Page 8 of The Omega Verse

But Jett just grips my hips tighter. “Fuck off, Hoover. You’re my manager, not my mother. And that greedy little ball-biter can go chomp a bag of dicks, for all I care.”

“Jett…”

“Don’t ‘Jett’ me! How the hell did Celine get in here in the first place? I specifically told you to keep her out.”

Hoover’s eyes bulge behind his glasses. “She had a VIP pass! She said she got it from you!”

Jett grips me tighter, but I’m pretty sure he’s forgotten I’m there. I can feel the anger pulsing through him, his eyes like icy chips as he glares at the older man. “And you believed the bitch? After everything she did to Steven, the only thing I’ll ever give that vulture is a boot up the arse.”

The manager sighs and pulls on his tie. “I suppose… It’s probably time to look into a restraining order.” His gaze flicks River’s way. “But I think we should talk about this later.”

“Agreed,” Jett grunts. “You should get the hell out of here and let me pet my pretty pussycat in peace.”

How he manages that tongue twister, I don’t know. But I shake my head at him, which only makes it throb harder. Ugh. I thought my nap would make me feel better, but I’m aching all over, and my mind feels foggier than ever. But I have enough self-preservation to ignore Jeff Colter’s smile and start to crawl off his lap.

“I want to see River!” a shrill voice demands from the hallway. “Tell River I need to talk to him!”

The green room door suddenly bangs open, and my jaw drops as I stare at Rockstar Barbie. It’s definitely her – my VIP pass is still looped around her skinny neck - and her hands are on her hips as she gives me a withering snarl. “What the hell, Hoover? You said there weren’t any groupies allowed! What’s this hag doing here, then?”

“You bitch!” I launch off the couch before Jett can stop me, but my legs instantly cramp up. I stumble, almost falling to my knees, and he grabs my jeans pocket, hauling me back onto his lap with a grunt. Fucking humiliating, which makes me glare harder at the blonde who mugged me. “I want the bag and phone you stole!”

But she just curls her lip at me, totally unfazed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’d check the dumpster you crawled out of.”

I push myself off Jett, trying to ignore the way my stomach lurches up my throat. “You stole my stuff,” I grit out. “I want it back!”

“You’re delusional. My guess is you hit yourself in the face to get a little sympathy.” She looks at Jett with glittering eyes. “Just don’t expect him to keep you around once he’s fucked your pathetic ass.”

“Alright, you psycho,” Jett says with a glance at his manager. “Hoover, you gonna do your job and take out the trash?”

“Fuck you, Colter!” She starts to kick and shriek as two huge security guards appear and pull her towards the door. “You’ll regret this, you bastard! I’m going to make you pay for treating me like this!”

“Fucking hell,” Jett hisses once her voice is muffled by the door. He’s lost his flirty edge and now looks plain mean as he narrows his eyes at me. “You a reporter, sweet cheeks?”

“If I was, I’d write an article on how your pet names suck.”

He gives a low chuckle, but his eyes are glazed, and the sound rings hollow. “Just like your flirting skills. So, why are you really here, if not to take a ride on a rockstar?”

I give him a filthy look and focus on River, but he’s still standing against the wall and staring at me with shocked eyes. In fact, he’s so still, I don’t think Psycho Celine even saw him back there. I force my numb legs forward, beseeching those big, grey eyes. “I’m just here to find out more about Steven.”

That gets an angry growl from Jett, who’s off the couch and striding over to me like a pissed-off panther. “Of course you fucking are. Like that bitch Celine, and every other grief-sucking vulture out there.”

My head throbs again, but I slap his hand as he reaches for me. “I am grieving. Maybe not like you, but I get it.”

He just grabs my jacket sleeve and starts hauling me towards the door. Before I know it, we’re back in those black-painted corridors, and Jett is pushing me ahead of him while he barks down the phone. He’s yelling at Hoover, their manager, telling him their security is shit, that he’s going to fire Mike, and that his bus better be ready and waiting for him or he’s going to throttle their driver.

The next thing I know, we’re bursting through an external door and I’m back in the covered walkway. I look around for my bag again – even though I know that bitch probably dropped it in the nearest rubbish bin – and then we’re out in the misty night air. I cringe, waiting for the downpour to hit, but a huge black and gold bus is backed up right next to us. I tear my arm out of Jett’s grasp and he arches a brow at me. “So, what’s it gonna be, kitten? Want to go for a ride with a rockstar, or head back to the gutter?”

I curl my lip, but then River steps up next to him. They’re the same height, but River is thinner, his face younger despite the grief written there. Separately, they’re a lot to take in. But together? My stomach wobbles and I lift a trembling hand. I don’t know who I’m reaching for, but they both just stare at me. “I’m just here for Steven. I want Steven.”

Jett’s heavy-lidded eyes rake across my face and a chill runs down my spine. “Get in fucking line, kitten.”

The world spins, fuelled by the raw misery in his voice. I’m not sure how you’d classify the sound that comes out of my mouth, but River takes an abrupt step back. My legs fold under me like paper straws and I have a moment to brace myself before everything goes black.

The next time I open my eyes, I’m lying on a different couch. This one is nowhere as comfortable as my leather and mohair nest, but it has the bonus of being part of a pair, with Green Eyes stretched out opposite. Since his pretty peepers are closed right now, I take a moment to drink him in. He’s too big for the narrow seat, so his knees are bent, making his faded jeans stretch over his thigh muscles. One arm is folded across the front of his hoodie, while the other is tucked behind his head, flashing that cute little palm tree tattoo. He’s every bit as attractive as he was soaking wet, but I can’t get distracted by that.

I need to work out why he’s here – why I’m here. Because based on the engine hum beneath me, and The Sundowners’ logo on the window shades, we’ve somehow ended up on their tour bus.

I clear my throat and his lashes flutter open. He studies the roof for a moment, then catches sight of me, and rolls onto an elbow. “Hey, sugar.”

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