Heart Broke (Hard Rock Roots Book 8) (30 page)

“
Forget. Forget me forever. I've destroyed you one too many fucking times.”

“And that's not eerie at all,” Sydney jokes, giving me a worried look that I shake off, taking her hand in mine. Naomi and Blair's screaming rakes out next, tearing right through my skull and making me clench my teeth. Blair. Shit.

“
Bleeding, broken, buried beneath. Torn and trembling, take me in your arms, but know that it'll be the last time. The last. The last. The last FUCKING time!
”

“God,” Naomi groans, standing up and puckering her cherry red lips in the dirty mirror. “I feel like I have a ghost tailing me around. They
never
stop playing our shit now. I mean, it's what I always thought I wanted … but the price? Too fucking high.”

“Way too fucking high,” I agree as I snatch the eight ball of coke from Turner's back pocket and slam it on the counter.

“Whoa there, getting a little grabby, huh?” he asks, but he doesn't stop me as I lay out a few more lines and sniff them up like … well like
crack.
Really nice, really expensive crack. Can't say I'm disappointed when the track changes to some stupid hip-hop crap.

“Fuck. This. Shit,” Naomi raps along with the lyrics, leaning in and kissing the dirty mirror with her mouth. When she reaches out a hand, Sydney seems to know exactly what it is she wants and passes over her lipstick. “I'm here to
celebrate,
” she whispers as she starts to grind with the music, signing her name across our joint reflection. When she turns and offers her hand, I glance back at Sydney, but she's already smiling at me. She knows. Naomi doesn't stand a chance with me—the
only
woman that I could possibly get like a thousand stiffies a day for is her. Romantic, right?

I let Naomi take my hand and copy her finger snapping, hip grinding, body sliding rhythm, dancing in the confined space as Sydney and Turner take their own turns at the counter, passing around a beer we pilfered off the bar on our way back inside.

Cigarettes are lit, partners are exchanged. I think I even end up dancing with … Turner Motherfucking Campbell.

How gross is that?

“Okay, okay, okay,” Sydney says into the microphone, clearly fucking drunk. I squeeze her ass in what I think is a surreptitious way, but … probably isn't based on the snickering from the tables below. I'm too fucked up to really care. “We're … we call ourselves
Hard Rock Roots,
” Sydney continues with a laugh as Naomi hangs all over her at the mic. “That's our group name and we're here to rock!”

Turner and the girls cheer, lifting up their beers as the room erupts with mild, alcohol laden applause. We must've picked the right place here because not only is it karaoke night, it's specifically
eighties
karaoke night. The crowd is older, and if anybody's recognized us, they're being polite and leaving us the fuck alone.

“We're going to be singing
Sweet Dreams,
” Sydney continues when Naomi butts in.

“
Are Made of This,
” she adds, drawing parentheses with her free hand. “
Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This).
”

“Yes, by the Eurythmics,” Sydney continues as we exchange another look and she runs her tongue over her lower lip. That lipstick she's wearing … it tastes like a California poppy smells. I don't even know how to describe it. It's floral, it's fresh, it reminds me of the beach and the coast. I can taste it all over my mouth already.

When Naomi slides her arm around Sydney, she leans in and they end up practically kissing at the microphone. I want to say that bothers me, but …

“Whoa, that's kind of hot,” Turner says from beside me, leaning over to get a closer look. “Damn. When you look at Sydney without the whole, like, almost-a-sister filter, she isn't bad.”

“Seriously?” I whisper roughly as the crowd starts to titter and our chosen song filters in through the overhead speakers. “You just said that in the microphone.” I glance over and find Sydney and Naomi giggling maniacally, still hanging on each other.

The second that beat starts in though, Naomi's black booted feet are tapping and you can bet your ass she grabs that mic and starts belting out the lyrics along with the infamous Annie Lennox. Sydney doesn't let her keep the crowd, singing about traveling the world and the seven seas in a voice that's so fucking bad it's beautiful.

I reach down and grab the mic, scooting over to the girls with Turner in tow.

The next verse, he's wrapping his hand around mine and we're both singing like idiots. Only, he's a really good sounding idiot, and I'm just bad.

The crowd really starts to get into it though when Naomi thrashes her blonde hair around and the electronic rhythm of the song takes over. I think I see a few people filming with their phones, but I feel like I'm standing on the deck of a ship, everything tilting around me and I
really
don't care.

“
SWEET DREAMS!
” Naomi screams in her demonic rocker chick voice, making Turner laugh as he slides in between the girls and puts an arm around both their waists. I don't want to be fucking left out, so I force myself in there, all our mouths competing for the same mic. It's sweaty as hell and I'm pressed up nice and tight to Sydney's curvy body, my left hand sliding up the swirling blue-green waves of her tattoos.

“
ARE MADE OF THIS!
” Turner adds in his own unique roar on the next verse. At that point, Sydney and I just start shouting the lyrics, too, screaming in not so beautiful voices that blend with our friends and obliterate the electronic twitter of the karaoke machine and the speakers.

After that … I think we get kicked out of the bar because the last memory I have in there is of Turner dialing up Brayden Ryker on the cell and telling him to get our fucking car ready.

The atmosphere in the limo is amped the fuck up.

All four of us are sweaty, and high, and drunk.
It feels so good,
I think as I lean over and lick Dax's lower lip, feel his hand slide up my side, fingers kneading my flesh. When I glance over, I see Turner pull Naomi onto his lap. On the radio, that same song from the photoshoot—Escape the Fate's “Live for Today”—comes on. Only this time, it's an EDM remix.

I feel my pulse start to bounce with the music, heart thumping against my ribs as I slide onto Dax's lap, feeling his erection through the fabric of his jeans. I put my hands on either side of his face and kiss him hard, fast, furious. Our tongues tangle in a sea of sweat and saliva as I grind my body against his, breasts pressed tight into his chest. Behind me, I can hear Naomi moaning, a sense of relief in her voice, like she thought this day would never come, like she'd die in that hospital. When I pull away from Dax and glance at the two of them, I see that they're already a step ahead of us. Turner is pulling his shirt off and instead of being grossed out like I usually would, I'm kind of … turned on. The music is loud, and the drugs are loud, and my body is pressed against Dax's. Turner has a good body and Naomi has a good body, and watching them grind all over each other like that is … hot.

“I'm so turned on right now,” I tell Dax as I turn back to him and see the same expression on his face. I push my chest harder into his, kissing the side of his face, his neck, and then reaching down to help him take his shirt off. When I toss it to the floor, I see Naomi's lying right next to it. When she pauses and looks back at me, we exchange a long, hot stare that seriously twists me up inside.
Did I say I was straight? I meant, like, ninety-five percent or something. This chick is so hot.

I pull away from Dax for a moment, giving him a lingering look that he returns, his eyes dark, no blue at all in them anymore. They're gray as a stormy sky, like a tornado ready to come down and tear everything to shit.

With the techno pulse in my blood, I crawl the few inches across the floor of the limo as Naomi turns and reaches down, taking my chin in her long fingers. When she pulls my mouth to hers, I let her take control, letting a little bit of that rock goddess trickle into me. Her tongue pushes between my lips, making my spine curl with the thrill of it. I mean, it's not like I've never kissed a chick before. I've gotten drunk, made out with my friends. Who hasn't? But this is so much better.

Naomi and I kiss for what seems like forever, and when I draw back, I see Turner already has his dick in his hand. Naomi follows my look and raises her brows, shrugging her shoulders and turning back. Her hands slide over my hips and pull me close. Our kiss deepens and I can't help it, I groan into her mouth, encouraging her with the sound to go a little bit further. She kneads my breasts through the dress as the car glides down the LA streets with the sunroof open and the balmy So Cal air filling the tight space.

When Naomi pulls back enough for me to breathe, she's grinning.

“Fuck, I am seriously trashed right now,” she says, but that doesn't stop her from running her tongue along my lower lip. I slide my hand up her bare midsection, feeling the sweat and the bandages from her GSW. She doesn't seem to give a shit, pulling back only when Turner puts a hand on her arm and encourages her to give his dick some attention.

I glance over my shoulder then, sweeping some cotton candy pink hair away from my moist lips as I look Dax straight in the face. He's panting hard, his hand sliding down his abs to the edge of his jeans. I watch as he slowly—
slowly—
fucking unbuttons them. When I crawl back over to him, I reach into his pocket and draw out his shades, shoving them on his face before I sit up on my knees and start stripping as best I can in the tight space.

The song that's playing is pretty much
perfect,
but I don't have a lot of room to work with, so I make sure my movements are big and obvious. My black bandage dress slides down my shoulders first, then over my arms, my breasts, bunching around my waist as I stretch out one leg, and then the other. I feel like I'm onstage right now, performing for the entire car. I don't bother to look over my shoulder; I know they're watching.

When the dress comes down my legs, leaving me in nothing but a bra and panties, I sit up again, sliding one strap down my shoulder and then the other. I try to take it slow, but with the pulse of the music and the throb of alcohol in my blood, I have no idea how long I'm sitting there.

When Dax frees his cock, my lips part with a pop and I find my breathing getting heavier, deeper, huskier. I touch my breasts, run my fingers through my hair, and then I fling the bra off and hit him in the chest with the flimsy piece of lacy fabric. As usual, I save my panties for last, crawling back to Dax and setting myself on his knees, before I start to push them down, working them off my hips and down my legs. They get caught on one of my heels, but I don't care. I leave them there as I spread my legs and straddle Dax's lap, leaving him just enough room to play with himself.

When we kiss, I know he tastes Naomi on my mouth, but I'm not jealous. He's over her, I know that, and his declaration of love, I
felt
something in his words. But I also know that, maybe, he's just a little bit curious. That's okay. He can taste
her
on
my
mouth.

I look over my shoulder again and find Naomi watching, waiting, her naked body a curve of perfection against the dark leather seats of the limo. Turner's tattoos are bright, wet with sweat, as he takes her hips in his hands and gives me a sultry smirk, pressing a kiss to Naomi's neck. She gasps and then, still looking right at us, slides herself onto Turner's cock.

I wait just a moment longer before I turn back to Dax, look
him
straight in the face, and do the same. The hot, thick warmth of him between my legs makes me throw my head back in ecstasy, giving me a crazy upside down view of Naomi riding Turner. I watch them for several seconds, enjoying the color of his tattooed hands tracing down her back, cupping her ass, holding her tight.

When Dax presses a gentle bite to my collarbone, I lean forward and look down at him, rolling my hips with the music as I ride him. My hands are splayed out on that perfect midsection, trailing up to his chest and along his pecs, finding the edges of his tattoos. His hands go right to my ass and squeeze tight, encouraging me to move faster and faster. In the back of my mind, I realize that
nobody
in this car is using a condom, but what the hell ever, right? Sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll is on the menu tonight.