Beg (God of Rock Book 2)

by Eden Butler

  For a second I stopped playing, digging out my phone to find my voice app. I needed to keep track of the way the song was going, and so I continued, stopping only once when my cell chirped with a text from my cousin Isaiah, mentioning he and the band, and their “friends” wanted to stop by to see me soon. I’d missed him. I’d missed my band. They’d spent six months vacationing without me; all of them needed a break from me. I got that, so I got a little excited that they were interested in seeing me at all. Didn’t even bother me that they’d have company. They could bring all the women in Indy so long as they showed up. Iris wasn’t the only person who I owed an apology.

  My Gibson felt warm in my hand, and I keyed up the app, starting the song again letting the music swirl around me as I played. The air twisted just then as the sound came into me, and I looked around the room, to the mess of boxes and containers, right to the back of the shop, in the corner. That was where I’d let Iris hear the best of my father’s music. This place was bringing it all back: the sensation and memory I’d tried to so hard to forget for so long. The memories had always burned inside me, and their sting was vicious. But now I let them seep inside as I played, and the more they surrounded me, the longer the notes got and the sweeter the lyrics became.

  All that sensation—memory and melody—worked something inside me I hadn’t been able to forget. Something that was long buried but too raw, too tempting, to ever erase from my mind completely.

  The longer I played, the clearer the memory became, and with the music pouring from me, I saw the night so long ago as though I was in the middle of it. Coño, it hurt to remember, but damn if I didn’t love the pain.

  It was nearing midnight when the bell over the shop door sounded. Hector had wanted me to finish inventory that afternoon, but I’d gone to Iris’s house instead, touching her, kissing her, tasting her—in a mad race to please her before her mother got home. It had been sweet and swift, and I was a half-hour late for my shift at the record store. My uncle had made me work over, unpaid, and when that bell sounded I thought it was just him coming to make sure I hadn’t skipped out early.

  “I’m still working, cabrón, you slave driver,” I shouted over my shoulder, as I busied myself with an open box of Korn T-shirts and a price gun. “You didn’t need to check up on me.”

  “Someone’s checking up on you?” Iris asked, her voice low.

  “Mami?” Those ugly black tees hit the floor when I walked toward her, a frown pulling down my mouth as I spotted the oversized coat she wore. “What are you doing here?” I shot a glance out of the storefront window and that frown deepened. “You walked here? Alone?”

  Her only answer was a slow nod. She moved forward, stepping over boxes until she stood in front of me, moving her long arms around my shoulder.

  “You shouldn’t be out this late. Coming here.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” Iris said, but the smile she gave me took the threat from her words. “I do what I want.”

  I loved her like this; fierce. Stubborn. Eager.

  “And what do you want tonight?” Playing along earned me another smile and the slow, sweet glide of her soft hands up my neck; the press of her body rubbing against mine. “Mami…” I tried, sounding winded, and that got me her mouth, wet, soft and over mine. Then my sweet florecita took over, pushing me back until I stumbled, until I went to my knees in front of her.

  She was beautiful, always, but just then the overhead light surrounded her like a halo as Iris lowered her hands over that supple body, fingering the tie of her coat, smile satisfied when I helped her tug the fabric apart.

  “Ay carajo.” It was the only words that my mouth seemed able to form. Iris stood in front of me, that oversized coat hanging from her shoulders, a pair of knee-high leather boots and a purple thong…and nothing else. No bra. No sleep shirt. Not a thing but that thong.

  “Umhmm.” There was something wicked in her smile then and I couldn’t think of one reason to worry about it. Iris seemed unreal, like something out of those unbelievable 80s space movies Hector always liked to watch. But my girlfriend wasn’t made up by some cheesy script writer. She was real and right there and utterly mine at that moment.

  “Mami…what do you…?”

  “Lay back,” she said, nodding toward the floor. “Lay back and let me see you.”

  I liked the way she soaked up every inch of skin I showed her. My shirt came up, and then my belt got unbuckled. Iris licked her bottom lip, moving her long fingers over her stomach to cup one breast.

  “You like watching me, Mami?”

  “I like you, baby.” She stepped in front of me, shrugging off the coat and tugging at the thong before I helped her to slip it down her thighs and off her legs. She shuddered when I grazed the curve of her hipbone with my mouth. “What…what I didn’t like was not getting more of you today.” She pushed me back, leaning over me to reach into my back pocket and grab my wallet. “I don’t like quickies.”

  “No?” I laughed, taking my wallet from her when she couldn’t find the condom. “You want this?” Iris shook her head when I waved the rubber between my fingers.

  “I want you.”

  And then, my girlfriend kissed me, pushing me onto my back as she moved her my body like a breeze, touching every sweat-slick spot of skin she came to; her thick, luscious hair grazed my face, down against my neck as she licked my chest and raked her nails into my sides, pulling off my shorts. The sharp points of her nipples shot sensation over my chest, chilling my skin as she brought her mouth to my stomach, sucking the skin at my hip between her teeth.

  “Mami…please…”

  She liked it when I begged; I think it made her feel strong, powerful to keep me weak and aching for the smallest touch. That small “please” stirred something in her, and Iris moved slow, but certain, tongue against skin, hands tracing the curve of my thigh then the weight of my cock. It throbbed, felt sore and sweet and painful as she stroked me. She put me into her warm mouth, moaning as she tasted me, and I hissed, loving the texture of her tongue and sweet dent of her teeth as she worked me in and out, over and over again.

  Iris pushed my hands into her hair, expecting me to grip it, and I did, curling the long strands between my fingers as she sucked me off.

  “Mami…please. Please, I want to be inside you.”

  She slowed, sucking hard and deep one last time before she let go of me and pushed the condom over my cock, smile gone, but her eyes fierce, lit with something wicked and sweet that made me want her more.

  I could only lay there, helpless, as she moved up my body. Coming off her knees to hover on the flats of her feet, steadying herself against my shoulders, I guided her down, hands on her hips, and slipped right inside her.

  “Coño…ay Dios…”

  She went slow, tortuously slow, eyes steady, focused as she squatted over me, moving like she owned me, like the smallest twist of her hips or squeeze of her pussy against my cock could give her complete control over me. It could. She knew that. As Iris bounced on top of me, owning every cell of my body, pussy squeezing as I lifted my hips to meet her, as I squeezed her hips, overcome by the feel of her. She leaned back on one arm to stretch and take me in deeper, harder, I realized it wasn’t just my body she owned.

  “There,” she cried, movements unsteady now, but still controlling, still sweet. “Right there, Jamie!” And then, my sweet florecita fell apart over me, crashing, and I turned us, moving on top of her as her orgasm went on and on.

  “Jamie…God…oh, God, how I love you.”

  I watched her, knowing she couldn’t see me. Her face was flushed, cheeks red as she came down from the edge, eyes squinted tight, and I knew only one thing—she loved me. In that moment, Iris became my addiction, and I never wanted to be sober.

  Chapter Six

  My first memory was something terrible. Most of my early memories were. That’s what happens when you live in poverty. That’s what happens when addiction sinks its teeth into the soul of the one
person who is supposed to love you the most. But my mama only loved the high she got from something in her vein or the thrill some pendejo could give her.

  That first memory wasn’t the worst, but it taught me not to expect much. It taught me the hard truth of living in this world—we don’t all get to be happy.

  “I told you no,” my mama had hissed to five-year-old me when I asked for a second time for a buck and a half comic. There were large, bright red letters across the front and a giant man with green skin bulging from his ripped jeans. He looked like a diablo. Mostly, to the kid I’d been, he looked like he could protect me.

  “Mama. Por favor? Mama!” I tried again, but that only made her angry. It made my mother clench her teeth and grab me by the arm hard enough that I remember the sting from her fingernails. Hard enough that my scream echoed around the Dollar Store, and we caught the attention of half-a-dozen onlookers.

  She didn’t care. She still slapped me across the face when I screamed then jerked me out of the store when I cried. “I told you no, and I meant it, traviesillo!”

  Mama shuffled me to the bus stop, tugging me by the wrist as though I were a ragdoll, as though she couldn’t hear the loud sobs coming from my small body.

  “Shut up!” she said, pushing me to sit on the bench next to an old black man who was moving a ball cap between his fingers. I still sniffled, dirtying the hem of my sleeve against my wet nose as I hiccupped, feeling the hot streak of a slap across my face throb.

  “Hey now, young man,” the old man said, giving me a crooked-tooth smile. “Bet your daddy don’t want you giving your mama a hard time. You be good now.” I could only watch the man: the easy smile, the bright black eyes that looked on the verge of remembering something funny.

  I didn’t think it then, but I knew I had been good. I always tried to be good. Mama would yell and curse at me when I wasn’t. But that day, after weeks of being good, she’d promised to buy me a treat. She swore she would. That was before she tugged me along and stopped to see her friend Mannie in a nasty apartment. There had been rats running up the stairwell and some old woman sleeping in front of the building who smelled like mama did when one of her boyfriends left all mad and fussing at her.

  Mama had left that dirty building crying, her hands shaking, and hadn’t stopped all that shaking until we were inside the store.

  The old man smiled at me again, watching me, watching my mama like he thought she was going to tell him what had me so mad, but she went on shaking, cursing at me like she always did, but soft so no one could hear her.

  “Here,” the man said, waving a dollar between his fingers. “Can I give this to him?” he asked mama, shrugging when she ignored him. “You take this and buy you some candy, if your mama and daddy say it’s okay.”

  “He doesn’t have one of those,” Mama said, pulling me off the bench when the bus came near us.

  “What’s that?” the man asked, frowning at her.

  “A papa. Father. My kid doesn’t have one of those.” She jerked me onto the bus, grabbing the dollar from the old man as he waved at me. “He never will.”

  But that hadn’t been true. It had taken years, but, better or worse, I did have a papa. He was old. He was bossy, and he was currently pissing me the hell off.

  “Stay? How long?”

  I didn’t mind the company, but the reason behind Lager wanting to hang out at my apartment, why he wanted to stay in Willow Heights, was a little ego-crushing.

  “As long as it takes,” he admitted, rummaging through the groceries Jimmy had picked up that morning, none of it I was sure his doctor’s would approve of. He handed me a jar of chunky peanut butter, and I took it, like it was completely normal to have a rock legend in my kitchen telling me where shit should go. Wills nodded to the cabinet to my left and like the jackass I was, I put the jar inside it.

  “You, my boy, still haven’t seen your mother.”

  He leaned against the island, and I caught the small flutter of his eyes. He hadn’t been here long, but I had noticed Wills and Jimmy going MIA every day, a couple of hours and he’d come back exhausted. I figured this had something to do with his illness, but whatever he got up to, my father wasn’t sharing with me. Wills thought he was slick, keeping his business from me, but I miss nothing. Still, I figured he’d share his treatment schedule when he wanted me to know.

  He waited for my response, eyes narrowed as he watched me, and I took the bait. “How the hell do you know that?”

  “You’d be surprised what rolling your tongue whilst calling a nurse ‘love’ and ‘sweet darlin’ will get you. American women are helpless for accents.” He folded his arms, cocking a grin at me like he knew how smooth he was. “Lynette, God love her, said you showed, but never made it into the room.”

  Clearly, my father didn’t miss much either.

  “You need to see her,” he went on, that grin lowering when the Facetime ring tone sounded on his cell. “’Lo, love…ah…” he glanced at me, holding up a finger to excuse himself and then moved out of the kitchen and into the bedroom.

  Wills had taken a few calls right with me in the room. Several from his manager and two from his agent, none of which he seemed to have a problem with me overhearing. So this quick exit from my kitchen ticked up my Spidey senses, and I wait a full two minutes, giving my father enough time to get comfortable with his conversation before I ambled into the hall.

  “Yes, love. I’m fine. Right as rain,” he said, sitting on the arm chair next to my bed, his back to me.

  Something in my gut rumbled, and my chest went tight, my heart thundering hard when I inched closer toward the door, angling the side of my face to look inside the room. The iPhone had a large screen and though the room was dark, I’d have made out that face, those eyes anywhere.

  Iris was on the screen, and I thought my heart would race right out of my chest.

  “You look so thin, Wills.”

  “Watching my weight, aren’t I? Planning a new tour next year.”

  She ignored him, breathing out as though that exhale would calm her. “Are you taking your medicine? You should get to a warner climate and get the hell out of Indiana. How long will you be…there?”

  I could only stand there, resting against the wall, head back as I listened to her. Her voice was deeper somehow, and she sounded sleepy, maybe a little tired. I knew each inflection of her tone. I knew what every cadence meant. She was worried, that much I could tell. She was probably a little scared at how Wills was deflecting her question.

  “Listen, love, it’s all going well here. Honest.”

  “Wills…it’s not good for you to be around him. He’s so…toxic.”

  I felt numb. Something had electrocuted me, and I took the pain like the medicine it was. Those words cut deep, and when Iris spoke them she didn’t sound like the woman I’d known for half my life. I did know her tones, and that one was plain: she fucking hated me. Of course she did. I would too.

  “Fuck,” I muttered, scrubbing my face before I left the hall, not caring if she heard me. Wills was in my house, in my life, and he held all the cards. I had nothing but my guilt and my anger. I didn’t have her. I didn’t have anyone.

  Shit, what a whiny punk I had become.

  Outside the wall of windows that stretched across my apartment, Willow Heights was melting. Puddles of water filled the cracks in the pavement and mud cornered around the bare patches of grass in the medians. I stood there, leaning my palms against the glass as I watched a busted-up Ford with a rusted hood brake for an old woman to cross at the intersection that divided downtown and Main Street.

  Iris and I spent our high school years running up and down these streets. Two blocks away, around the alley that separated the library and the abandoned Baptist church, we snuck our first cigarettes. Half a block beyond that, I scored a secondhand black leather jacket, and Iris grabbed a vintage Led Zeppelin tee at Daisy’s Thrift Store. She cut off the sleeves from her tee and sewed in old Nirvana and Beatles patches
on the shoulders of my jacket so we’d look cool at our first Hawthorne concert.

  If I thought about it, every place in this town had a memory I associated with Iris. Maybe that’s why I’d always loved it so much. We’d dreamt big dreams as kids, wanting to put this nowhere town in our rearview mirror, and she hadn’t returned. But I always came back because it was the place I’d found her. This was us— every road, every leaning light pole. No matter how far I went, how different I became, I could come back here and be myself in this town. But without Iris, with her so far from me in every way possible, I was not home.

  “Will you not ask me then?” Wills said, coming into the room. I knew he wanted to tease me a bit, maybe offer up what he knew about where Iris was hiding to get me to do something I didn’t want. That was what my father did best, I was discovering—bargain, deal, manipulate. No wonder my mother had been attracted to him.

  “You’re not going to tell me even if I ask, gringo. Why bother?”

  “I might.” He stood next to me, his elbow grazing my arm. “I may well be persuaded should you be interested in a wee agreement.”

  “Knew it,” I said, through a sigh.

  “How’s that?” Wills leaned against the glass, looking somehow more rested, as though he didn’t have a chronic illness tearing up his insides.

  “You heard me, old man.” I faced him, head shaking. “What do I have to do?” At this point, I wasn’t sure if there was much that would keep me from getting to Iris. Wills could tell me to streak in the middle of Soldier Field, and I’d do it in a second. No clue what I’d say to her once I found her, but I had to try.

  “You’re desperate, are you not?” He looked amazed, as though until that moment he hadn’t believed that I missed her, that I loved her at all. He damn sure didn’t believe I deserved her, but then, neither did I. When I nodded, not offering a fight, my father rubbed his chin, scrubbing the stubble there. “Jaysus, boy, you are utterly lost, aren’t you?”