Saving Abel (Rocker Series) (7 page)

They say you’re a product of your environment. My environment was tolerable only because I escaped it inside my head, by turning my pain into laughter and sarcasm. Only another fucked-up person would be able to see through my veil—my mask. And those people were few and far between. My days consisted of pushing the pain and ugliness behind the closed doors of my mind, sweeping them into neat little piles and shoving them inside, locking them away. If I got lucky, they would never surface again. But my past told me that I would never, ever, get
that
lucky.

Cindy came out of the bathroom dressed to kill. She was wearing a black leather mini-skirt paired with a silver backless lamé top. Her black five-inch heels finished her look epically.

“Damn, you look kick-ass,
chica
.” I let out a low whistle. She blushed, but smiled brightly. She had bought this outfit for last New Year’s Eve, but had never got the chance to wear it. She had gotten the flu instead.

“Ooh ooh, I want you to wear my Cartier bracelets. The silver and gold will be a nice contrast,” I called out over my shoulder as I walked into my room. They were my mother’s. She had begrudgingly given them to me, because she couldn’t stand the gold-plated bangles I loved.
Bitch.

“Thank you, Gia. I would’ve never thought to ask,” she said, playing with them on her wrist.

“Okay, my make-up’s done. Give me a minute to get dressed.” I went to get my clothes hanging perfectly on the hanger. Stripping my tank top and shorts off, I put on a nude lycra/spandex thigh-high mini dress. The front and back were cut very low. The nude color gave the illusion I wasn’t wearing anything. This dress was entirely too much for this venue. I was overdressed, but ask me if I cared. I needed to close the deal tonight with Abel. And sure as fuck this dress would seal it. I bent over the mirror to apply one final coat of gloss.
Perfect.
Grabbing my bag, I left my bedroom for the big reveal, not caring what Cindy might think about my choice of clothing. Life was about decisions. And I was deciding to look jaw-dropping, mouth-watering, boner-inducing, drop-dead gorgeous.

“Christ on the cross!” She patted her heart, fanning herself obnoxiously. “Hon, I think I have a lady-boner.” We both laughed at her theatrics. “Seriously G, I need a panty-liner if I’m going to be next to you all night in
that.
” She motioned her index finger up and down.

“Deal with it, babe,” I laughed. “All kidding aside, let’s hit it. We still have to get our tickets from the ‘will call’ window.” I grabbed my keys and proceeded to the door. Luckily for her, she was right behind me, because I would’ve left her ass. She had a nasty habit of walking slow. But I had a quick gate, so she was always ten steps behind me. We would end up fighting. I was always walking too fast. However, if you asked me, she was always walking too slow.

We hit traffic closer to the venue, adding to my anxiety. When I was nervous, I cursed. Well, actually, I normally cursed in any given situation.

“Move it or lose it, fucker!” I screamed, rolling down my window. The driver had the nerve to glare at me. “Yeah, that was me calling you a motherfucker. Pretty girls curse, too.” I stepped on the gas, but not before saluting him with my finger.

Yeah, it had been that kind of day. I had no patience for hot-girl rubberneckers. We had to wait in line to get into the parking lot. The parking attendants wore jeans and
fly me to the moon saloon
tee-shirts advertising a local bar and co-sponsor for the event. Cin yelled out her window at one of the guys as we pulled in. I slowed to a crawl, easing up next to him.

“Hey hon, do we have to park in the grass?” She touched his chest, dragging her finger down slowly. “My heels will get all dirty.”

Cin then proceeded to stick her five-inch heel out the window, turning her foot this way and that way.
Oh, dear Lord
. I rolled my eyes at her antics. This was a classic, signature move. She hated to walk—anywhere. Period. End of story. She did what she had to do to get what she wanted, no matter how abhorrent it might be. She could come off at times as a dizzy bimbo. But this was an act. She was Mensa smart. Which was scary as fuck, because she played an entirely different role in front of people. Most people who were gifted had a habit of making you feel inadequate. Not Cindy. She went out of her way to hide her intelligence, as if she were embarrassed by it. She was a chameleon, like me. It was all kinds of fucked-up. But hello pot, meet kettle. Who was I to say what was right and what was wrong. The cutie pointed in the direction where we were to park.

“You ladies go right through there. Tell Steve I said you can park in the handicapped section.” He moved the wooden barricade so we could drive through, and then stepped aside.

“Handicapped?” she shouted. He looked surprised by her outburst. I hoped she wasn’t one of
those
—the people who sneered and leered at folks like me who took liberties with handicapped parking.

“Stick a cork in it!” I retorted. “My grandmother was handicapped. Hello? Remember? I’m handicapped by association, remember? It’s in my breed. I told you!”

She rolled her eyes while shaking her head. That was my cue to hit the gas, park, and get the hell out of this freaking car before she could have another outburst. I reached for the door handle to exit the car—but her hand stopped me before I could. I turned in question.

“Yes, now what?” I waited for her answer.

“
Breed?
Did you just say
breed?
It’s in your
breed?
” she asked incredulously.

“Yep, that’s what I said. Now, move your ass, sister.” I made a bee-line for the entrance. I didn’t even want to look back for fear she would ramble on about how wacked I was.
Breed
was a perfect way to describe what I was meaning to say.

“Slow your gate, please. I can’t walk so fast in these heels. Shit. The balls of my feet are already starting to hurt. You know what that means, right?” She tugged on my arm, slowing me down.

“I’ll bite. What does it mean?” I asked, scratching my arm. It was getting buggy out. I hated bugs. Her eyes zeroed in on my now-scratched arm. And then she started scratching, too—both of her arms simultaneously.

“It means, I’ll have to figure out a way to keep my feet up—preferably while I’m on my back.” She smiled with a snort. She was a funny chick. And that right there was why I loved her, through and through.

“You’re a genius. I don’t even belong in your presence. In fact, you should have a court. I will request an audience with you,” I said, grabbing her hand. We laughed. Both of us were Royalty nerds: we loved and watched anything having to do with the Monarchy.

A pair of sexy milk-chocolate eyes haunted me. Not in a scary way, but in an “I’m never going to let you rest until you’ve tasted me” type of way. It was fucking with my head—hard.

Unfortunately, the eyes looking up at me were blue. Not the brown ones I’ve been fantasying about. But, I needed this—needed release. I took a deep breath, relaxed, and closed my eyes, trying to focus on the sounds of her sucking me off. Yeah, that was much better. I widened my legs, giving her ample access to my balls and hoping she’d take the hint. It pissed me off when I had to school a girl in how to properly suck cock. The chick on her knees was a brunette. She was yanking my dick so hard, she had broken a sweat. This was getting ridiculous and fucking annoying. The sound of some girl’s laughter in the hallway distracted me. Girls weren’t allowed to troll around backstage. So who the fuck was that?

Before I could get the chick off my dick, a knock sounded, followed by the door opening.
Fuck me,
those same milk-chocolate eyes connected with mine—then focused on the back of the head of the blue-eyed chick bobbing up and down on my dick.

“Shit. I’m so sorry, Abel. Um, Ender told us he’d meet us in here. Fuck, I’m sorry,” Cindy exclaimed while hustling back out of the room. Gia, however, said not a word—but in her eyes I saw possessiveness. Then she turned and slammed the door behind her so hard it echoed in my ears for a minute. I hardened. Blue-eyes never took her eyes off the prize. She continued lavishing my cock with her tongue, without even looking up. Gia was feisty. I liked that. And that right there made me lose my shit in Blue-eyes’ mouth. What was it with this Gia girl? Would my appetite for her be sated when I finally got her?

I just stood there, buttoning my pants, and then I turned and left the room without a word. I had some questions for Ender.

Notes of a Latin melody drifted off stage. He was tuning his guitar. This was his usual routine before we gigged. His sultry vibe had a calming effect on the beast within. I knew exactly how he felt: I dealt with the beast myself. However, I needed to talk to him. He was fucking my shit up with Gia. And it was pissing me the fuck off.

“Dude, why in the fuck would you tell Cindy and Gia to come into my dressing room?” I asked, folding my arms. He never looked up, but just smiled and continued playing.

“Yo, motherfucker, I’m talking to you. What you did wasn’t appreciated.” I kicked the side of his chair with my boot. This time he opened his eyes, placed his guitar in the holder, and gave me his undivided attention.

“What I told them is meet me in
our
dressing room. Now, if they interrupted your pre-performance get-down with a chick—that’s on you,
bollo.
He stood up, stepping into my comfort zone, smirking.
Fucker knew he was fucking with me.

“Newsflash,
esse..
I was getting head, asshole. I don’t need two chicks fucking my shit up. They work for my old man. It’s a respect thing.” I turned and started to walk away. But he wasn’t going to let this go. He was a fucking pain in my ass.

“Let me get this straight, Abel,” he huffed incredulously. You’re worried about coming off as disrespectful, because of your dad. Not for any other reason, like, say, maybe a brown-eyed reason you’ve managed to bring coffee to every morning? Afraid what she might think of you now?”

I knew then I needed to walk off some of this tension coiling my body. I didn’t need this. What I did need was to be loose and ready for this performance. Performing got me off just as much as a tight pussy. The pulsing energy from the crowd fed my beast, nurturing my soul in the most visceral way. I felt invincible—complete. But afterwards, I needed to release my darkness. The demon in me needed to be fed, to relish in someone else’s pain, agony, and pleasure. This was my cross and I would bare this cross as long as I lived. I needed this as much as I needed oxygen. Tonight I would be laying down some pipe. Who the lucky girl was … I had no clue.