The Dirty Dozen: Damsel Edition

by Kay Maree

  Immediately Cole notices the tears welling in my eyes, and of course, he can’t help himself; he has to make things exponentially worse. For me, at least. “Oh, great. Now you’ve made her cry. What the hell is your problem, man? Come here, gorgeous,” Cole instructs, holding his arms out for me to walk into, which I do.

  Pulling away from Dante, I take the comfort Cole is offering and soak up the heat from his body to ward off the chill of Dante’s insensitive throwaway comment.

  Cole strokes my back and murmurs words I can barely hear into my hair. It is times like these that I’m grateful to call these boys my friends. If I ever need them, they’re there. They would drop everything and do anything for me at a moments’ notice. I’m a lucky girl indeed, I sigh.

  It isn’t until a few minutes have passed that I look over Cole’s shoulder at Dante, and what I see scares me. His face is set in a harsh mask of anger that I rarely see from him, and it’s directed at me, making me gasp. Dante’s body is strung tighter than a rubber band, and his fists are clenched as if he’s preparing himself for a fight.

  Cole must sense my unease and loosens his arms a fraction, allowing me enough space to move out of them and behind him instead. With one hand twisted behind him, resting on my lower back, Cole pulls me closer only pissing Dante off further.

  “If you want to keep all your own teeth, I suggest you take your hands off her, brother,” Tatum grunts, tugging on my hand.

  Once I’m a few feet away, Dante does something I will never forget; he launches himself at Cole and proceeds to beat the absolute shit out of him. It isn’t until Dylan rushes into the room and rips Dante off his brother that they stop trading blows, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s too late. What I saw can’t be unseen, and it frightens the hell out of me.

  In all the years I’ve known Dante – all seventeen of them – I’ve never seen him so angry. Dante doesn’t lose control. Never. Not once. Not even when his two younger brothers annoy him enough to consider acting on the homicidal thoughts he’s confided having.

  Dylan is calmer than Tatum when he speaks to Dante, but there’s still an undercurrent of warning in his tone. “Stop. Just fucking stop. Think about what you’re doing, D. Cole’s one of your best friends, and if that isn’t enough to wake you the fuck up, then the fact that you’re scaring the shit out of Faye should be.”

  Dante’s head swivels toward me, and I can see the mask of anger fading. Instead of raw fury, his expression resembles one of confusion and a liberal dose of shame. Dante’s eyes are hooded, but his pupils are dilated so wide that the black almost completely obliterates the warm brown irises I love so much. His body is strung tight, all of his muscles bulge, straining the confines of his T-shirt. Even Dante’s breaths are ragged as if he’s run a marathon.

  Right now, Dante looks so unlike the gentle, sweet boy who took care of me when kids picked on me in grade school and has protected me forever. And when I think about it, that’s what scares me the most. This Dante, this violent, angry incarnation of the person I thought I knew better than anyone else is a stranger to me.

  The sound of my name leaving his lips pleadingly nearly has me running to him and throwing myself into his arms. But this time, I don’t. This time, I stay standing beside Tate, absorbing his strength through our joined hands and stare at a spot over Dante’s shoulder.

  “Faye, please. Come here, babe. I won’t hurt you. You know I’d never hurt you,” is the last thing Dante says to me before I turn and run for the exit. I can’t stay here and listen to him make excuses for his behavior. And I can’t compromise on the promises I made to myself.

  Once, a long, long time ago, I was stupid. I believed the world and everyone in it was kind and good. My brothers were with my Gramps, my mom was at work with my dad, and Dante was busy at practice with the band so I walked home alone. Like I said, I was stupid, and I paid for my mistake. Boy, did I pay.

  About a mile from home, I was jumped by three boys who demanded I give them all of my money, my watch, the ring my dad gave me for my sixteenth birthday, and my iPad. Of course, I did exactly as they asked but that didn’t stop them from beating the absolute crap out of me before they took off in the opposite direction.

  Courtesy of them, I spent a week in the hospital suffering a concussion, a broken nose, and three bruised ribs. When I woke up twelve hours after I was admitted, my dad told me I was lucky a car had been passing by because if it hadn’t, my injuries would be far worse. The realization that I had barely escaped being raped or killed chilled me to the bone, and from there on out, I promised myself no violence.

  I refused to go back to the gym with my dad and my brothers. I couldn’t watch them spar or fight anymore, even though I knew they weren’t actually hurting each other. I also made Dante promise me he would stop getting into physical fights with boys at school that called me names – something that in the past he had done on a regular basis.

  Today, Dante broke that promise, and in turn, my trust. And honestly, I don’t know if there is any coming back from that. For me or for us.

  Chapter Three

  Dante

  Five Years Later

  Fuck it’s hot in here. I feel like I’m being smothered with an electric blanket in the middle of fucking summer. Kicking the sheet off my lower body, my foot comes into contact with a smooth bare leg. A leg which is attached to a tall, lithe female body I can’t for the life of me remember inviting back to my room.

  But I don’t have time to think about how she came to be here before the door to my bedroom in the suite we’re staying in flies open. “If you’re not already up, you need to be,” Faye shouts, not even bothering to come in and see if I’m still alive. For all she knows, I could be a dead, especially after how much I drank last night, but these days, I highly doubt my Faye gives the first fuck.

  Faye’s seen and heard a lot since she started touring with me and the guys’ after graduation. As a band, it had always been a dream of ours to tour, but never in our wildest dreams did we think it would happen so soon. And it probably wouldn’t have if it weren’t for, Talia.

  How we came to be the most popular new rock band to hit the scene in the last ten years isn’t a long story, but it is complicated. In short, Talia’s best friend, Melody (you’ll get how ironic her name is in a second), married one of the biggest names in the music industry, Reid Adams, six years ago.

  Reid had been the front man for Steeling Thunder, a hard rock band with a similar sound and following to Iron Maiden. He’s also the younger brother of, Tank, a member of Devil’s Spawn MC, and a guy I’d never want to confront in a dark alley. The man gives Ashton a run for his money, and that’s saying something because Ashton is no slouch.

  Anyway, Reid came to hear us play one night at a gig we were scheduled to headline at a dive bar on the outskirts of Denver. He came up to us after our set, shook hands with us, told us he loved our sound and energy, and the rest, as they say, is history.

  Steeling Thunder retired from the music scene a decade ago, but Reid still had his fingers in all sorts of pies, including owning the biggest recording label on the East Coast. Thunder Records is the number two recording and production outfit nationwide, but their primary focus is rock, grunge metal, and alternative artists.

  With the backing of a big name label, a freshly signed three CD recording contract, and the promise of a sold out tour, My Addiction hit the charts, debuting at number five with our first single, Mine Alone. Everything that came afterward has been a whirlwind. Studio time, press conferences, interviews, signings, concerts in venues bigger than we’d ever dreamed of, and more women than we know what to do with. And that’s where Faye comes in.

  Shit dramatically changed between us after that day in the guest house. Faye wasn’t the same open, friendly, sweet girl I’d been in love with forever; she was harder, her smiles came less frequently, and she began distancing herself from me more and more every day.

  If Faye had hoped her
cold shoulder or the indifference she was showing me would change how I felt about he, she was dead wrong. I love her just as much today as I did then, even though I have a shitty way of showing it.

  Dragging the sheet up to my hips and making sure the naked woman in bed with me is covered, I call out, “I’m decent. You can come in, babe.”

  Poking her head around the corner, Faye lets out a disgusted sigh when her eyes come to rest on the female sprawled out beside me. “Do you need me to get rid of that for you?” She asks, waving her hand in Lisa, Liza, Lisbeth’s direction.

  Jesus, I can’t even remember this chick's name, let alone how she came to be here. Looking down at the interloper, I notice a few things that have me edging away from her carefully so as not to wake her up. God, I’m fucked up, I muse as I run a hand through my hair.

  This chick couldn’t look more like Faye if I designed her myself. Long black hair, petite but curvy, with long, toned legs, and creamy porcelain skin I could easily mistake this girl as Faye from the side. And truthfully, that’s probably exactly what happened.

  I went out last night with the sole intention of getting drunk and having fun with Tate, Cole, and Dylan, but I was struck dumb at the sight of this chick. I honestly believed she was Faye at first, thanks to the amount of alcohol I’d consumed. My pickup lines aren’t polished or smooth, they’re crass and straight to the point, but they work. Most of the time, I don’t need to use them anyway. Women throw themselves at us as soon as they recognize us, which is what this chick had done.

  Lila, Linda, Louise, whatever the hell her name is, had come on strong, running her hands all over me before I could tell her no. Once her hand was down my pants, wrapped around my cock, it was too late. I knew I’d be taking her back to my room for a night of rough, hard fucking. In fact, I’d be doing it as soon as my hard on would let me stand up and get her back to the hotel.

  That’s where my memory gets hazy, though. I can remember putting a condom on and slamming inside of her, fucking her ruthlessly until she was begging me to let her come. I can remember getting frustrated at not being able to blow my load, no matter how hard I thrust. And I can remember her calling me an asshole just before she passed out for calling her Faye when I eventually came. But that’s it. That’s all I can recollect from the depths of my hungover brain.

  Muttering an impressive string of curses, Faye stomps further into the room and begins shaking the girl's foot. “Wake up sleeping beauty. Time to rise and run.”

  When the chick doesn’t move, other than to mumble, “Fuck off,” Faye takes her standard post-drinking, after-sex eviction tactics to the next level.

  I’m ashamed to say it, but my Faye looks fucking hot when she’s all riled up. Usually Faye’s beautiful – the most stunning woman I’ve ever met – but angry, she’s out of this world sexy. It takes everything I have right now not to get hard thinking about her taking all that pent up aggression out on me because I know if she saw my morning wood, Faye would automatically attribute it to the woman beside me which couldn’t be further from the truth.

  Faye shoots me a glare that promises all sorts of retribution, then marches into the bathroom. Moments later, she’s reappearing with a detachable showerhead that looks as if it’s been modified to make it longer by attaching a length of hose to the end.

  I’m not altogether stupid. I recognize the evil glint in Faye’s eyes and scramble to get off the bed before she can take aim and fire. “I’m kind of intrigued where you found that hose, babe. Is it something you carry around in that gargantuan purse of yours or do you get one of the roadies to bring you this shit?” I ask, not expecting her to answer.

  Turning on me, Faye lets out the first blast of ice cold water, hissing, “For the ten millionth, six hundred and eighty-fifth time, stop calling me babe.”

  I look down at my now saturated boxer briefs that I managed to drag on, I grimace at the wet cotton that’s hugging my rather impressive erection if I don’t say so myself. “Jesus fuck, that shit’s freezing.”

  “That’s the point you jackass,” Faye returns, redirecting her wrath toward the girl who’s still sleeping and completely unaware she’s about to fall victim to. “Why you can’t keep your dick in your pants for one night is beyond me. More to the point, I’m an idiot for continuing to enable you. But that aside, you have a radio interview in less than an hour so sleeping beauty has to go.”

  “Shit,” I mutter. “Was that on the schedule, or is it another fucking last minute addition?”

  Some of Faye’s anger drains away but is replaced with seething frustration, which if you ask me, isn’t any better. “I’m not even going to dignify that question with a response,” Faye huffs. “For the life of me, I don’t know why Reid hasn’t fired him yet, but there you have it. Bruce is still gainfully employed, capable of screwing up everything he touches, and a prick to boot. Lucky me.”

  Bruce Young is Thunder Records head of Promotion and Marketing. He’s also a major fucking douchebag. When you conjure up the image of a self-righteous, sexist, perverted, Hollywood exec, you need not look any further than Bruce. To make matters worse, he has a chip on his shoulder when it comes to Faye, and doesn’t hesitate to share his opinion of her far and wide.

  Five years ago, when with a lot of sweet talking, cajoling, and the promise of a well-paid, permanent job, I managed to convince Faye to come on tour with us as our manager. Faye knows Cole, Dylan, Tatum, and I better than anyone, so naturally, she was not only the best choice but the wisest one we’ve ever made.

  Basically, Faye’s job is to schedule guest appearances, interviews, live performances when we release a new single, make sure we get where we need to be on time, handle our merchandising, ensure we’ve got what we need at the venues we play, our hotels, and on the tour bus. In other words, Faye manages every aspect of our lives down to the last detail. So much so, sometimes it feels like she chooses whether we wear black or blue boxers on any given day.

  For all our bitching and complaining, we couldn’t function without her. Faye plays an integral role in the band, regardless of the fact that most of it is behind the scenes and garners minimal recognition from anyone. Us included.

  Resigned to having to give yet another interview, I shake my head in disgust. “Give me fifteen to jump in the shower and get her out of here, and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  “That works,” Faye relents. “And while you’re doing that, I’m going to try to wake your lazy ass bandmates up and see what the damage is this time.”

  Cole and Dylan have a habit of breaking shit in every hotel room we’ve stayed in on all four of our tours. Their excuse is that the women they bring back to their suite like to get freaky, hence Faye’s comment. Not only does she have to pay an astronomical bill for repairs and replacement furniture at check out, but offer apologies by way of huge tips, concert tickets, and signed band merch for the staff’s trouble.

  “But, D,” the simpering girl standing in front of me whines. Grasping my forearm, her long, claw-like red painted nails dig into my skin. “I thought we could hook up again after your show tonight. I was looking forward to round four and five.”

  Jesus, had I fucked her that many times last night? I’m surprised with The amount of alcohol I drank, specifically the whiskey which has always given me whiskey dick, that I was able to get it up at all, let alone three fucking times.

  Noticing my confusion, nameless chick purrs, “Oh yeah, baby. You fucked me so hard last night, I thought you were gonna split me in two. I’ve never been with a man who can get it up right after he’s come.”

  Now I know she’s lying. I checked every fucking condom I found in the bathroom trash, and none of them held any trace of me blowing my load. “Glad you had a good time, but now you’ve gotta go. I’ve got shit to do, people to see, and you needed to be out of here five minutes ago.”

  This bitch is ridiculous. The pout on her makeup-caked face, the foot stomping when I tried nicely to g
et her to leave, and now the warning glare she’s shooting me. Everything about her screams, immature. Which shouldn't come as any surprise since I’m willing to bet she’s barely out of high school.

  It doesn’t matter how many chicks I bang, how gently I let them down when I tell them this was a one-time only deal, the end result is always the same; they entice, bargain, negotiate, and make demands for more.

  Batting her eyelashes at me, she holds out her hand expectantly. “Can I, at least, have your number? That way, I can call you when I’m in the area and maybe we can see each other if you’re free.”

  I hate to break it to her, but I’ll never be free, and definitely not for a girl like her. “Sorry, babe. I don’t give my digits out to anyone, you understand, yeah? That shit gets out and goes viral, then I’m getting calls in the middle of the night with offers from random chicks who want to have my babies.”

  “I would never do that,” she gasps, sounding genuinely outraged. “I can totally be discreet.”

  Rolling my eyes, I place a hand on the small of her back and guide her toward the door. “Still not gonna happen, babe. We had fun, you got what you wanted from me, but that’s all this was ever going to be.”

  “Oh my God, are you seriously hump and dumping me?”

  “I’d have to be dating you to dump you, babe, and we were never that,” I reply through gritted teeth.

  After more foot stomping and another exaggerated pout, she shrieks, “You are such a fucking asshole.”

  “Never claimed to be anything else,” I smirk right before slamming the door in her face.

  Maybe Faye’s right. Perhaps, for once, I should think about keeping my dick in my pants because these chicks are hardly worth the trouble of getting rid of their asses in the morning.

  Chapter Four

  Faye

  “I’m coming in so make sure you’re decent,” I yell, warning the perpetually naked twins to cover up.