Dead Serious

by C. M. Stunich

  I smirk, but a look from Naomi cuts the expression short.

  “I understand that you're upset,” Ronnie says, sitting down next to our friend and putting a gentle hand on his knee. Better him than me for that comforting bullshit. I'm more likely to crack an inappropriate joke. “But I think the bigger issue here is how the fuck somebody got that video of Naomi and Turner. This hotel is on lockdown.”

  “And the door was locked,” I supply, taking a deep breath and shaking out my hands. “And I, uh, may or may not have heard somebody come in.”

  “You what?” Naomi asks, turning to look at me, the sienna glaze in her eyes firing up like an atomic bomb. I shrug like I don't give a shit, even though I feel guilty as fuck. Instead, I focus my gaze on Ronnie's brown eyes. He's staring at me like I'm an idiot and hell, maybe I am?

  “I just assumed it was one of you assholes sneaking a peek. How the fuck was I supposed to know it was somebody out to screw us?”

  “So,” Ronnie begins, taking in a big breath that expands his chest and presses his muscles against the confines of the neon pink T-shirt he's wearing. He is definitely gaining some weight, but in a good way. Go Lola Saints. Maybe my friend will actually make it to his fortieth birthday without croaking from an overdose of meth? Think the clothes might be her doing, too. I've never seen Ronnie wear a shirt that said Calm Ya Tits before. “I'd say, based on that information, that we were dealing with a hotel employee, someone who just happened in on you and took the video.” Ronnie pauses and I sense a but in there somewhere. “If that's the case, how did it get leaked so fast? And at the same time as Jesse's video? At the same fucking time that crime scene photos from Hayden's … ” Ronnie pauses and glances over at Naomi. She sighs and pulls out a cigarette, glancing over at Treyjan and his medical equipment before growling something under her breath and tucking it between her breasts for later.

  “Don't hold back on my expense. Please, continue.” Ronnie nods, all businesslike and looks back at Jesse, then over at the wall of windows opposite him. Lola's not here which is unusual. Ronnie and her have been joined at the hip for days now. I hope everything's okay with her sister.

  “So it's not a hotel employee, and it's not a random act. Somebody that's authorized to be here did this. It wasn't just Hayden that was working for Stephen.” Ronnie shakes his head and looks up at the ceiling for a moment, calculating something in his head. He only gets a moment of silent contemplation before the door opens up and in comes Sydney and Dax. Neither of them looks like they've gotten much sleep, but at least I can still feel that overprotective urge radiating off of my friend's sister. She's still interested in Dax, still worried about Trey, still too vested in this crap to up and leave. I hate to admit it, but I'm kind of glad that she's here. Sydney has a calm, collected way of looking at the world. One time, Trey and I blew up a neighbor's garbage can with fireworks and nearly set a trailer on fire. Of course, as soon as the flames started to lick up the sides of the building, we ran and bumped right into Sydney. She stood there for a quiet moment, told us to get lost and grabbed the fire extinguisher from her own trailer to put out the fire. Doesn't seem like much now, but we were only eight at the time and Sydney was our hero. She kept us from getting in trouble by coming up with a story for her dad, and possibly prevented something even worse from happening. Maybe she can help us puzzle this shit out?

  “I want to talk to you all,” Dax says, folding his arms across his chest. He's wearing the same clothes I saw him in this morning, and his eyes are ringed in red like he's barely got the energy to keep them open. I notice he doesn't look my way. Whatever. Maybe it was hard for him to see me ramming the love of his life? Hopefully he'll get over it and go after Sydney. That'd make my life a hell of a lot easier. I was even going to ask him to help me pick out a ring, not because I'm trying to be an asshole but because he cares about Naomi, and he's known her longer than I have. I thought it was a smart decision at the time, but maybe I should be grateful we ended up bickering and I didn't get the chance to ask?

  “About?” Naomi asks, but Dax doesn't respond, just plops down on the chair opposite Jesse and Ronnie. His eyes are focused on the floor, but his fingers curl against the ugly blue fabric, black painted nails digging in deep.

  “You've all read the story. You know Hayden murdered a girl, Tara Bae, in that hospital, but you don't know why. Nobody does.” Dax swallows hard and closes his eyes tight. “I want to get all the secrets out, right here, right now. Then there's no cannon fodder left for them to use, and maybe, just maybe if we do that, we'll be able to come up with a solution for this crap.”

  Dax sighs, glances around the room and takes a big breath.

  “But first, let me tell you about America … ”

  My mind is so fucking blown it feels like my thoughts are coming all over my face. Jesus.

  “Dax … really is an emo bitch, isn't he?”

  “Shut up, Turner,” Naomi says, flopping onto the bed in our hotel room with a sigh. I lay down next to her and wrap one arm under her waist, laying the other over the top. Feeling her body expand with each breath, tasting the heat of her body on my own skin, is like fucking heaven.

  “So, he fucked up when he was a kid. It wasn't really his fault. That Tara girl made the choice to take those pills, too.” I let Dax's story run through my mind and pray to whatever Gods will listen that nobody in that room betrays us.

  Naomi told her secret, too.

  Despite my advice to the contrary, she told them all what she did to her foster parents. Now everybody knows the real story. Well, everybody but Kash, Wren, Blair, and Josh, but none of us could guarantee that they were trustworthy. The rest of us in that room, I imagine that we're in this about as deep as we can get. Except Jesse. He's just a self-hating little faggot. But I love him anyway. I know he wouldn't rat us out.

  “If I thought this was America's fault before, I'm positive of that now. That bitch. She fucked around with this Stephen guy's company? No wonder the asshole is after us for vengeance. Why in the Goddamn hell would she do that? How was she able to do that?”

  “No clue, Knox,” I whisper against Naomi's blonde hair, lifting up a few strands in my fingers and watching as they slither away towards the white cotton of the pillowcase. I wonder vaguely if Ronnie was right, if we just took America by the arms and tossed her out the doors of the hotel, would Stephen go after her? Nah. I guess he could've already if he'd wanted to. What if we … took care of her? If I capped that bitch in the head would that solve everything? Somehow I get the idea that Stephen would really fuck us hard if we killed his stalking victim/ex.

  I sigh against Naomi's head, my breath bringing goose bumps up on her perfect skin.

  “I've got some good shit in my bag, baby. We could forget all about this shit and wake up on that plane halfway to L.A. before we realized that the sky wasn't made up of cotton candy clouds.”

  “Turner,” she says, and I like the strength in her voice. At first I thought she was coming in here because she was upset. Now, I get the idea that maybe she's just gathering her resolve around herself, getting ready to do what needs to be done. I want to kiss her mouth hard, tell her she's a goddess, and then fuck the shit out of her. I kinda get the idea that that's not what we're going to be doing right now.

  Naomi turns over and looks up into my face, her lips set in a determined line.

  “I think we need to go see Katie.” I raise my eyebrows in surprise, but I nod. I've been bitching at Naomi to go pay her foster sister a visit since the day after the tornado. Might tell us nothing. Might tell us everything. I think Naomi could use the closure regardless of everything else. “This might be my last chance for awhile.” She sits up with a sigh and puts her hands over her face. “I want a clear head if I'm going to do this, but afterwards,” she parts her hands and looks up at me, “I might have to take you up on that offer. Getting out of my own head for awhile sounds like a really, really good fucking time.”

  Brayden Ryker sets up a van for
Naomi like he did for Dax, using the hotel's lobby level restaurant as our launching point. A dozen or so delivery trucks and vans sit outside, unloading produce, bags of flour, meat. I doubt they'll be using most of this shit since we've commandeered their entire fucking hotel, but the cover has to be there. Guess our record sales will be going to pay for uneaten steaks and ten or so bags of unused potatoes.

  “After the incident this afternoon,” Brayden begins, stressing the word incident, “The press is absolutely frenzied to get ahold of you. I'm of the opinion that this excursion is more harm than good, but America disagrees with me. She doesn't believe talking to Katie Rhineback over the phone would be very effective.”

  “And you're, like, inclined to agree with her because you're her bitch, right?” I ask, wishing I could show Brayden exactly what I think of him for holding a gun to my woman. Nobody threatens me or mine. I swear to fucking God, at some point I am going to rip this man a new one. Instead I settle for tucking my hands in my pockets and scowling at him. He sighs, like he's beyond exhausted, and shakes his head like he can't be bothered to respond to that.

  “Please, if you value your safety, try to listen to what my employees have to say. Believe it or not, they have only your best interests in mind. In all actuality, they're risking their lives for you.”

  “For a paycheck,” I say as Naomi clenches her jaw and glares daggers at the big ass ginger man with the gun. In about one tenth of a second, that very gun is pressed up against my temple and Brayden's in my fucking face, growling at me in his weird ass little accent.

  “Listen to me, boy, and listen closely, I'm here as a favor and nothing more. Whatever it is you're paying is only a fraction of what this could cost me. Do you understand that? I'm here because America and I have a deal. But I am nobody's bitch.” Brayden reengages the safety and pulls the gun back, tucking it into his coat. Like a magician, he makes it magically disappear and I'm left standing there feeling both vulnerable as fuck and angry as shit. Now I really want to rip this asshole's throat out. I won't be disrespected by this man, not even if he's holding a loaded pistol at my face. I won't ever take that sort of behavior from anyone ever again.

  “Turner,” Naomi says, snapping me out of the red haze of rage that's descended on my shoulders. I look into her eyes, still wet, still gleaming with that special something for me. If I were to die, would that go dry again? Give her back that gaze that was as barren as a desert? Even if I don't give a shit about my own safety, I sure as hell give two flying fucks about hers.

  “Cinnamon stick piece of shit,” I rumble under my breath as I move out the door and into the back of the van. The doors close and nobody says a word. It's kind of hard to chitchat with a bunch of bodyguards clustered around you, especially when you know they work for the guy that just threatened to shoot you.

  “What does that even mean?” Naomi asks finally, crossing and then uncrossing her legs. The shadows in the back of the van slide over her face, emphasizing the sharp slice of her cheekbones, the swell of cleavage above her shirt, the bleeding heart tattoo that I think might actually have something to do with me.

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “What?”

  “Cinnamon stick.”

  It takes a moment, but I finally start to feel a grin pull at the corners of my lips. I stand up and stumble across the few feet between us, plopping down next to Naomi on her side of the van. The metal seats are uncomfortable and it smells like rotten lettuce in here, but it doesn't matter. Nothing else should, because I have this beautiful woman by my side. Fuck the world.

  “Brayden's a redheaded fucking ginger which means down there, you know, around his schlong.” I shrug. “He's got red hair. Therefore, cinnamon stick. Get it?” Naomi rolls her eyes at me, but at least she gives me a small smile.

  “Do you just make this shit up?” she asks and I shrug again. To be honest, I have no idea where I pick up most of my slang. Maybe I did make it up? Whatever, right. I should be setting trends, not following them. I lean in close to Naomi, close enough that our shoulders touch and a shiver wracks her body. Me, I don't shiver, but I do get a major fucking hard-on, one that feels like it's about to slice the goddamn denim on my jeans and change the pants into shorts.

  “What are you going to ask Katie?” I figure bringing up her foster sister should soothe some of my rampant horniness away. It doesn't. I put my hands in my lap and glare at the woman with the leather belt sitting in the center row of seats. I get the urge to flip her off, but I don't want to start shit, so I just wait there with my gaze on hers hoping she'll look away. I wouldn't mind a few private moments in the back here, if you know what I mean.

  “I just want her side of the story is all,” Naomi says, her eyes staring at the metal wall opposite us. “Like I said, I doubt she has anything useful to tell us, but I was always there for her as a kid. I … ” She pauses and looks up, finds the buff woman with biceps thicker than mine and rolls her eyes. “I did what I did because I was trying to protect her. Fat lot of good that did.” Naomi sighs again. “At the very least, I can pay her a visit. It's the least I can do. Especially if she … if she takes the fall for me.” Naomi lowers her voice, that throaty whisper of hers doing absolutely zero to appease Mr. Happy. He's ready to play, baby.

  Instead of acting like the bastard son of a bitch I know I am, I curl my fingers over Naomi's hand and try to give her some support. I don't imagine that she's had much of that in her life. Me either. I guess we'll be learning how to do this together, right?

  “This could give you a fresh start,” I say, trying to spin this tragedy into something good. I feel like I've been doing a lot of that lately, but I can't help myself. I can't let Naomi wallow in misery. I force another smile and then drag her hand over my crotch. When she feels the massive erection I have going for her, she bites her lip and closes her eyes, sucking in a breath between her teeth that tells me she feels just about the same as I do. Wish I could see it. Wish I could see her wetness glistening on her thighs. Fuck, I can practically taste that shit. “If Katie, you know, confesses to what she's done.” I cast another glance at the Amazon woman with the big ass gun by her side. She smiles a strange smile at me that makes my teeth hurt. Where the fuck does Brayden Ryker find these people? “If she confesses to it, then you're free, Naomi. Hayden's gone. We'll deal with this Stephen shit. It'll be you and me against the world. You'll have to put up with Trey, Jesse, and Ronnie, but they're not so bad if you look at them sideways. Besides,” I lean down and press my mouth to Naomi's neck, savoring the memory of fucking her in that dirty ass bathroom way back when. Or at least it feels like way back when. I don't know how long it's really been. Two weeks? Three? Time is almost irrelevant at this point. “I know the L.A. scene like the back of my hand. When we land,” I bend over and whisper in her ear so the guards won't hear us, “we'll sneak out and hit some of the best clubs, get trashed, have a good time being just people instead of rock stars.”

  “Sounds fucking divine,” Naomi whispers, leaning her head onto my shoulder. “And maybe, just maybe, we could fuck without somebody filming it.”

  I really have no clue what I expect when I get to the prison. I guess I had some sort of fucked up movie world in my head, one where I just waltzed into the jail and Katie was waiting for me. I come to find out it's not quite that easy. Hey, at the very least we managed to arrive here during visiting hours.

  The woman behind the counter looks me up and down like I'm fucking retarded and then shakes her head, mumbling something about the 1% under her breath. I don't know where this bitch has been, but even though I might've recently run into some money from my music, I'm hardly one of them privileged little white bitches. She insults me in Spanish and then smiles when I tighten my lips, obviously unable to understand what she just said.

  “Just a moment, okay?” she says, giving Turner a look that confirms that he, at least, is exempt from her snotty little attitude. “And if you need anything, baby, you just let me know.” He smiles a
t her and winks, further serving to piss me off.

  “It's alright,” Turner tells me, leaning over to whisper in my ear. “I get it. It all boils down to respect, right?” His hands find my biceps, fingers brushing lightly over my flesh and causing my nipples to harden painfully. Everyone in the waiting room is already staring at us, so that's sort of the last thing I need. A public display that shows exactly how I feel about the asshole breathing hot breath against my ear.

  “I've had just as shitty a life as any of these bitches,” I say, feeling that hardness tighten around my chest. I've got shields in place, for good reason, too. The majority of my life has sucked some seriously fat dick. I earned my gritty, little street stripes. I'm not going to let anybody in this room talk down to me, because I've been on the bottom, bitches, and I worked my way up. Deal with it. I manage to keep this to myself though, focusing on the hot bite of Turner's teeth as he scrapes them along my jaw and sends shivers down my spine.

  “Amen to that, right?” He stops kissing my throat about two seconds before I punch him in the nuts to get him to back off. “So don't feel bad about doing what you need to do to get shit done.” Turner digs around in the back pocket of his ridiculously tight jeans. I honestly don't even know how he gets the wallet in there in the first place.

  “After you gave all my money to that homeless chick, I reloaded up on green at the hotel.” I watch out of the corner of my eye as he slips a wad of bills from the leather pocket and tucks it in his palm. I raise an eyebrow and shake my head. Greasing the guards with cash? Now at least I know I'm not the only one who's seen too many movies. Despite our sordid pasts, neither Turner nor I have spent any time in jail. How ridiculous is that? I murdered two people with a pair of scissors and here I am, standing on the other side while Katie rots behind bars.