Staged (Exodus End World Tour, #3)

by Cunning, Olivia

  Roux was breathing like a wild animal, blood thrumming in her ears, adrenaline surging through her body. She wanted the bitch to die. Not just hurt, but actually die. And she was more than prepared to do the honors.

  “Roux!” Iona said sharply, trying to remove her hands from Tamara’s throat.

  It was like Roux was watching this from a distance. Surely she wasn’t pummeling the hell out of another human being. She wasn’t snarling like a caged beast and cursing a trail of obscenities with each blow. It couldn’t have really taken three grown men to finally subdue her. Even when she found herself pinned facedown on the floor and unable to move, she was still completely out of control, thrashing and screaming as if she’d escaped a padded room but been recaptured to be sent back to her sad, solitary confinement. She’d completely lost it. Just like her father. Exactly like him. If there hadn’t been someone to stop her, Roux was certain she would have killed Tamara. Not just hurt her. Killed her.

  Just like her father had killed.

  Like her father.

  All the fight went out of her, and she began to sob. Even then it took the man with his knee in her back several minutes to trust her enough to free her.

  Lily was the one who got to her first and pulled her into a tight embrace, stroking her hair and murmuring in a soothing tone.

  “I’m sorry,” Roux said through her tears. “I’m so sorry. Oh God, did I hurt her?”

  “Not any more than she deserved,” Raven said.

  “I could have killed her.”

  “Nah,” Iona said. “We wouldn’t have let it go that far.”

  “I’m pressing charges,” Tamara said, dabbing at the blood on her lip with a napkin.

  “I wanted to hurt her,” Roux said, completely inconsolable. “I wanted to destroy her.”

  “Get in line,” Raven said. “If she thinks you hit hard”—Raven cracked her knuckles—“she doesn’t realize you’re the sweet one.”

  But Roux couldn’t claim that title any longer. She’d never felt such uncontrollable rage. Yes, the woman was half responsible for destroying every wonderful thing between her and Steve, but that was no excuse. What had set her off like that?

  “Well, now you know for sure that you should never drink.” Iona crouched down beside Roux and rubbed the center of her back.

  “I think she should drink more often,” Azura said, a smartass grin on her face. “I know a few bitches I’d like her to beat the fuck out of.”

  Tears brimmed in Roux’s eyes, and she shook her head. The mere thought of hurting someone made her physically ill, where ten minutes ago she’d have told the bitches to form a line and let the ass kickings begin. Had it really been the alcohol, or was something inside her broken? Had her entire life, her entire belief system of never harming another living creature, been a huge sham? Had she just been fooling everyone, including herself? She really was her father’s daughter.

  “I think I need to throw up,” she said, grabbing Raven’s arm to pull herself to her feet.

  “I’ll help her,” Lily said. Raven, who’d already taken her usual spot at Roux’s side, exchanged a long searching look with Lily and then stepped aside.

  Roux started toward the bathroom, leaning heavily on Lily, but realized she wasn’t going to make it and began shoving her way through the crowd with one hand over her mouth. Thankfully, the women’s bathroom was deserted. Lily held her hair back as she purged the poison from her stomach and then wet a paper towel for Roux’s forehead. Roux’s hands were shaking so badly, she dropped it several times before Lily sat on the surprisingly clean floor beside her and urged Roux to rest her head on her lap, gently pressing the cool towel to Roux’s skin. Roux took deep breaths to calm herself, but she couldn’t stanch the sudden flow of tears.

  “I’m just like him,” she whispered, her gaze unfocused. She rubbed her sore knuckles with her opposite hand.

  Lily wiped at her tears with the paper towel and stroked her hair. She was a pretty good substitute for Mama in a bind. “Just like who, sweetheart?”

  A fleeting image of his enraged faced as he pointed that gun at her chest and pulled the trigger flickered through her memory, and a wave of terror washed over her. “My father.”

  “No, love. You’re much stronger than he is.”

  But not less terrible.

  “Do you know why I play drums?” Lily asked, her hand still hypnotically petting Roux’s hair.

  “You have perfect rhythm.”

  A slight smile graced Lily’s lips. “I like to hit things. Hard and repeatedly. When Mama first took me in, I’d hit anything I could get my hands on, including her.”

  “Because your mother used to hit you?” The sisters knew each other’s past horrors and what had brought them to Mama. There were no secrets between them, but Roux hadn’t realized Lily had been a hitter.

  “Yes. That’s how I learned to deal with my anger, and back then I was always angry. But instead of making me stop, Mama gave me an outlet. Something I could hit as hard as I wanted and as often as I wanted until eventually the anger lessened. The urge to hit never went away, though.”

  “So my urge to kill Tamara when I’m drunk will forever haunt me?”

  Lily laughed softly and hugged Roux’s head against her belly.

  “Jack wants me to have a baby,” Lily said.

  Roux gasped and wrapped her arms around Lily’s waist. “Oh, Lily, that would be wonderful.”

  “I refused.” Her eyes flicked upward, and she swallowed hard.

  Roux sat up and knelt on the floor, taking Lily’s hands in hers. She could tell her eldest sister needed someone to confide in.

  “What if I get mad at my child and I start hitting and I can’t stop? What if I’m just like my mother?”

  Roux squeezed Lily’s hands tightly and shook them. “You’re not like her, Lily. You’re nothing like her.”

  Lily’s eyes were brimming with tears when she cupped Roux’s cheek in her hand and held her gaze as she said, “And you’re nothing like your father.”

  Roux pressed her eyelids shut, which released a few tears to trace hot paths down her cheeks, and she nodded.

  “But you really shouldn’t drink,” Lily added. “It doesn’t suit you.”

  Roux released a short laugh, more an exhalation of relief than humor. “I won’t.”

  They hugged it out until there was a knock at the door. “Are you two okay in there?” Iona asked.

  “Be out in a minute,” Lily called. She helped Roux to her feet and to the sink, where Roux washed her face and rinsed out her mouth and avoided looking at herself in the mirror.

  “Are you going to try to give Jack that baby he wants?” Roux asked as she dried her hands.

  “I’m sure I’ll cave eventually.” Lily chuckled. “You know I can’t deny that man anything.”

  “Auntie Roux.” Roux tested the name for the first time. “It has a nice ring to it.”

  When she opened the door, her four other sisters were standing there with anxious expressions. Again she was reminded how lucky she was to have these women in her life.

  “Are you ready to go back to the hotel?” Raven asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.

  “Shouldn’t I wait for the police?” She hadn’t forgotten Tamara’s threat.

  “Dare convinced her not to press charges,” Iona said.

  “Dare did?”

  Sage sighed loudly. “Such a nice guy. And gorgeous too.”

  “Nope,” Iona said, looping her arm through Sage’s to direct her toward the door. “It’s bad enough that Roux hooked up with one of them. We are not going down that road twice.”

  Hooked up? And past tense? Roux felt like she might throw up again. She wasn’t quite ready to give up on Steve. She at least wanted to hear his side of the story before she ended their relationship.

  “Your purse,” Raven said, and she handed Roux’s bag to her.

  Roux didn’t hesitate to dig through it for her pho
ne. She had a missed call from Steve, but he hadn’t left a voicemail.

  He had texted her one very infuriating message, however: Please tell me you didn’t see those pictures.

  Not a denial. Or even an apology.

  “That motherfucker,” Roux muttered under her breath. She stomped out of the tavern behind her sisters.

  Thirty-Three

  By the time Steve returned to the bar, almost everyone had left. Logan, Max, and Dare were still there, and for some reason they were talking to Tamara. She’d looked better. She had a split lip and a darkening bruise on one cheek. When she smiled at him, he had the sudden urge to add a matching bruise to her other cheek, but he ignored her instead.

  “Where’s Roux?” Steve asked his bandmates. “Was she here? What happened?”

  “She was pissed,” Max said. “She beat up your girlfriend.” He pointed at Tamara. “And then she left.”

  “My girlfriend?”

  Behind Tamara, Logan was shaking his head and miming, apparently to keep Steve from denying the outlandish claim. What the fuck was going on?

  “I have to take a wicked piss,” Logan said, now gesturing with a craning neck and pointing his eyes toward the bathroom.

  Dudes didn’t typically go to the bathroom in a congregation the way that women did when they needed a private word, but this was an emergency. He nodded at Logan, who walked away.

  “I’m gonna grab a drink,” Steve said as soon as Logan was in the bathroom. And he sure needed one, but he made a detour to the toilet on his way to the bar.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Steve asked Logan, glad they were alone.

  “That chick is completely delusional,” Logan said, pointing toward the door.

  “Yeah. So why are you talking to her and why does Max think she’s my girlfriend? Roux is my girlfriend.” Maybe.

  “He doesn’t think that, Tamara thinks that. She thinks you’re here to protect her from that crazy woman who tried to take you away from her. Roux has a vicious right hook, by the way.”

  Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Roux did that to her face?”

  “Sorry you missed it. Awesome catfight.”

  “Roux is the gentlest person I ever met. She would never . . .” Steve rubbed his face with one hand. He’d done that to her. Made her act out of character and hurt someone.

  “You have to tell me why you fucked Tamara in the first place. You can’t possibly be that desperate. Did you freak out over commitment and self-sabotage, or . . .” Logan peered at Steve through squinted eyes, as if he were the most challenging puzzle ever construed.

  “God, no. I don’t remember fucking her.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “I got really drunk that first night in Donington, and I saw her on the way to my room, but then I blacked out, and the next thing I remember, Roux is there trying to wake me up.” The only thing that could explain his lapse was that Tamara had shown up at his room and he’d been so wasted that he’d done those things with her. Steve swallowed the bile climbing his throat. Every time he thought about what he must have done, he felt sick.

  “That psycho probably roofied you.”

  “What?” Drugged him? She had taken a swig off his bottle of whiskey. Had she slipped something into it when he’d been distracted by hating her presence? “Does that work on guys?”

  Logan snorted. “If you don’t care that his dick can’t get hard.”

  His dick hadn’t been hard. That would explain how she could suck it without straining herself.

  “So she drugged me, entered my room uninvited, molested me while I was unconscious, and then posted the pictures online. Is she that fucking stupid?”

  “I think that’s been established, but ew. I’m really sorry, dude. That’s truly fucking horrific.”

  He had to tell Roux what happened. Or what he thought had happened. How could he be sure, though? Maybe he’d been so drunk that he’d invited Tamara up to his room for a good time. But even though he couldn’t remember hours from that night, that possibility didn’t feel right to him.

  “Can they detect rope in the system, like in a blood test or in the urine?” He was very familiar with drug testing, but not with Rohypnol. It was one of the few drugs he’d never tried, and he sure as hell would never slip it to some unsuspecting female. “How long does it stay in the body?” It had been almost three days; maybe too much time had passed. He did have a rock star liver and kidneys, after all. He cleared drugs and alcohol from his system like a professional.

  “How the fuck would I know? Do I look like the kind of guy who’d know anything about date-rape drugs?”

  “You’re the one who thought of it, so it must be the only way you can get laid.” Steve was teasing, but he got a punch in the chest for his taunt. “Maybe Butch knows.” Because if Steve had Rohypnol in his system, he could prove that Tamara had staged those photos. Or at least have enough evidence to convince Roux that he hadn’t cheated on her. She’d have to forgive him then.

  “If Butch doesn’t know, he’ll find out; he’s that awesome. Now, can you leave? I really do need to take a wicked piss.”

  Steve frowned. They were in a one-person bathroom, not one with multiple urinals and stalls. What must the regular patrons be thinking about the two of them holed up together in there? More fodder for the rumor mill.

  Steve went to the bar to order a drink. He wondered if the bartender knew anything about date-rape drugs but figured the man would think the worst of him if he started asking suspicious questions. He collected his drink and returned to the table, not sure how best to handle Tamara. Maybe she’d spill her secrets if he played along. He would not, however, touch her under any circumstance. He chose Logan’s vacated seat so that he sat across from her rather than beside her.

  “Does your face hurt?” he asked. It’s killing me, he added silently, sipping at his Irish whiskey. He’d likely never touch Jack again. He stared into his glass, wondering what Roux had been drinking to set her off on a rampage. Or maybe her attempts to rearrange Tamara’s face hadn’t had anything to do with alcohol. It wasn’t the first time a pair of women had come to blows over him, but it was the first time he hadn’t found the idea entertaining. Had Tamara hit Roux in return?

  He shifted, trying to get comfortable in an uncomfortable situation. Why was he sitting there sipping whiskey when he should be looking for Roux? No mystery there. He was afraid how much it would hurt his heart when she rightfully told him to go fuck himself.

  He shifted again.

  If he could prove that he’d been drugged and hadn’t wanted to cheat on her, would Roux believe him? Would it matter if she did? He rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand. Had he really allowed Tamara’s tit to touch his lips? He rubbed his tongue against his upper teeth as if to scrape off an unsavory flavor. Had he licked her? Even accidentally. God! Did women have these odd thoughts after they’d been violated, as if what had happened was somehow their fault? And rather than blame their violator, did they imagine that if they’d done something different they could have avoided being molested?

  He knew those feelings were bullshit, but there they were. How had she gotten into his room? He had to have let her in; no one but Roux and Zach had a spare key. Unless Tamara had convinced the front desk to give her one. Or maybe she’d gotten her hands on a housekeeper’s key. She was sneaky enough to do it, but he doubted he’d ever discover the details. Surely she wasn’t dumb enough to tell him.

  “It hurts a little,” Tamara said, touching the cut on her lip with the tip of her tongue, bringing Steve’s attention back to the table. “I know I should press charges, but Dare’s right. We’d be tied up in international courts for ages. Not worth it to me. Knowing that you’re finished with her is enough punishment for her.”

  Steve choked on his drink, and Max whacked him heartily on the back.

  “It’s a good thing we pulled that crazy woman off your girlfriend here.” Max’s fingers dug into Steve’s
back. A warning? Or . . .

  “Yeah, good thing,” Tamara said. “Her father was a murderer, you know. No telling how far she would have gone.”

  “How do you know about her father?” Steve asked, pushing his hands under the table and clutching his thighs. Tamara’s tongue was uncharacteristically loose. If he kept his cool, she might let something slip.

  Tamara smiled. “It’s my job to dig up dirt on celebrities.”

  He hoped the heartless wench didn’t print a story about Roux’s past. Roux didn’t need the ghosts that haunted her to become public knowledge.

  “Though she’s not much of a celebrity,” Tamara said. “Not like you guys.”

  Max leveled one of his million-dollar smiles at her. She blinked as if hypnotized.

  “I’m sure Baroquen has a lot of secrets,” Max said. “Do you think that’s why they wear costumes?”

  Steve punched Max’s knee, but his gaze never strayed from Tamara’s.

  “Oh, for sure. Why do you think Sam is so interested in them? All of them have horrible stories in their pasts.”

  Steve stopped breathing. Sam was interested because they were talented and extremely marketable and . . . perfect little tragedies to exploit in his tabloid.

  “That tabloid of his is gaining readership rapidly,” Dare said. “Must be exciting to have your byline on every page.”

  “Not every page.” She grinned. “Bianca writes some of the articles.”

  “About stuff anyone can find on the web,” Dare said, and he actually reached across the table to stroke a line down the center of her hand. “But you’re out in the trenches, getting the real juicy stories. I hope Sam is paying you well.”

  Tamara peeked at Steve and then at Dare’s finger before drawing her hand away and tucking it under the table. What? Was she afraid Steve wouldn’t like Dare to touch his girlfriend?

  Logan flopped down in the seat next to Tamara. “What did I miss?” he asked.

  He received three sharp, cautionary looks from his bandmates. They were working their collective charm on this woman, and hopefully they’d learn more before she realized she was being played.