Real Ugly (Hard Rock Roots #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five: Naomi Knox

When I wake up the next morning, I feel like shit.

"Stupid fucking pills," I snarl as I struggle to sit up and run my hands down my face. Cold air hits my tits, and I realize suddenly that I'm naked and that my headphones are still sitting on my pillow, blasting music into the darkness.

Turner.

So he really did come, then?

I think about the implications of that and then shrug them off. Can't think about that right now. I can't even imagine what would happen if he decided to take all of his energy and focus it on me. I'd never escape. I grab my iPod and switch it off, flinging back the curtain and checking to make sure I'm alone before I scramble out of bed and search for some clothes to throw on. I settle on a green Terre Haute tank, some acid washed jeans, and a pair of black heels. I have no clue what time it is right now, but since I didn't fall asleep until dawn, I can guess that the show isn't too far off. In the distance, I can hear the rumble and murmur of voices, the sounds of trailers being opened, equipment being dragged across the cement. Yep, it's just about that time.

I step into the bathroom and play with my hair, swirling it into a messy bun on the back of my head. A quick slash of eyeliner, some gray shadow and dark lipstick and I'm done. I like to look good, but I'm not a fussy chick. That's Hayden's role here.

I check around to make sure that she's gone and then jack a pair of her sunglasses. I doubt she'll even know I took them considering she's giving up the spotlight tonight to go take care of whatever it is she's so damn worried about. I'm singing tonight. I try to keep that thought out of my head, pretty damn certain that if I let it, it'll take hold of me and fuck me until I'm too nervous to even set foot on that stage. Being the center of attention isn't my thing either. That too, I leave to Hayden Lee. She thrives on that kind of shit. Me, not so much.

Dax and America are sitting at the table when I come out, but neither turns to look at me which is a bad sign. They pretend like they're not watching which makes it all the more obvious that they are.

"Sorry about the late night conjugal visit," I say which makes America cringe and swivel to face me with clenched teeth. I pour myself a cup of coffee and drink it black, leaning against the counter and praying to god that I won't get any more plastic doll heads in the mail today.

"Yes, well. Hmm." That's all America says, but I can tell she's holding back. What she really wants to do is tear off that stupid red tie she's got on and leap at my face, claw my damn eyes out and tell me to stay the hell away from Turner Campbell. Instead, she just spins back to face Dax who still won't look at me. I feel like I should apologize for some reason, but I know how stupid that is. I don't owe him anything. He has a crush on me. So what? That's not my problem; that's his.

I finish my coffee and toss the mug in the sink, too riled up to sit still. Besides, there's so much going on, all I have to do is reach a hand into a hat and pull out a name. Eric, Katie, Hayden, Turner. If I don't start dismantling these mysteries, I'm going to drown in them.

Fortunately for me, one of them is waiting right outside the door.

"Hello, Eric," I say as I turn towards my former foster brother and admire the cream colored suit he's got on. The sharp cut of the shoulders and the perfect tailoring at the waist tells me that this, too, is one expensive fucking coat he's got on.

"Naomi," he says, glancing around like he thinks the cops are lurking around the corner. I light up a cigarette and watch as he shifts his feet nervously. "Did you find them?"

"I told you I'd call if I did." I pause. "They were stolen."

Eric freezes for a moment and then nods, short and crisp, like this is all just a business transaction to him.