Dead Serious (27 page)

It's ridiculously easy to spot America in her white suit. She's like a pimple on a pretty face.

What the fuck?

She's moving quickly, sliding between rapturous faces, upturned to absorb the glory of their gods. She holds her arms stiffly at her sides, raising them only when she comes up against the back of a man in a black woolen jacket. A man with a horribly familiar face.

Oh shit.

“
Tearing me up, shredding me inside; my walls are coming down in flames.
” Naomi's voice is hauntingly ethereal, like the laughter of a ghost who found this world too beautiful to leave behind.

No. No. No.

Why did I say ghost? Why did I even think ghost?

I start to stand up, to turn, to go to her when I hear a gunshot.

And another.

And another.

All coming from stage right.

“Naomi!” I forget about the show and the crowd and America. She can kill Stephen for all I give a fuck. I close the distance between us and wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her to me roughly and knocking her fingers away from her guitar.

She pauses, looking at me with a tightness around her eyes, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The rest of the band falters and in the sudden silence, a voice breaks through the speaker system.

“If you shoot him,” a woman begins, her voice heavy with an Australian accent. Only it's not Lola. It can't possibly be Lola. “Then I'll shoot your son. I swear to God I'll do it.”

Heels clack across the floor, bright orange ones. At first I really think it
is
Lola, moving across the stage with a little boy's shirt clutched in her hand. But it's not. It's a woman with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, a small round face and pursed lips. This has to be Lola's sister, Poppet. Has to be.

She pauses center stage, glancing over her shoulder at us, pressing the barrel of her gun into the side of the boy's head. My heart won't stop pounding, sending a rush of blood to my ears that makes it sound like I'm drowning, and maybe I am.

That's Travis' son.

That fucking kid right there, the one with the brown hair and the gentle face, the long arms, the thin fingers. Everything about him is like a mirror image of my dead friend when he was that age. Everything, down to the freckles on the back of his neck.

Jesus Christ.

The crowd goes completely and utterly silent.

“I'm sorry, Stephen, but I love you too much. I won't let her take you from me.” Poppet lifts her chin defiantly as I uncurl my fingers from Naomi's waist and wonder how quick I can get up there. If I can sneak up on her, maybe I can knock the gun away from the kid? From Tyler.

Poppet's wearing the wireless headset, giving her voice the power of a thousand screaming soldiers. It booms out the speakers and echoes around us, tearing my heart to pieces.

America's voice is much softer, drifting up from down below, but it's audible.

“You touch my son, and I'll make you wish you were dead.”

“Stop!” Poppet screams, and I can only imagine what's going on down there.
Where the fuck is Brayden Ryker?
“I swear to God I'll do it.” She shoves the gun harder against Tyler's skull. His sobs are quiet, soft, like he's already been broken.
No. No.
I won't fucking let this happen. “Stephen is not the enemy here,” Poppet says, looking up, addressing the gathered crowd. “He's a victim.” She drags Tyler forward a few more steps.

To my right, I see Cohen Rose and that green haired bitch from Ice and Glass at the edge of the curtains. With more guns. Fuck.

If I'm going to do this, I have to move now.

“Tell 'em what this is all about. How you got yourself knocked up by a little rocker boy that didn't want you, how he threatened to fight for custody of his son. Tell 'em what you did to that bloke with your car, America. Tell everybody. We all know you're a fucking murderer already. It's over for you, bitch.”

My heart seriously stops right here, freezes up and breaks me down for a moment, paralyzing me.

What? What? What the fuck?

“And now, after raising this child as his own, you come to Stephen and you tell him the bloody truth and expect him to hand Tyler over? Go fuck yourself.”

A gunshot explodes from down below and Poppet screams. If America just shot Stephen, what happens now? I start to move forward, to go for Tyler, but I'm too late. Naomi is already a few seconds ahead of me.

Her body slams into Poppet's and the two of them fall to the floor, leaving Tyler unharmed and screaming in the center of the stage. I keep moving, aware that Cohen and that green haired bitch are coming this way. At this point though, all I give a shit about is Naomi. Hopefully, the other members of Amatory Riot can show some backbone and step up to the plate.

Naomi and Poppet struggle for a moment before the gun goes off and Naomi jerks back like she's been hit. My heart nearly stops dead right there, I swear. I almost give up on fucking life. But Naomi doesn't stop moving, still fighting over the pistol as the crowd erupts into an animalistic fury. If we don't get this under control
right now,
people are going to die out there. Think a stampede only happens on the African plains? Dead wrong. This shit happens, and it's sad and it's horrible and it only serves to reflect the basest part of the human soul. I won't let that happen.

I finally reach Naomi and Poppet, sliding to my knees and pulling back a fist, slamming it as hard as I can into Poppet's face. She drops her hold on the gun immediately, leaving Naomi with it clutched in her fingers. I swing again. And again. And again. Until blood coats my knuckles and Poppet stops struggling.

When I look down at my knee, I see that I'm kneeling in a pool of red.

My eyes snap up and find Naomi's face, but there's no expression there, nothing to judge how much pain she's in, how bad she's hurt.

“Baby,” I whimper, trying to pull her to me. More gunshots explode from behind us, lighting up the stage like morbid fireworks.

“I'm fine,” Naomi growls, pushing me away, holding a hand to her side. There's blood oozing between her fingers and staining her pale skin with ruby red. She nods with her chin, indicating that I should go. What she doesn't realize is that there's nothing more important in this world to me than her. “I'm not going anywhere, Turner. Just get the kid.”

I glance over my shoulder and see Tyler screaming, hands over his ears. There's a body near his feet. My brain doesn't even register who it is. I won't. I can't.

I look back at Naomi. She looks okay, she's even smiling at me. I'll get up, grab the kid and be right back here. Just a split second, that's it.

One, single, second.

My eyes water with unshed tears and as soon as Turner moves away, I let the blood bubble out of my lips. I'm breathing wetness right now. I'm drowning – just like Katie. It's poetic justice in a sense, isn't it?
I'm going to die here.
I can't think like that, can't even let myself go there. I have no idea what's going on around me, but it doesn't matter. There's chaos. In chaos, even I can find harmony.

I look down, at America in her white suit, Stephen's body at her feet. She's searching the stage frantically, her eyes catching on Tyler to my left.
You killed Hayden and Katie, maybe not indirectly, but you did. You killed Travis?
I think about what Poppet said and in that light headed clarity that only comes with so much blood loss, I put some of the pieces of the puzzle together. It only makes sense that America was the one that killed Turner's friend. That
she
and not Stephen was the one ran him over with her car. I'm not saying Stephen's a saint – he's obviously at fault in all of this – but he's not alone.

He's not the only one who needs justice.

I'm going to die.

Crap.

“Naomi!” Turner's screaming my name. I turn my head just in time to see Brayden Ryker with a gun pointed at my skull.

I have seconds. Literally seconds. I have to decide now.

I lift my gun up, take aim at America and shoot.

To my right, Brayden pulls the trigger, and after that, everything else is a mystery.

In the midst of dawning realizations and broken hearts, nobody remembers to utter the final words of my song.

“
If you break me, baby, be prepared to pick up the pieces.
”

To be continued...

Dear Reader,

Please put down your pitchforks and your torches. You knew this was coming, right? This is Hard Rock Roots, after all. It happens. Life happens. Shit gets fucked up. But guess what?

I am a sucker for happy endings. I like all of my characters to ride off into the sunset with their tattoos sparkling in the fading light of evening. So no worries. Relax, take a deep breath. You know I love you, right? Seriously.

Naomi and Turner will have another book. It's okay. Breathe. Next up though, Ronnie and Lola are up to bat in "Doll Face" Releases November 24th, 2014.

Rock stars, dirty sex, and blood. Oh my! C.M.

Ready for another dose of effed the hell up? Hard Rock Roots Book 7: "Doll Face". Releases November 24th, 2014.

Add this book to your to-read list on Goodreads!

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23399746-doll-face?from_search=true

If you enjoyed "Dead Serious", you might like C.M. Stunich's new stand-alone novel, "Taming Her Boss". Releases November 17th, 2014.

Lex Lyndon is used to getting what he wants.

Even if what he wants is to submit.

Olivia "Oli" Ashcraft has a decent job with decent hours and decent pay, so why screw things up? Because Oli has a temper. A bad one. Born and raised in San Francisco, Oli doesn't have any fantasies of being dominated or manipulated by anyone, let alone a preppy, spoiled CEO. Tired of fighting with the misogynistic jerk in the corner office, Olivia decides to confront Lex only to be offered a tantalizing proposition: take control.

Lex wants a woman in charge, and he's willing to pay for it. In the bedroom and out of it.

***

Add this book to your to-read list on Goodreads!

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18484681-taming-her-boss?ac=1