Groupie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 1)

by C. M. Stunich

  “A guy from the line?” Copeland asks, ruffling up his red hair and wiping sweat from his brow with a white bandana. “Who would she know out here?”

  “This is bullshit,” Pax says, shoving his way through roadies as he heads for the back door and outside into the cool Atlanta air. He makes his way straight to the bus with me on his heels and finds the door unlocked. “Miss Lily,” he calls as he pounds up the steps and inside.

  It's a small space, and it only takes a minute to comb through.

  She's definitely not here.

  I pick her phone up off the kitchen floor with a frown as the other boys join us inside the bus.

  “She doesn't have her phone,” I say, feeling like a complete asswad for not realizing it. But when she dropped it on the floor, I was in such a passionate frenzy that I wasn't thinking clearly. And then after, my brain was too clouded with sex to give it much thought. “Fuck.”

  “We need to spread out and search like hell,” Muse says, dead fucking serious. “Somebody go back inside and start talking to the staff, see if anyone else saw her leave. I'll check the venue; maybe one of you can check around out here and in the other buses? Also, we should probably walk the sidewalk, see if we can spot her in any of the cafés or restaurants.”

  I feel so fucking stupid when I lift my face up from that phone and meet Pax's eyes.

  When Lilith got thrown out of that venue in Chicago, I gave the boys a warning.

  I guess I just didn't take it.

  Fuck.

  I climb down the bus steps and find Octavia first, grabbing her by the arm and making her look straight into my eyes.

  “Have you seen Lilith since she left with that guy?” I ask seriously.

  “No, I haven't,” she responds cooly, and with that glint in her eye, the haughty lift to her chin, I know for sure that she's lying.

  After my initial breakdown, I get it together and try to walk up and down the sidewalks, but there are people literally everywhere, shouting and screaming and dancing to music that's no longer being played. Obviously the show is over because the crowd pouring from the venue is massive and thumping and excited. Three thousand of them fill the streets, the restaurants, the cafés, the shops that are still open.

  It's a clusterfuck of epic proportions.

  I decide it's worth a shot to try to get close to the gates again, but the groupie wannabe crowd has tripled in size and even fighting my way to the outskirts is hard. I stand on my toes and try to catch a glimpse of any of the guys, but I don't see a damn thing.

  Fuck.

  I'll have to wait for the crowd to disperse a little.

  I notice then that Bald Head is staring right at me and speaking into a radio, so I wait for a lull in the traffic and head back across the street. The view from here is shit, hidden behind the row of trees that demarcates the median in the center of the road as well as one giant oak that shields the stupid café from the view of anyone trying to peep at it from the opposite side of the street.

  I pace in frustration for a while, hoping the crowd will die down, wishing I wasn't so stupidly stranded. My boys are right fucking there, and I can't get to them, can't talk to them, have no way of telling them where I am.

  Unless Octavia was right and they really don't give a shit if you disappear.

  With a growl of frustration, I shove my way into the café and sit down at a table near the front window, ordering a mocha from the waiter as a show of good faith.

  They'll find me here; they will.

  I might not have money to pay for this coffee, but it doesn't matter. One of the boys will show up and pay for it, no big deal. So why are your hands shaking then? I wonder as my tentatively built happiness starts to crumple.

  I was already fragile, sitting on a precipice, trying not to think of my dad and his wicked wife, of my dead mother, my murdered sister, fucking Kevin. And yet, here I am, all alone. Even worse off than I was before because I'm trapped in a city I don't know, with zero dollars, with no car, no phone.

  But no.

  No.

  They will fucking find me.

  Like the prince with Cinderella's slipper, they'll find the right foot to put it on.

  Because if they don't, I have no idea what I'm going to do.

  “I need you on the bus,” Octavia says, gritting her teeth and pretending like she gives a shit that we can't find Lilith. “I'm sorry, but we're moving venues again tonight; you knew that. We can't sit around here and wait for one girl that's not even on the payroll. I'm sending the staff vehicles and the other buses ahead now, but we really need you guys on yours, Pax.”

  “Then stop bloody lying to us,” I say and Octavia gets this tight facial expression, like I've offended her delicate sensibilities. “I know you know where she is, so spill it.”

  Michael thinks she's a damn liar, then I believe him. Besides, it doesn't exactly take a far stretch of the imagination to think that Octavia would want to get rid of Lilith.

  I cross my arms over my chest and try to wait her out while my bandmates comb the local area. The girl's hair is the color of a fine Merlot; she should be easy to spot, even in a crowd. Right? But inside, I'm nervous. Who the hell is this bloke from the line? And where the fuck would she go other than here?

  “Look, Pax,” Octavia says softly, dropping her voice to this soft, flirty sound that literally does nothing for me. “She left with that man; that's all I can tell you. I'm sorry if she hasn't come back, but we have a contractual obligation to be off of this property in the next thirty minutes. Otherwise, the label gets hit with a huge fine and you'll all be in breech of contract. What's more important? Some groupie you met last week? Or your career? Think about it, okay?” she asks, moving away before I can come up with a witty response to that.

  Fuck.

  If Lilith left of her own accord, then that's one thing, but why the hell wouldn't she give us a heads-up? I don't believe it for a bloody second.

  Gritting my teeth, I head out of the venue and down the block. Most of the crowd's gone by this point, but a few people recognize me and ask for signatures, pictures. I blow them off, dragging my single bodyguard along in my wake.

  This is a huge venue, with several public and staff entrances. And there are shops and restaurants along every side. It feels like it shouldn't be so hard to find her, but really, it's like looking for a needle in a haystack.

  But I know that if I have to, I'll fucking look all night.

  I won't leave a crying, weeping girl alone in a strange city.

  That's never fucking happening.

  Several hours later, one of the waiters comes over to my table with a crooked grimace on his face.

  “Miss, we're closing up. I need you to pay for that now, okay?”

  I just stare up at him and then the tears start to fall, right into the full cup of coffee that I couldn't bring myself to drink. My hands shake a little as I put them in my lap. I'm trying not to freak-out here, but in a very short time period I've been stripped of everything, all of that wonderful glimmering insulation that the boys had put around me, as well as the basics: phone, money, transportation.

  All sorts of feelings that I've been pressing down on are working their way to the surface.

  I should be in New York, holding Dad's hand, smiling at him as I tell him everything's going to be okay, making sure he gets better, watching a healthy glow rise in his cheeks again.

  “Miss?” the waiter asks again, his brown hair flopping onto his forehead as he leans slightly forward and looks closely at my face. “Are you okay?”

  “I … I don't have any money,” I say and he lets out this long, audible sigh, glancing over his shoulder at a woman in slacks with the word manager scrawled across the top of her name tag. “I … I was supposed to meet someone here and they never showed, so—”

  “Look, just … go. I'll pay for this out of my tip jar, okay? But you can't stay. You have to leave.”

  I push the cold coffee away and stand up, my dress t
oo short, too revealing to stand outside in the rapidly cooling night air, the scent and sound of revelry fading away until there's nothing but the breeze and the rustling of the leaves on the tree in front of the café.

  I move up toward the street, trying to get a view of the security gates on the other side, but the damn foliage in the median is blocking my way, so I make the decision to cross.

  When I do, I wish that I hadn't.

  Looking through the bars into the venue parking lot, I don't see anything. Anything. Not a single bus or trailer or car. Nothing. Even Beauty in Lies' bus is gone. Gone. Gone.

  They fucking left me.

  They left me.

  Left me.

  I stumble back and almost trip in my heels, a car horn blaring as I narrowly miss getting reamed by a blue Taurus. With a cry of frustration, I tear my shoes off and throw them at the black metal gates, sinking down next to a decorative wooden planter box with flowers in it.

  The worst part of this whole thing is that … all I want to do is call my dad to come and pick me up.

  Tears stream down my cheeks as I curl up in Michael's coat and press the fingers of my left hand into the cement next to my bare legs. I'm shaking from the cold, stupidly wondering exactly how frigid it is out here. Low forties, maybe? That sounds about right.

  I scrape my fingertips against the ground until they hurt, lifting up the slightly bloody prints and staring at the bits of loose rock and grit.

  If Dad were still alive, I could find a phone to use and call him; I've had his number memorized since I was six. Even if he couldn't understand what I was doing down here, or afford a plane ticket to get me home, he would hop in a car and come to pick me up. He'd drive nonstop, all the way.

  And now he's gone.

  And I'm the idiot that trusted some guys I met a week ago.

  If I couldn't trust Kevin after five years, or my stepmother after six, if I couldn't trust my dad to tell me the truth about how sick he was … then why did I think this was going to work out?

  I press my bloody fingers against the side of the planter box and close my eyes, letting the sadness and the cold just wash over me in a wave. Why fight it? It's there and waiting to take over every nook and cranny of my heart and soul.

  Rough, ugly sobs break from my throat as I cry for all the people I've lost, the family I'll never see again, the life I've never been brave enough to live. Eventually, I'll have to pick myself up off of the cold cement and find a way to do just that. But for right now, I just cry. And cry. And cry.

  Footsteps pound down the sidewalk, and I glance up suddenly, my heart soaring.

  It's just some late night jogger streaming by in colorful workout clothes and disappearing around the corner, a flashing light strapped to his hip to warn cars that he's crazy enough to go running after some all day slog at work.

  Fuck him.

  I curl my knees as close to my body as I can and drape myself over them, red hair covering my face like a shield. Hair the color of an October sunset, Dad would say, brushing strands from my forehead and smiling. I almost smile back through the tears at the vividness with which I remember his face, but then I …

  “My mom's ashes,” I breathe against my knees.

  Her goddamn ashes are on that bus, driving south to Florida while I sit here and weep.

  I feel myself get empty and cold all over again. How is this fair that I have to lose Mom again today, too? Part of me knows that I could probably get those ashes back from the boys—even if they thought I was dispensable enough to leave behind tonight. Surely they wouldn't be cruel like that? Not my boys. No way.

  I realize I'm crying even harder now, but I can't make myself stop.

  I just want to hug my fucking dad right now, hold the dry smoothness of my mother's hand, curl up in my sister's bed for the night. And I'll never get any of those things ever again. Not ever. I lift my head up and watch the black metal bars of the gates blur in my teared vision.

  My family is gone, but I'm still here. Is that just life being cruel … or am I the lucky one?

  With every last ounce of strength that I have, I grab hold of the planter box and haul myself to my feet. If I thought I had enough willpower and determination inside of me to help those five broken men find some peace in their pain, surely I can do the same for myself?

  My hands slide down my face, smearing all that careful makeup I put on for the show I didn't get to see, and I sit carefully on the edge of the planter box. The sound of the city murmurs with distant sirens and the occasional drunken shout, but right here, it's just me.

  Lost, lonely girl with nobody and nothing.

  But a lost, lonely girl that isn't ready to join her dad, her mom, her sister.

  Lost, lonely girl that wants to live.

  I'm about to stand up, recover my lost shoes, and walk down the sidewalk with tears streaming down my cheeks to find a police station or a women's shelter, somewhere I can spend the night without worrying about my safety. That's when I hear another set of footsteps.

  “Lilith!”

  It's Ransom Riggs—a shouting Ransom Riggs.

  The boy who never speaks louder than a whisper is yelling my name.

  I glance up and find him jogging down the sidewalk toward me in a hoodie and jeans. But his hood's pulled down and I can see the worry and fear etched into every feature of his face. Before I can even really register the fact that he's here, he's scooping me up in the scent of violets and hugging me tight against the soft cotton fabric of his sweatshirt.

  “Ransom?” I whisper, because I feel like I must be hallucinating right now.

  When he pulls back from me, I see that he's shaking like crazy.

  “Where the fuck have you been, honey?” he blurts and at the sound of the word honey, I break into tears again, letting him scoop me up in his trembling arms and squeeze me tight. “Jesus, we've all been freaking the fuck out, baby girl. Were you here all this time?”

  “I …” I start, but there's only one thing I can say right now. “I miss my dad,” I whisper and then the sobs just break through in fits and bursts as Ransom holds me even tighter, pressing kisses against my scalp and rocking me gently.

  “I know, baby. I know. I know.” He pauses, and I can feel him looking up and over my shoulder. “Derek!” he yells and then there's another set of pounding footsteps and Muse's smoky scent is stirring up the fragrance of the violets. Ransom loosens his hug just enough that Muse can get one in there, too, pressing his warmth into me from behind.

  “Holy shit, Cutie. You had us in a blind panic. We thought somebody kidnapped you.”

  “The buses are gone,” I whisper and both boys pause, glancing toward the gates and the empty expanse of pavement behind them.

  “So they are …” Muse says, trailing off as the three of us separate just enough for them to get a look at my expression. “Aw, shit,” Muse says, touching the side of my face with his bat covered hand. “Did you lose your shoes again, Lil?”

  I snort a little with laughter, but it's quickly drowned out in another rush of tears.

  “Can you … I need to get back to the bus. I want to hold my mom,” I say, trying not to sway and pass out with the sheer dizzying rush of relief that passes through me. They're still here? My boys are here? They were looking for me? “I was … I tried to find you,” I whisper as Ran puts his arm around my waist and Muse picks up my heels from the pavement and takes up the spot on my other side. “I thought you'd left me …”

  “No,” Muse says firmly, shaking his head and leaning against me. “No way. No fucking way, Lilith. We wouldn't leave you like that, Cutie, not ever.” I'm not sure how to interpret that, but at this point, I just don't have the emotional energy to try.

  I'm just so … so fucking relieved.

  I was prepared to walk barefooted, heels in hand, to a homeless shelter and try to start a new life.

  But I'd much rather be with my boys.

  “I just texted the others,” Ran says on the end of a
long, heavy sigh. The poor thing's still shaking. Just like me, I guess. We're both trembling. “The bus is parked a few blocks away in the lot of a laundromat.”

  Muse and Ran support me the rest of the way, but they don't speak. I feel like I can't right now, not with all of these emotions clogging up my throat.

  They came for me, I think, but it still doesn't feel real, like I'm still sitting alone on the sidewalk, wishing for something impossible to happen.

  “Lilith!”

  It's Michael, running down the street toward us.

  I reach up a hand and touch the pair of necklaces at my throat. How could I have thought he'd really leave, after he gave me these? I'm such an idiot.

  He snatches me up and squeezes me so tight that my feet leave the ground, but I don't care. I don't think a person can be hugged enough by people they care for; it's impossible. Even though my story with Michael really just got started today, the connection I feel with him is intense and passionate and I feel tears streaming down my face by the time he sets me down.

  “Where the fuck were you?” he asks in that angry, brisk way of his, curling his fingers around the leather shoulders of my borrowed jacket. His dark eyes are glittering with rage and relief and a ton of other emotions that I can't pick apart right now.

  “I …” I start, but then I see Pax and Cope sprinting for us and I find myself choked with tears again.

  Cope reaches me first, grabbing me in one of his perfect hugs and refusing to let go until Pax gives his hair a sharp tug.

  “Bloody fucking fuck, love,” he says, and then he gives me a hug that's surprisingly affectionate, one that's reminiscent of the way he hugged Ransom in the kitchen the other day. See, he's not really an asshole at all. “Might have to put a leash around that neck,” he adds and I narrow my eyes a little. Okay, a small part of him might just be an asshole, but the rest is … capable of a great and terrible level of emotion.

  “Where were you?” Cope asks, his voice plaintive, his turquoise eyes focused on my face, on the tears that refuse to stop tracking down my cheeks.