Bang (Hard Rock Harlots Book 5)

by Kendall Grey

  With a shaking finger, I press the play button.

  The video shows Letty on our tour bus being interviewed by Anna. Except it’s not an interview. It’s a slaughter. Letty slams Lizzie for buying a house in Hollywood. Letty accuses Banging Betties of making noise rather than music. Letty turns on the cameraman like a rabid animal, threatening bodily harm.

  FUCK.

  Rage blurs my vision. I charge to the bus, rampage up the stairs, and storm down the aisle to the couches where the band members sit. Letty jumps to her feet. My lungs work overtime to process the incoming rush of fury overwhelming my senses.

  “I can explain,” Letty says.

  “I don’t want an explanation.” I shut her excuse down with a snarl.

  This is the final straw. Letty isn’t just killing herself with her rock ’n’ roll hubris. She’s killing the rest of the band too. It ends now.

  “I want you to pipe the fuck down and keep a low profile until this tour is over. Don’t say another word to Anna or Lizzie or any-fucking-one unless I tell you to. Stay away from the Internet. Make no posts. Answer no questions. Not a word. Do you understand, little girl?”

  Letty flinches, her bottom lip trembling about as hard as mine is. She nods and plows toward the exit. Shades starts after her and calls her name.

  I round on him, slapping a hand to his sternum. “Let her go. She needs to reflect on how badly she fucked up this tour for everyone and how she’s gonna make it up to you. If she even can. Maybe she’ll finally learn something about tact. And fucking humility.”

  Shades’s eyes narrow as he clenches his jaw, no doubt biting back his own retort.

  “Yeah? When I dislodge this knife from my back, I’ll see what I can do, you goddamn traitor,” Letty fires over her shoulder as she thunders down the stairs.

  Her vitriol bullet hits me square in the chest. I cave from the power of it.

  She thinks I’m a traitor?

  All I ever wanted was to give these kids what they deserved: a spot at the top of the charts. This video just killed that dream. But as hotheaded as Letty is, she’s not one to take her negative feelings toward the hand that feeds her to the streets. I smell something rotten in the Cowboy State.

  If I know my Lizzies, I’d bet those Louboutins I squirreled away when I first got this job that she had more to do with the train wreck of a video than Letty did.

  I survey the fallout.

  Shades pushes past me and runs down the stairs after Letty. Rax scrolls through comments on his phone, shaking his head every few seconds, mumbling random “fucks” along the way. He huffs to his feet and paces up and down the aisle. Eve emerges from the shower in a towel, confusion plastered over her face. Jinx and Toombs glance up to Rax, to each other, to me.

  “What are we supposed to do?” Rax asks.

  “I don’t know,” I reply. “This is a PR apocalypse. Maybe we should wait for it to blow over and pick up the pieces when the zombies finish feeding.”

  My mind races for excuses I’ll never be able to defend publicly without proof. Not having witnessed the interview in real time, I don’t know exactly what Letty said or did, aside from the damning footage.

  “So, we’re just gonna let them eat her alive?” Jinx asks timidly.

  “We can’t sit here and do nothing,” Rax argues. “This affects all of us. We could get booted from the tour.”

  “They won’t boot you from the tour,” Eve says.

  She doesn’t know Richard or Lizzie the way I do.

  Toombs and I exchange worried looks.

  “You might take some hits,” Eve continues, “but this isn’t big enough to knock you out of the game.”

  Rax waves his phone. “Based on what I’m reading, it damn sure is. We gotta contain this shit. Make Letty apologize or something.”

  “Letty’s never been big into apologies, especially when she thinks she’s right,” I say.

  Rax clamps his lips together and shuts up.

  Regardless of what Letty did, as Killer Buzz Float’s manager, I can’t stand by and let her weather the storm on her own. I have to do something.

  “Fuck this,” I mumble and head for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Rax asks.

  “To fix this.”

  “How?” he says.

  By selling my soul to the devil. Again.

  “Not sure yet, but I’m pretty fucking good at improvisation.” I descend the steps and head toward the Banging Betties’ bus.

  I could kiss Lizzie’s ass and tell her how great her band is. Or offer myself to her on a silver platter. Whatever form of flattery it takes to sneak into her good graces and gather what I need to knock her bitch ass off the high horse and put Letty back in the saddle.

  The parking lot is a flurry of activity as roadies load equipment and prepare for the move to the next city. A few straggler fans pinball around. Security guards advise them to move along.

  Under a floodlight, Anna DeVille disembarks from the Banging Betties’ bus with the cameraman beside her, fresh off another interview, I assume.

  “Hey, did you get my email?” She snickers to the lithe, red-haired figure approaching the pink bus.

  I dart into the shadows.

  “I did,” Lizzie replies with a lopsided grin. She puffs on her cigarette, tips her head back, and laughs through a lungful of smoke.

  “I’ve enjoyed playing tag with you these last few days,” Anna declares.

  My ears perk up. What kind of heinous shit have these two been exchanging through cyberspace?

  “It is fun, watching the mighty fall, no?” Lizzie’s cruel laughter reignites the fuse on my anger. “Catch you later.”

  “Pleasure doing business with you.” Anna struts away to her car.

  My heart pinches.

  They colluded to fuck Letty over.

  My Letty. My band. My kids.

  The proof lies somewhere on an email server.

  Vengeance thunders through my veins. Fuck with me, I’ll put up a fight and accept the consequences, whatever they may be. But fuck with my kids, and you are a dead rat corpse floating in a river of your own blood.

  I lick my lips.

  “Bitch, you have fucked with the wrong submissive,” I mumble.

  Throwing my shoulders back and tits out, I head for the Banging Betties bus.

  I am momma bear. Hear me roar.

  Trojan Whore

  Over the next three days, I subject myself to Lizzie’s whims, a whore desperate to expose her pimp. None of my secret recordings turn up any evidence against the bitch, and I can’t access her phone.

  I requested the raw footage of the damning video of Letty from Megamusic, but unsurprisingly, the company rep I spoke to claims it’s corrupted and not viewable. Anna, no doubt, put in a good word for Lizzie on that front. Or maybe it was Richard. Either way, Megamusic won’t play ball.

  Meanwhile, the internet trolls continue to feast on Letty’s corpse, and I stand by, doing what undoubtedly appears to be nothing as her career—and quite possibly, the entire band’s career—crumbles around her.

  They’re killing me as much as her. It physically hurts to see her beaten like this, but I can’t risk telling her what I’m doing to try to fix things. Her lips are as loose as her filter is nonexistent. If Lizzie provoked her, she’d no doubt blab something she shouldn’t in the heat of the moment, and if this shit goes to court (God forbid), we need all our legal ducks in a row. Which means Letty stays out of the loop. For now.

  Thankfully, Letty’s kept quiet online despite dwindling attendance at the last three shows and increased security amid threats of violence against the band. Her public execution has been brutal, but where I play the role of Pontius Pilate, Shades is her Simon of Cyrene. In the face of a paternity test, healing a broken dick, and running damage control, he’s the one unshakeable arm of support holding her up. God bless that man.

  I got word from Richard that Socket Energy Drinks, the main sponsor for Get Your Rock Off, pl
ans to pull the plug on their cash flow to the tour unless Killer Buzz Float takes a hike. Socket hasn’t made an official announcement or contacted me directly, but the stench of defeat fouls the winds blowing our way.

  With no indication that the shitstorm is slowing down, I had no choice but to ask Letty to make an apology.

  Well, not so much an apology as a statement explaining her side of the story.

  Worse, she’s considering it.

  I have never hated anyone as much as I hate Lizzie Smith.

  As the bus ambles down I-94 toward Billings, white-encrusted conifers blur past my bunk window, their ancient branches dragged low by icicle burdens, like annoying barnacles of the woods. I’ll bet they sometimes wish those mighty arms would just go ahead and snap to relieve the stress of such weight. Then they could shake off, stand up straight after slouching for so long, and present themselves with a modicum of stoicism. A few scars here and there only prove how strong they really are.

  I feel like the biggest asshole in Montana.

  Beyond my bunk curtain, the coffeepot sloshes in sync with the bus’s bouncing wheels over a sketchy bit of road. Toombs must be up.

  My phone dings with a text from Lizzie: I want u over here when we get to Billings.

  Bitterness fills my mouth. I already know how this day will roll. I’ll go to Lizzie’s bus, grit my teeth through the degradation, and fail again to get the goods on her. As soon as she’s done using me, she’ll kick me out like a bad habit. I’ll lose another self-respect point. Same shit, new day.

  Speaking of bad habits …

  Grabbing my e-cigarette, I roll out of bed, clacking my nicotine-thickened tongue to incite the worker bees of Salivary Central into action. I gotta quit smoking. For real this time.

  I glance to Letty’s bunk.

  Lizzie’s phone is the only way out of this mess.

  A rush of nausea jostles my stomach. I puff my cigarette a couple times and toss it behind the curtain.

  Toombs waves an empty mug at me from his guard station at the coffeepot. I nod and join him.

  “Good man, James,” I say, accepting the cup.

  He retrieves the pot and tops me off, his gory tattoos rolling over the muscles in his bare chest. I angle my nose over the rising steam, inhaling the robust scent. Coffee may be the only thing strong enough to get me out of this bitter funk.

  “You know, the Banging Betties’ roadies say she’s a real cunt.” Toombs beams his silver gaze at me over the lip of his mug as he samples the brew.

  “Who?”

  “Lizzie.”

  “I coulda told you that,” I mumble and slurp.

  He shrugs. “Apparently, she goes through roadies like a priest goes through altar boys. Didn’t like the way one of ’em looked at her. She fired ’im. She accused another of stealing her shit to sell on eBay. The items in question were found later—in her possession. No apology issued. The guy still lost his job.

  “Jinx and I are gonna snoop around and see what dirt we can dig up today. If most of the road crew hate her, I can only imagine what the techs think of her.”

  The rock in my chest softens to mud. “That would—” I catch the threatening emotion by the tail before it sneaks past my mouth and temper it with a long breath. In-two-three, out-two-three. “That would be appreciated.”

  Should I tell Toombs what happened with Lizzie and Beth at the hotel?

  I trust him more than anyone on the bus, but if I spill the cold, hard truth about what they did, I risk losing his respect as the band’s manager. Plus, he’s made it clear he’d happily fuck up anyone who hurts me, and Killer Buzz Float has already had one arrest too many.

  No. Friends or not, this humiliation is mine to bear. Alone.

  He leans closer. “She didn’t just take advantage of you. She pulls this shit with everyone who crosses her path. She’s a certifiable megalomaniac with an inferiority complex. Don’t blame yourself.” The soothing resonance in his voice calms my raw nerves.

  “And one more thing,” he adds with a quick glance toward the flutter of Rax’s bunk curtain. “They’re not all like that. Tops, I mean. And every once in a while, even the ones who are have a change of heart.”

  Shirtless Rax rambles toward us, his mane a sultry mess, twin piercings at either corner of his bottom lip flipping off the soft morning sun beaming through the window.

  “What’s up?” His voice is as dark and scraggly as his hair.

  Toombs shakes his head, lowers his eyes, and the two lightly bump chests—snake charmer meeting vivisectionist if their tattoos have anything to say about it. “Not much, man.”

  Bros before hos.

  Except where Eve and Jinx are concerned.

  Still, I’d love to masturbate to that colorful backstory, especially after witnessing the sizzle between Miles and Red. I mean, assuming I ever get off again. In the post-Lizzie apocalypse, so far, not so good. The well she dug dried up days ago when she and Beth violated me.

  I tamp down the memory with a shiver.

  Eve in all her Russian glory emerges like a butterfly from Rax’s bunk chrysalis. He turns toward her as she pads down the aisle. Eve curls around Rax like the pole she commands onstage every night. As she lifts her chin, the thick scar on her neck shines pink from lack of makeup she always wears outside of the bus. His hands fall to her hips where he balls her short, black satin gown with possessive fists. A hint of white ass peeks out as she slips him a brief but deep kiss.

  I resist the urge to gnaw my knuckles.

  The only time I’ve ever seen anything close to adoration on Rax’s face is when she’s around. Theirs is the kind of love I want. Unconditional. Raging. Fierce.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” Rax murmurs into Eve’s lips. The air ignites with their mutual passion. I bite my lip.

  She pats his package with a firm palm and musses his hair with the other. He flinches on impact but remains in place. “How’s my sexy beast today?”

  “Hungry,” he groans into her.

  I look away and suck down the contents of my cup as they tear into each other.

  “So,” I turn to Toombs, “yeah, go do that thing. Sounds good.”

  The cyclone of arms and legs and heat that is Rax and Eve spins around us toward the couches in back. I avert my gaze to Jinx, coming our way. Her soft smile is for Toombs, but she says, “Hey, Jillian. My bunk needs a new light bulb. Do we have any lying around?”

  “Fresh out,” I say. “I’ll add it to my list.” I mentally take note. Another trip to the store will be in order when we reach our destination.

  She nods. “Thanks. Did Toombs tell you what we found out about Lizzie?”

  “Yeah. Just don’t get caught sneaking around over there. Security is not Killer Buzz Float friendly.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Toombs takes another drink.

  Neither am I, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

  Jinx edges closer and drops her voice to a whisper. “Tell us the truth, Jillian. Letty thinks you’ve gone to the other side. And I … I don’t want to believe her, but you’ve been pretty aloof since we joined this tour. What’s going on with Lizzie?”

  “You guys need to focus on performing,” I deflect. “Leave the investigation shit to me.”

  “That’s not your job.”

  “Not yours either. Go make music.” I shoo them both away and turn toward my bunk.

  “Don’t let us down, Jillian.” Jinx rarely pushes herself out into the open, let alone into anyone’s personal space, which makes her imperative all the more powerful.

  “Have I ever?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  I climb into my bunk and drain the juice from my e-cig in a furious, head-spinning vape-binge. As the bus’s cock-and-ball wheels slow, the sign for Billings looms like a biohazard warning.

  “Here, have a toke,” Lizzie says, eyes bloodshot, as she offers me her smoking joint. Her red locks splay around her head like an evil halo on the satin sheets. �
�It’ll take the edge off. You need to relax.”

  Ha! Relax. What is the meaning of this foreign word? Translation, please?

  “No, thanks,” I say. “I’m working.”

  She turns over, propped on her elbows. The red sheet pools around her arms, kissing her breasts. She stares accusingly at me as smoke wafts into her face. “You’re always working. I’m sick of it.”

  I hold my tongue, as usual.

  She flattens to her back again and grabs her phone with her right hand. I straighten and tip my head to keep my eyes on her fingers just in case she doesn’t use the thumbprint scanner to unlock the device. The few times she’s entered her passcode, I’ve been out of the line of sight and missed it by a second or two.

  The thumb descends on the button at the bottom. The home screen opens. Damn it. Zero-for-a-thousand.

  “I’d love to know why you’re keeping me around, Lizzie,” I say, hoping to distract her from social media long enough for the phone to go dark.

  She sits up and drops the dying joint into the ashtray sitting on the windowsill. A wicked grin washes over her face. “You want the truth?”

  I lift a brow. “That would be nice.”

  “I enjoy using you to taunt your little cunt of a singer.”

  My blood chills at the mention of Letty.

  She fiddles with my hair. I clench my jaw to keep the spit from flying at her.

  “I love watching her lose her fucking mind over how you ‘betrayed’ her to be with me. That’s right. I have eyes everywhere, Jillian. It’s hard to miss her fits when she throws them out in the open.

  “And let’s face it. She dug her own grave with the arrogant shit she spewed about me in that interview. She deserves every fucking thing she’s gotten for being so confident and sure of herself, jabbering her ‘artist’ bullshit lines, staring down her nose at me like I’m the lowlife. Ha! She thinks she’s a goddamn queen of rock, but she’s proven she’s a fucking pathetic, jealous nobody. Sad thing is, she’s the only one who can’t see it.”

  I look away. Because if I have to watch Lizzie’s smug-ass face as she beats Letty down with one more word, I’ll fucking cunt punch her at the risk of jail time. “You don’t know her.”