Wearing her hair in a messy topknot that looked like it had been caught in a hurricane, she grinned eagerly, as she pulled down her thigh-high denim skirt and slid on the linoleum floor in a pair of what looked like fluffy bed socks.
"Yay, another female to keep me company," she exclaimed excitedly.
"Billie's not here to keep you company, Sherry," Sawyer snapped. My eyes darted toward him, stunned by his angry tone, and I immediately felt sorry for the girl.
"It's Cherri, not Sherry," she said, correcting Sawyer in a singsong kind of tone. "Like the fruit not the drink, but with an I not a Y."
Sawyer stared her down like he was witnessing a horror movie scene, then his eyes softened. "Whatever," he answered, letting his thought go as he picked up the pepperoni pizza slice. He crammed a huge piece into his mouth and glanced up when a stereotypical rocker-looking guy staggered into view.
Looking disheveled, he was dressed in the clichéd rock and roll getup of an unbuttoned shirt, his fly half undone and sporting a tattoo designed to get attention. Not in an 'it's-an-amazing-piece-of-artwork' way, more of an I-don't-know-what-it-is one.
No one had to explain the nickname he'd been given. The guy had way too much hair for one head.
Slowly, he shuffled over to the boxes, constantly sniffing, and sloppily slapped some pizza slices onto a plate. I was grossed out when I noticed him licking and sucking his fingers as he went, I felt glad Sawyer had already given us our food.
Having filled his plate, he padded over and dumped his plate on the table, pizza barely staying on the flimsy plate, and scowled at his worried-looking girl.
"Get the fuck out of there," he demanded, gesturing to her to get out of the booth. Cherri looked first at us then up at him. A small nervous smile curved her lips. When the guy growled, her smile quickly faded.
"What's the matter, honey?" she asked, her brows bunched in concern, her tone sickly sweet.
"Get the fuck out. I want to sit down."
"There's plenty of room," she advised, scooting further over and up against the bus window. "Can I have some pizza?" she pleaded, her eyes glinting in adoration at the greasy looking man.
"Sure, but do I look like a fucking servant to you? You wanna eat around here, you help yourself. This ain't no fucking hotel." I had thought Sawyer's other two bandmates were rude, but I hated bandmate number four after the way the unkempt moron had spoken to his girl.
After another uncertain look, she decided he wasn't going to budge on his decision and worked her ass along the fitted seating until she was clear of the booth.
I watched her as she moved slowly toward the boxes of pizza before I glanced back toward the disheveled bandmate, who flopped himself carelessly into the booth and slouched with one arm guarding his plate. He looked like a prison inmate.
"Get me a beer from the fridge," he barked at the girl, who immediately stopped what she was doing and did what he asked.
"Which kind do you want?" she asked, far more pleasant than I would have done. Had he spoken to me the way he interacted with her, introverted or not, he'd have been wearing the beer.
"Fuck sake," he muttered under his breath, "you're fucking irritating me now."
"Enough," Sawyer barked. "Don't get him anything." He scowled angrily at his bandmate. "Get off your lazy ass and get it yourself."
"What the fuck business is it of yours anyway? Mind your own dude, and anyway, figured you'd have been too busy fucking your mom here to eat."
Sawyer's hand shot out before I could blink and grabbed the ignorant guy by the throat. Wiggy's face immediately turned a dark puce color. Dropping the pizza, his hand still covered in grease, he covered Sawyer's hand on this throat with his own while the other tapped at Sawyer's forearm in a silent sign of submission for Sawyer to let him go.
"Sawyer," I shouted, suddenly scared for the guy.
Loosening his grip but without releasing him totally, Sawyer barked again, "Apologize."
"What the fu …" His words were choked off again until Sawyer was sure his bandmate was going to control himself. Once Sawyer let go, there was no trace of the aggressive alpha male Sawyer had portrayed to protect me.
"Sorry. That was uncalled for," Wiggy muttered. I silently agreed, but his comment had been aired and his opinion noted. I couldn't unhear what he'd said, and his words had cut me to the quick.
"Eat," Sawyer told him before turning to the young girl. "Sherry, no more beer. He's already had too much of something." A growl tore from his throat in response to Sawyer's instruction, which earned Wiggy another scowl. Sitting silently, I almost laughed when he started to huff and move around in his seat like a petulant teenager. Sawyer slapped his hand hard in front of his plate. "Move," Sawyer growled.
"Sawyer?" I asked, not liking how the situation was developing between them. Sawyer held up his hand to silence me.
"Wiggy, I warned you, did I not?" Even though the circumstance was potentially volatile, I couldn't stop myself chuckling at the perfect nickname chosen for him. I quickly turned this into a cough while I tried to compose myself again.
Glancing over at Cherri, I instantly felt sorry for her. It was clear she adored the meathead sitting opposite me, but she looked neglected and was still only a kid.
"Outside, now," Sawyer said, with a "don't fuck with me" look on his face as he rose out of his seat, lifting Wiggy's plate as he went and tossing it on the draining board by the sink.
"Sawyer?" I asked again, and Wiggy's bleary eyes flitted from him to me.
"Better listen to your mom," Wiggy warned.
"Hammer?" Sawyer snapped aggressively, making me jump. Hammer appeared at the stairs. "Take Wiggy outside. We need a word."
"Move," Hammer said in a menacing tone, to which Wiggy responded immediately, his body stiff as if trying to appear sober this time.
"All right. For fucks' sake. Anyone would think she was the queen," he muttered under his breath, as he slid his way along the faux leather seating and straighten up onto his feet.
Hammer folded his arms and watched their wayward bandmate head toward the bus door.
"Sawyer," I said again, my hand on his forearm in a warning for him to stay in control. My heart raced like a train and fear ran through my veins. Jesus, what am I doing? I'm far too old for this.
"I'm only going to speak to him. He won't do anything. Wiggy's all bark and no bite. Don't worry. I'll be back in a minute, and the atmosphere will be far more harmonious after our little conversation."
Assessing Sawyer through narrowed eyes, I knew he was good at managing confrontation and was a cool head in a heated situation, but this was his bandmate, and I had no idea how he behaved when he wasn't with me.
After Hammer had taken Wiggy outside, Sawyer turned his attention to Cherri. "What did he take?"
"What do you mean?" she asked. Her lashes, clumped thick with mascara, fluttered as her dull blue eyes went wide.
"Don't play stupid, sweetheart. I know a trip when I see one."
"Ecstasy, blue and pink pills of some kind. But over time, not together."
"Fuck," Sawyer muttered, staring her out until she looked uncomfortable under the weight of his stare. "Get something to eat, and clean yourself up. You look …" He didn't finish what he started to say and ran a hand through his hair. Turning to me, he shook his head. "And you wonder why I find you attractive? If you were me, how would you feel dealing with this shit day in and day out?"
Without waiting for me to answer he sighed. "Sorry, that was uncalled for. I'll be back in a few. Eat your pizza before it gets cold."
Chapter Seventeen
"You're not really Sawyer's mom, are you?" Cherri's question gutted me. My worried eyes shot from the door of the bus back to the teenage girl and I winced.
"No, Cherri, I'm not his mother. Your boyfriend was being hurtful toward me to score a point against my boyfriend."
"He's not my boyfriend. I'm not allowed to call him that. He says it cramps his style." Hurt flashed in her bi
g blue eyes before she shook her head as she'd suddenly remembered something. "Oh, and I didn't think you were. You don't look old enough to be Sawyer's mom." Lucifer, take me now.
"How long have you been with, uh, Wiggy?" I felt stupid even saying his nickname.
"Five …" Her large innocent eyes looked up into her head. "No …" She counted on her fingers. "Six …" she replied, then quietly checked her fingers again. "Yeah, six days. It is Monday, right? Gosh, it's so easy to lose track of time on this bus."
"Where are you from?"
"Iowa, ma'am, but my mom is originally from Mississippi." If I had been degraded by the mom comment toward me, I struggled even more with the fact she was so obviously underdeveloped physically, emotionally, and in every other way, I could think of. What's more, I was seriously perturbed by how vulnerable she had made herself by climbing onto a bus with four grown men in the first place.
"Do your parents know where you are?" She shrugged and lifted her pizza to her mouth. "You do have parents, right?"
"It's just me and my mom, but she don't mind 'cause she's workin' at the diner all hours of the day and night. I'm eighteen, so I can come and go as I please these days. Besides, I ain't never been on no vacation or a fancy bus like this before. I ain't never been on a bus with a fridge crammed packed full of food and beer."
"But she know’s where you are?" I persisted again.
"Guess not. Heck, I don't know where I am, except I'm on a two-story bus."
"Cherri, won't your parents be worried about you?"
Shrugging again, she stopped chewing, considered my question and I held my breath as I waited for her reply. "I guess," she admitted, quietly as she shrugged a shoulder and finished chewing what she had in her mouth.
"Haven't you called them?" I asked. Concern tightened my chest for her family because I thought how worried they'd be, had they not known where she'd gone. Then I figured if they saw Wiggy, they'd worry more knowing where she'd been when they caught up to her.
"Wiggy said best not, 'cause they'd likely want me home."
"How long have you known Wiggy?"
My question caused more confusion when she rolled her eyes and looked at me like my brain cells were the ones at fault. "Six days, as I said already."
"You really should call and let them know that you're …" I hesitated because I was going to say safe, but I wasn't all that sure after having met Wiggy that she was here.
"But where is here?" she asked, popping her skinny shoulder again as I pulled out my cell and glanced over toward the bus door.
"You're in Minnesota," I informed her, and she instantly clapped her hands together, a wide beaming smile on her face.
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "I always wanted to come to Minnesota. I have cousins here."
Passing her my cell, I prompted her to get in touch with someone. "Call your parents, let them know you're okay."
"My mom will be mad," she informed me, looking scared and vigorously shaking her head.
"Trust me, I'm a mom. She'll be too relieved to know you are alive and well to be angry."
"You think?" she asked nervously, her hand reluctant to take my phone.
"Yes, do it," I urged her. "You know their number?"
"Yeah, it's the diner, so it's an easy one to remember."
"Then get on it."
"What do I say? I mean, it's been six days?" She asked as if she'd only realized they would want to know where she'd been.
"The truth. She'll help get you home."
"But what about Wiggy?"
"He's a musician. Guys like him pick up girls all the time. Did you think he was going to look after you? I saw how he treated you in front of us. What is he doing when we're not around if he's that impolite while we are?"
She thought for a moment. "He can be kinda mean …"
"Then don't stay. You're a pretty girl. Find a man who will treat you right, and stay true to him."
Cherri stared at me and I could see she was mulling over all the points I had raised before she asked me to take my password off my phone and called the diner.
Watching how nervous she was fiddling with her paper napkin, pursing her lips and wiggling as she straightened up in her chair, I knew it was a call she'd been worried to make.
"Hey, Clinton, it's me. Is my mom there?" she asked. Her body curled in concern right in front of me as she listened, tears instantly brimming in her eyes. "Mm-hm," she sniffed. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said in a tiny young voice. "Mom," she blurted and burst out crying. Wiping her nose on the small paper napkin she listened as tears ran down her cheeks. "Minnesota," she whispered, swallowed hard and a sob tore out from her throat. "I … I'm not sure," she offered, "hang on …" She hesitated before she quickly added, "I won't hang up. I just want to ask someone." Turning to me she gestured to the phone. "You know where in Minnesota?"
"Near St. Paul International Airport," I added, "Fifteen minutes from the airport."
"Yeah," she sobbed, wiping her nose with the hem of her top this time. "Okay, I'll ask." She looked to me and said, "She wants me to go to a hotel somewhere, call her back from there, and wait for her brother to come pick me up."
I'd remembered passing a Hilton at the airport. "Tell them you'll be at the Hilton by the airport in an hour. I'll call you an Uber and send you over there." Cherri flashed me a grateful look and relayed the information.
As soon as she finished the call, I opened the Uber app on my phone and requested a car.
"You were right. She only wants me home," she admitted, her head hanging low to her chest in shame.
"It's going to be fine, Cherri. I know you're probably torn about leaving Wiggy after all this time…"
"No. I'm ready to go. He isn't that nice of a person and he's doing drugs. He wanted me to do them too, but—"
"Good, I'm glad you knew enough not to get involved in all this. Be kind to yourself, and don't put yourself in a position like this again."
"I—I won't," she agreed.
"Go get ready. The Uber should be here in a few minutes. Clean your face, and grab anything you have. I'll keep an eye out for the driver.
Picking up her pizza, Cherri took five more bites until her mouth was stuffed full and then made for the stairs to gather her things.
Less than a minute later, she came back looking much the same, with a clean face, her long hair scraped back in a messy ponytail and a pair of what looked like a brand new pair of Converse sneakers on her feet.
When she noticed me glance down at her feet, she gave me a guilty look.
"Wiggy bought me these. Had them delivered here to the bus by some assistant woman after I broke my sandal coming down those stairs," she informed me, nodding at the metal spiral staircase. "He's going to be mad he did that now that I'm running out on him." With an anxious glance, she folded her arms and shifted nervously from foot to foot.
"I'm guessing he won't be angry with you, just with me for getting in his business. It was me who told you to go, Cherri. But, let me tell you," I said plastering on my brightest smile. "I'm a big girl, I can take it. And I have Sawyer. The important thing is to get you back to your family."
"Thank you. I appreciate what you're doing, and if you don't mind me saying so, it makes sense you're Sawyer's girl. You're both kind people, and he's way too smart to be in a band." My heart squeezed, pleased with her compliment, because to Cherri relationships weren't about age or romance, they were about caring, feeling safe, and looking out for each other.
"I'm glad you're going home. Anything is better than being used by a man who doesn't want to take care of you." I answered honestly, and she nodded again.
Five minutes later the door burst open and Hammer called out to Cherri. "Sherry, are you going somewhere? There's an Uber guy out here," he asked, as I went to the back room and picked up my things.
"She's coming with me," I replied, suddenly deciding I couldn't send her off alone. Being a mom, I felt protective of Cherri and I figured if I had persuaded her to leave, t
he least I could do was ensure she wasn't going from the frying pan into the fire.
I shrugged into my jacket and grabbed my weekend bag and purse. "Billie?" Sawyer's hurt voice drew my attention to the bus door as I came out of the bedroom.
"Cherri wants to leave and I'm making sure her uncle is a safe person to pick her up." Sawyer ran his hand through his hair and I read the frustration in his eyes as my words rolled around in his head.
"Hang on, I'm coming with you." He looked worried when his eyes darted back and forth between Cherri and me. A second later, he pushed past me, entered the bedroom and returned with his wallet and keys to his bike in hand. "I'll follow you. Where are you going?"
I relayed where I was taking her and as Cherri made her way down the steps outside the tour bus, her adoring eyes darted up to where Wiggy stood.
"Bye. It was fun," was his parting comment to Cherri. No effort, no thank you, no touching goodbye. His bland words and offhand behavior said it all. The only person who mattered to Wiggy was himself.
If Cherri was disappointed or hurt she didn't show it, and I was glad. It told me she had some spine and would probably recover just fine. Sliding into the back seat of the Uber, she scooted across for me to get in.
"Bye, Mom," Wiggy called out, his voice laced with an acidic tone. Nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to get out of the cab and kick him right between the legs, but this would have meant showing him I cared. I'd never have given him the satisfaction.
Fortunately, Sawyer hadn't heard him as he had pulled his bike from a trailer at the back of the bus and was already revving the throttle, so I threw Wiggy a look of disdain, slammed the car door, and sat back as the driver pulled away.
Chapter Eighteen
During the journey to the Hilton, Cherri filled me in about herself. She'd had limited life chances and revealed she had never owned a cell phone because according to her, her mom and she were "poor as dirt."
Saving Cherri was the last thing I'd envisioned when I'd climbed up onto the tour bus, but I hadn't expected to find a girl in trouble there, either.
DARE You, Dare Duet, Part One: Billie and Sawyer: Unchained Attraction Series Page 16