Page 18 of Dirty Rock

I flexed the muscles in my jaw as I stared down at her.

“Do. You. Understand me, Rhett?”

“Whatever,” I forced out, hating the taste of my pathetic agreement.

You’ve forgotten your worth and what you mean to a lot of people.Those were the only words I could hear.

I swallowed those weird emotions down painfully.

“I’ll take care of you,” she whispered up at me. “Okay?”

I nodded once, unable to speak.

Julia’s eyes searched mine, a flicker or something I wasn’t used to seeing from anyone flashing over her gaze. “I’ll be right back.”

It took her a second to step away from me, but when she did, I found myself alone in the room again. The silence deafened me like a sharp scraping of nails down a chalkboard from someone I couldn’t see. I turned in slow circles until I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror, and I stepped towards it.

Blue-grey eyes stared back at me through swollen lids. One cheek was pink, blushing with a bruised ego and the indents of another man’s fist. My chest was red and blotchy, despite the black tattoos, and my left rib had already started to bruise, the dark navy-purple colour poked out through white patches, blossoming to look like a weird planet on the solar system that was my skin.

For the first time since joining the band…

I looked worse than I felt.

Chapter Six

Rhett Ryan, lead singer of the band Youth Gone Wild, has today been spotted at LAX sporting yet another pair of dark sunglasses to cover the obvious injuries on his face, as well as his, now almost signature, baseball cap.

Neither Ryan himself nor the band’s publicist or management have made a statement to the press regarding what has happened, despite speculation mounting over his recent injuries and the band’s future.With rumours circulating that tension within the band is growing, and the injuries being linked to a fight between members, several Internet blogs are now waiting with bated breath for Instagram sensation Tessa Lisbon—AKA Presley West’s latest obsession—to make an informal reference to Rhett’s injuries on her page and lay the rumours to rest. But after almost seven days of waiting, the majority of us are thinking this could be something the band doesn't want to talk about.

The questions on everyone’s lips are: what the hell has Rhett Ryan done this time?

And can the band survive it?

“They do say there’s no such thing as bad publicity.” I dropped the article to the sofa and glanced up at Julia, who was standing over me, staring down at her phone. Her fingers and thumbs were tapping the screen at a million beats a minute.

We were locked up in yet another hotel suite, this time in sunny ol’ L-Fucking-A. It was just another magnolia prison, with plush couches and room service on tap. They were all bleeding into one now. A bit like the world we lived in where everyone looked the same, dressed the same, thought the same, and acted the same. Nothing was spectacular anymore. Nothing seemed unique. Not even life as a rock star.

“Bit harsh, though, if you ask me,” I said. “Why do they always assume the worst when it comes to me?”

“I don’t know,” Julia grunted, distracted.

“What the hell has Rhett Ryan done this time?” I mimicked.

“Mmhmm.”

“Every rock band needs an asshole, I guess.”

“Sure,” she said, but there was no attention to my words there. She was in another space. I scowled, waiting for her to look at me, but Jules was lost to her phone.

“Cool. Also, while I’ve got your attention, I think I might push my dick against the window over there and give the papers something real to print. They already think I’m out of control. May as well give them some decent material to work with. What do you think?”

“Sounds good.”

I raised a brow, watching as she scowled at her phone and began to chew the inside of her mouth.

“You think they’d like that? A shot of my cock might take the attention away from my face. It’d give you some fires to put out, too.”

“Uh-huh.”

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