Beg (God of Rock Book 2)

by Eden Butler

  I shrugged, not bothering to argue. No sane person wanted to start over, not in this business, but then, I never once claimed to be completely sane. “Sometimes, the bottom is the strongest place to stand when you’re trying to get on your feet again.”

  Gunnar didn’t follow me when I moved around him, coming to the edge of the room before I hit the hallway that led to the exits. I stopped for one last look at Iris in that crowd, not meaning to catch her gaze. She didn’t frown. She didn’t have any judgement at all in her expression as she glanced from Gunnar to me.

  There was a flower in her dark hair and small diamonds in her ears. She wore black, and her eyes were smoky dark. I only noticed her mouth: the thick pout and red lips, and how they twitched only slightly before they curved, almost forming a smile. It was a sweet expression, and I pretended it was meant solely for me. It was the last thing I committed to my memory before I walked away from the crowd and left Dash Justice behind.

  Chapter Twenty

  The rainstorm came from nowhere. April wasn’t usually this wet in Willow Heights, but tonight something set on the wind that had been there the entire day. I told myself it was only the quiet in my apartment, and how the entire building had seemed asleep since my band had gone back to their homes to write and settle a few things before they came back to record new songs. Of course, things were a little boring since Wills had gone off to Dublin to visit his cousins. I’d been counting down the days until May, when I’d fly up to see him and meet the family who’d only found out about me when the rest of the world did, too.

  The rain battered the ceiling above as I played a new song I’d been messing with since I got back from Cleveland and the induction ceremony a week ago. The chord was slick, something that rocked but still held a little grit, and I worked through the progression, slipping my fingers over the fret board again and again until the tune was as close to the melody in my head as I could get it. Five times, ten more, I went through it, until the tips of my fingers ached and a clap of lightning cracked across the sky. The transformer near the back of the building popped and sparked and then the entire place went dark.

  “Fucking wonderful,” I told myself, moving my guitar to the mount as I held up my hands, feeling my way to what had been Hector’s old office and now was the storage room. There was a large row of cabinets across one side of the wall, and I opened the first drawer at the bottom, moving pens and erasers among the yellow legal pads until I felt the flashlight roll under my fingers.

  The light was dim, flickering a couple of times, and I shook the thing pointlessly. I got as far as the back of the building, cracking open the door that led into the alleyway to see that the top of the transformer was black, but not burning.

  The metal box on the back wall was large, and I could barely make out the list of circuits connected to the appliances and electrical lines I had replaced when we returned from Belize. The shop had been reconfigured and now held a top of the line studio, lounge, engineer’s booth, kitchen, a few rooms in the back for storage, equipment, and guest rooms if rehearsals and recordings ran late.

  Gunnar hadn’t been far off when he said I was broke. It took most of my assets and holdings to buy out my contract. I’d been left with a little less than a hundred grand, and that I used to rehab the shop and set up my studio. I had no plans to take on any other artists, but for now Vega Studios was our new label, and my band and I had plans to write and produce the music we wanted.

  If the building didn’t blow up first.

  The sharp screech of my cell ringing startled me as I tried looking through the circuit list, and I jerked it out of my back pocket, answering with a hasty “’Lo?” as I flipped the breaker again and again, trying to see if there was any juice at all left in the line.

  “Jamie, it’s Carol from Hawk’s? You hear that pop?”

  Carol was older, Hawk’s widow, who had taken to bringing over breakfast or dinner for me since Wills had left for Dublin. Said she always had leftovers, and with my mama back in Madison most weeks, now full-time at the library, I’d welcomed the older woman’s meals.

  “I heard it, Carol. From the looks of it, it’s the transformer.”

  “I figured.” She cleared her throat, moving the receiver around as though she was walking through her place. “I’ve already called Cliff with County Electric. They’ll be out in a little bit to see what can be done.” She moved again, and the swing of a door sounded against my ear. “You need anything? You got candles?”

  “I think so,” I told her, moving through the shop to head back to the storage room, opening two cabinets before I found three fat, white candles and a long-reach lighter. “Yeah, got ‘em. Thanks. I appreciate the heads-up.”

  “Think nothing of it.”

  I held one candle in the crook of my elbow, the two others in each hand, placing one on the wooden coffee table in the lounge and one by the front door in case Cliff knocked for me to let him in, since the alley was dark and wet.

  The last candle I brought with me into the main room for when the flashlight gave out. I grabbed my acoustic, intent on bringing it back into the lounge to play while I waited on Cliff, but a rattle against the front door stopped me. I put down my Gibson and walked toward the sound and the curtain-covered front door.

  Rain came down in sheets now and more lightning struck against the darkness of the sky I could make out from storefront window that we hadn’t yet covered with tempered privacy glass. I moved a little quicker, thinking of Cliff and all that rain, jerking the door open to usher him in, but stopped short of welcoming the big man when I spotted the small frame silhouetted against the streaks of light and water pouring around outside.

  “I—” It was all that I managed to say. Something inside my chest rattled and strummed, and I could only stare wide-eyed at Iris out there on the sidewalk, her hair sticking to her face and back, her wide, wild eyes rounded as she blinked up at me.

  We opened our mouths at the same time to speak, but Iris beat me to the punch, nearly screaming, “You don’t deserve me!”

  “What?” My scream matched hers over the rumble of rain, and I pulled her inside, feeling stupid for just standing there, watching her get soaked. “Ah, mami, look at you.”

  Iris let me pull her inside. I had tugged off her drenched sweater and sat her on the sofa in the lounge before she wiped her face dry with the back of her hand. Her eyes were still wild and wide, and she wore a look on her face that told me she knew what she wanted to say. But she went on staring, watching me as I slipped into the adjoining bathroom and grabbed a towel, drying her face, her arms, then squeezing the rainwater from her long hair before she stopped me, taking the towel out of my hands to wipe her face dry.

  “You don’t deserve me,” she said again, her voice lower. Iris swallowed and squared her shoulders, like she’d only just remembered the speech she likely prepared on the drive over here. “You…”

  “I know I don’t,” I said, hoping to save her the hassle of telling me something I’d known for a long time.

  “Let me finish.”

  I felt my jaw tense as I watched her, but I didn’t speak. Iris seemed to need to have her say, something I didn’t give her before I told her goodbye. Before I let her go. I’d do that now. I owed it to her.

  She went on watching me, knuckles tight as she held onto that damp towel, and I backed away, sitting on the coffee table next to the infamous issue of Stage Dive magazine, the one with her cover story. She’d finished the article around the time that Wills had told her about the surgery, though he’d sworn he hadn’t broken his promise. Far as I knew, she had no idea I was the one who gave my father his kidney.

  The cover had changed from the proof copy I’d gotten all those months back. I’d made sure of it. It was only fitting, I rationalized. Joan Wein was happy when I called her asking for a reshoot. She’d wanted something with me and Wills, to commemorate Hawthorne’s induction. But my father had refused, saying that this article was about me showing th
e world who I really was. I’d wanted an image to go with the truth Iris had written about me, so I called in Van Structure, a photographer buddy of mine from my first headlining tour. He’d shot the best bands and artists in the business for twenty years. Van took my picture in his New York studio. There was no makeup, no sunglasses to obscure my face. Just me, bare to the world like I’d been at the induction ceremony. My face open—raw—staring at the lens, inviting the reader inside to hear my truth.

  Iris held the towel between her fingers, twisting the wet fabric as she looked at the magazine, head shaking. Then, those black doe-eyes shifted, and her gaze came to me.

  “You don’t deserve me. Maybe you never did.” I wanted to agree, but Iris gave me a sideways glance, something I took to mean I shouldn’t interrupt. “I don’t know if my mother was right. I don’t think Isaiah and I were right for doing that to you, even if we had your best interests at heart…” I looked down, not willing to watch her as she explained. My cousin and Iris had no real reason to feel guilty because what they’d done was meant to help. But that didn’t mean I’d ever be able to think of them and not see them together, not recall that blinding agony again.

  She went on, lowering her voice. “Maybe if we hadn’t done that to you, nothing would have happened the way it did…not how you became or what you did to me. Maybe…” When I looked at her, hoping she could see the small plea in my eyes, Iris nodded, deciding, it seemed, to hurry with what she had to say.

  “I hurt you. You hurt me. Over and over and…” I held my breath, watching her face as she shook her head, watching to analyze each expression, trying like hell to figure out what she thought before she spoke. “You don’t deserve me, but maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

  “Florecita…” Hope was a dangerous thing. It filled you up. It made you believe in things you might never have but could not give up on. I’d left hope behind that night in my apartment, when Iris walked away from me and the partying crowd. I knew I might not ever earn her forgiveness, no matter what I did. Hope that she’d want me again, that there would be another chance for us, was just too much of a pipe dream. Now, though, Iris teased me with possibility, and I held my breath, wondering if this was something cruel she did just to watch me fall apart when she walked away again.

  “Maybe when you love someone, neither one of you are supposed to be worthy of the other. Maybe that’s what you’re supposed to do—spend your life earning that love. Maybe we’re supposed to work at being worthy.”

  She stood, throwing the towel onto the table at my side, half-obscuring the image of my face staring out of the cover under the Stage Dive logo.

  “You kept a promise to me; I know you did.” She took a step, standing in front of me, but didn’t touch me. “You don’t have to tell me if I’m right or wrong. He wouldn’t.” Iris knelt down, still keeping a foot between us. “All I know is that he’s alive and getting healthy, and I think that’s because of you.” She reached across my leg and grabbed the corner of the magazine, a half-smile on her face as she looked at the cover. I could smell the rich scent of honeysuckle from her hair and the earthy hint of rainwater. Both were intoxicating— tempting—but I held my fingers together tight to keep from reaching for her.

  “You stopped hiding.” Iris stared up at me, gaze shifting to look me over as though she was only just seeing me, and she liked what she saw. “You unmasked yourself in front of the world.” I nodded, not able to look at her for too long. She was too much of a temptation.

  Then Iris tilted my face toward her, resting one palm against my cheek. “There he is,” she said.

  “Mami…” I kept still, wanting us to stay just like this, so close, feeling the warmth of each other’s breath on our faces, being closer to her than I had in what felt like a lifetime.

  “I’m tired of missing you, Jamie. I’m tired of wondering if things will ever be different.” She frowned then, stilling herself, eyes closed in a slow blink before she looked at me again. “Maybe we should start over, be friends and…” I hadn’t meant to make the low, mildly desperate noise, but it came out anyway, and I swore I saw her laugh. But then Iris bit her lip, breath so close now that I could make out the mocha scent from the coffee I was sure she’d picked up tonight.

  “Did you find the magic again?” she asked, nodding to my Gibson.

  “I told you. You were the magic. Always.”

  Iris nodded, dropping her hand from my face before she stood. “Maybe this should go slow. Maybe you and I will be better at this if there isn’t any…” she shrugged, waggling her eyebrows. “You know.”

  I hated the sound of that, but still nodded. I’d wait a lifetime. Two, if that’s what she wanted.

  “Well,” she said, stepping back, looking ready to run from the shop. She got as far as the threshold of the door and kept her back to me. Water still dripped from the ends of her hair, and I could see the outline of her bra and the black tattoo on her shoulder through the thin damp shirt she wore.

  I couldn’t watch her walk away and stood, hands balled into fists as she hovered between the door and looking as though she might turn to face me. Ten seconds went by— I counted— and Iris nodded to herself, head moving to the exit and back over her shoulder before she groaned and turned to face me.

  “The thing is, I miss you, as my friend. You were my best friend.” She took a step, close enough that I’d only have to make one myself in order to touch her. “Best friend I ever had and I’m supposed to want nothing from you because, God, Jamie, you ruined me and wrecked me and…” Iris shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut as though she needed to eradicate whatever the voice in her head was telling her to do. Finally she made another step toward me, and when she spoke again, her voice was steadier, her chin uplifted. “I hated you for what you did, and I’m supposed to go on hating you, I know I am, but I just…I can’t make my heart listen to my head. I want you. I want to touch you and have you and claim you and be yours always, Jamie. But if you don’t…”

  I was tired of the debates. Exhausted by the force it took not to speak or touch or take what would always be mine. Iris went silent when that noise left my throat again and then she released a small, mewing squeal when I threaded her wet hair between my fingers and pulled her against my mouth.

  I’d decided to taste and take and devour, but the second our lips touched, and Iris let go of her surprise and wrapped her arms around my shoulder, possession went out the door.

  She felt like music against me, that slow, sweet melody I’d been chasing for months made whole and tangible and real. Iris’s tongue melted against mine, and we met each other, touch for touch.

  “Jamie,” she cried, rubbing against me, her wet breasts dampening my shirt, her hair sticking to my arms and against my neck as she kissed me. She started at my neck, teeth and mouth meeting my skin. That slow, sizzling drag of her hot tongue sliding against me, her fingernails scratching over my chest, felt amazing, unreal. She moved against me like she could not keep from touching me even for a second.

  “Mami, Dios mío, mi amor. I’m so sorry…” I picked her up, moving her legs around my waist, turning us so we hit the sofa, falling onto the leather in a heap of wet bodies, damp clothes and greedy, desperate touches. “I’ll never stop trying to make it up. Every second we were apart. Every…”

  “No, Jamie,” she told me, stilling my frenzied touches and holding my face. “No living in the past. Right now, you and me, from this second forward, there’s only tomorrow.”

  She lay under me, looking like an angel, spread out like the most delectable meal, and I wanted to take what she offered, tasting until I was full.

  “Florecita,” I whispered, hard against her, breath uneven as I leaned up, steadying my weight on one arm. “Can I have you? Can I have all of you?”

  “For now?” she asked, looking nervous.

  “Forever.”

  She nodded, a smile teasing across her lips. “I love you.”

  Iris pulled me do
wn, the tips of her fingers against my neck as I dived over her mouth, then down to her neck and onto her shoulder as I lifted up her shirt. That wet bra was gone in a flash, and I had her bare below me, those perfect, round nipples light against my brown skin. The nipple pebbled against my thumb, and Iris pitched and turned below me, taking my hand to rest between her thighs.

  “I need you here. Right here.”

  I followed, unzipping her jeans, sliding them over her hip, tracing my tongue against the protruding bone and the soft, round curve of her ass until her thong strap was between my teeth, and I tugged her free.

  Her pussy was pretty: the hair perfectly trimmed, the lips soft, wet, as I licked her, pushing her apart to slip my tongue deep inside, nearly coming just from the taste of her after so long.

  “Fuck, mami, I love the way you taste.”

  “Sit up,” she said, voice desperate, breath panting, and I obeyed, smiling at the sight of her naked in front of me, at the hurried, desperate gropes and grabs she made as she unbuttoned my jeans, stripping my shirt off, tugging at my wallet. I knew she needed me, needed to be connected.

  Iris always knew what she wanted. She knew how to get it, and I was no exception. There would be time, years in fact, forever, to tease and play and spend our time relearning each other’s body, recalling what we’d like or discovering what else there was to explore. Now, though, she seemed desperate for me, and so I did what I always did with Iris. I gave her everything she wanted.

  Before I could pull my hand away from putting on the condom, Iris straddled me, slipping a hand to the underside of my sack, massaging, stroking up my cock. “Help me,” she said, arms shaking, and I steadied her, licking my fingers before I slipped them inside her, wetting her pussy.

  She lowered, slipping slowly onto my cock, and I let my head fall against the back of the sofa, hands on her hips as Iris rode me. “Coño,” I said, sounding awed, amazed, shaking just from the sight of her soft, sweet lips riding up and down my cock. “Ah, mami, yes…”