Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1)

by Bogino, Jeanne

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job,” she said. “You won’t even look at me.”

  “No, I won’t,” he agreed. “That’s because the fucking sight of you is making me sick.”

  His words impaled her. She stared at him, frozen.

  Quinn blew out a lungful of smoke. “I wish you’d go back inside and leave me the fuck alone, Shan. I really wish you’d do that.”

  Shan backed away, her eyes wide, then retreated into the house. When he came back inside, his face was completely blank. During the last hour of practice, he didn’t look at her. Not once.

  When they were done, she approached him. “Can we talk now?” she asked. Ty had a date and had departed speedily, and Dan was disassembling his kit in preparation for a gig the next day.

  “Nope,” Quinn said, busying himself winding chord.

  Dave came back inside after loading his guitars and amp into his car. “Want to go for a bite?” he said to Shan.

  She occasionally had dinner with Dave after practice, but tonight it didn’t seem like a good idea. Her eyes were on Quinn, watching as his fingers wound the cable tight. Too tight.

  “Maybe not tonight…” she began.

  “Well, did you want to hang out?” he asked. “I can go get a pizza and bring it back.”

  Quinn stopped winding, standing stock still with the cable in his hands. He seemed coiled, ready to spring. “I changed my mind,” Shan said quickly. “Let’s go out for Chinese.” She took Dave’s arm and pushed him toward the door.

  “Again? That’s what we had last night.”

  “Indian, then,” she said, almost shoving him out the front door.

  “Do you want to bring your guitar? We could go to my place and play for a while,” Quinn heard Dave ask as they got into his car. He lifted his head and glared after them with such murderous rage that Dan stopped breaking down the drums in midmotion.

  “Man, you don’t look good,” he said.

  “I’m fine,” Quinn said, the muscles in his throat tightening convulsively.

  “No, you’re not,” Dan corrected him. “I know that look. You’d better chill out, dude.”

  Quinn stared at him mutely for a moment. A bit of rational faculty seemed to be seeping through his fury. “A drink would help,” he said, dropping the cables.

  Dan followed him into the kitchen. Denise was at the kitchen table reading a copy of LA Weekly, where she’d recently landed a part-time job as a contributing photographer. She looked up with a smile that faded when she saw the look on Quinn’s face. Quinn took out a bottle of tequila and sat down at the table, while Dan fetched a couple of shot glasses. When he turned back, he saw that Quinn was gulping the tequila from the bottle as if it were ginger ale.

  Denise wrinkled her nose. “Quinn, don’t you want a glass?”

  “This is fine,” Quinn replied, raising the bottle again.

  Denise began to speak, but Dan placed a finger over his lips. “Why don’t you go watch TV, sweet stuff?” He gave her a little nudge and Denise acquiesced, taking the newspaper and withdrawing to the other room with a mystified expression.

  When Quinn lowered the bottle, Dan slipped it out of his hand. “You know better than to guzzle Cuervo like that,” he admonished. “Here, try a little of this.” He sparked up a joint.

  Quinn took three big hits before handing the joint back to Dan. They passed it back and forth, smoking silently until it was a smoldering roach.

  Dan dropped it into an ashtray and examined Quinn, who now looked more fucked up than pissed off. “Want to talk about it?” Quinn stared at him blankly. Dan snorted. “Oh, please, dude. You look like you got run over by a freight train, just because your roommate is dating someone.”

  “Not dating him,” Quinn corrected him sharply. “She’s fucking him.”

  “I know.” Dan grimaced. “I heard. But that’s the main reason people date, in order to find somebody to fuck. You of all people ought to know that.”

  “I’m going to kill that motherfucker,” Quinn said. “I’m going to reach down his throat and rip his balls out through his mouth.”

  “Don’t talk crazy, man. This isn’t about Dazz. It’s got nothing to do with him.”

  “It sure as shit does. That douche bag is doing my girl.”

  “She’s not your girl,” Dan said, “and that’s nobody’s fault but your own. It’s a wonder she didn’t hook up with somebody a long time ago.”

  “But why now, after all this time?”

  “Maybe two weeks of having your little fuck friend shoved in her face was more than she could take. And how do you think she likes watching you leave with a different girl after every gig?”

  Quinn stared at Dan coldly for a minute, then, “You might be right. Not about the band broads. She knows they don’t mean anything, but Julie might have got to her. She doesn’t mean anything to me either, though. None of them do, really.”

  “Except for Shan, maybe?” Dan prompted.

  Quinn rubbed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “Except for Shan.” He removed his hand from his eyes. “Gimme another drink.”

  Dan poured a couple of shots and slid one across the table. “Here’s to you, man. It takes a lot for you to admit that. Don’t think I don’t know it.”

  Quinn drained the shot glass and set it on the table. “Do me another one, Danny.” Dan refilled and Quinn downed it. Now his expression was one of abject misery.

  “What’s your problem now?” Dan asked.

  “Now that douche bag has her and I didn’t want to lose her.” Quinn was beginning to slur his words.

  “You haven’t,” Dan said. “You won’t. You can shoot Dazz right out of the saddle. You’re the one she wants. You know that. Shit, everybody knows that. Just tell her you love her.”

  “I can’t,” Quinn said. “Not yet. Gimme ’nother shot.”

  Dan poured. Tequila sloshed over the sides of the glasses. They gulped the shots and Dan let forth a copious, fiery tequila belch. “Why can’t you fucking tell her?”

  “Because if I do,” Quinn said, swaying a little in his chair, “I’ll have to make some kind of fucking commitment to her. She won’t be happy any other way and I’m not ready for it.”

  Dan gave him a look of supreme disgust. “You’re a stupid, stubborn fuck,” he observed. “You have an awesome girl that you’re crazy about. She’s crazy about you, too. Shit, she worships you. Some guys would give their left ball to have what you’ve got, but you’re whining about it.”

  “But I like having a lot of different women. How do you expect me to settle for only one?”

  Dan snorted drunkenly. “It’s not like you aren’t hot for her. You’ve been after her like a stag in rut ever since the first time you laid eyes on her.”

  “I know,” Quinn said. “I can’t help it. She’s fucking hot, and she looks at me like I’m king of the world. Besides, you’re right. She’s awesome. My awesome girl. But she’s so young. Eighteen. Christ, she’s a baby.”

  “Bullshit. Shan is hardly your average eighteen-year-old. She’s been on her own for years. And she’s been around the block—we all found that out last night.”

  Quinn’s face twisted. “Don’t talk about it.”

  “When she comes home, you should fuck her,” Dan advised. “Just fuck her, for Chrisssake. You might find out she’s enough for you.”

  “You know why I don’t?” Quinn snagged the bottle away from Dan. “It’s because I know that when I get into that luscious little pussy of hers”—he held up his hand, his fingers forming a round O—“then I’ll never fucking get out again.” He snapped his fingers together, his hand clenching into a tight fist. “Zap! Just like a fuckin’ noose.”

  He tilted the bottle to his face and took a long swallow, then set it down and stared into space. “I know it’s going to happen, sooner or later, and that’ll be that. I’m trying to put it off as long as I can. I figure there’s time, since she’s so young.”

  “Maybe not as much time as you thought,” D
an said, “now that Dazzling Dave is in the picture. How is it that you didn’t see this coming? She’s exactly his type. More his than yours.”

  Quinn scowled. “Guys hit on Shan all the time. I figured she’d turn him down, and I wanted Dazz because he’s perfect for the band. He’s absolutely the best rhythm guitar player I know, and I knew his style would mate well with Shan’s.”

  Dan snorted. “I guess it mated better than you expected.”

  “Could you shut the fuck up about it, please? I can’t stand to think of him touching her.” Quinn grabbed the bottle again and gulped at the dregs. When it was empty he pushed it aside and buried his face in his arms. He stayed that way for some time and, when he raised his head, his eyes had taken on a fuzzy dreaminess. “She’s so beautiful,” he said.

  “She is,” Dan agreed.

  “And she has a great feel to her. The softest skin, just like velvet. The only thing softer is her hair. All those crazy curls. They don’t look soft, do they? But they are. Soft as down. And those lips,” he continued, swaying a little. “I have dreams about those sexy…fucking…lips.” He pitched forward, his head landing on the table with a thud.

  Dan struggled to his feet and staggered around the table. He lifted Quinn’s head and squinted into his face, then smacked his cheek. “Q? Wake up, dude.” No response. He gave him a good shake, catching the edge of the table as he stumbled and almost fell over himself. “Come on, man. You want to spend the night in the kitchen?”

  Quinn mumbled inaudibly. Dan hauled him to his feet. Supporting Quinn’s long, sagging frame against his own less than steady one, he struggled to relocate him to the living room.

  Denise looked up from the recliner where she was cozily wrapped in a blanket watching television, her eyes widening as she watched her fiancé careen across the room and collapse on the couch with Quinn braced in his arms. They landed in a heap and didn’t move again.

  chapter 24

  When Shan came downstairs the next morning, only Dan was snoring on the couch. She went in search of Quinn, encountering Denise in the kitchen. “Have you seen Q?”

  “He was up and out early,” Denise said. “Be glad you missed him. He looked mean as a rattlesnake. He must have a godawful hangover.” She didn’t speak again until Shan took her methadone, got some coffee, and sat down at the table. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh, come on,” Denise said. “It’s about time you found a man, and Dave is cute! He’s nice, too, and a guitar player, so you have a lot in common. Who cares what Quinn thinks?”

  “I do,” Shan replied. “He was so weird at practice, then I found him passed out on the couch when I got home last night. Q never gets drunk like that.”

  “So what? You’ve wasted enough time on him. I’m glad to see you’re finally moving on.”

  “I’m not, really.” Shan sighed. “I can’t believe I even did this.”

  “Neither can I,” Denise admitted, “and neither can Quinn, judging from his state last night. Why did you? I mean, after all this time.”

  Shan lowered her eyes. “We snorted some coke,” she said after a moment.

  Denise’s eyes widened. “Is that smart?”

  “Apparently not, since it made me screw a guy that I’m not even into. I like Dave, but I’ve never wanted him that way.”

  “How was it, though?”

  “It was…dirty.”

  “But was it…good?”

  “I guess so,” Shan said. “I mean, he knows what he’s doing. It felt good.”

  “Maybe it’ll help you get over your fixation on Quinn. But you’d better watch the dope,” Denise said. “I’m surprised at you, after you’ve been clean so long.”

  “I just slipped, and it’s not like it was H. All I wanted was to feel good for a little bit. I guess that’s why I slept with Dave, too.” She watched Denise gather up her purse and camera bag, then realized it was her first day at her new job. “Good luck today. You’ll do great.”

  “Thanks. I hope so.” Denise took the van keys off the kitchen counter and headed for the front door. “Good luck to you, too. I think your hooking up with Dave will turn out to be a good thing in the end, Shan. You never know where it might lead.”

  They were playing at Gazzari’s that night, a landmark club in West Hollywood. It would be a young crowd, Quinn informed them on the ride over, mostly college kids. Shan knew that was his favorite type of audience, because they were loud and enthusiastic and they danced nonstop.

  It was her least favorite. By the end of the night, she knew she’d have her hands full fending off the amorous advances of drunken frat boys, who always seemed to get turned on by the sight of a guitar-wielding girl.

  When they arrived at the club, Dave was already there. He came out to the stage entrance to help lug the gear and winked at Shan. Quinn saw and shot Dave a murderous glare, deadly enough to freeze him in his tracks. “Something wrong?” he asked Quinn.

  Quinn did not reply, just took the snare drum from Dan and stalked into the club.

  “He’s hung over,” Ty told Dave. “You might want to give him a wide berth.”

  Dan grimaced. “I am, too.”

  “Yeah, but you aren’t scary,” Ty said, and handed him a couple of mic stands.

  While they set up and during sound check, Dave kept sneaking glances at Quinn. When he went outside for a smoke, Dave followed. “Everything okay, Q?”

  Quinn didn’t reply, smoking in stony silence, and after a minute, Dave tried again. “You were weird at practice yesterday, too. What’s up?”

  Again Quinn did not answer, just blew out a lungful of smoke.

  “Okay, I broke your rule,” Dave admitted. “I’m sorry. Now can you get over it, please?”

  Quinn dropped his cigarette, ground it out with his heel, and stomped back inside the club. After a moment Dave followed and when they took the stage the tension between them was palpable. Shan felt it right away and she could tell that Ty and Dan were picking up on it, too. Dan seemed especially worried, eyes darting between Dave and Quinn with an air of foreboding.

  It was a testament to the band’s skill that they managed to sound good even with the undercurrents. Shan’s vocals were a little subdued and Dave’s tremolos a bit less lilting than usual. Quinn, despite the hangover, was solid as always.

  The crowd liked them, bouncing and moshing with the kind of unbridled energy only a cluster of twenty-one-year-olds was capable of. Shan had the dubious honor of being targeted by a passel of crewcut, muscle-bound thugs who looked like football players. They occupied a table near the stage, pounded shots of Jägermeister, and leered at her all night long.

  Quinntessence finished to thundering applause. They came back for an encore, but Quinn started packing after just one song. The crowd groaned but Quinn did not pause. Dan and Ty headed for the bar and Shan tagged along to avoid being alone with Dave and Quinn.

  Dave packed up his guitars, then approached Quinn again. “You’re going to have to talk to me sooner or later, buddy,” he said, beginning to fold up one of the mic stands.

  Quinn ignored him, unplugging his Kurzweil.

  “I can’t take this,” Dave groaned. “It’s the same sort of shit that’s happening in the Gurus.”

  “Why?” Quinn inquired. “Did you fuck somebody’s girl in that band, too?”

  Dave froze in his tracks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Quinn scowled and turned away.

  “You’re jealous?” Dave persisted. “That’s what this is all about?”

  Quinn ignored him, stooping to disconnect the monitors.

  “But you said there was nothing going on between the two of you,” Dave said. “Besides, you fight all the fucking time. How am I supposed to know if nobody tells me?”

  “There’s nothing to know. I’m not jealous, I’m pissed that you’re stupid enough to mess around with a bandmate just so you can get some.”

  “She’s free and over eighte
en,” Dave said.

  “But do you know how many bands have split over shit like this, you stupid fuck?”

  “It’s nothing that heavy and it’s none of your fucking business besides.”

  “It is my fucking business because it’s my fucking band! I don’t want it screwed up because of an itch, do you hear me?”

  Dave smirked. “Sounds like you’re the one with the itch. And it also sounds like you’re pissed because I’m the one who got the hot girl this time.”

  Quinn took a menacing step toward him. “You’d better shut your mouth.”

  Dave swatted at Quinn as if he were a pesky fly. “Oh, get over it, Q. I’ll fuck anybody I want. You’re out of line, way out of line, and—”

  But Quinn was past caring what he had to say. “Shut up,” he snarled, placing both hands on Dave’s chest and shoving, hard.

  Caught off guard, Dave stumbled backward, catching his heel in one of the mic cables. He teetered at the edge of the stage for an agonizing moment, his arms pinwheeling wildly. Then as Quinn watched he toppled, landing squarely on the table of jocks.

  “Fuck,” Quinn muttered. Everyone in the club was watching. He could see the rest of his band over at the bar, staring openmouthed.

  Dave scrambled off the table, apologizing profusely. The biggest, dumbest-looking jock got right up in his face, shouting and gesticulating like some kind of crazed motivational speaker.

  “Fuck,” Quinn spat again, with mounting concern. This was not cool. Not at all. The jock was big, but not as big as Dave. Sometimes that was a good thing. Sometimes not, especially if some moron thought he had something to prove.

  This moron was still shouting, spittle flying from his flapping jaws, and Dave was starting to look disgusted. When the jock shoved his face to within an inch of Dave’s nose, Dave grimaced, put his hand on the jock’s chest, and gave him a firm push.

  That was all it took. The jock pulled his fist back and popped Dave right in the face. Dave stumbled back and the rest of the frat jocks converged on him like zombies in a Romero film.

  “Fuck!” Quinn yelled, and leapt off the stage right into the center of the fray.