Page 31 of Pistol Whipped

“Too bad they always come back,” I finish her thought.

“Except when the music plays,” she whispers as she reaches across the table and thumbs at my headphones. Her nails graze the sensitive skin of my neck. I shiver a little at the sensation. The first of its kind in a long time.

“Except when the music plays,” I confirm as she pulls back.

Kitten lifts her head, watching Rain as closely as I am while she gets up.

“You know, Dax, maybe if we talked about those demons of ours, they wouldn’t keep coming back.”

I shake my head. “Safer just to let the music keep playing.”

I return my headphones to my ears, effectively ending any further discussion of our demons. Mine are way too close to surfacing right now. Rain takes the cue for what it is. Strangely, so does Kitten. She hops off my lap with a small mew and follows Rain back to their bedroom.

When I finally do make it to sleep, I dream of the girl with purple eyes. It starts with her singing to me. Not her normal style but a soft lullaby while she runs her fingers through my hair. It’s something she used to do when we were kids. Slowly, though, her grip on my hair tightens, her voice gets huskier. Still, the song goes on until her grip suddenly turns punishing, cruel, perfect, and my head is yanked back.

I’m jolted awake. The bus is still dark. Quiet. I’m alone in my bunk, confused as hell, and rock-fucking-hard.

Interlude 6

Scars

Dallas – aged 18

Cohen dragged us to yet another industry party tonight at some stupid club in downtown. We’re back in Calder to work with some new hot-shot producer, according to Lou, yet most of what we do is go out, party, get wasted and then nurse our hangovers the next day.

It’s been a few days, and we haven’t even met this producer guy yet. Nor have we written a damn word. We’re supposed to be starting work on the follow-up album to Whoever You Want Us To Be.

“Get it out while you’re at the top of the charts. Avoid the sophomore slump.”

Another Lou Braun idea. He wants us to release our second album as soon as possible, while we’ve still got audience momentum from the first one. Except, we worked on that album for months and months. Many of the songs were written years ago. Now we’re expected to churn out something comparable in the few weeks we have before starting our first international tour. Yeah fucking right.

Also, not possible when our lead guitarist is too wasted to help me write music. When he’s not wasted, he’s too busy fucking our lead singer. Right now he’s both. We’re at Cohen’s new place. It’s so much fucking bigger than anywhere I’ve ever lived. It’s not big like the places up in The Head, but it sure makes the Bradys’ old house in The Neck look like a shack, even though his family had the nicest, biggest house on our block. He dragged us back here after the bar, refusing to let me go back to the modest apartment that Dutch and I recently purchased together. Not that I was keen to do that either, because Dutch was too busy making out with some Rain-look-alike and I knew that was only headed in one direction.

Given the choice, I’d rather listen to the real thing than some wannabe. On cue, a cry of ecstasy comes from Cohen’s bedroom. It’s not the first one, and it’s been punctuated by other sounds, including Cohen grunting out, “Fuck, Rainy,” and “Just like that,” and “Good little cocksucker.”

Each and every one of them has been torture. And so fucking hot. I’m twisted up with jealousy and turned on to fuck. I can’t leave, and I can’t stop picturing what it would be like to be the on the receiving end of that praise. So I just sit here, on the fucking floor, with my back against the wall, two steps from where my friends are fucking.

By the time Rain lets out a final scream of pleasure, my cock is hard, which makes me a fucking sicko, although not enough of one to actually do something about it. I close my eyes and will my dick to chill the fuck out, which it does just in time for the bedroom door to creak open.

“Dax? You’re still here,” Rain whispers in surprise when her head pops around the door and spots me. It makes my fucking jaw clench that she asks, because they’re the ones who dragged me here.

“Where the fuck was I supposed to go, Rain?” I snap but keep my voice low, since I suspect Cohen is passed out on the other side of that door. Rainy takes a quick glance back into the dark behind her and then tiptoes out into the hallway wearing nothing but one of Cohen’s sweaters, which on her is practically a dress. Although as she moves, I do get flashes of her new snake tattoos and even a brief flash of panties.

“Shh.” She brings her finger to her lips. “Cohen’s passed out.”

My guess was a good one. Not surprising given how many whiskeys and Cokes he drank after our show tonight. It’s a miracle he could still get it up after all that.

Stop thinking about your best friend’s dick! I command my messed-up brain.

Instead, I snap, “You two weren’t exactly quiet. How did you know I wasn’t sleeping out here, huh?”

She stumbles a little towards me, and because she’s still a bit tipsy, she nearly trips over her own feet.

“Don’t be such an asshole, Dax,” she harps.

“Fuck you, Rain, I just spent the last half hour listening to you get dicked down,” by my best friend that I’m secretly head over heels in love with. But I don’t say that out loud. Nor do I mention the effect that listening to them had on me.

She tries to grimace, but there’s a twinkle in her dark eyes that I don’t miss. “Sorry about that.”