by Kacey Shea
“Relax, baby. Ima make ya feel good. I promise.” He grinds his erection into my back as his fingers inch lower to the hem of my panties. I try to scream out but he squeezes hard around my neck, silencing my cries. Tears burn the backs of my eyelids but I refuse to shed one tear, to give this bastard anymore power over me. I’m not a little girl anymore.
“Now, don’t be a bitch,” he growls into my ear.
That’s when I know I have to fight back.
Loosening my body, I go completely limp to catch him off guard and that’s all I need. One second of confusion. I shove an elbow back into his side and then come up with a fist over my head to meet his face. He shouts out and his hold wavers. I twist and slam into him enough that he stumbles backward. I scream and race toward the door.
“No, you don’t. Little cunt.” He catches me by the waist again and we tumble to the floor. Fuck. The fall knocks the breath out of me and I struggle for air, but this time I don’t stop thrashing, kicking, and screaming. He cusses and tries to hold me still, to get a good grip, but I won’t give up. Pain shoots down my shoulder when he gets an awkward hold on my arm and pulls, but I still don’t stop screaming.
Finally, the door opens and one of our drivers, Ace, races up the steps. “Get off her!” he roars before tackling Eric off my back and to the ground. Ace glances up, assesses my state of undress, and punches Eric square in the face. Holy crap! Ace knocks him out.
“He hurt you?” Ace’s chest heaves with adrenaline and his eyes go back to my bare legs.
“No, not like that. Not yet,” I manage through my gasps. I stumble around them both to grab my pants and pull them on. Eric’s head rolls to the side, and if it weren’t for his low moans I’d think Ace killed him. “Thank you.” My hands go to my throat and it’s only then I realize I’m trembling. I don’t like feeling weak, and usually I don’t, but right now it takes everything I am to not collapse in a flood of tears. The rush of emotion that comes over me, it takes me back to another time and place, threatening my final ounce of control.
“You’re welcome, Miss Marx. I’m sorry. I—”
“It’s okay, Ace. You got here just in time.”
“This should never have happened. Can you step outside the bus? Wave Darren over?”
“Sure.” My heart pounds as I realize I’ll have to recount this entire experience. Will they believe my side of the story? Will I be able to sleep tonight in my bunk? Will I feel safe? Am I safe?
“Miss Marx. Now, please? He’s waking up and I don’t want to hit him again if I don’t have to.”
“Sorry.” I realize I haven’t moved a muscle since pulling on my pants. I shake my head and walk past both men, beyond the spot where Eric grabbed me, where he held my throat. “Sorry,” I say again.
“You don’t need to apologize for anything, okay?” Ace meets my wide eyes, “We’ve got this. We’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you now.”
“Okay,” I whisper aloud, not quite sure I believe him or agree.
11
Trent
“Dude, you fucking killed it tonight!” Austin says from somewhere behind me.
I lick my lips, greedily taking the offered shot of whiskey. It tastes even better because it’s held out to me from between a pair of double Ds. “Fuck yeah, I did. You like my show tonight, baby?” I say to the tits. Shit, I wish I could remember this one’s name. It seems in bad taste to ask now that she’s not wearing a shirt or her bra. Wait, did she even have a bra?
“Fuck . . .” Sean rolls his head from right to left against the back of the couch and then back to right. “I’m so fucked up right now.”
“Should’ve stuck with liquor like me and Austin. Iz will fuck you up, bro.” I’m a little buzzed, my high more the natural euphoria that comes with playing a packed house. But give me another hour and I’ll catch up with these fools. That is, after I spend a little more time with two of my favorite things. “Come sit on my lap, baby. I want those tits in my face.”
Normally, I’m a take the girl back to my room kinda guy, but we already started drinking and I’m feeling pretty damn good and super lazy. The bus is way too far a walk when this couch works perfectly well. Besides, it’s not like Glitter Tits is experiencing any stage fright. No, she’s into it, making eye contact with the rest of the band while I suck her nipples into hard peaks.
“Mmmm . . .”
The door flies open at my back and Bedo’s angry shouts enter the room, “Get him off the tour. Now. Fire his ass!” Fuck, he can really be a buzzkill, or rather, a boner downer. I won’t be able to keep it up with him shouting manager crap into his phone. “I don’t care who the fuck his father is, or how long he’s been with us. He tried to rape one of my clients! Don’t you get that?”
Yeah, maybe I’ll reconsider and take this one back to the bus. “Up you go,” I say and swat her ass, only she takes it the wrong way and grinds down harder. A little too late, as the word rape alone sobered me right the fuck up.
“Damn it, Bedo.” I stand, reaching out to catch Teeter Tits before she topples over. “What do you need?” I twist to find him taking in the scene.
“You guys really hit it hard, huh? Everyone’s gonna make my life hell tonight, that it?”
“Just blowing off steam. What are you talking about?” I glance at the girl and she’s still standing there without her shirt on like she’s in some kind of goddamn parade. It’s not sexy now that I’m not turned on. In fact, it’s annoying. Did she come here to fuck me or have everyone stare at her rack? “Hey, put a fucking shirt on,” I bark out and she finally moves.
“First the thing with Lexi, now you idiots. You do realize we leave in an hour.”
“What thing with Lexi?” He’s got my full attention and I stalk over to where he’s back to staring at his phone. He ignores me and types frantically onto the screen. “Bedo.” I cover his hands so he’ll meet my gaze. “What’s with Lexi?” The question leaves my mouth in a growl.
“One of our fucking roadies attacked her on their bus. Did you not just hear me?”
I see red. I see fucking red and I don’t stick around to chit chat with Bedo. My vision is tunneled and I stomp out of the dressing room and toward the exit. Security catches up to me and I can hear them asking me to slow down, to wait for the rest of the band, to let them make sure my path is secure, but the words don’t process . . . Or rather, I don’t give a fuck. Lexi is hurt. That’s the only thought racing through my mind while I hurry to the buses.
Guilt. I should have done something, been there, stopped this. My anger fuels every step. I should’ve made sure she was safe like I promised my mom only this morning, but I was too focused on my own shit. And now . . . I don’t even know what. If someone hurt her . . .
My steps speed to a jog and soon I’m running—right out the door, through roadies and equipment, ignoring camera flashes and reporters and screams from fans. I race until I reach the bus. Her bus. I only stumble when I catch the flashes of red and blue from the parked police cars.
Climbing the steps to Big Betty, I find the space inside all too quiet and empty. The interior of this bus doesn’t contain much in the way of luxury or even comfort. Instead, a small eating or work area is lined with simple chairs, and sleeping bunks occupy the majority of the space. Darren, one of our security and drivers, sits in one of the chairs and raises his gaze at my intrusion.
“Where is she?” I demand through winded breath.
“Lexi?”
Who else? “Yeah, Lexi. Is she here? Is she okay?” My anger boils once again and I step over to where Darren sits.
“Trent, you need to leave. Let the cops do their job.” He nods out the window like I haven’t noticed the obvious.
“Where the fuck is she? Who was it? Who fucking hurt her? Where is he?” Panic grows with the thought that she’s gone. Hurt. By one of our employees, on this tour, and the responsibility settles heavy on my chest.
Darren stands and grips my shoulder with slight shake of h
is head. “Trent.”
I pull out of his hold. I don’t understand why, but I need to find her. I need to know she’s safe. “Where is she?”
“I’m right here.” Her voice slices through my anger and my head turns toward the sound. She’s there, all stripped down and real, dressed in a pair of sweats, with no makeup and hair wet. Her green eyes are wide, uncertain, and when my gaze lands on the ice pack she holds against her arm I resolve that I will find whoever hurt her and beat the fucking shit out of that sorry excuse for a man.
“Lexi.” I breathe out her name and walk to where she leans against the narrow bathroom door frame.
“Is everything all right?” she asks, her brows knit with confusion. She takes a step back before I come too close.
I halt. She doesn’t understand why I’m here. Because I’ve either been an insensitive prick or hitting on her at every chance. That changes now. “I don’t know. That’s what I came to find out. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
Her face flushes with what I assume is embarrassment and she drops her chin, arms wrapping around her own waist.
I turn to Darren and he shrugs, offering a little insight. “The officers took their reports. They arrested Eric after he . . .” He shakes his head.
Good. I hope Eric rots in jail. I’ll make a call to our lawyers tomorrow and get them to push for the harshest penalty.
“Bedo said to keep this bus locked down until he comes back. So . . . I’m sorry, Trent. You should probably go.”
“Me?” I sputter and then glance back to Lexi.
She still won’t meet my gaze.
“I’m not leaving. Not until I make this right.”
Her chin snaps up and her eyes narrow. “What exactly are you gonna do, Trent?” Her anger drips from the accusation that I can’t do a damn thing. I’m too late. Her eyes are ablaze and the corners pinch with her glare.
I might be too late, but something like this isn’t happening again. Not if I can help it. “You’re switching buses. Pack your shit,” I say.
She steps back, her brows pull together, and she shakes her head. “What? No. I’m not leaving this tour because some asshat got a little handsy.”
So damn stubborn. Lucky I am too. “You’re not leaving. You’ve been upgraded.”
Her hands go to her hips and she lifts an eyebrow.
“You’re on our bus now.”
“Says who?”
“Says, me. Now, pack your bag. Or don’t, and I’ll have someone do it for you. You’re sure as hell not staying here anymore.”
“I don’t get a say? You dictate to me now? The rest of the band and crew on board with this?” Her sassy fire is back and bastard that I am, it excites me that she’s not cowering or scared, that she’s still Lexi. It’s the only evidence I have that Eric didn’t break her, not in an irreparable way.
“I don’t care what they think. Now, you gonna pack or should Darren do it?”
“I can pack my own damn bag,” she grinds out through clenched teeth.
“Good. See you on board.” I smile and turn before she changes her mind, or takes a shot at my junk. She’s pissed. More than pissed. But I’ll take the anger. I’d rather her direct it at me; at least then I can be useful, help her get mad and over what this scumbag did to her.
“Bring her over when she’s ready,” I order Darren on my way out. He nods.
I know this is the right decision, and even if the guys don’t like it at first, they’ll come around. They’ll agree it’s the best way to keep her safe. Because though we might all party a little too hard and sleep with a lot of women, not one of us condones taking a woman’s choice away.
I step outside the bus and glance up to take in the night sky, it’s expansiveness filled with tiny sparkling stars. Letting go of the guilt I hold inside, I release it into the universe on an exhale. I head back to my bus but Ace, one of the drivers for Big Betty, catches my gaze as he walks from where two police cars drive off.
“Hey, Trent.” He offers me a handshake and I return it.
“Were you here when that all went down with Lexi and Eric?”
“Yeah.” He shakes his head. “Just in time, too. I just turned in my report. I found that fucker pinning her to the floor. He wasn’t gonna stop, man. If I hadn’t heard her scream . . . Man, I don’t think I would’ve gone in there. And no one would’ve stopped him . . .”
“But you did, Ace. You did. That’s all that counts.” I blow out another forced breath as I take in the severity of his words, choosing my next ones carefully. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do if—”
“I know, man. I know.” Ace nods back to Big Betty and I turn. “She’s leaving?”
“No.” I shake my head. A little chuckle escapes my lips when I spy her slinging a bag over one shoulder with a guitar in the other hand while Darren follows behind with a larger bag. “She’s moving buses. It’s safer.”
“Damn.” Ace shakes his head, returning my laugh. “I’m gonna miss that firecracker. You guys luck out with that move. She’s funny as hell once she lets her guard down. You just look out for her. Don’t let anyone mess with her.” His warning stirs every bit of protectiveness inside. I know without a doubt there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her safe. It might be irrational since I hardly know her, but it’s something I don’t need to explain or evaluate. When it comes to Lexi Marx, I’m all in.
12
Lexi
Everything has been better since moving to the big bus and that surprises me. I guess I expected living with a bunch of dudes—fame induced, spoiled, overgrown boys—would be more taxing than it has been. Maybe I’m turning into an overindulged rock star myself just by being in their presence, but I do love the fully stocked and functioning kitchen, the shower with hot water, and a bed nook with no worries about a drunk and horny old man trying to invade my personal space.
Well . . . I don’t completely trust that one of these assholes isn’t gonna try something. It’s not that they haven’t been totally respectful. They have. Not so much appropriate, because they’re not. In fact, every hour that passes they talk to me more and more like one of the guys, but that’s fine by me. Deep down, my gut knows these men would never hurt me. No, they’ll likely hurt someone who tries to hurt me, and I’m not used to that kind of protection or safety. Call it my inability to trust men in general. Or maybe just too many years on my own.
But there is one thing . . .
They’re fucking with me. I’m almost completely certain.
It all started the day I changed buses.
I don’t have an extensive collection of color in my clothing, but when it comes to undergarments I’m worse than a diva set loose with a Victoria’s Secret credit card. I like pretty lace and satin, colors and patterns. Not that anyone ever sees them because I haven’t met a boy I’d like to screw since my sophomore year of college, but that’s not the point. The panties, they’re for me, my expression of femininity. And I’m down ten of my favorite pairs.
It’s possible I’ve misplaced them. But more likely Iz, Austin, Sean, or Trent have been pirating my belongings and taking home the treasure. Fuckers. I’m sure whoever is up to this prank is expecting me to go off on a rant, or ask for my underwear back, but that’s not going to happen. No, I’ll wait them out—catch them in the act—and then they’ll feel the wrath of a woman who’s been fucked with. And surely regret it.
Only it’s getting expensive sneaking off to the mall at each stop to replenish my drawer, and we aren’t even a third of the way through this tour. Sure, I could buy some cheap economy pack of plain ones, but I don’t want to wear those. Or I could call them out. Try to end this now. Make livid accusations and veiled threats about panties, but that feels like giving up—or giving in to their expectations. And I don’t do that. I won’t be what others expect.
After playing Chicago last night, the guys went out to hit the nightlife before we rolled out. But they lost Austin for a few hours and we left the stadium complet
ely off schedule. I didn’t go out with the band. Secretly, I relished the extra time after the show to unwind in blissful solitude. But Bedo, he was livid, and I could hear every word from behind my sleeping curtain as he gave the boys a verbal thrashing when they returned, drunk off their asses, in an Uber sometime after four o’clock this morning.
Now we’re somewhere between Illinois and North Carolina and the afternoon sun bleeds through the shades on this rather uneventful drive. I grab a cheese stick and a bottle of water from the fridge before settling into one of the open recliners.
Austin’s playing a video game and I watch for a little while before I get bored. Sean’s engrossed in whatever he’s doing with his laptop, and quite frankly I have no desire to investigate what’s on the screen. Trent’s enjoying the privacy of his own room. Probably taking a nap, the lucky bastard.
Iz stumbles from his bunk and growls a “good mornin’,” even though it’s closer to sundown. He pops open the fridge and rummages around until he produces a can of beer. With a flip of the tab he takes a pull, one that lasts longer than I can hold my breath, and sets it down with a loud belch. “’Scusa me.”
“Iz, you’re such a caveman.” Sean shuts the laptop and leans back along the bench seat at the table.
“Why? Cuz I don’t know how ta type on one’num fancy ’puters?”
We all direct our attention to Iz as his face puzzles, brow knit, and begins to laugh in his deep throaty way.
“One’num’num . . . Sheeet . . . I’m fucked up.”
Sean tilts his head. “What did you smoke last night, Iz?”
“Fuck, I dun’nut even know.” He opens and closes his mouth wide as if that will somehow help his words come out better.
“Iz, that stuff’s gonna kill you,” I say, more than a little worried.
He meets my stare with an unfocused gaze, but his speech is better when he finally talks. “Don’cha worry ’bout me. I’m just fine. Been doin’ worse for years.” He laughs again, this time louder, and saunters down the short hallway to the bathroom. Moments later the shower clicks on.
