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  “You're home free,” she whispers, and while I don't exactly like her tone, what can I say? This is too good to be true. I've been Hayden's bitch for years now. To be free would be … I can't even express the emotion in words.

  “How do I know you're telling the truth?” I ask her and watch as she rises to her feet, moves across the hall and digs under her pillow. When she reemerges, she's got a photo clutched in her hand. Hayden takes a deep breath and presses it to her boney chest. For a second there, she looks terrified, but I figure it's just the acid and don't worry about it. I wonder if I should.

  “You've got my word, Naomi.” Hayden searches my face for a long moment, pupils dilating rapidly, breath coming faster and faster. “You've been a good friend,” she tells me, and I have to admit I'm stunned as shit to hear that. It's the first time she's said something nice to me since we graduated high school. Or rather, since she graduated high school. Me, I'm just a loser fucking dropout. “I know I haven't treated you right, and I'm sorry. I just wanted to keep you around, and I was afraid if I stopped teasing you, you'd go.” I stare straight at her and don't say a word.

  When she finally presents me with the photograph, when I look down at it and see the image that's burned to film, I throw up in my mouth a little.

  “Oh, fuck.”

  I am trashed as shit, but not from the coke, from Naomi Knox.

  My head hangs over the sink and my hands curl with rage. At her, at myself, at whoever gets in my fucking way. I've already ripped Josh a new one today, and Milo … Well, let's just say that he's been avoiding me like the plague, hasn't knocked or bitched once, and I've been in the bathroom all night fucking long.

  “Dude, some of us need to shower.” It's Treyjan, of course. Nobody else has the balls to talk to me when I'm like this. I feel hungover from Naomi. She's in my blood now. And I thought I was going to be able to get her out of my system. A harsh laugh tears its way out of my throat before I rip open the door and shove Trey back hard. Nothing against him, but when I get upset, I fight. It's a condition that was pounded into my blood from my useless mom and her boyfriends.

  A scuffle breaks out between us and escalates. Blows are exchanged and Ronnie and Jesse end up getting involved, pulling us apart, arms still swinging. Sweat and blood are pouring down my face and into my eyes, but Treyjan looks okay. Stupid fuck. I shrug Jesse off and wipe the crimson copper from my mouth with the fabric of my T-shirt, letting it fall red and soggy back against my belly.

  “What's your problem, man? Ever since you started obsessing about that fucking bitch from Amatory Riot, you turned into a completely different person. You've known the cunt for like a week and already, you're a mess. God, she's fucking hot dude, but she isn't worth it. Jesus Christ.”

  I stand stone still for a moment and then I'm flying at Trey again, hitting him so hard in the jaw that he ends up on his back on the floor. Jesse grabs one of my arms while Ronnie takes the other, and I end up pinned down in the captain's chair next to our driver, a pretty redhead with green eyes. I don't know her name, never bothered to learn it. She's been off limits since day one. There's this twinkle in her eyes that says she's in love. I usually don't bother with girls like that.

  My friends pull their hands back slowly, tentatively.

  “You okay now?” Ronnie asks as sweat beads on his upper lip, and he starts to pant. He's a wreck again today, just miserable looking. Bags under his eyes, shaky hands, pale skin. Fucked up because of a girl that died more than ten years ago. A freak accident stole her life and his soul. My biggest fear's always been that I'd end up like Ronnie. I've never told him that, but it's true.

  “Fine,” I snap, watching as Jesse tucks his hands in his pockets and looks at me through a fall of dark hair. He's glaring at me, pissed the fuck off for starting shit when there wasn't any. Screw him. I turn to the window and slam my head into the glass, closing my eyes and trying to figure out how to get a grip on my anger.

  My hands fumble around my pockets and come up with a cigarette. When I flick open my lighter, I open my eyes and watch the signs on the side of the highway roll by. At least we're moving. That way I know I can't get up and go after Naomi. No secrets, right Turner? You've been fucking lying to yourself ever since you saw her asleep on that couch. You know. You remember. You like this chick. You did back then and you do now. You wanted that kid to exist, so you'd have an excuse to chase her. Get over yourself.

  I stand up quickly, take a drag on my cigarette and wipe my sweaty palms off on the thighs of my jeans, the ones I got from the teen section, the ones made for chicks. And I look fucking perfect in them. Jesse and Ronnie watch me nervously; Josh glares; Treyjan sips a cup of water and glances at me out of the corner of his eye. Milo starts to speak, but I hold up a hand to keep him quiet.

  I'm twenty-eight fucking years old; I know what I want and how to get it at this point in my life. And now I know I want Naomi Knox. It's that simple, that easy.

  I pull my cigarette from my mouth and take a look around, meeting the eyes of my friends carefully, so they'll know how serious I am right now. First person to laugh gets punched.

  “I'm in love.” I don't say I think or that I might be. The first step to being successful in anything is knowing yourself. A lot of people don't get that. I don't need to think shit over or take Knox to dinner. That shit is all circumstantial. When you know, man, you just fucking know.

  I put my cigarette back in my mouth.

  The bus stays quiet. Ronnie's mouth turns up in a sad smile, but otherwise, everyone's expression is just blank.

  “In love?” Treyjan asks, and I get the feeling that I might have to punch him again. Right in the nuts this time. “You're not in love with that girl. You just feel bad because of that sob story she fed you the other day, all of that abortion crap.”

  “Nah, that has nothing to do with it.” I put out my cig in a nearby ash tray, and I swear to fuck, I feel better than I have in years. Lighter. Like I could float away or some shit. I rub my hands down my sweaty face. “I just like her. She's a fighter. She's … strong.”

  “She's a bitch,” Treyjan says, and I smile.

  “That, too.” I sniff, trying to clear my nostrils of dried blood, and then shrug. “You don't have to understand it or agree with it. You just have to fuck off and let me do my thing, okay?”

  “Like make an ass out of yourself onstage?” he asks, looking more and more pissed off by the second. I snap my fingers and point at his chest.

  “Exactly.” Treyjan rolls his eyes at me, and my phone buzzes in my back pocket. When I pull it out, I see there's a message from an unknown number, and my chest gets tight. Naomi, maybe? I open it up with a flick of my thumb.

  “This is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard in my life. Turner, you've never even had a damn girlfriend. I've known you since we were kids, dude. You're not in love; you're just infatuated. Obsessed.” He continues to bitch while Milo clears his throat and jumps in, giving some bullshit speech about love and life that nobody's fucking listening to. Least of all me.

  On my phone, there's a picture, and in it, Naomi. Covered head to toe in blood.

  I'll admit, I'm the first to think that Hayden's request is bizarre. Despite my heckling, she won't tell me what she's planning on doing, but I figure that I've got the rest of the day to keep prying.

  The picture she gave me is folded up, burning a hole in my back pocket. Even the idea that it's there is making me sick, but I leave it, knowing that despite the random 180 she's just pulled, she can't be trusted. This photo, as fucked as it is, gives me complete freedom from her. I keep reminding myself of that as I struggle to forget about Turner. It's hard, especially since I've been listening to Indecency's albums on repeat for the last few hours. His voice is just … out of this fucking world. Every time he growls, I get flooded with heat and can't keep the memory of his groaning out of my head.

  Fuck.

  I wander back to the front of the bus and watch out the front window a
s we pull into another parking lot. Jesus, but I'm tired of sleeping on this damn thing. I want a real bed. And Kash snores. And now, Dax won't stop staring at me. Not even for a second. If he knows that Turner and I slept together, he doesn't let on, but he does keep dropping hints about the damn baby head, asking where it came from and whatnot.

  I can't wait until this tour is over.

  The parking brake hasn't even been set when Turner comes storming onto the bus and up the stairs. His face is red and his eyes are wide. He looks like shit.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I snarl at him, but he's already grabbing my wrist and dragging me down the steps. His grip is rock solid and his intent is clear – to get me out of earshot. But why? As Turner yanks me across the cement and towards some shrubs at the edge of the lot, I see a champagne colored car idling near the exit. I don't know for sure, but I'm willing to hazard a guess that Eric's the one inside. Hmm.

  Turner stops only when we're cloaked in shadows, hidden from the lights of the venue by a windowless stone wall. His fingers relax, and then his phone's in my face.

  “Naomi,” he says as I snatch it away from him, examining his wide eyes and sallow skin. I don't know what he's been doing all night, but sleeping certainly isn't it. And he's wearing the same pants he had on yesterday. Different shirt though. Probably since I ended up stealing his. I tap my fingers on the side of the phone and wonder what happened to my underwear. If they end up on eBay, I swear to God, I'll kill him.

  “What is your fucking problem?” I ask him, switching my gaze to the screen and the picture that's already pulled up and ready for my viewing pleasure. My heart starts to pump and dizziness sweeps over me, making me stumble. Turner catches me, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Dax watching us. I keep the phone tucked tight against my chest. “Where did you get this?” I sound breathless, desperate. Afraid. And I don't like to sound that way. It isn't in my nature.

  I look down again, examine the picture.

  There I am with the scissors in my hand, pale fingers clenched tight around the metal. In this particular still, the pointed blades are half buried in Mrs. Rhineback's miserable throat. Blood is just starting to spill from her neck to join her husband's. Oh, how fun.

  “A video followed shortly thereafter,” Turner says, lighting up a joint. I steal it from him before he has a chance to smoke it and purse my lips around it. Wow. Just wow. Thanks a lot, Katie. I look up and let my eyes scan the darkness around us. She could be anywhere and that scares the shit out of me. She was never dangerous before, but people change. I have no idea what she's capable of. I mean, that baby head thing? That was just cruel.

  My breath is coming in short, sharp gasps and my chest feels so tight that I'm afraid my ribs might just open up and let out my heart. As I drop Turner's phone to the ground, I notice that the lower half of his shirt is covered in blood. His swollen lip and nose explain the source but not the cause. I smash the heel of my boot into the screen and pull the joint from my mouth with one hand, gesturing casually, as if Turner didn't just discover the fact that I'm a murderer – one who got away with it.

  “What happened to you?” I ask, noticing that my voice is still strained and weak. I'm not fooling anybody. I crush the phone into a pulp and Turner doesn't stop me. Instead, he steals his joint back and smokes it.

  “Doesn't matter,” he says, and I notice that his voice is just as weak as mine, so light that it nearly gets stolen away by a gust of dry wind that sweeps in and tangles my hair around my face. “The question is, what the fuck happened to you?” I look up at his eyes and notice that they're not judgmental. Nervous, maybe, but that's about it. And he hasn't called the cops. At least I don't think so. They're not here now anyway.

  “Who sent this?” I ask, realizing too late that I just destroyed any chance I might've had of tracking the message.

  “Blocked number,” he replies, shaking his head. “Which is fucking weird because there are, like, five people on this fucking earth that know mine.” He takes another drag and hands the joint back to me. I stare at the strong lines of his face, the perfect jaw, the sloe-eyed gaze. Turner is one of those people that was born to be famous. He just oozes confidence, a natural born leader. I wonder when he's going to get it together and focus all of that intensity and that passion on one woman. God help her when that happens. Once he locks on, I doubt he'll ever let go.

  “You tell anybody?” Turner laughs and then leans forward, putting his arm out and pressing his palm against the wall. I take a small step back, so we're not so close. I can still feel his sweaty body against me, still feel his hips grinding against mine. I look him in the face, meet his eyes unflinching. I just got free of Hayden, no way I'm going to become anybody else's bitch, especially not Turner's.

  “You really had to ask?” he says and then he just stops, lets go, steps back. He puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head. “God, I knew I smelled another secret. You got anymore I should know about?” I watch him carefully, trying to judge his mood, his intent. What's he going to do with this new information? How is he going to abuse it?

  “That's the last one,” I admit, trying to be as honest as possible. He nods like he believes me and rubs his hand over his stubbly jaw. His dark hair is mussy and unkempt, tangled and just a tad greasy. He's not so perfect right now, not his usual decorated self. And it's turning me on. Even through all of this shit, my pussy starts to pulse and I get soaked.

  I bend down and start to scoop the bits of phone into my palm. No way I'm leaving them here for somebody to find. Even broken, they could still have information I don't want getting out. I'll burn them or something later.

  “So what happened?” he asks again, bending down to help me, taking the joint back and trying to smirk at me. It falls flat. Turner's inked up fingers come out and brush against mine accidentally, sending chills down my spine.

  “Well, to make a long story short,” I begin, wondering when the demands are going to start trickling in. I wonder if he'll ask me to fuck him to buy his silence. I'm not a whore, so that'll never fucking happen. I try to come up with something I can offer, something that won't put me in the same position as I was with Hayden, where she had the upper hand always. “I … ” Turner interrupts me.

  “No, I don't want the abridged version.” I hold open my palm and he drops the cracked bits of plastic into it. “Tell me everything.” I roll my eyes as we stand up together, surreptitiously checking for any signs of Katie. She could just pop out at any moment and fuck me hard. Not that she isn't trying her best from afar. That is, if it's even her. I just kind of assumed it was, but you never know.

  “Why?” I snap, forgetting for just a second that he has my freedom in his hands right now. I look down at the long fingers, at the cluster of stars, the paw prints. Doubt there's any rhyme or reason to the designs. After all, he'd fucking forgotten about my name on his back. I start back across the parking lot, but Turner grabs me around the arm and pieces of phone fly everywhere as he spins me in a tight circle and pulls me into his arms.

  His hands dig into my back, rumpling my shirt, squeezing me hard, and his lips find mine, pressing, tongue sliding deep into me while his stud teases the sensitive flesh on the roof of my mouth. My entire body explodes into a million parts, comes back together and lights up the night sky with lust. I kiss him back fiercely, wildly, grabbing Turner's hair and tugging so hard that he groans into my mouth.

  And then I shove him back violently, stumbling and falling to my knees as I scramble to recover as much of the phone as possible.

  “What the hell was that for?” I growl at him, feeling strange. I can't put my finger on it, but something isn't right. I can't tell yet whether that's a good or a bad thing. Turner doesn't bend down to help me this time, but I can feel his eyes boring into my back. “If you think you can control me now … ” Turner laughs at me, and the sound isn't entirely unpleasant.

  “Oh, please,” he tells me, smoking his joint and watching as I stand up an
d glare at him. He seems a lot calmer now, a lot less nervous. I realize then that I do, too. Much better. I look away and focus on the car near the exit. It's still there, waiting. I wonder if I should go over there. “Is that even a possibility?”

  “So what do you want? Obviously, I need you to keep your mouth shut about this.” I squeeze the broken pieces so hard that I draw blood into my palm, turning my gaze back to Turner again.

  “Let me lay it out for you,” he begins, running his fingers through his hair and cringing like he can't believe how dirty it is. “I won't tell your secret if you don't, how's that?” I stare at him like he's crazy.

  “Come again?” Turner steps forward, and I step back. Car lights flicker across his face, and when I turn, the car is pulling away. Strange. Turner grabs my chin and forces my gaze back to his. I come this close to punching him in the jaw again.

  “I won't tell anybody what I saw,” he says and then pauses like he's just thought of something. My throat gets tight. “But I want you to do one thing for me.” My lip curls in disgust. If he asks me to suck his cock … “Forget that promise we made.” I blink rapidly, confused.

  “Promise?” Turner releases my chin and brushes some hair off my forehead.

  “About being done with each other, not seeing each other. I changed my mind about that.”

  “I see.” He grins and drops his hand, looking for all the world like a fucking devil again.

  “And I want your story, all of it. From birth to death, or at least as close to it as you can get.” He pauses again and rubs at his split lip with the back of his hand. “And I need to know all about that night, everything we did, everything I said.”

  “You're fucking nuts,” I tell him, but I know I'll do it. I tell myself that it's just so he'll keep his big, fat mouth shut, but in actuality I'm just keeping another secret from myself.