Tough Luck (Hard Rock Roots) (23 page)

“I knew it,” she snarls, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “I fucking knew it. That little whore. She was in on it all along?” Lola nods her head slowly, looking exhausted. She's so small and fragile, it feels like she could break apart at any moment, morph into a flock of birds to match her tattoos and fly away. I hold on tighter.

“Well, mostly anyway. From right around Denver, I think. But I could be wrong. One day, she was the enemy. The next, a friend.” Lola pauses. “And I use the term loosely.” Naomi's face darkens considerably. There's a lot of history there, too much maybe. She and Hayden would probably be better off going their separate ways. After this, I don't see how they'll have much choice. “I was going to go to the cops with all this last night.” Lola reaches her hands up and curls her fingers around my arms, squeezing tight. “But some of them are dirty.” Naomi and Turner exchange a glance. “I don't know how many, but I couldn't risk trying to pick one out. And then I found out that … ” Her voice goes soft and comes back harder than before, full of rage and frustration, and desperation I can tell she doesn't feel like she deserves. “I found out that they have my sister, and they're not going to let her go until it's all over, until they get what they want.”

“And what's that exactly?” Turner asks, and Lola shakes her head again.

“I don't know what's in it for Tyler, but I can tell you why they're doing it – my bandmates. It's the same reason I started off doing it. Money, fame, popularity. Sounds pretty stupid now that I'm looking at it from this end, but who turns down a deal that promises to turn them into the Gods of Rock. We're supposed to capitalize on all of this fucking crap, these murders and kidnappings and bloody fuck all else. And then, after everyone's been served their slice of shit, we're supposed to finish it with a cherry on top, the ultimate act that'll seal our deal as the next best thing in rock 'n' roll.”

“Huh,” Turner snorts, unconvinced. “And how the hell are you supposed to do that?”

Lola looks him straight in the face when she says it.

“We're supposed to kill you.” Lola switches her attention to Naomi. “Both of you.”

After I spill my guts onto the floor of Ronnie's hotel room, I feel so different. It's hard to describe the change, but it's like I took that truck around my shoulders and went herculean on it, tossing it off into some ditch somewhere to rot. Thank God, because I barely made it down the hall from KK's room. The weight of the world is a heavy fucker to carry. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. Might wish genital crabs on 'em maybe, but not that. Soon as those words leave my mouth though, I'm light as a fucking feather.

Ronnie lets me sleep on his bed, and I can vaguely make out voices around me. But it doesn't matter. I earned at least this, this little piece of rest.

“I stand by my philosophy. Secrets fucking kill.”

That's the last thing I hear before I black out completely, waking up to a mostly dark room. There's a single lamp on in the corner, and Naomi Knox is sitting in the chair with her phone in one hand and my knife in the other. When she hears me rustling around, she glances up.

“Sleep tight?” she asks, and I can't tell if she's being sarcastic or not. I drag myself up and prop some pillows against the headboard.

“Guess so,” I say, looking around the room. Ronnie's babies are gone and the dirty green dress is laying out on the other bed, so I'm guessing they already left for the airport.
And I didn't even get to say goodbye, not that I really deserve any kind of relationship with those girls
. “Honestly, might've been the best sleep I've had in a while.”

Naomi sets the knife down on the arm of the chair and switches off her phone. She tilts her head to the side and looks straight at me. Her eyes are the strangest color, an orange-brown that reminds me of the sand plains around Mount Conner. Not as dry though. There's a sheen to them that hints at a deeper person underneath the rock star persona and the media frenzy. I don't really know much about her other than what I've read. Strange isn't it, how you can spend so much time in such close quarters with someone and not know a fucking thing about 'em?

“You were there,” she says quietly, and I look down at the blankets. I should've known this was coming. What I talked about earlier was the only the tip of the iceberg. There are a lot of little details I'm going to have to explain. This whole concoction is like a spider's web. Every bit is connected to another. “On the bus. Before I got moved over to Eric's trailer.” I nod because I'm not sure what else to say to that.
Yeah, I was there. I kidnapped you. I helped tie you up and keep you hidden for days. Days you were there, and I had the chance to stop it all then, but I didn't.
“There was a moment, just one, when somebody tried to – ” I interrupt her.

“Cohen,” I say, wanting her to know everything. I can't keep any of this in anymore. It's just too much. “Cohen Rose.” She keeps staring at me, eyes calm and face neutral. I expected her to be a lot angrier than this.

“You stopped him from raping me. Thank you.” I shake my head and reach up to touch my hair. It's fucking disgusting. I think there might even be dried vomit crusted in it. I smell like a whore's unwashed arse hole, and there Naomi Knox sits, all cleaned up. She's got on a white tank with a red skull on the front, a pair of skintight jeans, and some hot ass boots that I'm itching to swipe. Perfect makeup, perfect hair, an arm full of silver bangles.
Fuck you, you bush pig,
I think at her as I struggle to get my feet on the ground. It's not often I let myself be seen without looking picture fucking perfect. I like shoes, preferably wrapped in velvet, and tops that show skin. I like to look good, and I like knowing that I look good. Right now, I'm about as attractive as a boar's hairy armpit.

“You don't owe me any thanks,” I say, scooting to the edge of the bed. Naomi nods her head, leaning back in the chair enough that her shirt rides up, and I can finally see the infamous tattoo everyone likes to talk about online.
Real Ugly.
Bunch of wannabe bitches got clones of it a few days back, but there'll only ever really be one. One Naomi Knox. One Rock Goddess. Not sure if she knows it or not, but there aren't many like her out there. The concert before the tornado hit was fucking intense for me. I really respect this bitch.

“No, you're right. I don't. In fact, I should be kicking your ass right now.” I stay seated and wait for her to continue. Obviously, we're not going to get into it. If we were, I'd have probably woken up with half my hair shaved off or a bloody tampon stuck in my nose. It's happened to me before.
Poppet.
Thinking of my sister's bitchy retaliations towards me just makes me all the more determined to get her out. Somebody with that much spunk shouldn't be trapped like a rat in a cage.
Tyler Rutledge, you fuckface. You better watch your ass because next time I see you, I might just decide to go through with all those dark, dirty thoughts. You'll be lucky if the only thing I use on you is a kitchen knife.
Naomi leans forward and lowers her voice. It's husky and rich and full of unused potential. I hope that one day, she takes over Amatory Riot and kicks Hayden's ass to the curb. One day soon I suppose. And to think, just a few days ago I was trying to help get rid of them. Funny how quick things can change when you realize your heart's not into it. To get through life, you have to have it. It's a fucking essential. “I have to admire you for coming forward. You're taking a big risk here.” I shake my head again.

“I was risking losing myself before. This here's the easy part.”

Naomi helps me back to my room to get some clothes. Somehow, I keep expecting everyone else to start acting differently just because I am. To them though, nothing's changed. For all they know, the only reason I went into that room was to have a foursome. Best I keep it that way until we can figure out our next move.
We.
It's not just me in this anymore. I like that.

I make the decision to shower back in Ronnie's room. When he gets back from the airport, I want to be there waiting. I want to see his face and know what he's thinking of me.

“Lydia?” I ask Naomi after we get back inside the room. All of Indecency, including Milo, went with Ronnie to the airport. Now there's a real family, the group of bandmates I always wanted but never had.

“She's going to stay with Ronnie's parents for awhile I guess.” Naomi shrugs. “I have no idea what's going to happen after the tour, but I guess he'll figure it out. He seems like a nice guy.” She pauses and looks at me with a funny face. “You're not in love with him, are you?”

I snort.

“Well that's a silly question,” I say, even though really, it's not. We stand there for a moment in awkward silence. I never do give her a proper answer. Clearing my throat, I push open the door to the bathroom and step inside, laying my clothes out on the counter and grabbing a towel from above the rack behind the toilet. “How about Phoebe?” I call out. I know it's stupid, but I feel somewhat responsible for those kids now. One day, they'll probably grow up to curse my name, but for right now, I just want to make sure they're alright. I wish I could've gone with Ronnie to the airport to drop them off.
Here's to hoping I'll live long enough to see them again. Or that Ronnie will ever
let
me see them again.

“She's going to live with Shannon's parents. I don't think he wants her to, but the way they cried on the phone, he couldn't resist. Ronnie's a big softie deep down, I think. I imagine that's why he let himself suffer for all these years. Some sort of self punishment or something.” I listen to her talk and start the shower, leaning against the wall outside while I feel the water with my hand. Ronnie really is a nice guy, but nice guys never admit that. Deep down he knows though, and I think that's why he's so angry. He knows that everything that's happened in his life has been bullshit.

I move back over to the door and kick it closed, stripping off my dirty bra and jeans. The crotch is all crusted with fun times from my outing with Ronnie, and there are some questionable stains on the knees.
Ah, a day in the life of Lola Rubi Saints.

I climb into the shower, drenching myself in scalding water that quickly turns my skin pink. The feel of the shampoo is like heaven, putting me into a euphoric state where I let myself go, and I don't think about anything else. Not the dirty cops, not my sister, not even the rapidly growing pile of bodies. I know I'm not going to get many moments like these, so I savor it. That's the thing about showers. It's not just the water washing away the day's dirt. It washes away all of the emotions, too. At least temporarily. Those first five minutes out of the shower when I'm all alone, pulling my clothes over my body with sensual slowness, breathing in the hot steam and not caring for once that I can't look in the mirror and see myself – that's pure motherfucking bliss.

A knock at the door surprises me, and I drop the damn soap, peeking my head out of the shower curtain. I just automatically assume it's Naomi.

“Come in!” I shout, conditioner slicking against my shoulders as my hair slides forward and drips wetness onto the floor. When the door opens and I see Ronnie come in, I pull the curtain a little closer in front of me. When he sees me staring at him, he turns away, back towards the still open door.

“Sorry,” he says, but he doesn't sound all that sorry. “I'm not trying to bother you. I just wanted to let you know that we're going to conference Naomi's manager, America, in and tell her what we know.” I fling the curtain back, not at all bothered by my nakedness. After all, it isn't anything he hasn't seen before. Fuck, he was even inside, too, so why the shit should a little nudity ruffle him or me?

“No.” My voice is very firm, extremely clear. “Don't tell anyone else.” Ronnie doesn't turn around or look at me, keeping his body pointed towards the door. I won't lie – I'm a little disappointed he's not ogling my goods and committing himself to permanent relocation to Lola-land.

“Naomi's friend, the drummer for her band, Dax. He's in on it all. Him and America. That's it. Just these two. We can trust them.” I shake my head hard and conditioner flies all over the place like wet snow. A drip even hits Ronnie in the back of the neck, right on top of one of his snake tats. He wipes it away, but still doesn't turn to look at me. Unless, of course, he's peeping in the mirror. It's a little fogged up now, but if he tilted his head just right …