Twisted Rhythm: A Dark Rockstar Romance (Twisted Rhythm Series Book 1)

by Lexxi Chase

  “Come on,” Rachel gently tapped Wade’s shoulder. “She said she’ll get us right away if there’s news.”

  So Wade stood up shakily and they walked slowly down the hallway and out the automatic sliding doors of the Emergency entrance. Only to be swarmed by hovering paparazzi waiting there.

  Wade, tell us what happened. Was Amanda injured by her cats? Was Jake at the estate today? Is he involved somehow? This have anything to do with your showdown with Jake Steel?...

  Not used to press, no less aggressive paparazzi, they were surrounded in seconds and didn’t know how to get away.

  “Don’t say anything,” Rachel whispered and looked around helplessly for a way out and back in USC University Hospital’s doors.

  But the bottom feeders had them adeptly encircled and skillfully trapped. God, she thought, how has Amanda stood these assholes for so many years?

  You a friend of Amanda’s?

  The mic loomed in her face and cameramen focused in more closely on her.

  “Her sister,” she meekly said.

  “We don’t know anything,” Wade blurted and quickly grabbed her shoulder, gently turning her from the mob and towards the hospital doors.

  “Just walk,” he said decisively and they pushed forward in the midst of the stampede just as hospital security arrived.

  “Step away everyone. Let them through,” one of the security guards ordered as his colleagues surrounded them and escorted them back safely inside.

  “Jesus, thank you!” Rachel sighed.

  “We can take you to a staff-only side door exit if you’d like some fresh air.”

  “Yes, please,” she said and asked them to let Katelyn know where they’d gone.

  They’d been out there, sitting on the raised concrete beside the paved walkway, no more than five or ten minutes when Tyler stepped outside.

  “Any news?” Rachel asked expectantly but Tyler shook his head.

  “No. Just had to get outa there.”

  He sat down glumly near them.

  “Amanda ever get hurt before?” Wade asked after they’d sat in silence for a minute or two.

  “Minor shit. Nothin’ like this,” Tyler scowled, making no effort to hide his contempt for Wade.

  “What?” Wade asked him. “What’s your problem? Why ya lookin’ at me like that?”

  Tyler huffed and Wade continued, “Ya fuckin’ think this is my fault somehow? If you hadn’t been fuckin’ yellin’ at her, cuttin’ down every damn move she made, none ‘a this woulda happened!”

  Tyler stood. Hearing his own guilty thoughts spewing out of Wade’s mouth was more than he could take.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he blasted Wade and took a step forward. “You really don’t know shit about Amanda. Like she wasn’t also distracted by some white trash loser crawlin’ outa her past, clambering to get his hands on her again and maybe even help himself to a big fat pile of her money.”

  “Yeah?” Wade screamed.

  He jumped up and stormed towards Tyler.

  “I don’t give a flying fuck about her money. That’s never been what this is about.”

  “No? What’s it about then? You feelin’ like a real man by nailin’ one of the most beautiful and talented women in the world? You couldn’t even hold onto her in high school, I hear.”

  That was the last straw for Wade and he lunged forward. They crashed into each other in a murderous embrace until Wade freed himself and landed a jolting right hand punch to Tyler’s cheek. They were virtually beating the shit out of each other by the time Rachel screamed and jumped into the midst of it, begging for them to stop.

  “Guys!”

  They released their grips and turned their heads. It wasn’t Rachel screaming anymore. It was Katelyn who’d come out the side door.

  “The doctor wants to speak with you Rachel,” she said.

  “Me? Why not you? You live with Amanda.”

  “I don’t know,” Katelyn said.

  She was as white as a ghost.

  “He tell you anything?” Rachel asked and Katelyn slowly shook her head.

  “No, just said he needs to speak with next of kin.”

  Rachel gasped quietly, teetered for a second and then fainted cold and crumpled to the ground.

  ***

  “Let me get ya a drink of water,” Tank offered, at a loss for what else to say and what to do as he stood helplessly and watched Jake pacing, intermittently raking his hands through his hair, before stopping again in front of the TV. All the blood had drained from his face.

  “Water? What the fuck’s that gonna do?!”

  “I don’t know. Nothin’,” Tank admitted.

  He’d only offered because that’s what everyone does. Give someone water when they’ve received bad news, when they’ve just been served a subpoena because their soulmate wants an efficient and speedy divorce, when their boss hands them the dreaded pink slip, when they’ve just been informed by the men in blue that their kid’s been kidnapped by the neighborhood pedophile and even when that same kid winds up dead. Water, the refreshing cold cure-all that’s the elixir of life. You need it to stay alive but it does fuck all for you when someone else is dead.

  “Jake please,” Tank pleaded, “Try and stay calm. We don’t know anything yet.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Jake motioned for silence. “They’re sayin’ somethin’ again.”

  This update and video courtesy of TMZ. It is now known that Wilder’s sister is with her at USC University Hospital and that she is accompanied by Wade Brandon, Wilder’s ex-boyfriend from Conroy, Texas.

  Jake scowled as the video filled the screen. Rachel, looking like a scared jackrabbit surrounded by eager birds of prey and Wade, exuding false bravado and composure, not looking much better. Neither had anything significant to say before hospital security ushered them back indoors.

  “Fuckin’ cocksucker!” Jake screamed. “What the fuck does he think he’s doin’ there?”

  “Relax,” Tank tried vainly to console him. “He was already in L.A., remember? Don’t worry ‘bout him. He’s nothin’. Let’s call someone who’s gotta know what’s goin’ on.”

  “How fuckin’ nice her scuzzbag sister’s there too. One big fat sleazy Texas hillbilly reunion free for all,” Jake fumed.

  He backed away from the TV suddenly and eyed the room before rushing to and picking up an armchair. He was about to send it crashing through the window when Tank grabbed hold of it also and screamed for him to let go.

  “Stop this crap Jake! Let’s call Katelyn and find out what’s goin’ on.”

  Jake released the chair suddenly, grunting and stepping back and Tank faltered for a moment to keep it from crashing to the floor. By the time he’d slid it back into place, Jake was on his phone. But seconds later he heaved it, sending it smashing into his pillow and then bouncing and rolling on the bed.

  “Voicemail’s full. Not even turned on,” Jake said.

  “I’m calling the hospital,” Tank decided.

  “They won’t tell ya fuck all.”

  He scrambled to the bed for his own phone, Google voice searched USC University Hospital and jabbed at the number when the entry displayed.

  “Gimme Emergency. I need information on a patient, Amanda Wilder,” he said.

  But could hardly hear the Emergency receptionist when he was transferred. She was drowned out by frantic knocking at his door. Tank raced to get it and motioned Shayne and Billy to be quiet as they hurried in. The three of them surrounded Jake, now sitting restlessly on the bed, as he wrestled to get information.

  “I said,” he enunciated slowly, struggling not to lose it again, “This is Jake Steel and I want to speak with someone who can tell me how Amanda Wilder is.”

  There was a momentary pause and a nearly silent huff before she spoke again.

  “Sir, we’re receiving literally hundreds of calls. I can transfer you to the nurse’s station in her pod if you like but they’ll be unable to give you any information unless
you’re a relative.”

  “I’m Jake Steel,” he repeated angrily.

  “Yes,” she said. “Everyone is trying to get some information. You’re at least the thirtieth Jake Steel I’ve spoken with today.”

  “Jesus...” he groaned but spoke to dead air.

  Then the line was ringing and he was greeted by an unnervingly chipper nurse who announced he’d reached Pod F.

  “Sir, I totally understand and I apologize but I’m only able to provide information on a patient if you are an actual relative.”

  “I’m her fuckin’ fiancé!” he screamed and surprised everyone, including himself.

  Billy, Shayne and Tank keenly eyed each other but didn’t say a word. They’d all seen Jake horribly upset, on more occasions than could be counted. But this was different somehow. Jake was more frantic, desperate and unhinged. He was still pale from the shock of the news report, his anxiety made unequivocally worse from the dread of imagining but not knowing what happened. And whether at this point, Amanda was alive or dead.

  “Please remain calm sir. As I’m sure you’re able to understand, I have no way of verifying your identity over the telephone and...”

  “Then put someone on the goddamn motherfuckin’ phone who knows me, you stupid ignorant cunt.”

  “Hold please.”

  And Jake was left dangling in wireless oblivion.

  “This one really does sound like Jake Steel,” she resolutely told her colleague and a third nurse ran to fetch someone who was there for Amanda and would actually know Jake.

  “Gonna be OK, bud,” Billy reassuringly touched Jake’s shoulder as they waited for him to be taken off hold.

  Jake stood, pushed by them and lumbered over to the window. No one knew if it was going to be OK, he thought. Except for maybe the doctors. And if it wasn’t, he shuddered and asked himself, what then? He knew what life was like without Amanda but she’d always been there, hovering and waiting for him in the shadows. A safe and welcomed haven to crash back to. Whatever the baggage, the drama and complications. She’d been there, a welcome target, a maddeningly uncontrollable obsession and a boundless, incomparable lover. But what if this time she was out of his life forever? What if she was actually fucking dead?

  “This Jake?” a familiar voice broke phone silence.

  “Kat,” he rasped but the sudden lump in his throat prevented him from saying anything else.

  “I was goin’ to call you soon as I knew somethin’. Rachel fainted so I just talked to the doctor and...”

  “Is she dead?” Jake blurted.

  “No. God no! She fell off the silks and got knocked out. Just woke up ‘bout ten minutes ago. Nothin’ broken but she’s got some gashes from the tigers guarding over her, tryin’ to protect her from us. Took Tyler and the guys fifteen minutes to get ‘em locked away. We couldn’t call 911 immediately ‘cause the cops woulda shot ‘em. Anyway,” she continued, “she was out for such a long time they were afraid of brain damage and that she was goin’ into a coma or somethin’.”

  Jake sighed and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Struggling to stay sane as the familiar feelings of desolation and agony evaporated and floated off him. And he remembered agonizingly going through this very same thing five years ago, after their hastily named final incident when Amanda wavered in and out of consciousness, near death after he’d brutally beaten and battered her senseless for her unadmitted indiscretions with Wade. He reeled at the memory and realized with a sick, burning ache in his gut that Wade wasn’t far from the center of this fiasco as well.

  “Wade holdin’ her hand?” he sneered.

  “No,” Katelyn asserted. “I was till a few minutes ago and Rachel’s in there now with her. She keeps askin’ for you Jake.”

  “Whatever,” he jeered.

  “Maybe they’ll let her talk on a landline. Our cells have to be turned off in here. But they’re releasin’ her tomorrow after they’re sure she doesn’t have a concussion.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Jake said sarcastically. “Then all ‘a ya can continue your sleazy depraved redneck reunion. Sure Wade’s gonna take real good care ‘a her now. She doesn’t need nothin’ from me. Tell her I told her to have a nice fuckin’ life.”

  He swiped off his phone, leaving Katelyn stunned and at a loss for words anyway, but not as surprised as Tank, Billy and Shayne who stood brooding nearby.

  “Anyone need a drink as bad as I do?” Tank asked.

  ***

  Tank was still drinking, not heavily but way more than he should, a few hours later at T-Mobile Arena, backstage. Another sold out show and Jake was standing restlessly behind the black curtain, stage right. Intently peering out and surveying the anxious crowd, 20,000 strong.

  It’s nothing short of a miracle he made it, Tank thought. He’d been deathly afraid Jake would refuse to play after this afternoon’s upset, and especially mortified he’d nix hitting the stage with Zack at all. But, Jake had pointedly reminded him an hour or so earlier, “no fuckin’ douchebag cunt” or “backstabbin’ spineless loser” was going to make him disappoint his fans.

  The limo ride to the arena had been silent, their dressing room even more awkward. Zack had remained uncharacteristically and atypically quiet, afraid to utter a word, much less look anyone, especially Jake, directly in the eyes. The rest of the boys had made little more than small talk, commenting the odd time about the food at Caesars Palace, the lighting in the dressing room and the best places to gamble once they were done their show. Not one of them dared mention Amanda and everyone took great care in excluding Zack. Yup, the band was a ticking time bomb, Jake the fuse, and no one knew better than Tank how small a spark it would take for Steel Demon to literally explode tonight.

  “Grab the bottle ‘a JD,” Jake ordered as Tank walked by him.

  Their video intro had just started and everyone was in place to take the stage.

  “Where is it?” Tank asked hurriedly.

  “Forgot it in the dressin’ room. Never mind a glass. Just grab the bottle.”

  Daffy Duck and soon thereafter Bugs Bunny faded on the center screen backdrop as the crowd roared in anticipation and they were quickly replaced by transformers Optimus Prime and Megatron furiously battling over the human race.

  “Megatron.”

  “Prime.”

  The autobots seethed before smashing through skyscrapers and crashing to the ground wrestling amidst flying debris.

  “Humans don’t deserve to live,” Megatron fumed.

  “They deserve to choose for themselves.”

  “Then you will die with them...Join them in extinction!”

  The battle raged.

  “Here Jake. Relax. Everything’s OK now,” Tank reassured him as he handed him the bottle.

  “Is it?” Jake looked at him pointedly, his eyebrow arched in disbelief. “Not yet. But it’s gettin’ there. Watch and learn, Tank. Watch and learn.”

  Slobbering demons and frothing zombies swirled and attacked their hapless victims in rapidly progressing scenes as the final segments of Steel Demon’s video intro played. Jake slowly pulled aside the curtain, surveying his audience once again.

  Can I pull this off tonight, he wondered. For the first time in a long time, for maybe much longer than he could remember, he really didn’t want to take the stage. Not even with the massive crowd chanting so loudly it nearly muted the video intro. Not even for the hungry masses who’d later fawn and marvel over him and the rest of Steel Demon when the DVD and Blu-ray boxed sets of this tour were released. Not for Shayne and Billy’s benefit, certainly not for Zack, fuck him, Jake stewed, and regardless of the massive riot that would certainly ensue if for any concocted or legitimate reason he backed out of his concert now.

  The tide had turned. Still irrefutable iconic leader, enigmatic frontman and irreplaceable backbone of his band, he now ruled over the masses with a faltering court. His wayward lords couldn’t be trusted anymore and his one consistent consort, inexhaustible concubine, had
irreparably and immutably proven her treachery, disloyalty and deceit. Listening to the last vestiges of the video intro, he scanned the crowd with burning eyes.

  They watched for him intently, waiting for their idol, their savior, to materialize and covet the stage. He sighed deeply, purposefully. Reigning in their insatiable hunger, drive, lust and simmering energy and power. They fueled him as always, imbued him with a strength and invincibleness nearly unequal to any and he quickly parted the curtain, flexed and stretched, empowering himself for his dynamic rush to center stage.

  The opening chords of Rags to Bitches resonated and suffused the charged arena. His band had taken their places.

  “Show time,” he whispered. “Let the fun begin.”

  He slashed open the curtain and bolted, electrified and eruptive to center stage. Guzzling yet another Corona, Tank watched happily, relieved as the crowd went wild. Twisting and slithering, arching and hissing vocals like a lethal, assailing, striking viper, Jake nailed the song and captured the crowd. He’s in top form tonight, Tank sighed gratefully. Maybe I got nothing to worry about.

  That comforting thought ended abruptly, just after the first song. Jake motioned for the band not to begin the second, strutting purposefully to the front of the stage. Enveloped and warmed by ghostly green spotlights, cloaked once again in skintight black leather and mesh, Jake stood imposing and silent for a moment, a breathtaking, battle-scarred rock god meticulously weighing his options, deciding his best and most scathing choice.

  Shifting in and out of his focus, the anxious crowd hooted and howled. Minions groveling at the altar of their master, they too knew what was coming and awaited Jake’s rantings and weathered wisdom with approving hearts. Inspired, primed and energized, Jake breathed deeply and finally raised his arm, brushing wisps of bangs from his haunted, brooding eyes with a surprisingly unsteady hand. The time’s come, he acknowledged, to rally the masses, re-organize the troops and even the score.

  Shayne cringed inwardly along with Billy and Tank. Zack’s trepidation quickly spiraled to panic. What if Amanda and Wade weren’t the only targets of Jake’s rant tonight?

  “Guess most ‘a ya heard what happened today to that scheming douchebag whorin’ cunt that only wishes she was still my girlfriend.”