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“Your ass is disgusting,” Kieran barks, slapping a hand across his butt cheek, rippling the skin, and leaving an angry red welt behind on his pasty skin.
“Oh, baby! Do it again!” Rad howls, locking his hands behind his head. “Ah, this is freedom,” he groans with relief, arching his back.
“How the hell did we get to this?” I mumble, closing my eyes, so I don’t have to stare at his dimply ass while sliding down the wall. I swear the dude can’t keep his pants on to save his life. Every chance he gets, he’s dropping trow and letting his dick fly free. Must be nice to have no restraints. But someone has to keep him in line.
We’ve been dead on our feet since we walked backstage into the darkened space dedicated to the talent. It’s small, shabby, and fucking gross. Shifting my weight, my nose wrinkles when my pants stick to the floor. Don’t they ever clean this place? Shit. Images of River frantically cleaning every inch of this place, runs through my mind. Hell, she probably hasn’t been back here to clean, because she’s working her life away and killing herself here.
Taking a deep breath, I revel in the surrounding nothingness—no noises, shouting crowd and, most importantly, no groupies shoving their titties in our faces. This moment of silence gives us time to unwind after such a killer performance. All these gigs are starting to wear us down, but we don’t have time to stop. We’re persevering and fucking rocking this shit before we hit enter and submit our talent for the most prestigious record company in the US. In the future, this could be our life. Performance after performance. City after fucking city on a tour bus filled with Rad’s naked ass. Okay, maybe not that. Shivers of disgust roll through me, envisioning him running naked everywhere. And now I need bleach for my brain.
“If I never have to see your dick again, it’d be a good day,” Callum murmurs, tossing his head back and sighing with a grin.
“Agreed,” Kieran snaps, running a towel over his face and neck, soaking up the sweat dripping down his skin, grinding his teeth. He closes his eyes, taking several deep breaths, trying to reign in his after-performance anger. I swear it’s what got us into this whole debacle, anyway.
If he hadn’t banged River, well—we wouldn’t be here or on our way to California. Sure, we could have gotten someone else to record our videos or gotten us more gigs. River’s been a saint through this whole thing—a dangerous saint, leading us down a path we can’t come back from. Doubt seeps into my mind, infecting my runaway thoughts with insidious ideas. Some days I wonder if we’re taking the right road with her. Looking around the room, I gaze at the faces of my brothers’. Happiness radiates from every inch of them. But is it from our performance? Or the woman who supplied us with this opportunity? Because of her, we’re here. One question repeats in my mind over and over again. Do we actually want to bring her to California? Since River came into the picture, our band dynamic has drastically changed. But for the good? Or bad? How much more damage can she inflict before we implode and throw our dreams away?
Internally, I groan, running a hand down my face. River brings nothing but a whirl of confusion, storming inside me and pulling me in different directions. She’s this…annoying gnat, yet beautiful little brat who I want to choke…with my cock so she can’t utter another witty remark. She’s…getting way too into our heads—especially mine.
The crowd beyond the black curtain’s loud chatter slowly fades away into nothing but crickets. Looking at my phone, I note it’s almost closing time. Just on cue, the bubbly little bartender’s voice rings through the system, telling everyone to get the fuck out, and they comply. Soon, we’re left in comfortable silence. But in the quiet, something still nags the back of my mind, and looking around, I notice the missing piece who trails after us like a desperate groupie—River.
“I swear to God, bitch, if you’re back here sucking dick,” shouts Ode, the bubbly bartender, right before she rips open the curtain and sticks her head in with a frown. “Well, not sucking dick,” she says, shaking her head. “But someone certainly has their hairy ass out,” she quips, looking the room over. “You four seen your girlfriend?” she asks, raising a brow.
Rad grins, pulling up his boxers and pants and turning around. “I’m glad someone else finally admits that she’s my girlfriend!” he says with way too much enthusiasm. “But wait. Where is River?” he asks, making my fucking heart skip a beat.
Something is wrong… Something is off, and it smacks me in the damn face. River isn’t here to annoy me.
“That’s what I’m fucking asking. Come out, come out wherever you are, bitch!” she yells jokingly, but I see the worry sitting behind her dark eyes as they crinkle when she doesn’t get an answer. Her fingers tighten into fists as her eyes flash around the room, and she huffs. “I haven’t seen her since she took the trash out. I swore I saw her come back in….” she trails off, looking toward the single window blocked out by a blackout curtain, only letting a sliver of light come through the split down the middle.
“What do you mean she went outside at one in the fucking morning to dump the trash?” Kieran barks, jumping to his fucking feet like a mad dog with his nostrils flaring as he marches toward her. The only thing stopping him is my hand on his heaving chest.
“Cool your shit,” I hiss through clenched teeth, side-eyeing him. “You’re in—fuck shit up and ask questions later—mode right now.”
“I said what I said. River is a big girl despite you treating her like a fucking baby. She did what she always does every night. You’d all probably shit your pants if you knew she’s walked home at three in the morning more times than I can count. You all know better than I do. That woman does whatever the fuck she wants to and….” Ode pales when a light flashes between the sliver of the curtain, lighting the room up in reds and blues. “What the fuck!” she shrieks with urgency, marching toward the side door, and slams out of it with a cry.
Kieran doesn’t waste a single moment stomping out the door after her. It isn’t until I hear the roar of his anger do I pile out the door with Callum and Rad on my tail. Only, we don’t make it too far and come to an abrupt stop, freezing on the spot. Every muscle in my body locks tight. My eyes dart around, taking in the scene with a critical eye.
Numerous police offices stalk the alleyway with their heads down and moving up and down with a critical eye. One points to the ground, shaking his head as they follow the trail. On further inspection, my breath leaves my lungs and I’m left gasping for oxygen. Two officers walk along a dark red trail of blood leading out of the alley and onto the street. And that’s where I see him, cowering in the shadows with a pale face and vacant expression—fucking Donavan Drake.
“What the fuck?” I murmur with outrage, watching with wide, horrified eyes as the scene gets worse and worse by the second.
“Oh-oh no,” Callum cries out through a quivering voice. Covering his mouth, Callum frantically shakes his head and forces his eyes closed—removing himself from the situation mentally.
“It’ll be okay, Cal,” Rad murmurs through a crack in his voice with the reassurance I’m sure he doesn’t feel. Slowly, he rubs circles on Callum’s back in a soothing manner, whispering barely audible words, hoping to soothe his grief.
Turning Callum, so his back is to the scene, Rad consoles him through his anguish. With shaky hands, Callum rips his earbuds from his pocket and forces them in his ears, shaking in Rad’s embrace. With every fiber of his being, I know he wants to run to her and ensure her safety. He wants to hold her against his chest and heal her wounds. But he also doesn’t want to remember the scene. He doesn’t want it seared into his memory, where he can recall it for eternity—the blood, the fucking carnage of it all.
My aching heart fucking sinks into my gut, swallowed by the churning acid threatening to obliterate it into pieces. EMTs surround her body. Her fucking body! Frantically checking her pulse and noting the injuries with two police officers who take notes.
Deep red dripping blood catches my eye first, splattered like fucking spaghetti sauce on the white walls. There it is all around her unmoving body laid out on the pavement. And on her face. Her fucking hands gleam in it. Bright red scratches split the skin of her shins and knees, working toward her thighs where her goddamn shorts button was popped open, exposing the front of her panties. My stomach churns more, burning the back of my throat with bile, when the police officers finally notice it too.
If someone touched her, I’ll fucking bury them so deep no one will find the evidence.
“You son of a bitch!” Kieran wails before I even think about catching him by the shirt and stopping him from drowning in his emotions and acting without thinking. All the pent-up, after-performance rage rushes through his system and infecting him with violence.
I’m a frozen mass of hysterics when Kieran slams his vicious fist straight into Van’s face over and over again, knocking them to the ground in front of two police officers, watching their every move. Great. This is just fucking great. The last thing we need is that idiot getting into trouble or worse, arrested.
“It wasn’t me!” Van cries, trying to heave a fist into the side of Kieran’s face, but fails. Kieran is way too gone, sinking into the abyss of his blacked-out anger like it’s overpowered and taken him over. “It wasn’t me! I found her!” Van wails, catching Kieran in the side of the jaw and knocking him on the ground.
“Stand down!” someone shouts in Kieran’s direction, but he doesn’t pay them any attention.
