Real Ugly (Hard Rock Roots #1)

Chapter Seventeen: Naomi Knox

How do you live down a scene like that? Hmm? How do you walk away knowing that everybody thinks you're a friggin' psychopath? And maybe I am, just a little. For a second, I lost it there, but now that I'm standing on the stage with my ankle throbbing and my axe pressed against my crotch, I feel a whole lot better.

One secret down, one to go.

I slam my pick down hard, squat into the guitar, meet Wren for a little back to back rendezvous center stage. This, this is where I was always meant to be – drowning in music and sweat and blood. The stage is my life now, and the day I forget that, I'm royally screwed. I don't need Turner or the ghost of that baby or anything like that. Me and my Wolfgang, me and my music. That's all there has to be.

So I rock hard, and then I run away, retreating to the safety of the bus without seeing Turner. Somehow, like by magic, Dax is there waiting for me. The softness in his gray eyes scares the shit out of me and tells me that he's about to admit it, to me and to himself. Dax has a thing for me. Fuck.

"Dax, I can't do this right now," I tell him when his lips part and he starts to speak. I put my hand on the counter to steady myself. I don't want a confession of undying love right now. I don't want love at all. I don't understand it, and it scares the ever living shit out of me.

Dax blinks a few times like he isn't sure what to make of my words. We're both soaked in sweat and tired, shaking from the rush of adrenaline that performing always brings up. I just want to shower and sleep. Or just sleep. Maybe just that.

"Naomi, I ... "

"Dax, I'm fucking serious!" I scream at him, and I don't feel guilty, not even a little bit, not even when his face falls and his eyes darken. Dax looks at me for a long moment, one that seems to stretch into eternity. I don't move. I can't right now. When he finally just nods and moves away, all I feel is relief.

My hands start to shake, and I find myself suddenly desperate for empty attention, like a sex addict or something. I think of this book I read once where the main character fucked people to feel whole inside. I get it, sort of, I do. But I don't need to feel whole. Right now, I'm practically bursting with emotion. I want to feel empty.

So I descend the stairs of the bus and go off in search of a partner.

What I find instead is my long, lost foster brother. Eric Rhineback.

*****

"What do you want?" First words out of my mouth.

Eric smiles a smile that's so like his father's that I feel sick. He's standing about six feet away from me, dressed in a fancy suit, like he's somebody. I call bullshit. Eric is just a nobody with a trailer of false hope being towed behind him.

"Good to see you, too, Naomi." Eric moves forward and extends his hand. I don't move away from his advance, but I also refuse to shake with him. If I touch him, in even the smallest way, I may kill him.

"Cops are looking for you." I light up and blow smoke out through my teeth, examining the dark suit and the way it's tailored perfectly to his body. Must've cost a lot of money, that thing. I wonder where he got it from. Eric drops his thin, pale hand and licks his lips. "Apparently, they think you killed your parents."

"Strange that, isn't it?" he asks, dark hair so clean and polished that it glistens, even with only the dim lights from the street nearby. Music trickles out of the building, shouting, screaming. Turner's onstage right now, singing his heart out, spreading his angel wings so wide that they obscure his devil tail. "Since supposedly you and I got rid of the evidence. I wonder how they got it into their heads that it was me." I stare at him and take a drag on my cig.