The Body Rock Series Boxed Set (Rockstar Romance)

by Flite, Nora

  Deep, hollow punches erupted from the drums. The three of us, we were there to herald the birth of Drezden's lyrics.

  That time, when he sang, I scrunched my eyes closed. I wouldn't fuck up again. No matter how good his voice was, or how it slipped into my ribs and tickled a piece of me it never should have, I wouldn't falter.

  He parted his lips, but I didn't look. “In the black, you walk with me. In the black,” he croaked, “you never see. Walk away and you won't bleed, walk away and I am... I am freed.”

  I slammed my hand down, hard chords striking the brief silence. Together, we all crashed in unison.

  “No more stars!” Drez screamed, pure power that stabbed at my core. It was a demand, he forced my eyes open. Drezden was an accident I needed to witness, even when I knew it would bring me nothing but horror.

  Wild green centers found me, his face flushed, lips proud across bared teeth. The face of a man who wanted to fight, or to flee, or to fuck.

  Pure energy.

  He didn't even get to the second part of the chorus before I missed my notes. The sharp explosion, so off key, made Porter shout.

  Drezden froze, mic hovering in front of his clenched jaw. I wasn't confused by his expression anymore. That face said 'fight' in every crease of furrowed skin.

  Fucking fuck, was all I could think. I was glad I didn't accidentally blurt the words.

  The last painful note faded away. Drez let his arm fall, and for a terrible second, I thought he'd just drop the mic entirely.

  He strode forward, the small gap between us erasing. I didn't see his hand, I just felt him lift me. We were nose to nose, his tang of sweat filling my head. “Are you doing that on purpose?” he growled.

  “No!” I coughed, scrabbling at his wrist. My toes were the only thing on the ground. Was he really that much taller than me? “No, I'm sorry! I'm just—”

  “Just what?” he snapped, giving me a shake. I wished that his rage would help the flutter in my heart dissipate. Instead, I just felt a flicker of heat. The cords of his arms flexed under my nervous touch.

  He's making it so hard to think! I need to get away from this, from him, I...

  “Drez.” It was Colt who'd spoke, forcing himself between us. He was strong, too; all sinew and bone. The body of a swimmer, he even had a smooth scalp free of hair. I saw him glance at me, pushing me back. I fell onto the bench like I was made of wet noodles. “Leave the kid alone. She's just nervous, this is a lot of pressure.”

  Stop calling me a kid, I thought in a moment of clear rage, I'm not much younger than the rest of you! I was a bundle of tremors. Never, even in my moments of fire-spitting anger, the fights I'd sometimes been in, had a man dared to do to me what Drezden had.

  The way the singer snorted, sneering at me in derision, turned my belly to ice. “Yeah? Nerves? That's no problem, then! It isn't like she'll have to perform in front of a giant fucking crowd in a day or anything!”

  “Calm down,” Porter said from the corner. Looking up, I saw how the bigger man was staring at me. Dark brown eyes, full of pity.

  I hated that.

  Rubbing my forehead, then my neck, I made myself stand. I hoped they didn't see my knees shaking. “I'm fine. Colt is right, it's just nerves. I'll get over it, I just need to keep practicing.”

  “Yeah, you're going to keep practicing,” Drez said. His wide back aimed at me, hands digging something from his back pocket. “I'm going to go have a smoke. Play without me.”

  “Drez—” Porter started, but it was too late. We all watched the singer push from the room, stomping further into the tour bus. Sighing, Porter looked at me again. The pity was gone. The sympathy wasn't much better. “Sorry about that. Drez isn't the most patient guy.”

  I shook my head, touching my chest gently. My heart is easing up, thank god. Why the hell was I so worked up? It had to be the nearness of someone as famous as Drezden, it had to be. “It's alright. He's not wrong, I need to keep practicing. Can we try No More Stars again?”

  I wanted to do something with my hands. They itched to feel something.

  Or someone.

  “Yeah,” Colt said, moving back to his drums. “Fuck Drez, we'll play without him for now.”

  My smile was weak, but it was there. Hearing their casual rebuking of their leader made things feel less professional. It reminded me of playing with smaller bands, of being around guys who didn't have the pressure of a giant tour over their heads.

  When we played the song a second time, my fingers didn't trip once.

  It was obvious they were pleased. They became actually impressed when I made it through three more pieces of their set.

  Setting his bass down, Porter came my way at a frightening speed. Giant arms coiled around, crushing me and nearly my guitar. “Holy shit! Were you fucking with Drezden?”

  “No. Of course not.” Slipping free, I adjusted my shirt. Porter could break ribs if he wanted.

  “Then why were you so much better?” Colt asked, chugging some water. He was gleaming from working the drums over.

  My mouth opened, I shut it quickly. How do I explain it? Can I even explain it? I was spared the attempt when Drez shoved his way back inside.

  Glancing at me, setting my neck and cheeks on fire, he crossed his arms. The scent of cigarettes was heavier than usual on him. “I could hear everything.” Amazingly, I felt a flicker of guilt. Drez stared me down, eyes hard with... something. Distrust? Pride? “Nerves or not,” he said, “you were playing much better.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” I didn't know what else to say.

  He cocked his head, looking from me to the other band members. “Let's give it one more go.”

  There was some uneasy shuffling. Some of it was on my part. “You sure? Maybe we should all take a break,” Porter mumbled.

  Drez already had the mic in hand, fist curling around it solidly. “One more song. Then we'll break.”

  “Easy for you,” Porter said softly, “you just took a smoke break.”

  Settling on the bench, I waited on the razor edge that was my nerves. Was I going to fuck up again? Or could I reel in whatever part of me was turning to mush when Drez sang so close by?

  There was little time to wonder.

  “No More Stars,” Drez demanded, eyes raking over the three of us. In response, Colt tapped his sticks, and Porter hit a belly-grinding low note on his bass.

  I was slick with sweat when I strummed. Even the air conditioning couldn't solve the issue of the heat inside of me. But I wasn't fumbling, not yet. Even with Drez staring me down, expecting (was he expecting it?) my failure, I was controlling myself.

  I could handle that much.

  My guts wriggled like snakes as Drezden licked his lips. His first whisper slid into my ribs, tangled up and stayed near my heart. “In the black, you walk with me. In the black, you never see...”

  The air in my lungs fled. I was glad I wasn't the one who had to sing.

  My mouth was somehow dry and liquid at once. Pushing my tongue on the back of my teeth, I went one step further and bit down. The pain gave me focus, though I wasn't proud of the method.

  It hit too close to home, too near a memory of rough teenage years where inflicting pain just solved every problem.

  It's solving this one, I realized. Honing in on the sharp taste of copper, I listened in wonder to my own music. Against the forefront of Drezden's lyrics, I was shaping a background that was flawless.

  The air in the room was tense. They were all working with their surprise. Glancing up, I saw how Drez was eating me with his eyes. He didn't blink, like watching me was all he ever wanted to do.

  Blushing hotly, I bit down harder.

  “No more stars!” Drez screamed, shattering the hanging note. We all punched down on our instruments, creating a tune that was wild, ambitious.

  This was the sound of Four and a Half Headstones. A sound I was now part of.

  The end of the song rolled over the room. Drez had two hands on the mic, cradling it c
lose to his curling lips. “Walk away and you won't bleed, walk away and I am... I am freed.” He had shut his eyes, I didn't know when. I only knew he was looking at me again, making me flinch.

  The last of the beautiful music flitted away; ghosts in our ears.

  “Well, fuck,” Porter said eloquently. Setting his bass down, he stared around at our faces. The grin was slow to grow, but when it was done, his teeth were showing. “The kid can do it. Convinced now, Drez?”

  Placing the mic aside, he cracked another bottle of water and chugged a quarter of it. Wiping his mouth with his arm, he shrugged. “Guess it was nerves after all.”

  Squirming, I gripped the neck of my guitar. The squint Drezden shot my way said he wasn't as convinced as he claimed. He's dangerously observant.

  I don't think it was nerves, either.

  “Break time. I need some air.” Colt shoved out from the drum set, smiling at me as he passed. “Come on, Lola. You hungry?”

  Clutching my stomach, I stood. “Yeah, actually I—oh!” Saliva and blood slid from my mouth. Clasping a palm over my jaw, I swallowed. I wanted to hide the evidence of my brutal gnawing.

  Lifting my eyes, my paranoia revealed only Drez looking my way. Porter and Colt were both brushing past the curtain, laughing together about something.

  Did he see? He wasn't moving, just standing there with his arms folded. Fuck. How bad did I bite my tongue? But I needed to, it worked! I played the song finally. My heart was hammering in my throat.

  “How bad is it?” he asked me.

  I shook my head, voice muffled on my own hand.

  Lowering his eyebrows, Drez leaned in close. That froze me on the spot. I didn't fight when he grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand away. He looked me over, not like a doctor would. It was more like a coroner examining a corpse. He studied me, but there wasn't a level of caring anywhere. “Open up,” he said flatly.

  To my amazement, I hesitated. Drez was stunned too, his eyes glimmering as they went wide. That was replaced by a grim set of teeth. “I said open up, kid.” Without waiting, he squeezed my mouth, thumb digging in one side and fingers the others. It hurt, my lips parting with my gasp of pain.

  “Back off!” I said, pulling away, flushing with too many sensations at once. My tongue burned, but my cheeks rivaled it. What was Drez thinking, touching me like that? He had no right to get so close to me. It made me angry...

  And it made me dizzy.

  “You bit the hell out of your tongue.” It was a casual observation, his hands releasing me and squeezing his hips. “What were you thinking?”

  Wiping at my lips, I saw the smear of pink on my arm. “I was thinking I would finish a song, that's all.”

  Snorting, Drez gave me a once over. “There are better ways than chewing yourself up.”

  Easy for you to say. I didn't speak my frustration, but my glare must have flared with it. I saw it reflected in his eyes.

  He smoothed his hair back, looking away. There was no fake flattery in his voice when he spoke. “You're good on the guitar, but you're shit with your composure. That injury has to hurt.”

  It throbbed, in fact. I kept rubbing it on my teeth like it was an itch to scratch. Is it really that bad? The bleeding is slowing, I think. “It hurts a little, but I've had worse.”

  That got him to arch an eyebrow at me. “What the hell is acting tough supposed to do? Impress me?”

  The wind vanished from my sails. I was trying to impress him. More so, I was trying to get him to leave me alone. I was embarrassed I'd given in to self-injury. It wasn't anything to be proud of, but I couldn't explain that.

  Not to him.

  “Come on,” he said, digging into his pocket. His phone was black, glossy like a beetle. “I'll call Brenda, she can take a look at you.”

  Now I was humiliated. “No!” Drez paused, looking at me expectantly. “Don't... just don't call her. This isn't a big deal.”

  He held the phone like a gun. “You don't want me to call her? Fine. Let me take a look at how bad you bit yourself, and I won't.”

  That's fucking blackmail. My mind whirled. Before I could think of an argument, he was near to touching me. Our chests were a breath from rubbing together, and I could see the flecks of gold in his smokey green eyes.

  “Open,” he whispered.

  So I did.

  Drezden cupped my chin, keeping me still. Hilariously, I began worrying if my breath reeked. What a stupid thing to think about, I chided myself. I had more things to concern me. Things like how his fingers felt so firm, and how he smelled so wonderful it made my brain struggle to think.

  The blood in my veins was running so hard, I was sure he could hear it sloshing. “It's not as bad as I thought,” he said. The top of his thumb ran over my lip, then grazed my teeth. It was so sudden, I convinced myself it was an accident.

  He let me go, pulling away and leaving me to lean on the wall. I was already ashamed. I didn't need to crumble and make it worse. My own fingers brushed my lips, then further, prodding the side of my tongue. I grimaced, but the pain was dull now. “It's really not bad?”

  “You should know, it's you're own tongue.” Drez scratched his neck, the strange pull between us turning into a cool wall. He was looking at the exit. “I'm hungry. Let's go.”

  And just like that, he closes off. Why couldn't he do that when he was singing? I wouldn't have needed to bite my tongue if he'd been as distant and detached then.

  Following him through the bus, we found the boys draped in chairs, beers dripping condensation onto their laps. Porter waved me over, offering me a bottle. “Here, before Colt drinks it all.”

  “I couldn't if I tried,” he laughed. Finishing his drink, he grabbed another. The two men were seated across from each other in the middle of the big bus.

  Drezden draped himself in a seat opposite them, reaching for a beer wordlessly. It reminded me of my brother and his band. The thought was comforting, though it caused me to look out one of the tinted windows, imagining them in their busted up vehicle further down the caravan.

  “You alright?” Porter asked.

  His words startled me. “Yeah, yeah.” My smile was weak, I tried to cover it with a swig from the beer. The fire burned on my wound and made me grimace.

  Colt chuckled, waving his beer in the air. “It can't taste that bad, kid.”

  It tastes fine, I thought silently. Better he think I was making a face over the flavor, though, and not an injury. Settling down on one of the seats behind the pair, but furthest away from Drez, I made myself grin. “You'd think you guys would have better stuff, seeing as you're headlining.”

  “She joined us for our beer!” Porter shouted, his false anger quickly vanishing. “I knew it all along.”

  “I wonder if she's even old enough to drink,” Colt teased, looking me up and down. I wasn't, but underage drinking was so common on tours, I didn't expect to have to defend myself. “Either way, she ain't getting it all,” he declared, finishing his bottle to prove a point. “I'll get it first!”

  We all laughed, the tightness in my neck smoothing out. Looking over, I caught Drez wearing a sideways smile. His eyes flicked to mine, holding them a moment. “You should eat something.”

  I sat up straighter.

  “In fact,” he sighed, shooting a glare at the two men, “you all should. Don't get drunk before dinner, I'm not dealing with that again.”

  Colt rolled his eyes, setting his bottle down loudly. “Shit, you never had to babysit me, Drez. We all know it was always Johnny, and he's gone now, so calm down.”

  Drez's silence was stifling. I felt how he stared at Colt, watched the drummer wither under the look. “Dammit,” Colt said under his breath. “Sorry, didn't mean to bring him up. It isn't some dirty secret or something, though.”

  They all gave me a meaningful look. Clearing my throat, I spoke carefully around my swollen tongue. “Everyone knows about Johnny. Sort of, anyway. Can I... can I ask what really happened? The stories are pretty wild.”
Shark's tale about the incident rippled in my memory.

  Drezden sank into his chair, feet kicking up onto the small table. “It's not much of a story. Johnny just fucked up too many times. I wanted him gone, he didn't like that. Not exactly shocking.”

  “He tried to murder Drez with a bottle,” Porter said, pushing his empty one away like it was the actual weapon being mentioned.

  Drezden suddenly sat forward, his still full beer in hand. He made tiny circles with it on the wood surface, wet smudges that went round and round as he spoke. “He didn't try to murder me. That's how these shitty rumors start, Porter.”

  The bigger man tilted his chin down. “Sorry. Johnny was pretty pissed, though. I think he would have messed you up if he had the chance.”

  I hadn't realized I'd begun leaning forward. Half off my seat, I spoke with unbridled curiosity. “So what actually happened to him?”

  Drez continued to twirl his beer. “He got dragged off by security eventually.”

  “Not before some asshole ripped my gauge, though,” Colt muttered. He pointed to his ear for emphasis.

  “Honestly, I don't know where the fuck he is now. I don't care, either,” Drez said.

  “You're not worried he'll come back, try to start something?” I asked.

  The singer lifted his eyes, showing me a hint of the fierce animal living in his head. The beer went round, his voice a low, dry mutter. “Johnny knows if he ever shows his face to me again, I'll break his fucking jaw.”

  Porter started to say something. A hard, meaningful glare from Drez stopped whatever it was.

  Did they know something I didn't?

  “So,” Drez went on. Lifting the beer, ending the endless circles, he took a deep drink. “No. I'm not worried about him.”

  My breath came in, sharp and loud. I'd forgotten I needed oxygen. I'd been so wrapped up in Drezden's words and tangible emotions. I didn't doubt him for a second, if he said he'd ruin Johnny if he came back, I believed him. It was the sort of promise that should have made me laugh. On the lips of anyone else, the threat would have been cheesy; pathetic.