Page 99 of A Tragic Melody

“You got him a fucking lawyer. How very, very stupid.” His fingers flex into my throat. “You should’ve done nothing. Just kept your mouth shut and let the kid suffer for your sins.” His thumb slips in between my lips, wedging them open. “You’re so fucking stupid, you know that? Got no brains inside that pretty little head of yours.” His thumb leaves my mouth, swirling my saliva into my chin. “What have you been using? Any needles? Do I need to get tested?”

I shake my head.

“Just blow and pills then?”

I nod.

“Good.” He releases his grip on my neck. I remain still, too scared to speak or move. His hand reaches into the inside pocket of the suit jacket he wears. He pulls out a little container, flipping it open. “I’ve got you something to ease your pain.” He smirks at me. He yanks me into a seating position. “Let’s get you feeling good again, so we can sort all this out.”

He pulls out a key from his pocket, scooping up some white powder from the tin. I watch as he inhales some of the coke, sighing as he does. He scoops up some more, lifting it towards my nose. I stare at it. My body itches with desperation, but the thought of Wyatt being in jail because of me makes me remain motionless.

“I don’t want any.” I mumble.

“You don’t want any?” he growls lowly. “You have a show to play tonight and you look like a fucking mess. You’ll take this hit, take your punishment for talking back, and then you’ll go out there, sing nice and pretty for the fans that keep you off the fucking streets. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” I say softly, plugging one side of my nose and inhaling the drugs.

The minute they hit, instead of feeling good I just feel pathetic.

I don’t get a chance to acknowledge it, though. Hendricks has me in the back of a car off to his hotel room before I can really absorb my emotions. Something inside me knows this is rock bottom. That Wyatt is right, and I do deserve better. That I should get better. Can get better, but there is nothing I can do about it now.

My life belongs to the man who has me on my knees before him in the back of a car, forcing me to please him because I dared to talk back to him.

I couldn’t escape if I wanted to. Getting better is not possible when my life is literally in his hands. I’d give it all up to get away, but I don’t even have that luxury. I’m doomed to suffer until he grows tired of me or he kills me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The judge offers me bail, mostly because my drug test came back clean. I make bail easy. The advance the label gave me helped. I’m pretty sure they will be asking for that back when all this is over, but that’s a problem for the future. One of many.

I’m racking up a lot of debt by the minute right now. I owe Tuesday for the lawyer, the label whatever money they demand when they cut me, and now court fees.

I’m exhausted. I barely got any sleep last night. The court-appointed lawyer showed up bright and early to meet me. I fired the one Tuesday got, hoping it wouldn’t get out that she even hired one for me. I don’t need her caught up in any of this. It’s not going to help me.

The court-appointed lawyer wasn’t bad. He was able to angle my recovery process being difficult, but clearly, while I may have had the drugs, I wasn’t using. I had to swing by a drug testing place for them to take a hair sample, because apparently, they want to see that I’ve been sober for as long as I claim.

When that comes back clean, I’m not sure what will happen. The defense is angling that I’m covering for someone, but they can’t really prove that unless I confess. And I have no plans on doing that.

Now I’m standing outside the drug testing place, with no idea what to do. My lawyer said I could continue on tour, since it’s my job the court will allow it, so long as I don’t miss my next court date. But I’m not even sure I have a job right now.

I have no missed calls from Veritas that say I don’t have a job. Nothing from anyone, honestly. I debate calling Tuesday, but I don’t want to drag her into this any more than she already is.

Not having any other options, though, I hit call. It rings and rings, and then goes to voicemail. That can’t be a good sign, but maybe she has come to her senses and realized avoiding me is better.

I call Quinn next. Maybe he can at least fill me in on what I’ve missed.

“Hey,” he answers. “Are you a free man?”

“For now. Out on bail.”

“That’s better than nothing,” he says. “If you hustle, you could probably make it in time for the show. Might miss sound check, but better than the whole thing.”

“Am I allowed?” I question.

“I honestly don’t know,” he whispers. “Mr. Hendricks is pretty pissed off about the whole thing, but I think you being here is better than not.”

“Mr. Hendricks is there?”

“Yeah. He showed up early this morning. Took Tuesday off to talk things over.”