Real Ugly (Hard Rock Roots #1)

Chapter Two: Turner Campbell

Shit. I wake up in a cloudy haze with a pounding head and a churning stomach. Where the fuck am I? I wonder as I slam my forehead into the bunk above me and struggle to sit up without retching all over the goddamn place. Across from me, there's a girl with brunette hair sprawled out naked. I look her up and down, but she's skinny as fuck and not very attractive, at least not to me. I stare at her for awhile trying to figure out if I should know her, but the face doesn't ring any bells, so I stand up and take stock of the situation. I feel like shit, but hey, things have been worse. At least I didn't wake up in an alley or in some stranger's car on the way to friggin' Mexico. I touch my stomach with gentle fingers. And it doesn't look like anybody cut out your organs while you were passed out. It's a good day for you, Turner.

I eye the bathroom for a moment before deciding I've probably done enough damage here for one day. I can retch at my own place. Better to get out of here before any of these bitches wake up and start accusing me of shit. I've already got one pending suit because some whore told the cops I pissed on her. Fucking slut.

I wipe my hand across my mouth and grimace. The skin around my lips is crusted with dried puke and my whole throat feels like it's been washed in a bath of acid. Not good. I've got another show tomorrow, and the last thing I need is to screw my voice up. If I cancel another set, my manager is going to flip the fuck out. I should really fire that son of a bitch.

I stumble out into the kitchen and look around for the fridge. You wouldn't think it would be that hard to find, but my vision is kind of blurry and my head is spinning like crazy, so I don't see the stainless gleaming at me in the moonlight. Not until I've tried half of the other cabinets. They do crap like that in these fancy as fuck buses. Hide fridges in cabinets. I hate that shit.

I yank the door open harder than I probably should and jump when a groan sounds from behind me. A quick glance over the shoulder reveals a girl curled up in the rectangle of bright as fuck light that's coming from the fridge. She shifts her body and turns away mumbling something incoherent, and a light goes off somewhere in my clogged skull. I know this girl, I think as I turn back to the contents of the fridge with a pinched brow. There are cans of freaking tomato juice stacked side by side with beer. I take the stupid choice and grab a brown bottle before I turn around and pop the top off on the bottom of the counter.

You know every girl, asshole, I tell myself as I step forward and stare down at her shadowed face. It's too dark, and I'm too whacked out to see much, but I reach out anyway and brush some of the pale hair from her forehead. The movement reveals a pretty face and moist lips, but not much else. A memory niggles at the edges of my skull, but when I try to reach for it, it pulls away and leaves me empty. Doesn't bother me much. Happens all the fucking time. I shrug and turn around, dropping my half empty beer onto the counter before I leave, pulling open the door to the bus and squinting at the quiet darkness around me.

A man looms up out of nowhere and gets in my face.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asks, breathing hot against my cheek before I reach out with both hands and shove him back. The man grunts and stumbles hard, coming up swinging. That only lasts so long as it takes him to catch my gaze. "Ah," he says, and I watch with a smug smile as the fight leaves him and his arms fall to his sides. "Turner, sorry. Didn't know it was you." The dude steps out of my way and pauses like he thinks I'm going to move past. Instead, I reach into my pocket and pull out a cigarette.

"Must be nice having so much pussy onboard," I say as I cup my hand around the cig and light up. The wind's starting to blow pretty hard out here. "So much cock on my bus that I wake up every morning choking on dick." God, I wish I could get some blow. "Got any coke?" I ask real quick. Guy looks like he's about to burst the veins in his neck. The dude, whoever he is, snorts, but he doesn't leave. I think he wants to move past me, but knows better than to try. "Know anybody I could score some off of?"