He tied the two bandanas together and looped them over his head and under his jaw like he had a toothache. Then he pulled the cap down on top of it all. “Nope.”
“What the hell are you doing?”
He pulled on the flannel shirt and buttoned it all the way to the top, then removed his sunglasses and tucked them in his shirt pocket. “We’re going in undercover, baby.”
“WHAT?!”
“Do I look like Derek Kane, lead singer of Bigger?”
The flannel shirt covered all his tats, the cap hid his distinctive hair, and the weird-ass bandana arrangement over his ears and jaw totally obscured his face. And Derek Kane never appeared in public without his sunglasses; everybody knew that.
Unless you knew you were looking at Derek Kane, there was no way in hell you could tell it was him.
“No, you look like an alternative rock dork who doesn’t know how to tie a do-rag,” I said.
“Excellent,” he grinned, and got out of the car.
“You’re just going to leave your new car out here in the parking lot?!” I asked, flabbergasted.
“It’s not exactly new.”
I scowled at him. “Okay, you’re going to leave your $95,000 car out here in the parking lot?”
He shrugged. “There’s other expensive cars out here.”
“At least put the top up!”
He finally gave in because I refused to budge until he did.
52
We found a scalper in the middle of the parking lot who sold us two pit passes for $150.
“Jeez,” I muttered as we walked towards the stadium.
“What?”
“That was expensive.”
“Compared to a $95,000 car?”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a smartass?”
He laughed. “No, but this one girl I knew years ago told me I was inappropriate.”
I hip-checked him and bopped him over a few inches. But secretly I liked that he remembered what I’d said back in my dorm room in college.
“Why are you going to all this trouble to sneak in when you should just go in the back?”
“Stagecraft, baby. You’ll see.”
We presented our tickets at the gate and filed with thousands of other people through the halls of the arena. The raucous tones of the opening band reverberated through the concrete corridors as we shuffled through the mob towards the pit.
“When I split, go backstage,” Derek said.
A little bit of panic filled me. “What do you mean, when you split?”
“Just go backstage. They’ll let you in.”
We pushed our way through the bodies in the pit. It wasn’t that hard; though people were packed in pretty tight, the opening band wasn’t exactly setting the place on fire, so the crowd was kind of blasé. It was only up at the front, amongst Bigger’s most hardcore female fans, where we had to forcefully plow our way through to the stage.
There was a lot of unladylike cursing and some mild violence along the way.
“Unh-unh, bitch!” one surfer girl snapped at me as she gave me a sharp elbow in the side.
I wanted to punch her in the face, but Derek stopped me.
Okay, not that I really would have punched her in the face, but I was about to unload a torrent of profanity on her, as well as suggest how many pigs she might have had unnatural relations with last night.
“YOU – ” I began, and then felt a hand on my shoulder.
I looked over and saw Derek shake his head ‘no.’
“But she hit me!” I shouted at him over the opening band’s teeth-rattling noise.
He leaned in close to yell in my ear. “What do you think would happen if you drew attention to us, and they figured out who we are?”
What he really meant was ‘figured out who I am.’
Because nobody would have cared about me, except to trample me to get to him.
I could just see it: his true identity slowly dawning on the women around us, one by one… them lapsing into screaming fits and attacking him… and the knowledge spreading outward like a wave and infecting new people, who would then join the melee, too.
It would have been like unleashing a bucket of chum in a shark tank.
I saw the wisdom in turning the other cheek.
“Okay,” I grumbled.
“Good girl,” he grinned, and gave me a kiss. Which, I have to admit, did make it better.
The opening band finished up not with a bang, but a whimper. They strolled off and the road crew set things up for Bigger.
My apprehension slowly built, and I kept tossing worried looks at Derek.
He would just shake his head ‘no,’ and I would go back to worrying.
Finally, when my tension was at an almost unbearable peak, I heard a roar all around me from the crowd. Here came Killian and Ryan, walking out onstage with their instruments. Riley followed and climbed behind her drums as Mike the backup guitarist joined them. But there was no big announcement from the speaker, no “Heeeeeeeeere’s BIGGER!” And no opening riffs from Killian, either.
Ryan walked up to a microphone. “Hey, everybody… uh, this is a little embarrassing, but we’re kind of missing our lead singer at the moment.”
The entire crowd booed their disappointment.
“Yeah, I know,” Ryan agreed. “He promised me over the phone he’d be here, and is he? No. He’s not. So do me a favor: tell him he’s an asshole for making you guys wait.”
The crowd started chanting, ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE!
I looked over at Derek one last time.
He winked, then grabbed the back of my head, pulled me close, and laid one on my lips.
God DAMN that man could kiss.
And then he was gone.
He pushed his way between two female fans, planted his hands on the riser, and catapulted himself up onto the stage.
I could see the utter shock on Ryan’s face. He just stood there goggling at this sudden intruder, his mouth open wide as the figure grabbed the microphone out of his hands.
There was an audible gasp from the crowd – the sound of ten thousand people inhaling all at once.
Two burly security guys darted out from the wings of the stage, racing over to give this upstart punk the bum rush –
And then Derek’s low, rumbling voice came over the speakers and shook the auditorium.
“Who the hell you callin’ an asshole?”
It all happened instantaneously:
The look of relief on Ryan’s face, followed by him breaking into laughter.
The security guards stopping in their tracks just a few feet away, bewildered.
Derek turning towards his fans, chucking his bandanas and cap into the crowd, and sliding on his Maui Jims.
And the reaction of the audience, who thundered (the dudes) and shrieked (the girls) their approval.
I swear to God, I thought I was going to blow out an eardrum from all the high-pitched screaming around me.
Killian suddenly launched into the opening power chords of their hit “Go All Night.” Derek stripped off his flannel shirt, and the place erupted into the most amazing rock show you could ever imagine.
It was exuberantly joyful, totally and completely. Their last two shows had been great – but this one was incredible. They obviously hadn’t decided on a set list beforehand, so Derek would shout out songs as soon as one of the band’s hits ended. Every time, he chose something either incredibly upbeat or just plain fucking awesome.
“Walkin’ On Sunshine.”
“Light My Fire” by the Doors.
“American Girl” by Tom Petty.
“I Love Rock ‘N Roll” by Joan Jett, although he changed the lines to it being a girl next to the record machine – and changed the age from seventeen to nineteen, the age I was when we first met in Athens.
I would like to think I had something to do with the song selection.
I refuse to put an emoticon in here, but you can imagine my smile as you reread that las
t line.
It was like all Derek’s joy and raw, sexual power from the night before infused everyone around him. First it raced through his bandmates, and from there it built higher and higher as it washed over the audience like a tidal wave of sex and throbbing sound.
There were women around me sobbing in ecstasy, they were so overcome.
It was a little unnerving. Like being in the middle of a herd of wild animals that might stampede at any second.
Despite how much I was loving the show, I decided to follow Derek’s advice, and made my way out of the pit and towards backstage.
53
Once I got close, though, my worrywart nature took over, and I decided to check out the bus first to make sure my things were still there.
The crew knew me by now, and directed me out the back of the auditorium. I found the tour bus being guarded by a big, bearded roadie, and he let me aboard.
Utter and complete relief. All my stuff – my purse, my wallet, my phone, my computer, my luggage, Ryan’s Zoom digital recorder – were exactly where I’d stowed them, in Derek’s personal closet.
There was a message on my phone from Glen, my editor at Rolling Stone, but I wasn’t exactly looking forward to that conversation about journalistic ethics, so I just stowed the phone again and vowed to call him later.
I took just a couple of minutes to throw on some light makeup in the posh bathroom, then put my purse back and turned to exit –
When I saw Miles standing at the head of the bus.
He did not look happy.
In fact, he looked sort of like a serial killer in a horror movie. I guess it was that ‘face tilted downwards, staring at me from beneath his eyebrows’ look of homicidal rage he had going.
I actually screamed a tiny bit because he startled me so badly. I hadn’t been expecting anybody, and then when I turned around, BOOM there he was, fifteen feet away.
I put my hand to my chest and smiled feebly. “You scared me.”
He kept his head down and kept staring at me from underneath his brows.
Not a word in reply.
Then he started walking slowly towards me, his fancy shoes click… click… clicking on the bus’s laminate floors.
If this really had been a horror movie, I would have wound up dead in the next two minutes.
But, thank God, it wasn’t a horror movie.
…at least, I was pretty sure it wasn’t.
Just in case, though, I tried to talk my way out of getting killed.
“Miles, I’m so sorry, I tried to get him to call you – ”
He slashed out an accusing finger. “YOU – SHUT – YOUR – FUCKIN’ – MOUTH.”
I shut my fuckin’ mouth.
His steps didn’t alter at all in their cadence. Just that click… click… click, slow and steady, like a metronome of doom.
As he got closer, I started to back away slowly, afraid he might jab that outstretched finger through one of my eyeballs.
He lowered his arm, but he got right up in my face.
Well, as much as he could, anyway, being five inches shorter than me.
But he was still plenty intimidating, that was for sure. And he was close enough for me to smell the bitter coffee on his breath.
“This band is a multi, multi-million dollar operation,” he said in a voice seething with restrained fury. “It is a machine. A machine which I am in charge of keeping running. But I already have two fuckin’ monkeys throwin’ wrenches in the works whenever they can. I do NOT need another fuckin’ monkey egging one of the other ones on.”
“By ‘two monkeys’ I’m assuming you mean Riley and Der– ”
“NOT ANOTHER FUCKIN’ WORD!” he screamed, so close to me that I could feel the dampness of his breath on my skin.
I nodded silently, absolutely terrified.
He stared up at me, his eyes almost incandescent with rage. “Listen to me carefully, Ms. Reynolds. You might have been able to skate through life before this on your looks, wasting other people’s time and patience – ”
Suddenly more angry than scared, I opened my mouth –
And the Finger of Doom shot up into the air, just an inch away from my nose.
I closed my mouth.
After a moment’s pause, Miles continued in a low, threatening tone of voice – but kept the Finger of Doom in place.
“And you might have gotten away with it, because you’re a pretty little thing. But I swear to God, if you ever put me in this position again… if you EVER put me in ANY position where I have to wonder if that multi, multi-million dollar machine of which I am in charge is about to blow up, because of YOU…”
He paused. The silence was unbearably malevolent.
“I.
Will.
Fuckin’.
BURY.
You.
Now… are we clear?”
I nodded like a Catholic school kindergartener who’d just been chewed out for the first time by a nun, threatened with all the fires of Hell for my disobedience.
“I CAN’T HEAR YOU! ARE WE FUCKIN’ CLEAR?!” he shouted.
“We’re clear, we’re totally clear!” I squeaked.
“Then get the fuck off this bus and out of my sight,” he hissed.
I ran as fast as I could past him and off the bus, my heart pounding in my chest.
54
Despite my near-death experience with Miles, I actually had a good time for the rest of the show as I watched it from backstage.
After the show, I had an amazing time.
When Derek shouted out “THANK YOU SAN DIEGO!” after the encore and strode offstage, he made a beeline right for me. He grabbed my hand but kept himself at arm’s length – which I appreciated, since he was dripping with perspiration.
Your opinion may vary, but mine is that sweaty’s all good in the throes of passion, but not so much any other time.
“Did you like the show?” he beamed.
“It was magnificent,” I said, and meant it.
Riley passed by, drenched in sweat, and gave us both a leer. “Damn, somebody got laid good and nasty last night.”
“Damn straight,” Derek shot back good-naturedly (as I blushed).
“It showed,” Riley called over her shoulder as she kept on walking.
Killian was next. “Outstanding,” was all he said as he strode on past with a smile.
“You too, man,” Derek said.
Mike walked over and fist-bumped Derek in passing. “That was fuckin’ ROCK AND ROLL, dude!” he crowed.
“Great fuckin’ show, Mike!” Derek laughed.
Ryan was last. He walked up with that I should probably be angry with you but I just can’t stop smiling instead kind of look, and slapped Derek on the shoulder. “I wanted to kill you when you didn’t show up before the show… but I have to admit… the wait was worth it.”
Derek laughed, then hugged his friend. “Was that a great entrance, or what?”
“That was pretty good, I’ll give you that.”
“Pretty good? That one’ll go down in the record books, man.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ryan looked over at me and kept on grinning. “Hey, Kaitlyn.”
“Hey, Ryan. I’m sorry – I tried to get him to come earlier, but…”
Ryan laughed. “You didn’t have a chance. Trying to get Derek to do what you want when his mind’s set on something is like trying to get a hurricane to change course.”
“That is not true,” Derek said indignantly.
Ryan cocked one eyebrow at him.
“Okay, it’s a little true,” Derek conceded. “See you backstage.”
“You bet. Bye, Kaitlyn,” Ryan smiled, then walked off into the shadows.
Derek latched onto my hand and dragged me after him. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m going to go take a shower.”
Which quickly turned into we’re going to go take a shower.
Which turned into something even steamier.
55
We walked through the concrete maze until we came to a security guard standing outside a door. Derek nodded a greeting, then led me past him and into the showers. It wasn’t nearly as impressive as the Lakers’ locker room, but it was set up the same as the Staples Center, with a pile of towels, jeans, shirt, sunglasses, boxers, boots, flip-flops, and shaving kit on a bench.
“Are you sure you want company?” I teased him as the door closed behind us.
“Oh, I’m sure I want company,” he said as he roughly pulled my sundress straps off my shoulders and began to kiss my bare breasts.
“Wait – no – agh!” I giggled as I suddenly found myself without a stitch of clothing on.
A few seconds later, he was stripped naked, too, and he led me by the hand into a room of sparkling white tile. One by one he turned on the shower heads until the entire room was filled with steam. Delightfully hot water washed over both of us as he took me in his arms and kissed me hard and rough.
I moaned, feeling his slick, wet body against mine and his cock – thick and heavy, but not yet hard – sliding against my thigh.
He pulled out a bar of soap from the shaving kit and began to work it between his hands, building up a rich lather. He stepped behind me and began to nibble at my neck and ear as he ran his massive hands up and down my front, covering me in suds, cupping my breasts, sliding his soapy hands under them, over them, pausing every so often to tweak my hardening nipples between his slippery fingers.
I moaned as he breathed hard in my ear and let his hands slide lower, down below my waist. His fingers soaped up my little landing strip of hair, running through the curls… then probed lower still until his slippery fingers were toying with my pussy.
I gasped as his fingers pressed hard against my lips, then slipped over my clit, then back again, in that way that only soapy flesh on flesh can do.
And all the while I could feel his cock pressing against my ass, hard and rigid, sliding against my wet skin.
God, I wanted it so bad.
I turned around and kissed him – and let my hand find his cock. As the hot water sprayed down on us, I ran my fingers in a ring around that gorgeous thickness – up and down, slipping and sliding across the taut skin of his shaft.
Meanwhile his soapy hands had found my ass and were kneading and clutching at my cheeks, with one naughty finger occasionally slipping into my crack and caressing places I wouldn’t want to admit to.
Rock All Night (The Rock Star's Seduction #2) Page 19