Good Lies (A Wild Minds Novel)

by Charlotte West

  “Oh, sorry,” I said. “I’m here to see Billy.”

  He guffawed. “Yeah. You and every other chick in Seattle.” A smattering of die-hard fans lined the fence, mostly females with soaked glittery signs and running makeup. He perused me from the tips of my sneakers to my soaked hoodie. “Trust me, you’re not his type. Maybe try one of the dudes from Wild Minds. Ash isn’t too picky.”

  “He’s my father,” I said through chattering teeth.

  “Ash?” The guard arched a skeptical brow.

  “No, Billy.” I searched the empty lot. Where was everyone? “Is Trent around?” I requested Billy’s head of security, the one who’d borne witness, along with my father, to my compromising position in a shadowy little room on a couch underneath Warren. “He knows me.”

  At length the guard studied me, perhaps willing me to go away and quit giving him trouble. Too bad for him, I was nothing but trouble. I straightened my spine, tipped my chin up and crossed my arms.

  “Hold on.” The guard turned away from me, lifting a radio to his mouth. I shivered. Luckily, we were standing under a tent, but the weather had turned cold, and there was a bite to the wind. “Yeah, this is Frank at the front gate. I got a chick out here says that she knows Billy, says Trent will vouch for her.” The response was muffled. The guard turned back to me. “Trent’s coming. You better not be wasting his time.”

  We stared at each other for a long time. I wondered what Frank would do if I tried to make a run for it. Finally, a figure emerged from the darkness. “Addy!” Trent jogged toward us. “Shit, you’re soaked through. Billy will skin me alive if he finds out we held you up at the gate. Frank, this is Addison Wanks, make sure she gets whatever she needs from now on.”

  I put my hand out to Frank, smothering a smile. “Nice to meet you.” See, I could always be the bigger person.

  “Sorry about that, Ms. Wanks,” Frank said, shaking my hand.

  “No worries. Happens more than you’d think,” I reassured him. Not true. Not true at all.

  “C’mon, Addy, let’s get you warmed up,” Trent said. Frank stepped aside and let me pass through the gate. “I’ve gotta get back to the arena. Everybody’s rehearsing but they should finish soon. Do you want to put some dry clothes on? I’ll wait for you and escort you backstage.”

  “Ugh, no, thanks. I’m kind of beat. I think I’ll just wait for Billy on the bus.”

  Trent stared me down with a smile that resembled a bulldog chewing on a mouth full of wasps. The radio in his hand went off, calling him. “I got to run. It’s good to see you kid. You can find your way to the Wanks and Janks bus?” He pointed to the middle bus, already halfway gone. “Sorry it’s a shithole. Daisy was trying to get the guys to clean it up, but you know them.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I gave him a little wave. He took off running. I spun on my heel and faced the three tour buses. Sighing, I headed to the middle vehicle and prayed the smell wasn’t too bad.

  At last, out of the rain.

  All the lights on the bus were on, giving it a warm, homey glow. It was the usual setup. Two long, black velvet couches flanked either side of the bus. Just after the couches, there was a table that seated six and across, a high-end kitchen with stainless-steel appliances. There were also two huge televisions and all the game consoles you could ever imagine. The record label did everything they could to keep the rock stars from getting bored. Because everybody knew, bored rock stars equaled trouble.

  A curtain separated the bunks from the main living area. Just beyond the bunks was the bathroom and only private bedroom. Billy and Daisy usually stayed in the bedroom. When I toured with Wanks and Janks, I always got a bottom bunk on the right-hand side, closest to the bathroom.

  It was embarrassing, but up until the age of eight, I had “accidents” in bed. Of course as a little girl, I wanted to sleep on a top bunk. Billy and the band had indulged me. But after a few failed attempts to get to the bathroom on time during the night, Billy moved me to the bottom bunk closest to the bathroom.

  Since then, the exact bunk was always left open for me, no matter what. I think it was Billy’s way of telling me I could always come “home.” A gesture that lost some of its sweetness when I remembered the night Billy decided to send me away. Despite that, my shoulders relaxed and every part of me unwound. It was good to be back on the bus again. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it. In my bid to avoid Wild Minds, I had unintentionally walled off Wanks and Janks.

  Suddenly I felt very tired. My bunk sounded good right about now. I dragged my duffel bag through the main living area and through the kitchen. Evidence of a band was everywhere. Guitars. Dirty dishes in the sink. Random clothes scattered about, both male and female. Ugh, Trent was right. The guys needed to get their act together. I didn’t understand how Daisy put up with it.

  I parted the curtain and slung my duffel and backpack on the bottom bunk. Weird, the bed wasn’t made. Weren’t Billy and Daisy expecting me?

  A bad feeling skittered up my spine. I peeked at the bunk above mine. Jett always slept there. And he always kept a rosary hanging on the wall above his head.

  No rosary.

  I even felt along the wall for the little hole the tack would make. It was completely smooth. The bad feeling spread through my arms and up my neck.

  Shit. Fuck. Double shit.

  Just to make sure, I searched the other bunks for signs of Turner or Chord, the drummer and bassist for Wanks and Janks. No help there. Just empty bottles of whiskey. Those could’ve belonged to anyone.

  I went into the back bedroom. Billy always, always kept a picture of me by his bed. The king-size bed was unmade, the sheets rumpled and the comforter in a heap on the ground. No picture on the nightstand. But there were several empty Pixie Stix and Heath Bar wrappers.

  Bile inched up my throat. I swallowed it back.

  Warren had a wicked sweet tooth. Pixie Stix were his favorites. He used to fill my belly button with the flavored sugars and lick it out.

  I had to get off the bus. Immediately.

  I didn’t even think to grab my duffel or backpack. I heard the unmistakable squeak of the hinges as the bus door slid open, footsteps and then voices.

  Trapped. I was trapped.

  This wasn’t how I’d planned to see Warren for the first time in three years. I’d thought I would avoid him for the first couple legs of the tour. Then, when I was feeling confident—or had at least taken a shower—I would present the divorce papers to him. Maybe I could still make a run for it. The voices closed in, coming closer. I should hide in the bathroom or the bedroom closet. But my feet had grown roots and wouldn’t move. I was frozen in place.

  The curtain parted.

  All the blood rushed from my face.

  I closed my eyes, broke out in a cold sweat and prayed for invisibility.

  “What the fuck?” The deep voice wasn’t Warren’s.

  I popped open one eye, then the other.

  Six feet of delicious bassist stood in front of me. Felix Hendrix, or Lix, stared at me, mouth agape. His long blond hair was drenched in sweat. After a full rehearsal or concert, Lix always took a shower, a ritual of his I knew well.

  “Hey, Lix,” I said with a little smile, acting as if everything was normal, like this was an everyday occurrence. Yeah, I just lurked in the back of my estranged husband’s tour bus all the time.

  “Addy!” he cried out.

  “Sh.” I rushed to him, putting a hand over his mouth. His eyes widened. “Be quiet.” His tongue darted out and licked my palm. Yanking my hand back, I wiped it on my jeans. Lix’s nickname suited him. He played the bass like a devil on crack, and he had the longest tongue I’d ever seen. And from what I’d overheard while touring with Wild Minds, he knew how to use it.

  He squinted down at me. “Warren’s going to shit a brick when he sees you. Does he know you’re here?” he whisper-yelled.

  “Of course he doesn’t know I’m here. I don’t want to see him, at least not right now
. I need you to get me off this bus.” Thankfully, no one else had wandered back to the bunks yet. All the noise was contained in the front of the bus. The rest of the band usually did a couple rounds of shots after coming offstage. It sounded as if the drinking was just beginning. It also sounded like they weren’t alone. Several distinctly female voices cooed and cackled.

  Lix’s lips pressed together. By the mulish look on his face, I could tell he was reluctant to help me.

  “Fucking hell, dude. What’s taking you so long?” A head peered through the curtain. It was Derren, the bearded drummer. He eyed me up and down. “Oh, sorry, man, I didn’t know you had company. I’ll leave you alone.” In the dim lighting, he didn’t recognize me. He started to pull back and then paused. I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he re-examined me. “The chick looks a lot like Addy. You should give her to Warren when you’re done. It’s like he’s been on the rag for the last three and half years. You’d think that bitch had surgically removed his testicles and replaced them with a vagina.”

  Well, I guess I knew how Derren really felt about me now.

  Lix scowled. “Look closer, asshole. It is Addy.”

  “No shit?” Derren stepped through the curtain, letting it fall closed behind him. Derren was the shortest member of the band. Usually he had the best sense of humor. But based on the way his green eyes glared at me, he saw nothing funny in the situation.

  “Keep it down. She doesn’t want anyone to know she’s here,” Lix said loudly.

  This was turning into some sort of tragic comedy. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to laugh or melt into the floor.

  “Why the fuck is she here then?” Derren asked, eyes fixed on me.

  Lix opened his mouth. I did too. But before either of us could speak, someone else decided to join the party.

  “Lix. Derren!” I recognized Ash’s voice. Wild Minds’ lead guitarist, Lily’s arch nemesis and my brother-in-law was right outside the curtain. “Come check this out, this chick can put both her legs behind her head. Holy shit! She’s not wearing any underwear.”

  “We’ll be out in a minute,” Lix called.

  “What are you two fuckers doing back here anyway?” Ash came barreling through the curtain. My breath caught. Tall at six-foot-four, with dark hair shaved closely to his head and laughing blue eyes, he was Warren’s identical twin. Lily and I could always tell them apart. All the joy left his face when he saw me. “War!” he yelled.

  My breath came back in full force. Suddenly I was on the verge of hyperventilating. Not Warren. Anyone but Warren, I prayed.

  But then Warren appeared and I cursed ever being born.

  “What’s going on?” Warren said, looking at each of his band mates. Then his gaze settled on me.

  Time stretched and slowed.

  It was as if it were just the two of us in the cramped space. He watched me through narrowed eyes. Mine were wide. Like deer-in-the-headlights huge.

  War’s hair was longer. He’d grown out the shaved sides. It brushed just below his ears. I used to love running my fingers through it, especially when he was on top of me, moving deep inside of me. Both his arms were covered in colorful full-sleeve tattoos. Flames, dragons and even a busty mermaid wound up his biceps into his T-shirt. I knew those tattoos well, having traced every one with my fingertips. More tattoos peeked out of his collar. His whole chest and back were a mess of ink. Once upon a time, on the inside of his forearm, my name was tattooed.

  I wondered if he still had it.

  I used to like to watch his arms when we were making love. How they flexed with every thrust. Sometimes I’d inch my head over and lick the loopy cursive where my name was sprawled. Heat rushed to my face at the memory.

  Warren’s eyes darkened and his lip curled. “Get out.”

  “Aw, c’mon, War,” Lix whined. “I need to take a shower.”

  “Get the fuck out,” Warren bellowed. His hand tightened around the neck of the beer bottle he held.

  “Listen, War.” Ash touched Warren’s arm. “Let’s all go into the living room and talk. We can catch up, yeah? Find out what Addy’s doing here.”

  Warren made a growly noise in his throat. His arm came up, dislodging Ash’s hold. In one swift motion, he threw the beer bottle, sending it crashing and breaking on the wall right above Derren’s shoulder.

  I yelped and jumped. My heart started a manic dance. I knew Warren would never hurt me. Well, physically at least. Emotionally it was anyone’s game. It still didn’t mean I enjoyed his little temper-tantrum displays.

  “What the fuck, man?” Derren wiped beer from his shirt.

  “I said get out.”

  Derren and Lix filed out. “Asshole,” Lix muttered under his breath, purposely ramming into War’s shoulder. Warren didn’t budge. His icy-blue gaze was solely fixed on me, burning and intense.

  “I’ll be right outside if you need something,” Ash told him. He wiped at the back of his neck as if he wanted to say something more. But then he vacated the area too.

  Awesome. I was alone with my husband. King of the assholes.

  Putting my head down, I decided to follow Ash. After all, Warren had told everyone to get out. I was only respecting his wishes. It was nice of me. Considerate. I’d even collect my bags at a later time. Scratch that. I’d just buy all-new stuff. I’d use Billy’s card. He’d like that. Daisy could go shopping with me.

  My arm grazed Warren’s. Heat pricked along my side at the contact. He stayed as still as a statue, his body taut and tense. He was going to let me pass. Thank you very much. I was almost home free. Until his hand shot out and wrapped around my upper arm, his grip tight enough to halt me but not tight enough to hurt me. I could feel the warmth from his palm through my damp sweatshirt, burning me, branding me.

  “Not you,” he said, his voice hardening.

  I shuffled back into the bunks, forcing him to let go. His stare went to my heaving chest. It felt as if the temperature had skyrocketed a thousand degrees.

  Warren advanced. His nostrils flared and his septum piercing, a thin silver band, flashed in the low light.

  I stepped back until I was pressed against a sliver of wall. Dammit, why’d they have to make these spaces so tight? Warren kept coming until he was flush against my front. I fisted his shirt. To push him away or bring him closer, I didn’t know. Then his fingers were in my belt loops, pressing me into him. I could feel his desire for me, his hardness against my stomach.

  “Warren…” I started.

  He closed his eyes. “Fuck, I’ve dreamt about you saying my name. Say it again,” he demanded. Always so bossy.

  “Warren,” I said again, this time more firmly.

  He didn’t understand my tone, or he chose to ignore it. Probably the latter. His head lowered, and his lips crashed against mine. He cupped the nape of my neck and begged entrance into my mouth with his tongue.

  Something inside of me broke free, a need so fierce it bulldozed all my common sense, all my reasons against this, everything I’d kept tightly reined in for the last few years. I yielded to him. His mouth tasted like whiskey and chocolate, two of my favorite things. Warren groaned and it was like a tiny earthquake inside of me, the vibration snaking down to my belly and igniting desire between my legs. As if he sensed it, his kiss became hotter, wetter, more demanding.

  Somehow, my hands found their way under his thin T-shirt, caressing his abs. Cool air hit my stomach, then the tops of my breasts. Warren was stripping me. He broke the kiss for one second to whip my sweatshirt and T-shirt over my head. Then he was back on me, his tongue in my mouth, his body shifting down and up, forcing my legs to wrap around his waist to keep balance.

  He rubbed against my core. I made a guttural sound. His lips withdrew and then plastered to my neck. Oh, God, he still knew my sweet spot, right behind my ear he licked and whispered, “I knew you’d come back to me. I knew it.”

  What? A cold sensation crept along my spine. Warren didn’t notice. He sucked the thin
skin on my collarbone. I’d almost forgotten what he’d just said, but then he opened his big fat mouth again. “Are you sorry for what you did? Leaving me in Rome?” He kissed a wet trail down to the top of my breast. “You want me back, don’t you? Jesus, I should make you beg but I don’t think I’m going to last.”

  The cold sensation turned to a blast of ice water. I shoved at him.

  He didn’t get it at first. “Don’t worry, baby. I won’t make you beg.”

  There he was, ladies and gentlemen, king of the assholes. That didn’t take much time. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. My nails traced a path up to his pec. My fingers circled his nipple and then twisted.

  Head of security Trent had taught me some defense moves. He’d even made up a little song so I remembered. A variation of “head, shoulders, knees and toes,” changed to “nipples, balls, knees and toes”—the four most vulnerable spots on a man’s body.

  Warren was off me in an instant. My feet hit the ground and I leaned against the wall, heaving and steadying my shaky body.

  “What the fuck, Addy?” Warren fumed, cupping his chest.

  “You asshole!” I should’ve gone for his balls. I picked up my sweatshirt and T-shirt from the floor and scrambled to put them on. All the while, I ranted at him. “I’m not coming back to you. And even if I was, I certainly wouldn’t beg.” I felt better once I was fully clothed again, a little calmer.

  He made a low, irate sound. “Then what the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I got on the wrong bus. I’m here for Billy. For my father’s last tour.”

  Aside from bringing up Gabe, the worst thing I could do was mention my father. Many things had been screwed up in Warren’s and my relationship. Chief amongst them was my refusal to tell Billy about us. I’d been scared, worried Billy would disown me if he found out I’d gone and fallen in love with a rock star.

  Warren had not been sympathetic. In fact, he’d been the opposite of sympathetic. He didn’t understand my hesitation because he had an amazing family that accepted me without recourse. But I only had Billy. And the thought of losing my father was a dagger in my chest. Almost every day he’d threatened to call Billy himself. It went against Warren’s nature to hide. Or I’d thought it did. Turned out everything I’d thought I knew about Warren was a lie. I didn’t know him at all.