Path of Destruction

by Cara Dee

  He stared at me for a beat, long enough for me to know he knew I was right. There would always be someone trying to take over, and he wasn’t here for a score of the week. This was his life. He needed his income and his crew to be permanent and growing.

  Mack cocked his head at me, pensive. "What're you in for, Hayes? You've only been here two years." Yeah, in this cellblock. Three years upstate in a maximum security, four years in D-block, and now my second year here in B. "Drugs? Forgot to pay your taxes like most celebrities?"

  Was he deaf or blind? I wasn’t conceited about it, but my case had been all over the news for a fucking year, and these walls weren't impenetrable. Even with a trial that was over quicker than a guy's first fuck, it took ages for the headlines to change the topic. Seemed like the whole world knew about the Path of Destruction guitarist who got arrested.

  "Depends how you look at it, I guess." I folded my arms over my chest. He wanted to know if I deserved enough respect. I got it. "I had good lawyers."

  He smirked. "What did they pin on you, then?"

  "Voluntary manslaughter."

  His brows went up, and he let out a low whistle. "Tough guy."

  Ironically, in these circles, I was. The lowest of men were heroes as long as they didn’t screw children.

  "What's it gonna be, Mack?" I asked.

  *

  On the way back to the block, I found Kid waiting anxiously in the corridor by the nearest CO office. He picked up the pace to walk with me and blurted out a quick, "So?"

  "I handled it."

  "How?"

  "I handled it," I repeated. Or I would, once I'd called Pop. "Don't worry about it." It was just money.

  "Oh." Kid smiled shakily. "They really won't come after me anymore?"

  "No, they won't." I took two steps at a time to get up to our cell. I'd been decently distracted today, not thinking about Ade too much, and I wanted to keep it that way. I was gonna read before dinner, then maybe work out. Or count something.

  "Best birthday gift," I heard Kid mumble, which made me frown. "I can suck you later if you want."

  I threw him a look over my shoulder, ignoring the last part. For now. "It's your birthday?"

  He nodded. "Yup. I'm twenty-one now."

  Christ, he was still wet behind the ears at that age. I guess I hadn't bothered asking. He looked young, so he was Kid. I knew his real name was Casey, though that was it. That, and what he was in for.

  "Did you talk to your family?" I asked and entered our cell.

  "No… They're not accepting any calls."

  I could tell he was down in the dumps about that, and he was doing a shit-poor job at hiding it. Wouldn’t surprise me if I was the reason he felt the need to hide it in the first place. Then again, he should. He wouldn’t be getting any sympathy in prison.

  "I can get you a Pepsi tomorrow when the canteen's open." I ruffled his hair as he sat down on his bed, and I went over to the corner to take a piss.

  "I want you to play."

  I shot him a quick glare. He couldn’t be serious.

  There was no grin on his mug, no smug expression that made me wonder if he'd talked to Nunez. If anything, Kid looked somber. I flushed the toilet and tucked myself back into my pants.

  "Please, Lincoln?"

  Nah. Turning my back on him, I washed my hands and shook my head. What would it even feel like to hold a guitar again? When reading Ade's letters, my fingers itched, but it wasn’t worth it.

  "I miss music," he mumbled. "We're always on edge in here, and I would like to have ten minutes with music and maybe even laughing a bit. Like the time Nunez made his cheesecake? Remember?"

  I remembered. It was one of his kids' birthdays, and after they visited, Nunez made cheesecake out of graham crackers, Oreos, jelly packs, and peanut butter. Not the best cheesecake I'd had, but it was a nice moment. We were just a few guys shooting the shit and having cake.

  "One song," Kid said, a pleading note in his voice. "The rec room's open after dinner."

  One song. I wasn’t sure I even could. Shit, he was wearing me down if I was considering it.

  Was I?

  I dried my hands, trying to picture my fingers sliding along the strings. That tingled.

  "Lemme check it out tomorrow," I muttered. "I'm not making any promises."

  Yet Kid lit up like a Christmas tree.

  *

  Boy, was I regretting this shit parade. Kid and his big fucking mouth. I eyed the people in the rec room after dinner the following day, and I swore there were twice as many as I was used to seeing whenever I walked past. Word got around—Kid's word. About me playing.

  I wasn’t stupid. These guys couldn’t give less of a fuck about me as a person. The music, though. Music offered a break from prison life. It made people feel more human.

  If the room were divided into sections more as opposed to being a big, open area, maybe I would be less uncomfortable. Funny, I'd never had issues with being in the spotlight before. The tables scattered around were filled with inmates playing cards, reading, and talking. A few guys were having an arm-wrestling match, and there was a handful of others reading the bible in a corner.

  A CO opened up the barred storage space for me, and I requested the acoustic guitar that'd seen better days. My brows rose as I gripped the neck of it.

  "Has anyone ever replaced the strings?" I asked.

  "We'll get right on that," he drawled.

  Dick.

  I frowned and walked over to an empty table. It was fucking weird holding a guitar again, and even weirder to tune it. Nope, not acknowledging the heads that lifted and turned my way. God forbid I knew what went through their minds when they heard the former guitar player of Path of Destruction sound like a rusty son of a bitch. I was rusty. I hit a C, easing into the opening of "Unsafe Landings," a song I wrote in '98, and I winced.

  It was like riding a bike, though. It was in there somewhere.

  We never recorded "Unsafe Landings," but I could imagine Tony singing it.

  We see you now and then, your

  Wide eyes and sweet appeal, the way

  You light up and, in color…you drench the room

  It's a warning, little girl

  I'll steal your light, that smile, all your

  Color, because…because

  Little girl, I'm not a safe place to land

  I stopped abruptly. Ade's laughing, singing along, opening the cupboards on the bus in search of snacks on the road, having her on my lap, kissing her neck, looking out the window as we approached another city… The rush of memories choked me up. Hell. I couldn’t play anything I'd written, especially none of the songs Ade had inspired.

  "Lincoln!"

  My head snapped up, and Kid walked over with a grin on his face. Nunez and a few other guys were with him.

  "Don't start without us." Kid sat down next to me, chewing on a Twizzler. "Do you take requests?"

  "You asked for one song." I narrowed my eyes. "I should put a fucking gag on you for running your mouth to everyone."

  He could consider himself face-fucked before the day was over. Better. His grin was fading, though Nunez ruined it for me. He clapped Kid on the shoulder and came to his defense.

  "Ain't every day we get to hear live music, man. Go easy on him."

  I shook my head and watched the strings instead. There would be no requests. I tinkered absently as I racked my brain for something that wasn’t too depressing. No Destruction songs. Growing up, my pop introduced me to blues and rock. Mainstream music from my days wasn’t too bad, either. That was before the mass-produced bullshit, before quantity trumped quality.

  "Play my song," Ade whispered in my ear. "Please?" Deliciously naked, eyes glazed, her smile mischievous and lazy, she reached over to the nightstand. A glance at the clock radio told me we had to check out soon. "I'll even beg."

  It was too easy to get sucked in and forget what was real. With my eyes closed and fingers working the strings, I didn’t even pick th
e song. It played itself without my permission.

  "Beg me." I crawled over her after she'd placed my guitar on the mattress. She arched her back as I drew a line of coke between her pert tits. "Or you get nothin'."

  I lowered my face and snorted the powder, then swallowed repeatedly and cleared my throat. It was a head rush, all of it. Her. The coke. Ade brushed a finger through the dusty remains and spread it over her gums. I kissed her hard. I was waking up, coming to life, fucking needing her. Screw the song.

  "Please," she gasped.

  Why was I never able to deny her? I played, every minute bringing more confidence, and I kept my voice low as I sang. I wasn’t the singer. But I played for her, sang for her, 'cause I could never say no.

  I propped myself up against the headboard and grabbed my guitar. Ade sat up next to me, her exposed body swaying with the music I played. A serene expression took over her gorgeous face, and she grinned when I sang her words. The words that fit so well. The lyrics of pretty eyes and a pirate smile, a girl dancing in the sand.

  "That was cool. I've never heard it." Kid's comment brought me back to prison.

  Thanks.

  My forehead creased, and I kept tinkering while I slid a slightly judgmental look at a smiling Kid. The other men certainly knew the song. They didn’t know I'd spent the last five minutes in a New York hotel suite with Ade, but they knew the song.

  I'm not freaking out. I wasn’t freaking out. I played. I was calm. Breathing even, head somewhat clear. For a moment, there was peace in having the past mingling with the present. I was a musician.

  "You know any Muddy?" George asked, holding up his harmonica. See, I understood always keeping that on his person. Not like Kid and his damn toothbrush.

  Muddy Waters—I'd need a better sound. "Hold that thought." Bringing the acoustic over to the storage, I asked a CO to hand me the electric instead.

  "Now we're talkin'!" someone hollered.

  The amp was a sad little thing. We got it plugged in, and I returned to my seat to tune the guitar. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, eh? It was actually a decent model. If only it hadn't been mistreated and neglected.

  "Hayes." The CO jerked his chin and tossed me something.

  A pick. I caught it and nodded in thanks.

  The weight of the guitar… The tingles were back. Fuck, it's been too long.

  "All right, this oughta be good." George smiled and sat forward, ready with the harmonica.

  I smirked and strummed the opening chords to "Mannish Boy." "I hear you hummin' at night, so get to singing, old man."

  He grinned. Feet thumped to the beat around the table, and I bobbed my head and tapped the aged wood of the guitar in between chords.

  When the sound of the harmonica reached our ears, it filled a void. I breathed easier. It was new. There was rhythm again, for the first time in too damn long.

  We spent the next hour teaching Kid some real music. People around us watched, a handful joined in, drumming on the tables and singing along, and okay, it was fucking nice. It was chill. I grinned and took some ribbing when I fucked up, then eased right into it again, playing, playing, playing.

  "I haven't heard this song, either!" Kid complained.

  I winked at him.

  At one point, I was pretty certain our playing even made the COs' day better. I caught a smile here, a head-bob there.

  "Just pay fuckin' attention, boy." Nunez pushed at Kid's shoulder. "Dio, listen to that riff."

  I drew it out, feeling good. I made that electric baby purr.

  George and I introduced Kid to John Lee Hooker, B.B. King, and Memphis Slim. I couldn’t deny that the punk made me laugh in between songs. He asked the funniest questions about the slang of the blues era.

  "That was before your time, too!" he defended. "I won't apologize for not knowing what a hoochie-coochie man is."

  I chuckled and faced the strings, fumbling for a second before I picked it up once more. Dammit, yeah, I see you, fucker. A CO was looking impatient, and it was almost time to close the rec room for the day. All good things came to an end eventually.

  "One more?" I asked.

  He inclined his head.

  I nodded too, and I thought some Otis would round it out nicely. George gave his approval and filled in with the harmonica, and together we slowed things down with "The Dock of the Bay." I smiled at Kid. He put his forearms on the table and rested his cheek there, eyes closed. Contentment was a good look on him. Rare.

  George sang the lyrics in his wise, old voice until it was just the whistling left. I didn’t want it to end. Music was dangerous that way. It made us forget. Then when we remembered where we were, some crashed harder than others.

  The minute I returned the guitar to storage, I wasn’t a musician anymore. I was just another prisoner.

  * * *

  1998

  Ade stirred in her sleep, so I hid the copy of On the Road in case she woke up. Satisfied she didn’t, I picked up the book again and tried to read it, though I didn’t know why. I'd read it in high school.

  I was too distracted to get through a single sentence without the words tripping me up, too.

  Eventually, I gave up and turned on my side. I pulled Ade closer, burying my nose in her hair, and hiked her leg over my hip. Her hair was still a bit damp from our shower earlier.

  It was difficult to see the wild child in her now. She seemed to sleep peacefully. But something sure as fuck was going on. She'd been partying nonstop since Dallas. So had I, only I could handle it.

  Did she even remember Houston and Austin, or were the places blurring together? She hadn't taken any breaks since her weird meltdown, and that was what, four days ago? We'd checked in to our hotel in New Orleans early this morning, and Morgan and I had to force her to get some damn rest.

  He'd pointed out she didn’t eat much.

  I guess I hadn't paid attention to that.

  "You're awake," she whispered.

  I smiled automatically, and she lifted her head. Her lips called to me, so I dipped down and kissed her. "You didn’t sleep long."

  She sighed contentedly, nipping at my bottom lip. Under the covers, her hand skimmed my hip teasingly. I deepened the kiss and rolled on top of her, her body drawing me in like a magnet. What was it about this chick? Especially since she had that panic attack or whatever it was, I'd felt differently toward her. Maybe protective? I wasn’t sure.

  "Let's fuck," she mumbled against my lips. "Then we can nap again."

  I reached for the rubbers on the nightstand as she pushed down my boxer briefs. "Wanna take it easy tonight?"

  She scrunched her nose, an expression that made me grin. "You're not playing until tomorrow. I feel like we should get everyone together and go to a club or something." She watched me stroke my cock and then rolled the condom on. "We could do a lazy day tomorrow before the show…? I wanna hear you play."

  I chuckled and loomed over her, teasing the head of my cock along the slit of her pussy. "You hear me play almost every night."

  Something timid washed over her, which was new. "I mean just for me."

  "Yeah?" Unable to wait, I groaned under my breath and pushed inside her slowly, knowing firsthand what happened if I just rammed into her. My tiny dancer was tiny. "You developing a thing for musicians?"

  She hissed and bucked her hips to meet me, my cock stretching her perfectly. "You're a sexy bunch."

  "Who's the sexiest?"

  She giggled breathlessly and kissed me silly. "You, you arrogant prick. You're the hottest of them all."

  Damn fucking straight.

  Once I was all in, I closed my eyes briefly, reminding myself I was twenty-nine, not some inexperienced teenager. Way too soon to blow it.

  "I'll play for you, tiny dancer." I captured her mouth with mine and fucked her slower than I usually did. Something was going on, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what it was.

  She moaned about her rock star.

  Chapter 10

  Adeline
Ivey

  1998

  "There. I ate." I grinned impishly and licked the sauce from the ribs off my fingers.

  Lincoln sat across from me and shook his head in amusement. "You've got my head spinnin'." Was that why he'd been acting weird the past few days? He'd been almost nicer. "I've been thinking."

  "About what?" I looked around the hotel restaurant for a clock. It couldn’t be more than seven or eight, but I wanted to join the others. They were scoping out the French Quarter for some fun clubs and bars. I wanted to go dancing and lose myself in Lincoln and his magic cocktails.

  "You asked me if I was angry in general," he said. It took me a second to remember, and then I nodded. "I don’t think I am." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "I'm disappointed. Or I was, and since then, I've kinda just…I don’t know, given up on people."

  That was sad. "What disappointed you?" I asked curiously.

  He smirked ruefully and lowered his voice. "I get away with everything. It's fucked up. I can treat people like absolute shit, and they'll still worship me."

  Because he was famous. Wow. His behavior toward people made more sense now.

  "How many times have you been carded while being with us?" His question was rhetorical. "How much shit do we get for free? Remember outside the hotel in Denver?"

  Of course. The paparazzi got close to us while we were leaving, and Lincoln and Mikey shoved them away and then smashed their cameras. The hotel manager apologized to the band…

  I found myself leaning in too, curious about how his views must've changed. "What did you expect?" I wondered. "You must've known before you signed with the label that celebrities tend to become immortals to the rest of us."

  He laughed quietly and jerked his chin at a nearby waiter. "Don't get me wrong, I loved the attention at first." With the current topic, I glanced at the waiter as he approached, and he went to us immediately while others had probably waited longer. "Another beer for me." Lincoln raised a brow in question at me.

  "Gin and tonic, please," I said.

  They never asked me for my ID.