, trying to focus on whatever it is that Ronnie's just slid from his pocket.
Who the hell
is
that?
Of course, it doesn't matter, right? I'll never know and even if I did, so what? One night with a girl—even one as intriguing as that—isn't worth the risk. Too young, too much trouble. I can see it written all over her face: that girl has secrets for days. And I don't do secrets. Fuck 'em. Fuck it all.