Rocker Series

by Gina Whitney

  “On stage, doll. Off you go.” He pushed me out from behind the massive curtains and onto the stage. I was in full view of thousands of screaming, out-of-their-mind fans. Abel extended his hand, motioning for me to come to him. I went into a Jan Brady catatonic trance. Cheers rose up as he approached me, smiling gently. I managed to smile back. Still, I had no clue what the fuck was going on.

  Abel’s soft hands gently guided me to a high bar-chair placed next to his microphone. My heart pounded in my ears. I looked for Chance in the front row. I needed to focus on something familiar. His animated smile ignited my numbed brain. The crowd was going wild. Abel continued to taunt them with my presence. Shouts of “Oh My God!” and “Who the fuck is that?” could be heard rising up from the audience. I was getting twitchy sitting there. The lights were hot and blinding. Christ. How did they deal with the heat on stage? I wiped my forehead free of sweat. I turned to find Cindy standing behind the curtain. Woody’s drums were the precursor to the next song. Cindy was waving frantically, screaming, “Enjoy, Gia, enjoy!”

  Finally, I turned toward Abel. From his Doc Martins to his Lethal Abel tee-shirt, he was the epitome of the Rock God. He owned the stage. His shirt rode up as he fist-pumped the crowd into screaming my name. Ender’s guitar licked seductively into the melody. It was Lethal Abel’s rock version of “Stay.” I crossed my legs to give myself something to do, and anyway, it helped to steady them; they were shaking from nerves. Breathe in. Breathe out. Abel grabbed my chin in his signature move. He wanted me to focus on him. And so I did.

  Along it was a fever

  A cold-sweat hot-headed believer

  I threw my hand in the air and said show me something

  She said if you dare come a little closer

  Round and around and around we go

  Ooh, tell me now, tell me now, tell me now, you know

  Not really sure how I feel about it … something in the way you move …

  Makes me feel I can’t live without you

  Yeah, it takes me all the way

  I want you to stay …

  I relaxed into the song, getting into his rock version of it. I thumped my leg to Woody’s beats, thrashing my head to Abel’s wicked lyrics. There were no tears left in me to cry; all I could feel was joy. That was the happiest moment of my life. Abel kissed the inside of my wrist before grabbing my face in a smoldering kiss, just as the lights blacked out. The roar of the crowd seemed to intensify the darkness. I was shuffled off backstage, this time to Cindy’s side.

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” She jumped all around me, clapping. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law. And your pussy has possessed that boy right there.” She pointed at Abel, who was beaming at me. Her behavior was addicting. Had we been in private, I would’ve joined her in celebrating. But it was totally un-cool to go all fan-girl in front of the guy I was fucking.

  For the rest of their set, we head-banged to their songs. Being backstage made the whole experience much more intimate for us. Music flowed in a circuit from Cindy to me, looping us in its prism. I was feeling high from the energy. I searched the crowd to get a visual on Chance. However, I got something I wasn’t expecting. Her. Front and center where Chance was no longer sitting. Yes, Morgana had taken his place. What. The. Fuck? Were they operating together against me? What was she doing in his seat? Where the fuck was he? My eyes squinted for him in the crowd. Maybe with all the excitement, my brain was manufacturing things. Possible, right? But no such luck. It was the piranha cunt, all right. She was tapping her watch to insinuate I’m on borrowed time. Cindy followed my line of sight.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me!” she raged. I held stock-still, engaging her in a silent war. Her eyes threatened revenge. My eyes answered: bring it, cunt. A maniacal smile tugged my lips. Fuck this cunt… She was not getting him, not taking him from me …

  I hadn’t even realized the set had ended when all of a sudden, Abel joined me and Cindy, lacing his hand through mine while rubbing his thumb on my knuckles. They say your skin is the largest sensory organ in your body, that touching and being touched, or the lack of it, profoundly effects your development from infancy on. Sadly, I hadn’t had much experience with that. My mother and I had never really bonded. She had never properly nurtured me, and had given me very little in the way of comfort or security. All she ever gave was callousness and pain. But Abel’s caring touch did things to me. His warmth seeped deep into my skin, wrapping me in his strength and courage—neither of which I naturally possessed. I was hoping I could use his to gain some of my own.

  “What’s up, Beauty?” he asked, kissing my forehead. We cleared the stage so the next band could set up. Lethal Abel was done for the evening. Now it was party-time. Time to celebrate another successful night for the band. I looked over at Cindy, then over my shoulder. Morgana was nowhere to be seen. The showdown with her had left me feeling rattled and vulnerable. What game was she playing? Cindy squeezed my arm in solidarity. Thank fuck she was at my side. I needed a small army to take the bitch down. Twice in one day was more than enough to make me all twitchy and punchy.

  “I want to make you sore,” Abel whispered in my ear as he led us through the halls. That statement produced seepage. Fuck yeah, I wanted to be sore, too. I’d settle for being locked away with his hot ass for a few weeks. And after all that fucking, I would still want more. He was unforgettable, and most definitely undeniable.

  * * *

  [Listen to OLN’s version of “Stay” here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Aufxr0Y0-g.]

  * * *

  Two nights down, one to go. Lethal Abel was playing real tight. We sounded fucking great. By the sound of the crowd, they were loving it as well. I left myself out on that stage that night, gave my fans all of me. My heart slammed against my ribs when Gia came out. I offered her my hand. At first, she didn’t take it. Instead, she looked at me with a stranger’s eyes. My stomach knotted up just thinking about her rejecting me. Forget the obvious—that we were in front of a few hundred thousand fans, and my band. Not to mention, being simulcast around the world. We were also being taped for an HBO special to be aired at the end of our European tour. It would feature a view into the lives of rock stars on the road touring. We had a ton of PR for our new album. Since it went platinum, Dave had been exceedingly busy setting everything up. As always, my old man had his hand in the mix, stirring the pot from wherever he was, making sure the Gunner name lived up to its stock. My eyes had begged her to hear my heart’s plea, to take my hand, and trust me to do right by her. That moment felt like an eternity, as if we were locked in a silent battle of hearts and souls. I only wanted to share a song that meant something to me. I wanted her to see it through new eyes—my eyes. I was showing her my hand. That much I knew. I knew my boys would give me hell for being so done-in for a babe. However, we don’t really get to choose who we love. Love? Was I falling in love with Beauty? Did my heart not ache for those few stolen moments at daybreak? Was my mind not constantly drifting to her? Was I not always finding ways to bring her name up in conversation, even if it was just to talk about Cindy? When I showered, did I not oil my fist and fuck my cock thinking of how her tight pussy owned me? Yes, I did. I did all of those things. If I was truthful with myself, the answer was a resounding yes.

  I couldn’t wait to get her firmly under me and sink into her warmth. I could die a happy man inside her pussy. But I wanted her to be happy. I didn’t want to be selfish. It wasn’t all about me. I wanted it to be about my Beauty. And whatever made my love happy, I’d do.

  “I love that smile of yours,” I said. And I did, too. It was everything to me. I just wanted to be the only reason it graced her face. Yeah, I was fucked, all right.

  “You put it there, Abel. Thank you.” She looked up at me with wide eyes, blushing. See, that right there, that was the pureness I loved. It made me want to beat my chest, throw her over my shoulder, slide deep inside her heat, and shower her with enough come to mark her forever—ment
al shit no dude in my position had business toying with. I was a rock star. I wasn’t fucking Nicholas Sparks. I didn’t do forever. Fuck. It wasn’t in my vocabulary.

  “Anything you wanna do tonight? Anything? It’s yours.” The band was gathering for a quick meet-and-greet in the suite. The boys and I usually celebrated hard after concerts. But if Beauty wanted to be alone and make a night of it, who was I to stand in her way?

  “Cindy said she was going with the guy to the hookah place. I’ve never been there before. Can we go for a little while? We have the whole night together. It’s still kinda early,” she answered, shrugging. Like I had the balls to say no. She had my balls in her fucking purse. She didn’t know that. At least I could try to redeem myself by pretending to have some.

  “Sure, we could go for a little while. I have some business to attend to. Who says I can’t conduct it there.” I winked. Lame.

  I led us back to the suite where the fans were already filtering in. I left her safely with Cindy while I took my position with the band. We had a few giveaway winners, one of which was a picture with a member of the band along with something special from said member. I was signing swag as usual, when Dave announced the night’s winner. A drop-dead gorgeous blonde with blue eyes and a pair of double DD’s walked up to claim her prize. I silently prayed she wouldn’t ask for me. Before Gia, I’d rock out with my cock out. However, I didn’t want the complications or the fucking drama. From the looks of this girl, she was a grade-A, slutty fan-girl trouble. She already had her poppy-red, manicured nails running the length of my tee-shirt. Fuck me sideways.

  Dave came walking over with a jubilant smile on his face. What. The. Fuck. He knew this was some bullshit. He got off on this drama. His famous last words were, “All press was good press.” He wasn’t even opposed to Morgana outing me to the press and dragging my family’s good name though shit for money. I took a step back.

  However, Ender stepped up behind me, hip-checking me into her. She dramatized her fall into my arms. She was wobbly enough in those six-inch, fuck-me spikes. So the little bit of exertion had her falling into my arms for the cameras.

  “What’s the matter, baby, you can’t wait?” she cackled. I righted her onto her feet and turned to look for Gia. She was grabbing a drink with our record label VP, Jeremy the snake. Her wine glass fell from her hand as she watched, slack-jawed. Jeremy was there, rubbing her arms from behind before she ran out. Cindy’s frown said it all. I looked up at Jeremy to tell him to keep an eye on my girl, when he mouthed the words, “Epic fail.” Was he fucking kidding me? I balled my fists.

  “Where the fuck is Ender?” I asked Woody, who was standing with his hands in his pockets with a disappointed look on his face. “What? That wasn’t my fault? I didn’t want that slut!” I yelled.

  “Heeey!” The skank cried out. “You want to see a slut?” She grabbed my dick, hanging from it like it was a set of monkey bars. I removed her hands forcefully—but not before a dozen cameras clicked. Holy fuck. I was so fucked right now.

  “Dave!” I shouted venomously as I turned the skank in his direction. Thankfully, Jake stepped up and grabbed her by the elbow, escorting her and her double DD’s to the door. Woody’s hands found their way to my shoulders, pulling me into a half bro-hug.

  “Yer in a load of fuckin’ ballsch.” He patted my back. “Let’s go get yer girl, mate.” He grabbed two shots of JD from Jack. Was he actually going to do one with the skank?

  “Heeey,” she cried, punching my arm. “What’s your fucking problem?” She pouted with her bottom lip protruding out. I eyed Jake crazily. I was on the edge of losing my motherfucking mind. Skank was supposed to have been escorted out.

  “Don’t you ever put your fucking hands on me again,” I snapped, getting in her face. Woody pulled me back. I could have killed her right then and there for pulling that bimbo routine. “If I wanted you, you’d know it, sweetheart. I don’t fucking want you. Got that? You show up every so often, trying to bend me. I don’t fucking bend. Stay the fuck away from me.”

  I stalked off, leaving Woody to trail behind me. I was losing it. It’s my own fault this shit went down. I allowed this crap to go on backstage, welcomed it. It was just what rock stars did. So why did it feel so fucking wrong? Why did I feel guilty for doing absolutely nothing? It all came back to one word, one name that stuck in my throat: Gia.

  “Where is she?” I growled as I entered the hallway. “Where’s Cindy?” I asked Woody. “Text her please, will you? I need to know Gia’s okay.”

  His phone was already in his hand. I stalked the hallways, opening every door along the way. They were crowded with musicians, with drummers catching beats on the walls, guitarists tuning their guitars at the last minute, lead singers with their personal microphones in hand. The end of the hallway was at the south entrance. There stood Jeremy the snake. He was on his phone talking animatedly to someone. He hurriedly put his phone in his pocket, procuring a white piece of paper. He held it up to my face.

  “This is for you,” he said. I snatched it out of his hands. Woody was leaning against the wall, feigning indifference. I turned back to Jeremy, only to see the door closing behind him. He left the building. I was holding a note on a napkin. I unfolded it.

  I reread the five short sentences, hoping they would somehow make sense. But they did not. I turned to Woody, who was now standing there with Jake and Dave.

  “What the fuck does this mean?” I said to nobody in particular. Dave grabbed the note. The boys stepped over to have a look. I was in a world of hurt. Was this an “I’m jealous and can’t deal with it tonight” or a “Later, I’m out”? I fingered for my phone in my pocket, dialing her number. My call went straight to voicemail.

  “The trucks are outside. We’re going out, dude. You’re coming,” Dave said, pushing me out the door toward the truck. I was a complete and utter fucking zombie. This girl was gonna fucking kill me. Just before getting in the truck, I heard a woman’s cackling. I turned to see Morgana in her white, convertible Jaguar stopped fifty yards down. She unlocked the passenger door for the skank to get in. They drove off laughing.

  “That fucking cunt of your ex,” Jake said, prompting me to get in the car. “If she wasn’t a woman, I’d kick her fucking ass inside out.” He closed the door behind him.

  Woody grabbed the bottle of JD, passing it to me. I grunted, swigging straight from the bottle.

  “Anyone holding?” I asked. They looked at one another. “Don’t bogart that shit. I need it.” I looked to Jake, whose jaw was working like a marionette.

  “Jake, I’m in no fucking mood for games,” I said, deadly serious. Jake slipped the Otterbox off his iPhone to hand me the package of white goodness. I hadn’t had this shit in years. I gave up partying when I started medication. I didn’t give a flying fuck tonight.

  “Dude, I don’t think it’s such a good idea. You know how you get. Let’s go grab some dinner. Just us.” Dave said, trying to rip the package out of my hand. I thrust my forearm forward to block his efforts.

  “Then don’t fucking think,” I said, pouring two bumps on the back of my hand. I snorted one in each nostril, letting my head fall back on the seat. Another swig of Jack coated my throat. The drug dripped down the back of my throat, numbing everything in its path. Perfect. I half listened to their worried conversation about me. Fuck it. Fuck them. Fuck everyone. I’m officially checking the fuck out.

  We ended up going to the Hookah lounge. Ender split, getting a ride from the other driver—which was curious in itself. Why wasn’t he with his boys? Whatever.

  Jake shook me before trying to pry the blow out of my hand. “Get your goddamned hands off of me!” I shouted. My fists were flying. Jake, Dave, and Woody sat wide-eyed, looking at me like I had lost my mind. Maybe I had.

  “Dude, chill the fuck out. We’re here. You sure you want to go in?” Dave asked, concerned about my state of mind. I didn’t answer. I just tucked the blow into my jeans, then scooted over the seat, getting out of
the truck. Dave must have called ahead, because security was outside waiting for us. The line was wrapped around the building. Yeah, someone tipped off the public. I took my shirt off handing it to the bald fucker, nodding. He grabbed the tee-shirt with one hand, extending the other to shake mine. I walked past him. Fuck that. I wasn’t shaking shit tonight. They had better leave me to it. I had to sort my shit out. Speaking of sorting, I dialed Gia’s number again. Nada. I followed Woody to our table in the corner. We ordered our usual, the pineapple and mint hookah. Since they had taken my bottle of JD away, I ordered another.

  “Dude, where’s Ender?” I asked, looking around the club. I didn’t see him. Were they sure we were meeting him here? “Maybe he split with a chick?” I asked. That was highly probable. The waitress, a pretty, petite ginger, came over to take our order, her eyes feasting on my well-honed chest. She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth with her teeth biting down. She was ogling me, memorizing my body like she didn’t want to forget my swells of well-placed muscle. Damn.

  I sat back on the couch, legs spread wide to relax. She stifled a breath of air.

  “Doll, you’re getting yourself all worked up over this,” I said, pointing at my dick. “This will never be in you. I’ve felt nirvana—tasted it. That’s all he’ll crave from now on.” I rubbed my cock with my hand. Just talking about Gia’s pussy had me ready to bust a nut.

  “You’re a real asshole, huh?” She glowered at me. Woody laughed, throwing me back my tee-shirt to put on.

  “Aye.” He agreed with her. The boys had a good laugh. She ignored me, taking everybody else’s order. Luckily, Jake ordered a bottle of JD for the table. Thank fuck. I was parched. I need another hit, too. Reaching into my pocket, I grabbed my new source of nirvana—blow. I grabbed my Black American Express card to chop it into manageable lines. This shit was rocky as hell. I poured a good amount on the table, quickly going to work chopping.