Revel

by Shey Stahl

  I know enough about Revel that I understand his games. The ones he likes to play called lets-see-what-I-can-do-to-get-a-reaction. This, I assume, is one of those moments. I bet that’s why he watched my performance. To get a reaction out of me.

  I brush it off and wish I could brush off the heat in my cheeks too. “You’re so bad.”

  Do you sense the erotic way the words slip past my lips? They come out far breathier than I want them to.

  “Trust me, Red. It’s not bad if it feels good.”

  Oh. My. God. Revel Slade knows exactly how to get an audience in the palm of his hand and sadly, he’s got me there now too. As if I ever had a chance in the matter.

  “You know better than to smile at me like that.”

  I hadn’t realized I was smiling. Damn it. He gazes at me with a heated expression. With unease, I squirm in my seat. “I’m not smiling at you.”

  “Bullshit.” His words are layered with exhaustion and an emotion I can’t identify.

  Blood bubbles in my veins. I want to punch him square in his sharp, beautiful jaw. “Are you done being an asshole?”

  His gaze, unfazed, sweeps to mine. “Are you leaving the tour?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m just getting started,” he says, his words honest and real. He blinks, and then the smirk I know so well appears.

  I frown and blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind. “I have a boyfriend.” It’s a lie, Breckin and I broke up months ago, but Revel doesn’t need to know there’s no one since him. In fact, I think it’s better that he doesn’t.

  “Shouldn’t have said that, Red.”

  Great, another nickname. What’s this, like the third one he’s given me?

  His smirk draws me in again. “Why?”

  He breaks eye contact, his head turning to the side and giving me a view of his taut jaw that’s drawing me in. His gaze returns as he talks around an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips and leans in closer, heat rolling from his body. “Because I’m the kind of guy who’ll fuck you in his bed to prove a point.”

  Are you as speechless as me? I don’t think I can form words let alone a facial expression outside a gaping open mouth and I’m sure he’s thinking about filling it with something. Remember when he said: “Every time you open your mouth to tell me off, all I can think about is shutting you up with my cock shoved down your throat.”

  I certainly do. Snapping my mouth closed, I draw in a deep breath. He needs to get away from me.

  A flight attendant stops when she notices the cigarette in Revel’s mouth. “There’s no smoking on the plane, sir.”

  He doesn’t even look at her when he says, “Does it look like it’s fucking lit?”

  She walks away. I would too if I were her. I’m just about to tell him that was rude when he sighs.

  “What would you do if I kissed you now?” he asks in a rush, or maybe it’s just me who thinks that because he’s shocked me into silence once again.

  It’s crazy how quickly his words can set fireworks off inside my chest. “Excuse me?”

  “Why do you keep actin’ like you didn’t hear me? I know you fuckin’ heard me or you wouldn’t be blushing like that.”

  Stupid intuitive jerk. I shrug one shoulder.

  “What. Would. You. Do?” he repeats slowly, as though deciphering his words had been my issue.

  “I wouldn’t allow you to,” I seethe, the harsh words feeling violent on my lips.

  He considers my words. The slow smirk appears, his lips curving. “Girl like you. . . wouldn’t stop me.”

  I scan his face with a sneer. “You don’t know me.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” He leans into my personal space, his whiskey breath blowing over my face. “I know that you’d kiss me willingly,” he replies coldly, very obviously dropping his gaze to my chest. “And the notion that you’d deny me is entertaining, to say the least.”

  I open my mouth, intending on giving him a piece of my mind, shifting uncomfortably in the leather captain’s chair. But then I remember his thoughts about my open mouth. I clamp my mouth shut. “Would not.”

  “You’d give me anything I want without my asking.”

  I open my mouth to tell him otherwise, but he pushes back, away from me. With a sigh, Revel stands.

  Before walking away, he leans in once more, his hand gripping the seat I’m in, and the one in front of me. I stare at the veins in his arms and the ink covering them, desperately wanting to touch him. “Princess, there are thousands of ways to lose yourself in this industry, but only you have control of the version you become.”

  I want to ask him so many things, like what the hell does that mean, but I don’t. Somewhere in the last twelve hours, it stopped being about me proving myself to the world, and all about showing Revel I’m not a little girl. Our lives are music and the road, where in many ways we achieve our greatness. His words, they only intensify his mysterious inner torment.

  I shift my gaze to the window, the blurring lights of the next city coming into view through the small pane beside me. Revel leaves, finding his place in the seat across the aisle.

  I glance over at him one last time, his head bowed toward his cell phone in hand, ravaged hair hanging in his eyes. He must feel my heated stare on him because he looks over at me, my gaze once again finds tortured blue. His expression disarms, his hand finds his hair. He nods, taking a mouthful of the amber liquid in his glass.

  I return his nod, watching his facial expression. I can’t place it, but it sends a flutter to my heart. And then he winks, flashes that million-dollar Slade smirk and sinks into his seat, knowing that he’s affecting me. He’s getting under my skin and into my head. The question is, though, how far under his skin am I?

  Bella finds her seat next to me, a little tipsy and giggling, whispering something about Cruz. It’s when she glances at my face, the pink cheeks, and the brooding calm man who just departed her seat that her face sobers. She motions to Revel, then me, practically spilling the wine she has in her cup. “What was that about?” Then she reaches for my glass, sniffs it, and quirks an eyebrow. “Did he drug you?”

  I nod. “Probably. He had a dream about me.”

  “And…,” Bella presses, relaxing into her seat.

  I hate that my cheeks bloom with color again, his stare heavy, suffocating and scorching hot in my periphery. “It involved whip cream and champagne.”

  “Weird.”

  “Yeah, weird.”

  Weird doesn’t even begin to cover the last twenty-four hours, let alone his dream.

  My eyes scan the small aircraft and land on a man two rows in front of Revel. Our stares catch. My dad. The one who probably saw our interactions. Unwilling to see my determination, I want to flip him off and prove to him that I’m no longer the little girl he thinks he controls. I became my own woman with no thanks to him and if I want to flirt with the forbidden rock star, or whatever that interaction between us was, I can and will. Is that what I’m doing? Flirting with him?

  Across from my dad sits Hensley. When I notice their proximity, my dad averts his gaze from me.

  Bella nudges my elbow. “Okay, I’m not going to bring this up again, because your dad scares the bejesus out of me.” And then she pauses, dramatically. “But, what do you think is going on with them? Do you think it was him she was seeing?”

  “I don’t know. He denies it, but you know my dad, he’s always so secretive about everything. Doesn’t matter if it’s his grocery list, he doesn’t share shit.”

  “You know what they say about the secretive. . . .”

  I stare at her, waiting for her to expand on her statement, but she doesn’t. “No, actually, I don’t. What do they say?”

  Bella laughs and digs her blanket out of her bag, draping it across the two of us. “I don’t know. It just sounded cool to say.”

  Part of me wants to ask him about Hensley and just get it over with, but then again, deep down, I know the truth. My parents’
relationship has always been a mystery to me. It was like they were created as this powerhouse couple to take over Hollywood, both with music and acting. I don’t think I’ve ever told you much about my mother, but she’s Evelyn Ash, Hollywood’s darling. Having grown up in the business herself with my granddaddy being a huge movie producer, it only made sense for her to act, and she has done so her entire life. If I wasn’t in a recording studio growing up, I was on the set of one of her movies, being tended to by a nanny or her assistants. I can’t remember ever being with my parents one-on-one. There was always someone there to take care of me, aside from them. It’s amazing I didn’t turn out an asshole.

  ANNOYANCE

  REVEL

  Motherfucker.

  Cocksucker.

  Cunt.

  Asshole.

  I could go on forever with all names I’d give the man in the back of the room staring me down like I’m stealing Princess from him. It hadn’t been my intention, but now that I’m watching that smug girlfriend-stealing piece of shit, I think about what would piss him off more than the million he offered me not to tell her.

  “I’d say name your price, but I think this should cover it.”

  My eyes dropped to the check in his hand. Jory Ash and me, we have never gotten along. Probably because this motherfucker only wanted to exploit my band and me. I saw from the beginning what he was doing to his daughter, and there was not a chance in hell I was letting him commercialize me like that. But still, why’d he want to keep this secret from her so much? “Why would you offer me that?”

  Jory leaned in, his eyes intent on mine. “To keep your mouth shut.”

  Ah, yes. Daddy didn’t want his little girl knowing what a piece of shit he was. I smiled cruelly. “Beg.”

  I could practically hear his teeth grinding together. “I’m not begging you for shit, kid. I’m only going to warn you this one time. Stay away from my daughter.” But he knew he was beneath me. Before he had my girl beneath him, he knew he’d never measure up to someone like me, yet here he was, bereft of his dignity and begging me even though he wouldn’t say it.

  “Request denied then.” Cocking my head, I chuckled and ripped up the check. Eye for an eye? Nah. I’d go further. Life for life. “I’ll do whatever I want to your daughter.”

  He knew exactly what I was capable of.

  Yep. God forbid Princess knew the truth about Daddy, and he knew I was just the man to tell her. When the time was right. Probably after she let me fuck her, but details. I’d work those out later.

  Kidding. Partially.

  Do you ever people watch? Do you ever wonder how honest the conversations around you are? Who’s telling lies? Who’s spilling bullshit, and in the rare instances, who’s being genuinely honest?

  I think about that shit all the time. Sometimes I obsess over it and spend hours watching them trying to figure out the fucked-up shit in their head. It distracts me from my own. I can’t figure out Red though. Much to my discontent, I think about her constantly. She’s in the room, at the end of the table we’re at, and though we’re feet away, I’m sure I can tell you every time she sighs, which laughter is hers, and the expression on her face every time a reporter asks a question she doesn’t want to answer. She’ll press her lips together, tuck alluring red locks behind her ear and stare at them, waiting for them to rephrase. And when they don’t, when they press for more, she’ll politely decline, and they’ll leave it alone.

  Unlike me, who’s evasive and difficult in interviews. The one they poke and prod, and demand answers from. And when I don’t give in, they’ll write up bullshit about me being irrational. Illogical. Reckless. And nothing a princess needs in her life.

  Yet here we are. This princess, she has no clue who I am or what it means being on tour with me. No clue.

  I’m sure you understand by now, but I’m rarely sober. I prefer to be anything but. Unfortunately for me, today isn’t one of those days. And not that I’m sober, but I’m aware of the fact that everyone I hate is on this tour and I’m stuck in the same room with them, yet again. Hatred; it can be pretty fucking suffocating at times. The music industry is bullshit. It’s full of lying bastards who will do anything to sell you out if it means they’ll profit from it. It’s ruthless, cold, and gives very little back, if anything. Whether you’re a singer, songwriter, producer, promoter, drummer, guitarist, you’re in the business of creating. Most everyone is selling an image. A brand. A persona that’s nothing close to the reality of who they are inside. Most of them have lost their identity along the way. The goal is to make money releasing music and, most of the time, that’s all that matters to them. They cook up beefs between artists to make money.

  Being around people makes me uneasy and being uneasy makes me react. The first person in my line is Deacon, because he’s sitting next to me in the conference room where about fifty members of the press are staring at us. Anyone from newspaper journalists, radio stations, MTV, you name it and they’re here to ask us questions. It’s as close to hell as I get, unless of course, all alcohol and drugs in the world disappeared.

  I’d like to point out that Deacon starts it. Not me. He does this with a very simple question of, “What’s with you and Taylan?” He tucks his phone into his pocket and looks over at me, expecting an answer.

  “Nothing.” It’s a dismissal. It’s a “leave me alone.” One he probably won’t listen to, but just for good measure, I don’t look his way in fear it’ll spark further prying into a poison I want no part of ingesting. Instead, I keep my stare on the man in the back of the room. What’s going on with us? Hell if I know. All I can think about is fucking her senseless and until that happens, I can’t, won’t get her out of my head.

  “Bullshit.”

  I’m so tired of this shit. I grit my teeth and shift my focus. My glare slides in his direction. “Why the fuck does it matter what’s going on? Last time I checked, you didn’t give a fuck about my life.” I’m referring to an earlier argument we had last week. It’s not important but it probably, most likely, involved me being drunk on stage and him having to remind me of lyrics.

  I stare at the enemy sitting two seats down. My mouth tightens. I’m being stubborn, unwilling to give up just yet. My eyes catch emerald green making my head throb to the beat of my own heart. Our stares lock for a moment too long to be coincidental. She looks almost irritated with herself over something, but her eyes, they don’t leave mine. Trying to appear unfazed by my eyes on her, she brushes the pads of her fingers across her lips and crimson stains her cheeks.

  I wonder what the blush is from. Is it me? Is it that she’s trying to appear unflawed to those around her?

  And then my gaze shifts to the one next to her. The one who stole the word “love” from me. Now I’m not sure I know what the word means anymore. A rush of adrenaline hits me. I can’t stand that cunt. I hate her. And strangely, I want to thank her for making me realize I was in deep and didn’t even know it. My body stiffens, my expression intense as I remember the ugly side of the night I left. The one where the person who cared less had all the power. The same night where my strength felt inferior to her lies. Where her too-honest words voiced lies with a quivering mouth and tearfully shouted raw emotion that meant nothing.

  My lips curve at the corners. “I hate you,” I mouth, the plains of my face, my expression the same as that night when I told her I’d never forgive her.

  Hensley’s face scrunches, and she looks away, rolling her eyes, and I’m back there, to that night.

  I was frozen, unmoving to the words, “I’m pregnant.” Eerie, loud thunder cracked outside, bolts of lightning scattering across the sky, sheets of rain pinging against the windows.

  For a second, I was frozen. My girlfriend. Pregnant. I wasn’t naïve enough to not realize the problems with those two words and the implications they presented.

  I’d been on tour for the last six months. There was no way it was mine, but I looked at her face, the expression, the lie she was withholdin
g, and I knew the truth. So did she, yet she left it at, “I’m pregnant,” and expected something to follow on my part.

  Should I congratulate her on being a slut?

  “Rev?” My eyes snapped to hers, deceit my only vision.

  “What?” My gaze traveled the length of her body, lingering on her mid-section. “What the fuck do you want me to say?” I asked casually, my words anything but that.

  “I don’t know. Something.” She shrugged, looking around the floor for the strength she didn’t have to stay off his dick in the first place.

  “Okay, how about this?” I paused, breathing in deep, trying to find the courage. “How about you tell me whose baby it is because I know it’s not mine.”

  With a shaky breath, her eyes flicked to mine with agitation. “Excuse me?”

  “I didn’t fucking stutter.” My jaw clenched, the words pushed out in a hiss of emotion I couldn’t withhold. I gave her everything. I was the biggest rock star in the world and fucking monogamous to one woman. Do you have any idea how hard that is? Fucking impossible for most. And she fucked another man. Worse than that, she’s pregnant. “Who were you fucking when I was in Germany?”

  “I don’t see how that matters.” Her emotion colored her voice, shaking each syllable.

  I saw red. No, fuck that, I saw blue. It was far more dangerous. “Oh, it fucking matters and you know it, ya goddamn bitch!” I got to my feet, closing the distance between us. I wanted to kill her. I did.

  Caught off guard, she pressed her lips together, withholding, but I knew. “Who do you think?”

  I didn’t hesitate, seething the words back at her. “Ash.”

  I wasn’t surprised to see her denial didn’t follow.

  The reality, the truth, it was a punch to the stomach. Why would she have chosen him over me? Because of her daddy issues? The constant need for an authority figure? I might never know the answer. What I did know was anger.

  “I can’t fucking believe you." I hated the way my voice broke at the end. I hated that I let a woman control me to the point of this. She looked at me, without words. I didn’t know why, but I pressed for more. Demanded to know why. “Why? Why him?”