Before I have a chance to even think about hyperthermia, my jacket falls around my shoulders. Glancing over my shoulder, I find Blake. My heart warms seeing him there. His hand rests between my shoulder blades, keeping the wool coat from sliding off.
“Thanks, handsome.” I give him a wink, taking advantage of any chance I get to boost his confidence. He’s not wearing his glasses right now, though, so I don’t think it lands as hard. I really do prefer him with them on, it does something to me that goes straight to my lady bits.
We walk clear of the door, and it snicks closed behind us. I’m surprised there aren’t any fans waiting back here. It’s almost unheard of. I could probably count on one hand the amount of times I’ve exited a venue and wasn’t accosted by reporters or Storm Chasers who want an autograph. Security must’ve come through and cleared them out, but the question is why?
Quickly surveying my surroundings, I notice several buses to my right. Instinctively, I turn towards them, but something catches my eye from the left. I find Russ from Napalm Delights, his scornful expression solely focused on me as he climbs into the front seat of a black SUV. The door shuts with a loud thud, and the vehicle immediately speeds off.
I cock my head.Where the fuck are they going when there’s an after party celebrating their soon-to-be pet?There’s no doubt in my mind that they’ve already started grooming Carmen to do everything they ask.
Pushing them from my thoughts, I focus on getting to my bus—The Storm. Yes, I named it—and out of this fucking cold weather. Wind slaps me in the face bringing a fresh burst of iciness. They certainly don’t call it the Windy City for nothing.Reaching my fully decked out bus, I extend my arm to open the door, but the guard next to it blocks my way.
“This is Carmen’s,” he says in a deadpan voice. “Yours is that one.” He points toward Thunderstruck, the bus I used to tour with.
I should be used to every possible detail in this god forsaken nightmare I’m living to be ass backward, but somehow this takes me off guard. A growl rumbles through my throat, that quite honestly irritates my vocal cords. “Absolutely not. I paid for this bus myself, not the label. Move out of my way.”
The douche canoe stands his ground. “I don’t know what to tell you. Your stuff is in the other bus, this one has Carmen’s belongings already unpacked. Someone came by earlier to make sure everything is squared away.”
They’re giving her the fucking sparkle treatment, feeding her the dream of what things can be if she only spreads her legs for the disgusting monster who owns the label… If only he wasn’t my uncle; if only he hadn’t done the same thing to me.
Nausea rips through me as my skin crawls with the legs of a thousand spiders. Iloathethinking of him as my uncle, as someone related to me knowing that herapedme. Stole the innocence from my soul, scraped it clean and kept it for himself like a trophy he can display on his mantle.
I can’t do it anymore—can’t think of him in that context. Mr. Lexington isn’t any better. That’s my last name, and I don’t want to think of him having any connection to me. Not anymore.
He needs a new name. Something that gives me a little dose of dopamine whenever I have to think about him to counteract the negative… The phrase I used earlier comes to mind, and I can’t help but want to use it.Dickless. It reminds me of how he lacks the balls to find grown ass women to date so he rapes helpless underage girls. Ball-less is probably a little more accurate but doesn’t roll off the tongue quite so well.
No, his name will now be Dickless, and my damaged little heart can smile a little every time I use it.
My grip tightens around my phone as yet another gust of wind lifts my hair, reminding me how sweaty I am. It’s the cold that drives me to stride to the rundown bus where another guard moves out of my way and lets us climb in without a word. I haven’t given up yet, though.
Warmth wraps around me, a dry heat that smells of stale sweat, old beer, and what I fear might be crusty cum. It’s worse than the last time I was in here and a big motivation for why I wanted to get something new myself. The label wasn’t willing to do it, so I used my own earnings.
It’s cramped in here compared to my pristine bus, I’m not sure how we’ll cope with five of us living here. And I honestly don’t trust any of the surfaces to be clean. Wrinkling my nose, I cautiously make my way down the middle walkway, worried about what I’ll find when I get to the bunk area and the bedroom beyond.
“Clearly they cleaned since the last people who used it, but they didn’t do a good job,” Blake says from somewhere behind me.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if we found a used condom somewhere in that couch,” Nash adds, clear disgust in his voice. I shudder with how right he probably is and open my text app.
Alyssa, why the fuck was I denied entry on my goddamn bus?
Finding the bunks, I grimace, they aren’t even made up. Sheets sit on top of each one haphazardly thrown on top of the thin padding. They didn’t even have the courtesy of setting things up for us. Not that I’d trust it if they did.
The whole place makes me feel nauseous, and it’s not only because of the filth. It feels like sharp nails scrape over my skin,and the longer I stand in here, the more my mind threatens to flash back to my past—the times I hid in the back, cuddled under covers as I sobbed after Napalm Delights cornered me at a party. This might not be where they raped me, but it’s where I fell apart afterwards.
“Raina,” Blake barks, making me jump and turn around. It’s a tone he hasn’t used with me since I ran from the show where Tristan twisted my lyrics, making my soul burn into embers along with the bond tying us together. He gives me a concerned twitch of his mouth. “I called your name like five times. You okay?”
“Bad memories,” I mumble.
His hand takes hold of mine, his thumb soothing circles into my skin as he guides me to the front of the bus again. My phone buzzes in my other palm, and I bring it up to read the notification.
You subleased the bus to the label. It’s our discretion who uses it.
It’s my fucking property, and I’m the bigger name. I’m the one drawing the fans to the shows. If you don’t want me to cause a scene, then you’ll switch the buses.
You aren’t the only one who holds power here. You can hold threats over my head, but I’m able to cause some damage on my way out.
My thumb slams on the glass, hitting send in an all too unsatisfying fit of anger. I squeeze the phone in my grip, notstrong enough to do any damage, but wishing I could break something.
Shit… Keaton’s ideas are rubbing off on me. Maybe I shouldn’t have given in to breaking his stick. Glancing at him, I find he’s already grabbed another set, flicking them between his fingers.Why is that so damn hot?
