On the Road: (Vagabonds Book 2) (New Adult Rock Star Romance)

by Jamison, Jade C.

  Quiet Liz said, “I think they spent the entire week shooting up.”

  I felt my eyes grow wide as her words sank in. You mean…heroin?”

  “Yeah.”

  Oh, God, no. No.

  That hadn’t taken long, had it?

  Before I could even say anything else, the barista said, “Mocha latte for Kelly.”

  She grabbed her drink and then I said, “Shit. I knew she was moving into the harder stuff, but fuck. You think he’s supplying her?”

  Liz shrugged. “No idea. And this is just speculation on my part…just based on what seemed to be going on our last week on tour. They were nowhere online last week—they disappeared. And then when they show up? They look strung out and dog tired—and they were holding hands. So—just speculation.”

  “But it sounds well-founded.”

  “Vanilla latte for Kyle.” I turned and took the drink off the counter and the barista said, “Crap. You guys are the Vagabonds, right?”

  It took me a second to register what he was saying, because I was too immersed in the conversation I’d been having with my friends about the girl who was probably my best friend and completely tearing herself apart. What should I do? How should I handle it? Was Vicki going to kill herself—and was Andrew a willing assistant?

  But I’d already learned in the short time we’d been on the road and exposed to rabid fans that you never let them see what’s really going on with you. Nope, you put on a happy face. I’d already seen Black Matter treat a few of their fans like shit and it had influenced the way I, a fan, felt about them. The fans just want to tell you that you’re their favorite band or shake your hand. They don’t want to know that you’ve had a shitty day. They don’t want to hear that your best friend is on the fast track to becoming a junkie and that now is a bad time to talk. And, believe me, if you give them a reason to lose respect for you or think you’re a fucking bitch, they’ll run with it and never look back. Now, you might think, “Oh, well…it’s only one person,” but one person usually has lots of friends. I’m not giving any of those people a reason to feel justified about pirating my music. Besides, it’s bad karma.

  So, this cute little barista (I shouldn’t say little—he was in his early twenties) said, “So I’m guessing this Chai Tea is for—Liz, right?”

  She also had the same idea I had, that fans are to be respected and treated well, and so she smiled politely and said, “Right on both counts.”

  I threw up the metal horns and said, “Thanks, man. You’re giving us just the fuel we need for the road.”

  “Still on tour?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When do we get a concert here in Colorado?”

  Kelly said, “We did a small concert in August, but that was before the album was released.”

  I nodded. “We’ll be doing a show in Denver sometime in July—with Death Crunch.”

  Liz added, “Details are on our website.”

  “Dude, Death Crunch is hardcore.” He was getting ready to say more, but one of his coworkers came up behind him, acting like she was going to say something. Before she could talk, though, he said, “These ladies are from the Vagabonds.” The woman had a confused look on her face until he added, “You know, the rock band?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She turned and raised her voice, “Kendra! Come here!” She turned back to us. “Sorry, but she’s a huge fan.”

  Needless to say, we were then stuck at Starbucks for another ten minutes, signing autographs and answering questions and, when we left, we weren’t thinking about Vicki anymore. We were thinking about how awesome our band was and, when we got to the vans, Barbie was finally there…and we were blamed for why we were getting a late start. Jesus.

  Typical bullshit. Goddamn, wasn’t it fun to get back on the road?

  * * *

  Well, I discovered over the next few weeks that it was all true—Vicki and Andrew were fucking each other and fucking up their lives together. I’d known Vicki to be impressionable, easily influenced, and eager to try out the next high, but Andrew had seemed to have such a semi-level head. I think he was just surrounded by too much pussy and too little responsibility. He had no idea how to reign it in.

  The fans, the music, though—they were always amazing, and they were what I was there for in the first place. I was just sick and tired of the lack of professionalism my fellow musicians continued to display. Barbie was always the last one on the van when it was time to get to the next venue. We started telling her we had an earlier call time, but she was too smart for us. Once, just once, I wished we’d fucking leave without her and make her find her own way to the venue. Liz—or, hell, even I—could sing the songs if it came down to it. But no. Instead, we continued to reward her childish behavior by letting her continually be late. And I knew Peter wasn’t planning to withhold from her pay. Nope…even though he’d lectured us about punctuality early on. She was clearly his favorite, and we all just had to deal with her prima donna bullshit because of it.

  And then it was getting down to wondering night after night if Vicki would be sober enough to play. There were nights she could hardly hold on to her sticks, and I stressed out, hoping she could make it through the whole set. There were nights she’d be playing the beat to a different song until one of us would glare at her or walk up to the drum kit waiting for her to look at us and then give us a sheepish look and change what she was doing. It was ridiculous.

  Because of Barbie and Vicki’s antics, it was easy to overlook what my other bandmates were doing. Kelly had withdrawn and her happy, perky self was not so much anymore. I blamed Peter. We were kicking ass, but he continued to treat us like dirtbags. He had no people skills whatsoever. Drill sergeant, my fucking ass. More like Vlad the Impaler.

  So Kelly was drinking. A lot. Every night, she’d party till she was drunk and falling over, and then she was barely functioning the next day. I partied too, but the music was always first. It didn’t matter if my head hurt. The show must go on.

  Liz…Liz was her usual quiet, hardworking self, but she decided to explore her sexuality. The problem there was that she was also sometimes hard to locate. She had plenty of money (I was guessing she’d made up with mommy and daddy) and started paying for her own room. I was no fool. I knew she’d done it so she could indulge her sexual appetites and explore her tastes without having to find odd out-of-the-way places or put herself in compromising situations. That worked for a while.

  All my bitching here might lead you to believe that I was a perfect fucking angel. I was not. I just hadn’t been pushed over the edge again.

  One night before a show, Vicki was on Facebook on her phone and she let out a loud gasp. Barbie and I both asked what she was making a big deal over.

  She acted innocent. “Oh, nothing.” She set her phone down on her lap, but it was clear to both me and Barbie that she was setting it down as bait.

  Frankly, I was tired of playing games, and Vicki had worn me thin. But Barbie darted across the room. “Don’t be cutesy, Sticky,” she said and snatched the phone from Vicki before she could do anything else.

  Vicki let out the requisite Hey! but she wasn’t fooling either of us.

  Barbie touched the screen and moved her finger and then gasped too. She handed the phone back to Vicki. I was getting pissed. “Oh, Jesus Christ. What?”

  Barbie snatched the phone again and giggled before her laughter turned raucous. “No. No. You can’t see this, Kyle.”

  I rolled my eyes and I could feel my blood pressure begin to rise, but this shit would go on all fucking night if I let them know they were getting to me. “Fuck off.” I started to walk out of the room. I didn’t need this nervous energy right before a show.

  Barbie raced back across the room and grabbed my arm. “Kyle, I’m sorry. But we really shouldn’t hide this from you.”

  “What the hell?” I couldn’t help but look down. I stared for a few moments, not sure what it was I was seeing. But, as I focused, there was no question. It was
a picture of CJ, dressed in a suit, with his hand on the back of a young woman wearing a gown of some kind. Both were smiling at someone to the right of the camera.

  I clenched my jaw because, for one of the first times I could think of, I wanted to cry.

  From the depths of my soul.

  “Crazy on You” - Heart

  Chapter Nineteen

  I CAN’T REMEMBER making it through that show. I was angry and hurt through the whole thing, but I do know that, by the time we were done, my fingers were raw. I’d played hard.

  It was somewhere in Texas, and it had been warm. We’d had a huge audience and they were one of the most enthusiastic we’d ever had. I was upset that I hadn’t been able to enjoy them, but my emotions were blinding me to everything.

  When we finally got in the van so we could head back to the hotel, I allowed my eyes to get a little watery. But then I pulled my phone out of my jacket. I hadn’t had much opportunity to really look at the picture of CJ and the other girl, because Peter had come in the room right after and told us to get our asses in place.

  Now, though, I had a chance to search. I wasn’t going to ask one of those bitches exactly where they’d seen it. I didn’t want them to know just how badly this had ripped me up on the inside. They weren’t going to get the satisfaction.

  I decided to start with what made the most sense. I went to the Death Crunch Facebook page…and, sure enough, the top post was CJ and that skanky whore. Well, I didn’t actually know if she was a skanky whore. All I knew was my future man’s hand was on her back.

  Fucker.

  I read a little bit of the post: Check out our man Siege with Pepper J of Cinnamon Stick getting cozy!

  Shit. I’d heard of the band Cinnamon Stick—they were some newcomers, much like Death Crunch and my band—but they were hip hop, not rock or metal.

  Okay, so fine. He was with someone else. But fuck. Did they have to advertise it all over the place?

  Fucker!

  My eyes more than welled with tears. I supposed she was closer to his age too…someone he’d have no qualms about sleeping with.

  Fucking asshole.

  I pulled up my messages and tapped on his name. I wanted to let him know that I knew, but no way did I want to appear to be desperate or needy. No fucking way. I took a deep breath. God, I needed a drink.

  And then I had it. I began tapping on the virtual keyboard on my phone. I’m not waiting for YOU.

  Simple. Sweet. And I tucked my phone in my pocket, trying to figure out how I was going to deal with this shit tonight. It was too goddamned raw right now. I turned my face to look out the window at the dark streets wet from the rain and tried to ignore the vibration in my pocket.

  * * *

  Once I was in my room, the one I shared with Barbie this time (yeah, I was the lucky one this stop), I pulled out the bottle of spiced rum I’d thrown in my suitcase. I’d been saving it for a special occasion. Feeling like someone had stuck a hot poker in my chest just to yank out my heart was special enough.

  I chased each swig with a beer. Once the beer was gone, I sat on the bed and stewed. Barbie kept yammering about something or other, but I was tuning her out. I couldn’t deal with her fucking shit tonight. She was on her Facebook page, talking nasty with all her male followers.

  Yeah, I really couldn’t deal with this shit.

  I threw my jacket on and headed for the door. “Kyle, you’re missing the best part. They want me to do a sexy dance and post it on my page!”

  “Have fun with that.” Peter calling us slutty whores flashed in my mind at that moment, as though that was what he’d always wanted us to become.

  And I needed to. I needed to be bad. Fuck CJ Slavin.

  No, I had wanted to fuck him, but he’d just lost his chance. As I walked down the hall, I muttered, “Wait for me, my ass.”

  And then it dawned on me. At first, I thought I could fuck Andrew. He was easy…and then I could text CJ and tell him. Maybe.

  Oh, but not Andrew. He was truly gross, especially now that he’d lost weight.

  I thought of the only other guys I was in close proximity with day in, day out. No, not Peter. That man was a sick, twisted fuck. I couldn’t imagine the guy ever getting laid and, if he did, I wondered if he liked women. The man was so damned hard to read.

  No…there were our roadies, TT and Bad Dog. TT—nah. That guy did nothing for me. Bad Dog, though…his dark hair had been growing out from the spikes he’d started with, and he still had that soul patch he’d bite down on when he was lost in thought. He had tattoos, too, and that was enough to get me hot just thinking about it.

  Bad Dog it was.

  I tried to remember what room they were in but my fucking brain was too goddamned fuzzy. And hurting. I pulled out my phone. Shit. Yes, there were three text notifications from CJ. I swiped my phone, because nothing he could say would matter or would change my mind.

  I pulled up texts, again ignoring CJ’s name and text at the top of the list, and swiped down till I saw Bad Dog. I realized then that I’d never had a text message with him by himself, though. Those were all group messages. So I closed it and pulled up my contacts, touching his moniker. It made me wonder what his name really was, but now wasn’t the time. I tapped the message icon and had a fresh new message window—just him and me. Hey, BD, what room are you guys in again?

  I stuck my arm out and splayed my hand against the wall as a wave of dizziness washed over me. Man, I was fucked up. Too much to drink, too damn fast.

  Part of me thought I should just go back to my room and go to bed to sleep it off, but before that thought could lock and load, my phone vibrated and I looked at it. It was Bad Dog. 407, pretty lady. Y?

  Oh. Pretty lady? Hmm. Did he know why I planned on tracking his ass down?

  Coming to see you, Bad.

  Oh, God, please let him be truly bad—not like “good boy” CJ who refused to sleep with me and instead chose to fuck someone else so he could wait.

  I had to get that poison out of my head. No guy would want to have sex with me if I was a weeping willow. I looked at the door across from me. 451. Yeah, I’d forgotten we were all on the same floor this time. I sucked down a deep breath and began the wobbly walk farther down the hall, but when I looked at the next door, it said 453. I was going the wrong way. Buzz. I looked down at my phone again while turning around—a bad idea in my state. So I touched the wall once more before looking down.

  Bad? You want to tell me something, Tiger?

  Tiger? That was a name Peter supposedly called me behind my back before we went out on the road, but I’d never heard him say it to my face. Having Bad Dog call me that, though, made me wonder again if it was true and, if so, why.

  But that thought was out of my head as I walked the other way, watching the numbers decrease foot by foot. Oh, there’s my room, I thought, starting to giggle my ass off. And two doors down on the other side of the hall was 407.

  So, by the time I was knocking on the door, I was laughing my ass off. Drunken laughing, but clearly having a good time.

  People were sleeping? I gave zero shits.

  But Bad Dog did. He opened the door and grabbed my wrist, pulling me in. “Kyle, what the hell? Peter’ll skin you alive if your loud mouth gets us kicked out of this motel.”

  I felt my pupils grow large—yeah, I fucking felt them—as the blood rushed through my body, and I pulled Bad Dog by the collar into my face, planting a huge kiss on him.

  He responded.

  But then his hands were on my shoulders, holding me back. “Kyle, have you been drinking?”

  I laughed again. “Is Metallica the most popular metal band in the fucking world? Hell, yes, I’ve been drinking.”

  “Maybe I need to tuck you in.”

  He was clearly uncomfortable. That told me I needed to ratchet it down several notches. If he thought I was just some dumb drunk bitch, he’d blow me off.

  So I took a deep breath and smoothed out his t-shirt with the same h
and that had been gripping it. “I’d like that very much.”

  He nodded. “Okay.” He turned his head. “Be right back, TT.” Oh, shit. I’d forgotten about his roomie. Shit! Maybe this had been a bad idea after all.

  But when we got out into the hall, I knew I was horny as hell and I needed a revenge fuck so bad I could taste it. “Which room’s yours, sweet thing?”

  I pointed to my door, acting coy and cute, and he laughed. “But you have to kiss me good night.”

  He chuckled, not acting as uneasy as he had before. “What’s gotten into you tonight, Kyle? You doin’ some new weird drug with your buddy?”

  “Fuck no. I don’t do drugs. Well, I don’t do them a lot. I’ve had a little to drink…by myself.”

  “That explains it.”

  We got to my door and he just stood there. “Where’s my good night kiss, BD? You promised.”

  He laughed again. “You’re drunk, Kyle.”

  “I am not drunk.” Okay, so, yeah, I was. I totally was…and my voice was loud again. That came with the drunkenness. I pulled on his shirt collar again and he didn’t resist. “I want to fuck you so hard.”

  His eyes grew wide then. “What did you just say?”

  “I said I want you to fuck me.”

  TT walked out their door then and so I let go of Bad Dog’s collar. I didn’t need this shit flying around the whole band, especially if he spurned me, and that was the feeling I was getting. TT said, “Goin’ to have a smoke.” Aw. That might have done my heart good, knowing he was obeying the hotel rules, but I didn’t give a shit then.

  Dog said, “Have two, wouldja?”

  TT raised his eyebrows and I saw a slight nod of Dog’s head before he kissed me like I’d begged…and then he led me back to his room.

  “One Out of Ten” ~ Sister Sin

  Chapter Twenty