Don’t get me wrong, Connor is as fine as they come at six feet tall, with dark blond hair tucked behind his ears, and pretty hazel eyes. The tattoos really do it for me. He has sleeves on both of his arms and a lip ring that is begging for me to nibble on it. Yeah, okay, I admit I’ve thought about it a few times along this six-month tour. I’ve exhibited willpower and all that motivational shit, but damn, a girl has needs. I need to get fucked, like yesterday.
He continues down my shoulder with his kisses and simultaneously pushes my already short dress up to my hips. He rubs the tip of his dick against my lips. He slowly inserts himself in me, and I swear to everything sacred, I almost come. His dick isn’t huge. It’s average, but thick in girth, and that is on my list of favorite things about a penis. He keeps his thrusts long and slow and kisses me like I’m the only woman in the world. I wish he would hurry though. There’s no time for romance shit.
“Open your eyes, Henley. I want to watch your soul when you come,” he whispers.
I wonder how many times he’s read Fifty Shades. Dear Connor, men really don’t fucking talk like that.
“Let me see you, beautiful. I want to feel your soul when you come.”
He’s fucking this up for me. I wonder if there’s any duct tape in the room. Moaning works for me, and he can still moan through the tape. This romantic bullshit is making my vag dry up like the damn Sahara. Okay, desperate times call for desperate measures. I pull him close and press my face to his chest. Now he can’t see me and peer into the depths of my soul and all that shit. I grab onto him and rake my nails into his back. He gives a grunt of pleasure and stops spouting all of that eighteenth-century L-O-V-E nonsense.
I imagine he’s somebody else, someone like Jason Momoa. When I imagine his hands running up and down my back and thrusting his pelvis into me, I find the edge again. Tattoos, I need tattoos. I turn my head to the side and watch the tattoos move on Connor’s arm and pretend they’re Jason’s. Oh yeah, that will do it for a girl. I feel that elusive climax begin to build and finally tip over the edge. Digging my fingers into his back, I throw my head back, and close my eyes, screaming out something, but no clue what. Here’s to hoping it wasn’t another man’s name. That would be a rather embarrassing headline.
Soon, Connor follows, jerking inside of me. Thank the heavens above; we’re done. At once, he pulls out and grabs the condom to dispose of it. A knock at the door startles me, and I race around to make myself presentable. Connor does the same. I open the door moments later when we’re both clothed. Neither of us can hide the freshly fucked look, I don’t even try.
Caleb is leaning against the frame of the door. A knowing smile graces his face. I wink at him to let him know I need to be saved from myself.
“You ready to head home, Hen?” Caleb asks a little too eagerly.
“Uh, yeah. Let me say goodbye to Connor.”
I turn around, and Connor has a look of shock etched on his face. Shit, this might not end well. I smile a sexy smile and saunter up to him. I play the only card I have, and it’s standing in the frame of the door. I wrap my arms around him for a hug and whisper in his ear. “Sorry about this. Amazing lay. We’ll meet up soon,” I lie.
I kiss his cheek and saunter out of the room. When I pass Caleb, I let the facade drop. Once we are a reasonable distance away, he begins his teasing tirade.
“What did you tell this one?” he asks.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because he looks like you shot his dog.”
I laugh. “I apologized for your ‘unexpected’ arrival, then lied and said he was a great lay. And, I had to throw in the parting ‘we’ll get together again soon.’”
“Would you like more time with the bloke?” Caleb asks in his best English accent.
“Funny, but hell no. I swear he reads romance novels. I had to pretend he was someone else, so it wouldn’t be a total waste of time.”
“Jesus, that’s harsh,” Griffin says as he falls into step with us.
Griffin is our bassist, and he enjoys hearing about my sexual endeavors. I don’t fuck around often on tour, but when I do, I’m discreet. I’ve been friends with the guys in the band since we were in grade school, but I keep a firm don’t kiss and tell policy... well, most of the time.
“Who had the honors this time?” Rhys asks, catching up.
Rhys is our drummer. Other than being a phenomenal drummer, he’s our resident playboy. The girls know it and don’t give a shit. They want to be another notch on his bedpost.
“Jason Momoa,” I answer.
“Really? He’s married,” Caleb says.
“Wasn’t a factor. I fucked the recently divorced version,” I say.
“I didn’t know he was getting a divorce,” Griffin says.
“They aren’t, sweetie, just in my fantasies. It’s bad enough I had to pretend to fuck someone else. I can’t be a homewrecker too,” I say.
“Who’s in on the bet?” Caleb asks as we walk into a dressing room filled with my brother’s band, Broken Access.
“What are we betting?” Kip asks.
Kip is the drummer for my brother’s band. He is one of my best friends, but he isn’t for the faint of heart. Kip is vulgar and honest. He also has the driest sense of humor on the planet.
“We are betting on whether Connor Black will need a restraining order after Henley just ruined him for all other women,” Rhys replies.
“You fucked Connor Black?” Jagger growls.
Oh, Jagger.
Jagger Carlyle is the best kind of eye candy. Look, I love every tattooed, gorgeous man my eyes land on, and all the other pretty men I’ve met over the years, but none of them have shit on Jagger. I’ve known this man since the sixth grade and have also been in puppy love with him just as long. He’s my brother’s best friend and the lead guitarist, songwriter, and backup vocalist in Broken Access. Standing at six foot three, the man is a solid wall of muscle. His body is lean with corded muscles. He has abs you’d want to eat your every meal on. That way you can lick up all your crumbs like a good girl afterward. Jag’s covered in tattoos in all the right places, has crystal-blue eyes, and dark brown hair. Jagger’s hair is currently buzzed short, and he’s sporting a five o’clock shadow. I’ve got a thing for five o’clock shadows.
Have you ever seen a man with stubble that makes you want to rub your face against it like a cat? This hopefully leads to him rubbing his face against the inside of your thighs, but I digress. Jagger is the man you would want between your thighs, and really any part of him between your thighs is acceptable.
“Can we not talk about my sex life, please?” I beg.
“What sex life?” That question is from my brother Koi, late to the conversation.
“Dude, she banged Connor Black,” Kip says.
Koi looks disturbed. “Dude! She’s my sister. I don’t want to hear that shit.”
“I do. I want to hear all about it, but every time you would say ‘Connor,’ insert ‘Kip’,” Kip says.
“I vomited in my mouth a little. Koi, I’m twenty-two years old. I have sex. I just don’t make it as obvious as the rest of you,” I say.
I need to change into something clean and head home, the perfect excuse to get the fuck out of this ridiculous conversation. I hate when these guys treat me like I’m void of all things sexual. I’m a twenty-two-year-old woman with a healthy libido.
Chapter 2
I CHANGE OUT of the little black dress I’ve been in for hours. We still have fans waiting for a meet and greet. I enjoy meeting fans in a more intimate setting, but I’m ready to hit the road with Caleb.
All members from both bands are from Macon, Georgia. It’s a large city ninety miles south of Atlanta. We grew up on the outskirts of town, where my grandfather’s property has a large stocked pond. Caleb and I want to hit
the road as soon as possible so we can fish until the sun rises. Night fishing is one of our favorite pastimes. It’s one of our things.
I finally get to my dressing room, throw on blue jeans, chucks, and a tank, then set out to find the guys. I locate them in a room designated for the meet and greet. The guys in Broken Access and Abandoned Shadow are already immersed in our fans. I gravitate toward a group of guys who appear to be waiting on me.
I smile for the next hour. Being famous is a delicate balance for me. I was a guitar prodigy from the age of twelve, and work in a male-dominated industry as a lead singer and lead guitarist—roles that are almost exclusively male territory. This makes men either intimidated by me or brave with their tongues.
I spend an hour, carefully navigating blatant sexual advances, female fan self-esteem issues, and marriage proposals. I enjoy the fans who tell me how much they relate to my lyrics, but the most amazing part of doing what I do is having a fan tell me that a song I wrote saved their life. That makes it worth all the bullshit this job entails.
Once we sign autographs, take pictures with fans, and engage in small talk, we leave. We are surrounded by security as we walk to the lot behind the venue. Caleb’s Porsche is waiting on us. Jagger and Kip are also headed back to Macon, but the rest of the band will party all night in Atlanta.
I give them each a hug, and the guys do the man hug thing. I’m jumping up and down in anticipation of going home. We haven’t been home in six months. Touring is grueling, and without a great deal of downtime. We have a month off, and will spend it doing everything we miss, except sleeping. Hell, we can sleep on tour when we have the time.
Caleb drives through the lot, then security opens a gate for him. He cranks the stereo up to drown out the screaming fans on the other side of the gate, and once we escape unscathed, the volume dulls. We burst into laughter at the extent fans go to see us for a moment. Caleb finds Interstate 75 South then, we’re Macon-bound. My grandfather is waiting for us. He loves night fishing too. Caleb is rambling on about two girls who spent their time in the front row flashing him. He grins his best boyish grin. God, he loves being a musician.
I tease him about me catching the most fish last time we were home. Of course, he says I cheated.
“Oh yeah? Then put your money where your mouth is, big boy,” I say.
“Name it.”
“Hmm, how about you wear a thong bikini for the next six shows? I think hot pink will bring out the color in your eyes.”
“I’ll take it. If I catch the most, then you have to wear a thong bikini for the next six shows. Cherry red though, since it will bring out that ass,” he laughs as he gambles.
“Fine. But if you get lucky and win, Koi will throttle you,” I say with a laugh.
“Then we shouldn’t warn him. You just strut your hot little ass on stage and let him brood the entire show. That will be fun to watch from the stage when his ass can’t do a damn thing about it for two hours.” He roars with laughter.
A slight bump from the rear of the car jolts me forward. A harder hit follows with an unforgettable sound of metal scrapping metal. I instantly turn my head to look at Caleb. His smile drops, and his eyes are locked on the rearview mirror. In one second, I see utter horror spread over his face. He reaches for my hand and holds tight in the blink of an eye. Then another crash to the rear and I’m flung toward the dash, but my seatbelt catches me in time, pulling hard on my shoulder. Out of the side of my eye, I can see Caleb struggling with steering that’s clearly out of control as we begin to spin and spin.
When I feel the car cease spinning, Caleb screams, “Henley!”
He throws his upper body over mine in the small cabin of the car and pushes me against the seat.
“Caleb!” I yell in terror.
“You’re going to be okay,” he roars vehemently over the crunching of metal.
I brave a look out the front glass to see what’s happening, but the world is turning upside down and then it rights itself for a moment before it turns again. Each time the small car flips on its roof, my head hits the top, and the seatbelt grabs my torso and digs into my shoulder blade.
Then it all stops. I’m floating. At least, it feels like I’m floating. I don’t hurt or ache. I float in darkness.
Why is it dark?
There are muffled screams.
Where am I? Who is screaming?
I can’t seem to form words or open my eyes. I panic.
Am I dead? I can’t die yet! I’m twenty-two years old. Please don’t let me die, whatever entity or Creator or spirit is out there, please don’t let this be it. Shit, you have to at least let me make it to the 27 Club.
I hear a cough, and then I realize I felt the cough. That must be me. Then my eyes open. The screams are still muffled, and my vision is blurry. I can’t see who is screaming.
Where is Caleb?
I look to my left and don’t see him. My body is hanging upside down, and Caleb is screaming because I’m still trapped. My vision clears up little by little, and then it’s as if someone increases the volume from three to twenty in half a second. The urgency I hear in the screaming words is amplified by actual screams.
“Are you awake? Can you hear me? I see someone!”
My voice won’t work, but I can see. The seat belt is holding me in place, so I try to find the release with my left hand, but it doesn’t want to let go.
Shit.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. Please let go. I try a few more times before the buckle finally releases. I have to get out of this little tin can of a car. Most of the glass in the passenger window is smashed and lying on the ground. The driver side window is crushed.
How did Caleb get out?
I lay down to get a view of the windshield. Glass presses into my skin, and pain shoots through my head. I let out a sob of pain. The voices outside become shriller when my cry reaches them, but I can’t focus on those people. I have to get out of here. I see an opening big enough for my petite body to fit through, but sharp glass is still jutting from the rubber molding. I kick the glass the best I can and turn my face away to avoid getting glass in my eyes.
I get most of the glass out, but I have to contort my body into a painful and unusual position to crawl out. The people outside are yelling at me to be still. They promise help is on the way. I don’t know these people.
“Caleb!” I scream. “Caleb!”
I fade out again, the voices and screams of panic around me now muffled. A tingling feeling takes over my body, and the pain begins to dull a little.
“Henley!” I hear Jagger. He sounds panicked. “Henley, tell me what hurts.”
Where did Jag come from?
“Hen! Fucking answer me,” Kip screams.
“Where’s the fucking ambulance?” Jagger shouts.
“Her eyes are closed,” Kip shouts at him. “Henley!”
“Yeah,” I manage to mumble.
“Oh, thank fuck. Thank fuck,” one of them says.
“I can’t get out of here. Please help me,” I plead through the sobs I’m trying my best to hold back.
“Can you fit through the opening in the front?” Jag asks.
“There’s too much glass,” I say.
“Motherfucker,” Jagger screams.
My heart takes over all other sounds. It flips and flops in my chest, and the feeling is odd. Jagger’s voice tunes out as the thumping takes over my body. Lightheadedness overcomes me, and I realize the blackness is trying to take over again. I need to fight it if I want a chance of surviving. I take a deep breath and shake my head through to consciousness. Jagger’s screams slowly grow louder.
“Don’t do this baby. Please say something. Henley!” he cries.
“I’m still here.”
“Fuck! How are you doing in
there?” His voice quivers.
“I need to get free, Jag,” I plead.
“I want you to push and then turn yourself into the opening. We found a towel to place over the broken glass.”
“Okay.”
I pull myself up into a squatting position. It takes a minute, but I turn myself around in the car. I peer back at the opening, then I stick my arms through, where Jagger grabs my hands.
“Pulling you out. Tell me if I hurt you. Try to push with your feet while I pull, okay?”
“Okay.”
Jagger pulls me through. It doesn’t hurt, nor is it pleasant. I push my feet against what was the passenger seat. My body glides through the small opening. As my back slides over the towel, a sharp stab courses through my back.
“Glass!” I let out a yell, and Kip begs him to stop pulling me.
“No, keep going. We can’t fix it until I’m out of this damn thing,” I plead.
Jagger grabs me under both my arms and pulls me through the opening. When I see his face, I feel calmer. He sets me down on the ground and assesses me. Kip yells at a group of people about a towel. Jagger looks panicked.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Look at me,” he says with concern.
I frown at him.
“Just listen, Hen.”
He takes a step closer, examining my face, his eyes darting right to left.
A young guy around twenty-five approaches to our left. He looks glum.
“They found him. He was thrown across the interstate,” he says with sadness in his voice.
I follow his eyes across the interstate to where I know Caleb lies. Without thinking about it, my legs take over, and I sprint across the lanes as quickly as my body can move. I push through the people hovered around Caleb and start my prayers.
Please let him be okay. He has to be okay.
Broken (The Guitar Face Series Book 1) Page 2
