True Body Rock (Rockstar Romance) (The Body Rock Series Book 4)

by Nora Flite

  “Holy shit, calm down!” Colt said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Maybe she lost her phone, she could be at the tour bus, or the venue. Right?”

  Inhaling till my ribs hurt, I strode out of the room. “We'll check there next.”

  No one else seemed to feel the way I did. This mounting sense of distress, that something was dangerously wrong here. The last time Lola had gone missing, she'd been with Brenda. That had disturbed me, but this...

  This left my molars throbbing with paranoia.

  ****

  The tour buses had been moved. I spotted ours along the sidewalk in front of the Paramount theater, orange cones dotting the street to block off other vehicles. People were crowding, taking photos or lining up to flock early.

  Without preamble, I slipped from the car as it came to a stop. On long legs, I hurried to the bus. My haste didn't prevent some people from crying out in delight, cameras flashing to get a memento of me.

  Crowning the stairs, I looked over the inside of the vehicle.

  No Lola.

  “Drez,” Porter said, coming up behind me. I didn't speak, I just ran down the aisle, shoved aside the curtains of every room. Her bed was empty, unused. In the practice room, her guitar was abandoned as it had been the day before.

  The back of my neck was sweltering. “She's not here,” I said, shoulders rolling down. Relax, try to relax. All eyes were on me when I turned, my manager and band mates watching me in the aisle. Their empathy—pity—was turning my stomach. “Don't look at me like that.”

  Their unease was unanimous. “Drez,” Colt started, but Brenda waved her hand to silence him.

  “Everyone, just hold up. We have no clue where Lola is, the show is in...” She checked her phone, frowned. “Shit. Three hours.”

  I lowered my chin. “Who the hell cares about the show? Lola is missing.” Something has happened to her. It was the only solution that made sense.

  “Can I say something?” Colt raised his hand, a perfect school boy impression. “Uh, I sort of care about the show. Is it just me? Maybe? No?” Flicking his eyes at all of us, the drummer bounced his shoulders. “This is sort of a major event. I don't want to think Lola abandoned us—”

  “She didn't,” I spat.

  Colt opened his mouth, then shut his jaw, considering me. “Let's look in the theater. If she's in there, problem solved. I honestly don't know what we'll do otherwise, but we should think of a fall back—hey!”

  Shoving past him, I jumped down the stairs. The air was cool on me, just not enough to soothe my mood. The crowd was bigger now, faceless people screaming for me. I didn't care at all. I pushed through them, cut them in half until I could march into the theater.

  It was huge inside, the lobby ceiling arching overhead. I didn't slow my pace until I was gazing on the stage, always scanning for that one pair of beautiful, perfect blue eyes.

  Nothing.

  Steps paraded behind me; Brenda and my band panting to catch up. “She isn't here,” I said, before they could ask. Turning, I gazed over their expressions, judged them. “Lola isn't here. She isn't fucking here!” My shoe jammed into a front row seat, the noise echoing in the auditorium. Security, lighting, assistants; they all stared at me.

  “What should we do?” Porter asked, soft, like I'd fly further into a rage.

  I caught Brenda watching me. Looking away, I paced the floor. “I'm thinking,” she said. “We don't have much time. If she doesn't show, you guys can't go on tonight.”

  “This is bad. Do we call the cops? What if something happened to her,” Colt asked. His words rang true with the fear that had been coming to life inside of me.

  I felt myself floating away, my mind splitting as it imagined all the things that had happened to Lola. Why was her room so destroyed, why was she not answering anyone's calls? It isn't because of me. This is more than me.

  “—replacement.”

  My head jerked up, gawking at Brenda. “What was that?”

  She was looking past me, off to the side of the stage where people were entering. There, a pair of blue eyes that sliced at me so fucking painfully. Sean Cooper was smiling, saying something to that big drummer of his. “A replacement,” Brenda said gently. “Maybe, if Lola doesn't show... I could convince Sean to play with you guys instead.”

  “It might work,” Colt mumbled.

  Sean sensed me, how I was sizing him up. I studied how he looked over, noting me, the rest of my band... and then how his eyebrows furrowed.

  He noticed Lola isn't here.

  Pushing forward, I stomped his way. Behind me, I heard the distressed groan from Brenda. Her heels clattered, chasing close behind. “Hey,” I said, shutting the conversation—whatever the other band had been on about—up instantly. Barbed Fire turned as one, no love on their faces.

  “Hey.” Sean hesitated, saying more with his silence than anything.

  “Sean, we—” Brenda began.

  “Lola,” I blurted, and my tension became the sharp rust of fear. I caught it reflected on his face. “Have you seen her today?”

  His jaw straightened. “No. Why, what's wrong? Where is she?”

  Panic boiled through my limbs, made my voice a hiss. “That's just it. I don't know, I don't fucking know. When did you last see her?”

  “Oh,” Shark laughed, elbowing Sean. “Shit, isn't this familiar? Hey, fucker, how does it feel to wonder where—”

  “Shut up, Shark.” Not looking at the drummer, Sean stared me in the eye. “You're telling me she's missing? Have you tried calling her?”

  I lifted my phone out, debated throwing it, for all the good it had done me. “She won't answer anyone.”

  “She might show up,” Brenda said. My manager looked up at the guitarist, gauging him as she spoke cautiously. “Whatever her reasons, she isn't here. Sean, I need to—this is hard to ask. Look, this show tonight is huge. If Headstones doesn't play, I don't know what will happen.” Taking a deep breath, she tugged at the ends of her hair. “You know some of their songs, don't you? Would you—worst case—consider filling in for Lola?”

  My neck creaked, it was like fighting through drying concrete. My shock kept me from finding words. I knew Brenda was avoiding looking at me for a reason. There was absolutely no way I would play with Sean. Outside of how I felt towards him, the reality was that Lola was missing. Not off playing some game, not sulking or trying to fuck us over.

  She was gone.

  If Brenda thinks I'd play tonight, in any capacity, without knowing the girl I love is safe and sound, she's...

  “No.”

  I'd have whiplash before the night was over. Sean had spoken up, but it wasn't the answer I expected.

  Narrowing his eyes, he looked from Brenda to me. “It's not that I wouldn't... fuck. I'd love the chance to headline. Seriously.” He gave his head a quick shake. “But no. How can I do anything but help find my sister?”

  I fought down an odd swell of pride for the guy.

  “I—but...” Brenda was at a loss.

  “You'll help me look?” I asked.

  Sean closed his eyes, breathing through his nose. “Of course. It doesn't make sense for her to just run off like this.”

  “That's what I said!” Righteousness fueled my voice, made me slam my fist into my open palm. “I've felt that way since I saw her hotel room this morning! There's no way she did all that damage.”

  His mouth went slack. “Her room was messed up?”

  “Broken television, broken table, stuff I can't picture Lola doing. I think something happened to her, I just don't have a clue what!”

  Slow as sap, he glided his fingers through his hair. “I think I do.” At my wide-eyed, hopeful stare, Sean grimaced. “There's a very good chance that Johnny Muse did something to her.”

  Johnny Muse.

  My throat was closing.

  The ringing in my ears was deafening. I hardly heard Brenda speaking beside me, frantic as she was. “I'm calling the cops right now.”

 
“Where.” I licked my lips, felt the dry cracks. “Where are they.”

  He never broke eye contact. “Greenmill Motel. We'll take my van.”

  “I said I'm calling the cops!” Brenda shouted, realizing what I was about to do. “Drez, no, stay here. Both of you stay here.”

  Sean was moving, and as he did, I followed. “Call the police if you want,” I said to her. “If you need to, you can even cancel this whole show. I'm not standing here, waiting for someone else to fix this for me.”

  Her eyes were glossy when I looked back. “What are you going to do to him?”

  In my hands, my joints popped from being squeezed.

  I did Brenda the favor of not answering.

  Chapter Six.

  Lola

  Drezden's hands slid up my sides, his fingertips taking my resistance away with every inch. “Lift your shirt,” he whispered, lips stroking the patch of skin between neck and shoulder. He was the epitome of living seduction, his heat making me drunk and hazy. “You don't look well,” he purred against me.

  In the mirror, I saw my milky skin. Bruises that I thought had long healed crawled up my arms, cuts dripping with fresh blood. Why is this familiar... but off?

  Holding the back of my head, Drezden bit down on my jaw. The roots of my hair tugged, sending sparks to my cells. I was acutely aware of everything and anything.

  My tattoo itched. In the flickering lights of the bathroom, the dark castle was a forest of living snakes and green eyes. “What's going on?” I asked, but my voice was too quiet.

  No one could hear me.

  Holding me still, Drezden peered into my face. His teeth were fangs, lips searing and melting me where he touched. In my ear, he murmured so gently.

  “Look out.”

  The man I loved shoved me backwards, sent me tumbling down into the tub where I never landed.

  As I looked up, his face morphed. Green eyes—but not my green eyes.

  Johnny Muse.

  And then I felt only pain.

  My eyes were heavy, hesitant to open. The edges of my vision stabbed like serrated knives, cutting into my temples, my brain. What happened? Thinking brought more deep aches, hiding where my memory was.

  Looking down, I realized I was sitting. Gingerly I shifted, discovering a low-lit room that hadn't seen anything clean in forever. Cracked walls, patchy floors, a bed that was piled with wrinkled blankets.

  I didn't know this place at all.

  Panic began to rise, building when it became clear I couldn't move. Wriggling my wrists, I felt them tied behind me. One movement was too much; my right shoulder screamed in sharp distress. My natural reaction was to gasp, something in my mouth stunted the cry.

  “Oh,” a voice said beside me. “You're awake.”

  Wide-eyed, I came alive as if my feet had been put in a fire. Johnny stood next to me, twitching, pacing as he looked on. The scabs across his face blazed, a shiny bruise splashing on the side of his cheek.

  All at once, I remembered the fight in my hotel room.

  Oh god.

  My belly rippled, adrenaline shooting through my limbs. Reluctantly, the blackness lifted from my mind. I'd passed out, had flitted in and out of consciousness. Parts of that returned to me.

  There had been a vague, depressing moment where I'd felt Johnny carry me from the hotel. I'd been half-dragged, my hood pulled low over my face. Someone had asked if I was alright, but I'd been unable to speak. Johnny had answered quickly, something about me drinking too much again, excited for all the bands in town.

  No one had realized, in the bustle of the rain and busy hotel lobby, that I was Lola Cooper.

  That I was being kidnapped in plain sight.

  No one knows what happened to me. The revelation turned my blood cold.

  My captor bent close, smelling entirely too much of whiskey. “You okay in there? Comfortable?” Biting onto the rag in my mouth, I made a muffled sound of anger. Johnny blinked, standing straight. “Look, you were the one that went nuts last night.”

  Last night? How long had I been unconscious for?

  A vibration rumbled loudly to my left, paralyzing me with new fear. From where I sat, I saw the shiny device and knew what it was. Calm down, just my phone. Someone was trying to call me! That brought a new, sickening thought with it. He took my phone out of my pocket.

  The strange dream about Drezden, his face turning into Johnny's, surfaced. Heartburn and bile worked up my throat; I struggled to keep it down. If he took my phone, that means he touched me... searched me.

  Had he done anything else while I was so vulnerable?

  “I didn't have any choice but to do this.”

  My attention jumped up, into his stubble covered jaw. Trying to convince me, or him? I was in the hands of someone more unstable than I had originally thought. Rocking in my bonds, I tested everything. Figuring out what tied my wrists was impossible. It felt sticky, like old candy.

  Rubbing the side of his nose, he took a swig from a bottle. “I was getting worried. You were out so long, I wondered if you had a concussion.”

  And he didn't take me to a hospital? A tremble went down my knees. Fuck fuck fuck. Johnny wasn't concerned for my health. If something went wrong under his control...

  I could die here.

  His palm touched my forehead, unnerving me. “You look pale.” Scrutinizing me for a long moment, he hummed. “I'm really sorry if you don't feel well. Seriously, none of this—I didn't plan to do this.”

  No, I don't think it was planned. The way he'd followed me, freaked out in my room, had all been too spontaneous feeling. I'm not captured by some vaudevillian character. Just a crazy, unhinged, selfish prick.

  Wonderful.

  Coughing against my gag, I moaned. Johnny pulled away, lips pinched. “What is it? That too tight?”

  Freezing my muscles, I considered his question. If I can get him to ungag me, maybe I can find a way out of this. My nod of agreement was patiently slow.

  “Okay. But listen. You make any loud noise, and I'm putting this on even tighter. Okay?” When I nodded again, he reached behind my head, loosened the tie. With the ability to move my mouth again, I noticed how badly my jaw ached. “There. Better?”

  My voice cracked, parched to hell. “Can I have a drink?” He edged the open bottle towards me, the strong scent of alcohol burned my nostrils. “Water, do you have water?”

  “Oh.” Swallowing more of the liquid down, he wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. Moving around, out of vision, I heard water running; a sink. The paper cup he brought to me smelled like chlorine, but I drank it carefully while he tilted it.

  Tossing the cup aside, its purpose done, Johnny dug a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “You smoke?”

  I curled my lips back. “Why did you do this?”

  “Take that as a no.” Cupping his lighter close, the fire turned his lips cherry-red. Smoke billowed, the smell making me think of Drezden. “Like I said, wasn't planned.”

  On the table, my phone buzzed again. We both glanced at it; him, with disgust—and fear? Me, well... I couldn't bury my hope. “Johnny, just let me go. You don't need to keep me here.”

  Waving smoke away, he rolled the cigarette to one side, spoke around it. “Fuck, yes I do. I tried to talk you out of that band. Tried to fucking tell you how awful Drez was. You didn't want to listen.” Ash fell to the rug. “This was the only way to keep you from playing.”

  Shifting in the chair, I winced at the twinge in my shoulder. “Why do you care if I play or not? You aren't in the band anymore, what does it matter to you?”

  He turned his head suddenly, listening for... something. Taking another drag, Johnny let the grey haze flow around him. “You talk too much. Want more water?”

  Why did he want to convince me to leave the band? To abandon Drezden? I'd figured out why Sean had been struggling with it, but Johnny—no. My eyebrows shot up to my scalp. “You wanted me to leave so you could take my spot again!”

  “Ag
ain?” His foot kicked a chair, sending it flying. I ducked my chin, expecting him to hit me. “Again!? You took my spot, not the other way around!”

  My breath rattled; I chewed my tongue, trying to calm myself. Johnny looked rabid, on the verge of taking a bite out of me. I could see the raw edges of his gums, the cigarette illuminating it all up for me. He moved, hands coming down on my shoulders. “Don't touch me!” I squealed, leaning away.

  “Touch you?” Clarity smoothed his features. Spitting out his cigarette, he crushed it under his heel. “Fuck—touch you? You think I'd do something like that?”

  Please let his reaction mean that he didn't do anything awful to me while I was blacked out. Instead of answering, I just stared, trying not to flinch.

  Again, on the table, my phone vibrated.

  Johnny moved away, guilt twisting his forehead. “Lola, I'm not that kind of guy! I don't just hurt people!” Remembering the way I'd slammed into the coffee table last night, I held back my argument. “Just calm down,” he mumbled. Was he talking to himself, or me? Lighting a new cigarette, Johnny dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.

  I noted his position, pulse darting like a flock of birds. He can't see my hands. Cautiously, I worked my wrists together behind me. As a kid, I'd played games with Sean where we tied each other up, pretending to be cops or robbers. They were silly games, and while they didn't help me in untying my binds, the memory gave me strength.

  My phone, buzzing away, gave me even more.

  People have to know something is wrong. What time was it? The filthy blinds over the windows hid the info from me. Gently, never letting Johnny out of my sight, I kept tugging at my wrists. Whatever he'd used, it was starting to yield with my friction.

  Tape? Is that it? Not even electrical tape, but cheap clear stuff. Johnny really hadn't thought up some grand scheme. He just wanted me to quit the band so he could stroll in and save the day.

  But he can't now.

  He has to know that.

  There was no way I wouldn't tell everyone what had happened. Beyond that, he has to know he'll get arrested for kidnapping. Yet all he did was smoke, tapping his feet nervously, too much energy running through his lanky limbs.