Page 30 of 4-Ever

AGE 27

No one partied like rockstars in Vegas.

We were celebrating the recording of our second album and our number one hit single, Filthy Pain. Bandit organized a massive event at the gaudiest hotel on the strip, complete with top-notch booze, hot as fuck celebrities and models, and the best damn coke I’d ever sniffed in my life. And I’d sniffed a lot of it.

With our growing fame came more fans, and press, and money than I’d ever had in my life. Luxury houses, fast cars, and a troupe of bodyguards. A whole team of them, including Dawson and Lennie, who were standing watch over us as usual. Not that we let our detail stop us from doing what we wanted.

Which was more parties, more men, more drugs of every kind.

Coke was my comfort zone and one that I could readily afford now. It gave me the energy to keep going, to wake up and rock out, on stage and off, one late night after another. It made me forget that I was sometimes hesitant in social situations. And it had the added benefit of obliterating—temporarily—the stupid urges I had rattling around for Ronin.

Which was fucked up. Ronin saw me as his BFF, not a man he wanted to get down and dirty with. I told myself to let it go. But this year, it had only gotten worse. He was all I wanted.

Too bad my heart—and my dick—never listened to my brain.

I glanced across the crowded party and watched Ronin making out with one of the stunning models. In the past, the sight would’ve turned me on and gotten me off. And that would be that. But recently? I didn’t want to look at him touching someone else. It made me want to punch a hole through the nearest wall. And the thought of so many strangers touching Ronin, the one person who was always mine, was fucking with my head. Both of them.

I pulled out a baggie and dumped the white powder on the table in front of me. Checking my pockets, I realized I’d forgotten to grab my snake, my metal straw. Whatever. I used my driver’s license to divide up the coke into several lines, plucked out one of the straws from my drink, leaned over, and inhaled.

It was my third pull tonight and fuck, it was good. Some of the best shit I’d ever had.

I snorted the rest of the powder and wiped my nose. Euphoria cascaded through my body, one lightning wave after another. I didn’t notice Ronin or my feelings. I was too stoned to worry about anything.

“Take it easy, Faise. We have all night to party,” Brodie warned me as he surveyed the room. “Hey, do you know that guy talking to Van?”

I looked across the room and squinted. “No fucking clue. And shouldn’t you be more concerned with finding some rando to suck your dick rather than mooning over our manager?”

“Fuck off,” Brodie sneered.

“Ooh, testy,” I quipped. “Too bad Van’s straight.”

At least, I thought so. I didn’t know. Van kept his private life, private. Never saw him hook up with anyone since we’d started working together, man or woman. He was always working.

“Don’t start,” Brodie warned.

“Take a hit, you’ll feel better,” I suggested. “You’ll forget about you-know-who.”

Brodie shook his head. “Been there, tried that.”

I looked over at Van again. He was kinda handsome. If you liked older guys. Which Brodie did. And our frontman was shit at hiding how he felt. He had the same pained expression that I was probably, inadvertently, wearing earlier. Like he was about to walk over and tear into the person making a play for the man he so obviously had the hots for.

Holloway suddenly appeared and jumped on top of me and Brodie, crushing us into the sofa. “What’s up bitches?”

“Get off me, weirdo,” I pushed at him until he rolled onto the floor.

I glanced up, mid-laughter, and spotted Ronin headed our way with his latest fuck buddy in tow. Great. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out another baggie and emptied it on the table in front of me. I felt everyone’s stare and noticed Brodie and Holls looking at me with concern.

I shook them off. It was no big deal. The guys did their share of drugs too. Brodie was popping sleeping pills lately like rock candy. Who the fuck was he to judge?

“I know what I’m doing,” I snapped at them.

Unfortunately, the cocaine didn’t mix well with the bourbon I’d drank. And the orange pills I’d slid under my tongue before we got here. That last snort pushed me right over the edge, my head pounding, my stomach throbbing painfully. I started puking before I could even sit up.

“Faise, what the hell, are you—oh shit.” Brodie’s voice was muffled, like he was yelling from far away.

“Let’s get him to the head.”

Ronin.

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