Dead Serious

by C. M. Stunich

  I pound Naomi into the table so hard that the damn thing shakes and smashes into the wall, chipping some of the beige paint from the drywall and sending the remaining water bottles crashing to the floor. But neither of us gives two shits about that.

  “God yes,” Naomi grinds out between her teeth and I almost come again. Right then and there. I swear, her words know how to fuck my ears so hard they feel like they're gonna have orgasms of their own. “Harder, faster, Turner.”

  “My pleasure, babe.” I pause for just a moment to lift up my shirt and toss it over my head, letting it hit the carpet near our feet as I bend over and slide my hand up her ribcage, under her little raggedy ass half-shirt, my fingers finding her breasts and her taut nipples. My torso presses up against Naomi's butt and back, sliding our sweaty skin together. I don't know what she wants from me, not exactly, but I can take a few guesses. I want Naomi to feel special, to know that she's special. Yeah, that might make me sound like a fag, but when it comes to love, I don't shit around. I want her to know that she's different from all those other girls, that even though I forgot our story for a little while, that I remember now and I'm sorry. “I don't usually do skin to skin, Naomi,” I growl out, letting my voice rumble in my chest. I want her to not just hear my words, but feel them in her bones. Lucky for me, I'm a singer, it's what I freaking do. “But with you, there are no barriers. I just want to be with you, body and soul, as long as you'll put up with me.”

  She doesn't respond except to whimper and I know that I'm really talking too damn much. So I focus on massaging her breasts, on moving my hand up to her face, tracing along her jaw, putting my fingers in her mouth. She sucks on them for a moment as I move inside of her and then bites down, hard enough to hurt. My breath hisses out from between my teeth.

  “God, you're such a bitch,” I groan and Naomi laughs, actually fucking laughs while I'm screwing her. Doesn't matter that her shirt is pushed up or her jeans pulled down, tangled around her ankles. Doesn't matter that she's bent over a fucking table getting nailed by the world's hottest rock star – yours truly – she's still in charge and I like that. I want to fight with this woman every day of my life, see her call me on my bullshit, watch her stare at me out of the corner of her eye with a smile when she thinks I'm not looking. All those other girls, the ones who threw themselves at my feet, begged for a single night on my bus, sucked my cock backstage at our shows, they were boring. This, this is what I was fucking waiting for.

  “And you're a bastard. Now Goddamn give it to me, Turner.” I pull my hand away from her face, suck on my slightly bruised fingers and get them nice and sopping wet. My right hand keeps hold of Naomi's luscious little ass while my left dips down and I insert a finger into her ass. I'm gentle enough about it, but I push hard, sliding into her and getting the thrill of feeling my own dick in her pussy. Dude, if you ain't ever tried it, you might want to sign up now. Takes a pro to keep the flow going though, if you know what I mean.

  Naomi lets out a small scream and sighs in pleasure, dropping to her elbows on the table to give me a better angle. I use my right hand as an anchor, holding her in place while I wet my dick and pleasure her ass at the same time. Not a very graceful position, but we're not fucking ballerinas; we're just trying to screw.

  “You like that, Knox? Now I own your pussy and your ass.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Turner,” she gasps, pushing herself into me, her throaty moans ascending into staccato whimpers. Bingo. I roll my eyes to the ceiling and let out a little prayer to the Horny God of Bastards. He's certainly smiling down on my ass today.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, the sound of a door opening registers, but I'm too busy getting my fucking shaft milked to do much about it. Naomi's coming, letting her forehead hit the table as she screams and spasms in my grip, muscles tightening in her back, her soft flesh rippling as I pummel into her. If somebody's just come in, then fuck 'em. They can watch for all I give a shit.

  “Right there, Knox. That's the spot.” I slide my fingers from Naomi's ass and let myself go as her body relaxes in my arms, slumping forward, so that I have to hold her up with my right hand.

  When I come, there's a smirk firmly planted on my lips.

  “He makes me so Goddamn … ” I grit my teeth and try to come up with a word that describes Turner Campbell. Nothing appropriate comes to mind. The only adjectives I can think of that apply to that asshole aren't allowed in print. I pause and shrug and then sigh. My body's still humming, singing a song under her breath about happy places and naughty spots that shouldn't be touched, but that feel oh so good.

  Blair leans back in the chair near the window and tucks her feet up. She's got on this vintage slip with lace around the neckline, totally impractical, definitely not something I'd ever want to sleep in. But it looks good on her. I spend my nights in sweatpants and band T-shirts.

  I stop my frantic pacing near the window and turn to look at her. Turner's not the reason I came up here. I mean, not really. In all honesty, after what just happened between us, I wanted to get the fuck out. I'm falling in love, and it's scary. Everyday, earth rumbles beneath my feet and I stumble, sliding even further and further into the abyss. I can't stop it. When I look at that pigheaded menace's face, my breath catches in my chest and my body heats up from the inside out. I might have to start wearing panty liners because I'm always ready and willing downstairs. His lip rings, his tattoos, those perfect abs, that fucking tongue ring.

  “You don't want to hear this,” I say, holding up my hands and taking a step back. After I practically sprinted away from Turner, leaving him with his pants still down around his ankles, I decided I should make the rounds and talk to my band members, see how they were feeling after America's threat on our lives.

  Blair smiles at me, her face strangely bereft of makeup. I'm used to seeing her with rouged lips and carefully applied eyeshadow, faux lashes in rainbow colors. I guess this tour is showing me sides of people I never thought I'd see. I suppose if I'm stuck here, I might as well make friends with the people I know I can trust. Or … at least who I think I can trust. For all I know, Blair is Stephen Hammergren's illegitimate child. Would not surprise me. Would not surprise me at all.

  “I don't mind,” she says, reaching up and scooping her blonde and black hair into a ponytail. Blair takes a hair tie off her wrist and ties it up. “I mean, I won't lie. At first I was pissed off for Dax. I felt like you were making a huge mistake choosing Turner over him, but … ” She shrugs again, and I try not to gape.

  “What? You were mad at me?” I point a finger at my chest and then feel a light flush cross my cheeks. You just let Turner finger your ass, Naomi. What the fuck? God, and the worst part was that I loved it.

  “Yeah,” Blair says with a shrug. “I was, but I suppose I can't be anymore. I mean, the way he looks at Sydney, it really makes me wish I was gullible enough to believe in love at first sight.” I purse my lips and cross my arms over my chest.

  “I'll try not to feel offended by that statement,” I say sarcastically and Blair laughs, looking up at me with her blue eyes sparkling. Despite the fact that Hayden just died, that our manager just threatened to shoot us, she seems okay. Good humored. I wonder why?

  “Don't be. I don't mean it as an insult. I can see that you really love Turner, and Dax needs someone that wants him for him, not as a consolation prize.”

  “I … have no idea what to say.” I pull out the chair from the table near the window and flip it around, sinking into the seat with a sigh. I want to deny that love is what I'm feeling for Turner, but … I said no more secrets. That means not even to myself. I love him. I always have, even after I woke up in that hotel room and found him gone. In spite of the odds against us, we found each other and the prospects in my personal life are looking up. It's just, you know, the business and physical harm departments where I'm lacking. Hey, I got a new beau, but I might get my head blown off by a sniper after my next concert. Interesting how life gives you something amazing to
hold onto at the same time it attempts to throw you off of a cliff. Go fuck yourself.

  “Just ignore me. Dax and I have been friends forever. I'm a little overprotective when it comes to him.” Blair uncrosses her legs and leans over the side of the chair, digging in her suitcase and coming up with a plastic bag filled with lollipops. “Want one?” I raise my eyebrow at her and she tosses me a wink.

  “You don't seem all that upset about Hayden?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I can tell they're not true. Blair's entire face shuts down, the light behind her eyes fading to darkness, so that when I look into her blue eyes, they seem black.

  “She killed herself. Obviously, she had a lot of problems. I mean,” Blair pauses and snaps her gaze up to mine, “I hated her. I really, really did. You know just as well as I do. You were there on the bus with her. Fuck, Naomi, you even cleaned up all of her messes.” I look away as a surprising bite of pain cuts through my heart. Hayden might've been a sadistic bitch from hell, but she was my sadistic bitch from hell.

  I sigh.

  Blair takes a sucker from the plastic bag and tosses the rest back into her suitcase.

  “I hated her, but I don't think she was all evil, you know? I just … I have no clue what's really going on here, Naomi. I heard what you had to say, what America said, and I saw that photograph of Hayden, but that's it. Pieces of other people's lives. I don't know why any of this happening, and I don't care. I just want it all to stop.”

  “Me, too,” I whisper, and I don't know what else to add to that. I could tell Blair about my secrets, let her into the fold. But I have to remember that my particular little demons are also felony crimes. I look away, at the curtains covering the window and the dusky sunlight straining to break through them. “America,” I begin, but there's really nothing to say. Would she really shoot us? We both know she would.

  “Is way out of line,” Blair says, sucking on her candy and staring up at the ceiling absently. A smile teases her lips. “At least the man with the gun is hot.”

  “You're impossible,” I say, but I'm more than happy to change the subject. My brain is stuck on our current situation, all of the little intricacies and horrors that make it up, and I can't seem to figure out a solution. If I keep pounding my head against it, I'm going to end up with a migraine and not much else.

  “No, you are. Coming up here complaining about Turner Campbell. What the hell did he do now?” I look up at Blair and swallow. No more secrets. But then, there's also such a thing as TMI. I haven't had many girlfriends in my life that I was close to. When it comes to sex, I have no idea how much I'm supposed to confide. I look up at the ceiling and find that Blair's gaze wasn't on nothing. There's a picture there. Of a penis. My gaze drops back to her face with a questioning look and a raised eyebrow. She looks over at me and then back at the ceiling before bursting into laughter. “It's sort of, you know, been awhile.”

  “Okay.” I stand up and slip my shades on my face. “You know, I don't want to know.” I pass by Blair and blow her a kiss, taking one last look at the massive erection taped to her ceiling. Maybe I don't want any girlfriends?

  “Sit next to you on the flight to L.A.?” she calls as I open the door and step out. There's a smiling crawling across my face in spite of the situation.

  “And discuss dick with you? Fat chance of that.” But I know that I will. Whether Turner likes it or not. I'm going to make a fucking friend.

  I head to Dax's room next, not because I particularly want to see him, but because I feel like I have to. I have to look into his eyes and say I'm sorry. The sound of his voice on the phone told me all I needed to know; he's devastated. Out of everyone, Dax was the only one who believed Hayden was redeemable. She has a kid. Somewhere out there, Stephen Hammergren has Hayden's child. Where she is and why, I don't know, but I'm going to find out. Just because Hayden's dead doesn't mean that little girl doesn't matter.

  I knock on Dax's door, ignoring the bodyguards behind and to either side of me. My two plus two for Dax. They're all Brayden's men, I'm sure. I doubt anything we do in their presence is private. At least they don't follow us in to our rooms.

  The door opens a crack and Sydney's face appears.

  “Hey Naomi,” she says with a tired half-smile. I try to smile back at her, but unlike with Blair, I can't let this all go, not even for a second, and pretend that I'm okay. I'm not okay. None of us are. “If you're here to see Dax, then you'll have to come back later. I drugged him up with some sleeping pills and put him to bed.” She shrugs and the robe she's wearing slides off her bare shoulder. Huh. So they're already sleeping together, are they? I try not to feel jealous. I'm not, not really. I'm happy with my choice. Dax wasn't ever really an option for me. Maybe I'm just narcissistic and enjoy the attention? I don't fucking know.

  “Could you tell him I stopped by when he gets up? Maybe have him text me?”

  “Sure thing,” she says with another smile and a wink. The door closes again and I'm left standing awkwardly in the hallway by myself.

  “Naomi.” I close my eyes and gather my self-control close around me like a blanket. I'm going to need every ounce of it to turn and look America in the face.

  “What?” I snap, opening my eyes back up and staring at Dax's closed door, the numbers in gold letters reflecting back a distorted image of my face. 325. Why couldn't the son of a bitch have been up? Then I might've avoided America for just a little bit longer. “Can I help you with something or would you like to have one of your lackeys hold a gun to my head for funsies?”

  America scoffs, crossing her good arm over her chest. I realize absently that she's got the sling on again. Guess throwing a massive temper tantrum wasn't the best move, was it? I hope she broke the damn thing. At least she's put herself back together, showered, put on some beige eyeshadow and new pantyhose to go with her gray skirt suit. Normalcy. Thank God. I could really use a dose of that.

  “I'd like to speak with you in private.”

  I glance at the security guards surrounding me, dressed in T-shirts and jeans, not suits and shades like you'd expect from high class, high cost security. I wonder how much this is costing me?

  “They gonna make me?”

  “For fuck's sake, Naomi. Come with me upstairs. We can have dinner in the restaurant.”

  I turn around to face her fully, pursing my lips and enjoying the fact that I'm wearing shades so she can't see the expression burning in my gaze. Hatred. Think I might be getting there with America. I am sick and tired of all of this crap. I just want to go back to touring, sleeping in an uncomfortable bunk, playing shows, smoking the occasional joint. That's it. Of course, my life's been irreparably altered, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing. Turner Campbell belongs to me now. Like I always wanted. Like I would've killed for when I was a teenager. And yeah, I've been through some shit, but maybe I could forget it all and move on? Maybe now I'll finally be able to cherish the easy moments in life, the quiet spaces between that make up the bulk of our existence?

  “The thought of sitting at a table across from you makes me sick to my stomach. You trust these guys, don't you?” I gesture at the guards, wondering once again where America knows Brayden from and why he's so damn loyal to her. “Whatever you have to say, spit it out. Tell me right here. Or, like I said, you can put a gun to my temple and force me to eat braised chicken with garlic and white wine while you blather away.”

  My manager's lips thin, but I don't care. I'm done playing games with her. So she'll have Brayden track me down and kill me if I run away? Fine. I'll stay. I'll play the concert, but I don't have to be nice about it. She's not going to off me for a few caustic comments.

  “We leave for L.A. tomorrow, Naomi. This might be your last chance to visit Katie.”

  “Katie?” I ask, thinking back to my foster sister. To Eric. Eric. I wish he was still alive, so I could kill him, take a fresh pair of scissors and send him to hell to visit his parents. Oh well. I suppose, if there really is a Heaven or Hell or whatever,
that he's wallowing in misery somewhere. Fucker. “Why is everyone so obsessed with me talking to Katie? What the hell does she have to do with anything? She's going to prison. Or more likely a mental-health ward where she'll spend the rest of her days wrapped in a white jacket.” Tears sting the corners of my eyes, but I push them back. I tried once to save my foster sister, and look how things turned out. There's nothing I can do for her now. Her brother, even if he was a rapist piece of shit, was murdered in front of a fuck ton of people. She killed a cop. Might've been a dirty cop, but who's going to know that? Who's going to believe me if I even tried to blow the lid on this coup?

  Of course, there's Hayden's child to think about. Eric's, supposedly. I don't know what happened between them, but Katie might. I clench my teeth and look down at the floor, closing my eyes again to get ahold of my emotions.

  “Just because you think this is an open-and-shut case doesn't mean it is,” America growls out between her perfect crowns, polished nice and white. I wonder what her story is, her whole story I mean. She's told us about Stephen, about Travis, about Harvard, but what happened before that? What was her family like? Her childhood? I'm not sure that I really care, but maybe it would help me fill in some of those missing spaces, those cracks that showed today when she freaked the fuck out on us.

  “What's that supposed to mean?” I ask her, but she's already turning away and moving down the hallway, black suede pumps quiet against the burgundy carpeting. I stare after her, watching as she gets on the elevator with her own guards and disappears behind the slide of silver doors.

  I need to talk my shit out with someone. I already tried Blair and while she was nice to talk to, it was hard to delve much deeper than the surface. I mean, that's not entirely her fault since I haven't told her the truth of my past, but this whole thing with Hayden is eating away at me. If I don't let it all out, I'm going to implode.