Rock My Body (Black Falcon #4) Read online

  The bathroom door opens and I freeze, unsure of what the hell might be walking toward me. A slender brunette in a black mask with a great set of tits struts into the room wearing a tight leather outfit that wraps her body like a glove. As if the outfit wasn’t over-the-top enough, she’s also toting a black whip in her left hand, alongside an expression that screams she’s ready to inflict some major pain. I tense at the sight of her.

  What in the holy fuck have I gotten myself into?

  I yank my wrists, attempting to free myself, and the woman cusses at me in Spanish, clearly unhappy with my change of heart. “Hijo de puta!”

  It only takes a split second for me to recognize the voice before I burst out laughing, instantly relaxing against the stark-white sheets. “Gabby, what the fuck?”

  Her lip pokes out in a distinct pout as she pulls the mask off, revealing her smooth, tan complexion. Her big brown eyes complement her perfectly round face and button nose, reminding me of just how attractive she is. “Aww, come on, Tyke. I’m not done playing yet. Don’t you want to have some more fun with her? She was a good sport.”

  The woman next to me continues to breathe softly, and while I’m positive that this woman provided great entertainment for Gabby and I last night, I can’t remember a damn thing about it.

  There’s no time to try to remember it though, because the moment I sit up a little straighter, the sun’s harsh rays poke through the thick drapes, letting me know I’m already late. “Can’t. I have a band meeting at one.”

  Gabby’s harsh laugh cuts across the room as her lithe fingers work at the knots in the rope. “Hate to break it to you, slick, but that ship has sailed. It’s nearly three.”

  I sit up once I’m free and rub my wrists. “Fuck. The guys are going to be pissed. I’ve blown off the last three or four band meetings. Doing it again isn't going to sit well with them.”

  Gabby sits at the small desk in the room and fixes a line on the mirror for herself before snorting it up her nose. “Fuck ’em. Those douchebags need to learn to fend for themselves.”

  “Don’t, Gabby,” I warn, not liking her putting the guys down. It’s one thing for me to do it, but someone else baggin’ on them pisses me off. They’re my brothers.

  I roll out of bed and grab my jeans off the floor, quickly yanking them up on my hips. There’s no sign of my underwear, but whatever; I’m not about to waste my time looking for them. I have to get the fuck out.

  The blonde rolls over onto her back, and I freeze just as I pull my black T-shirt over my head. When she doesn’t wake, I turn to Gabby. “You taking care of this one?”

  She nods and wipes her nose, but a small dusting of white powder still remains. “Yeah. I’ll check her phone for any pictures and videos and then call her a cab.”

  I fasten my belt and then slip my feet into my boots. “Good. No more groupies with sex tapes of us. That shit didn’t go well last time.”

  She laughs. “Speak for yourself. That fucking tape got my band noticed and put on tour with Black Falcon.”

  I roll my eyes. “Just check her shit before she leaves. Trip and Noel will blow their fucking tops if I keep bringing the band down with negative publicity.”

  This time she rolls her eyes at me. “Whatever. I forgot what a Debbie fucking Downer you are when you sober up. You want a bump before you go?”

  My nose twitches in anticipation, and while I know I should say no, I can’t help myself. Gabby puts a small amount of coke between her index finger and thumb and raises her hand to me. “You know you want to.”

  I pull her hand up to my face and quickly snort every last bit of nose candy; the white powder stinging as it coats the warm, moist skin inside my nasal passages, sending me on a near-instant high in the process.

  I close my eyes as every nerve in me comes alive, making me forget why the fuck I felt so anxious a few moments ago. I lean against the desk next to Gabby and she looks up at me and smiles, nodding over to the chick still sleeping in the king-size bed. “You wanna play?”

  Gabby runs her hand down my torso, my toned abs flexing beneath my shirt in response to her touch. She pauses at my belt and yanks it open before allowing the tips of her fingers to rub against the growing erection inside my jeans.

  A wicked grin crosses her face as she licks her lips. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Unable to resist her, I give in and grab the nape of her neck, pulling her a little more roughly than I mean to out of the chair. I yank her slender body flush with mine. “Why the fuck do I let you do this? You’re no good for me.”

  She bats her long lashes at me, attempting to look innocent. “Because you like getting crazy. Because you were bored out of your fucking skull until I came around. Because, deep down inside, you’re tired of being the scapegoat for the other guys in Black Falcon, and you’re done being their bitch.”

  I flinch at her cold words. “Fuck you, Gabby. I’m no one’s bitch.”

  “Except mine,” she purrs.

  I shove her away. “Especially not yours.”

  I refasten my belt as I turn and head for the door.

  “Tyke…”

  I don’t bother turning around. Good time or not, there’s no way in hell I’m going to be talked down to by a chick I’ve known for three months.

  Who the fuck does she think she is?

  If it weren’t for a groupie catching me drunk fucking Gabby after a show and blasting it all over the web, she and her band, Sex Arsenal, would still be playing small dive bar gigs with a weak-ass following. Now that bitch has the nerve to insinuate I’m a pussy? Fuck her.

  I don’t need her. There are plenty of other people to party with. Her pussy isn’t made out of gold, and I damn sure never made a fucking commitment to her.

  She’s a chick I like to get high with and fuck—that’s it. Nothing more. She better not have it in her head that we are more than that.

  Jesus.

  When the elevator opens up to the lobby, the full effect of the afternoon sun begins to assault my eyes and I flinch, fishing my sunglasses from my pocket and slipping them on my face. The moment I’m outside I pat my pockets, hoping to find some car keys, but I have no such luck. I obviously didn’t drive myself over here last night. Actually, I have no fucking clue where in the hell I am. Reaching into my back pocket, I whip out my phone and use the GPS feature on it.

  Orlando.

  Thank God I’m still in the right city. We play the Amway Center tonight to a sold out crowd. At least I know I can still make it there on time.

  The young valet approaches me with a pen and paper in hand. The small cluster of pimples on his forehead does nothing to conceal his youth, and the eager smile on his face tells me one thing: he’s a fan.

  “Excuse me? I hate to bother you, but you’re in Black Falcon, aren’t you?” he asks in a voice that’s just above a timid whisper.

  I shove my glasses a little further up my nose. “Yep. Sure am.”

  He stretches his arms toward me. “Can I have your autograph?”

  I take the pen and small notepad from him. “Sure, kid. Can you get me a cab?”

  He nods vigorously as he takes back the signed paper. “No problem!”

  While he scurries off, I check the messages on my phone.

  Trip: Where the fuck are you?

  Trip: Goddamn it. This shit is getting old. It’s not cool to take off and not tell anyone where you are. I need to talk to you.

  Trip: ?????

  The final text catches my attention.

  Trip: I hope you at least show up tonight.

  My brow furrows at that comment. I’ve only ever missed a couple shows, and I felt like a total piece of shit for doing it. I hadn’t realized we had a few early shows and may have been sleeping off the previous night’s activities. It wasn’t like I missed them on purpose, and yet that’s all Trip ever seems to remember lately. He’s conveniently forgotten all the times I’ve saved their asses. I fuck up and I never get to live it down.
r />   I fire back a text telling him I’ll be there and slip my phone back in my pocket, just in time to hop in the cab that’s pulled up.

  The ride over to the arena is pretty quick, which sucks. It used to excite me to spend time with my boys, but now I fucking dread it. None of us are on the same page anymore. Everyone is going in different directions, and our communication is shit.

  Pulling up to the arena, I text Kyle to meet me out back and get me in through the crowd that’s already building. I don’t have a scrap of proof that I’m with the band and security can be real dicks if you don’t have a pass.

  “How much longer?” the cabbie asks after five minutes of me refusing to get out until I see Kyle.

  “Chill, dude. I’m good for it. Trust me.” He glances at me through the rearview mirror, and I can tell he’s having some serious doubts about whether I can pay the fare.

  I glance down at my wrinkled clothes and the tats that cover most of my arms. Granted, I don’t exactly give off the best first impression right now, but damn, I hate it when people are judgmental.

  Shrill screams from a group of fans surrounding the back gate catch my attention in time to see Kyle pass through the crowd alone. I dig my wallet out from my back pocket and pay the fare, along with a generous tip, before letting myself out of the cab.

  Fans swarm around me, practically shoving pens and pieces of paper in front of my face begging for autographs, while dozens of flashes go off simultaneously. Kyle does his best to part the way for me as we push through to the gate.

  Once inside, locked away from the fans, Kyle turns to me and hands me a backstage pass. “Where the hell were you? The guys are pissed.”

  I pull the lanyard over my head, adjust my sunglasses on my nose, and shrug. “What’s new? They’re always pissed at me for one reason or another lately. They’ll get over me missing the stupid meeting. They never talk about anything other than scheduling more time off. It’s not like my vote ever gets taken into consideration anyhow.”

  Kyle opens the door to the arena and motions me in. “I think they notice you being absent from more things than you realize.”

  “Doubtful.”

  I follow him through the maze of roadies, instruments, and stage props until my brother and the other guys come into view. The three of them stand there, talking quietly amongst themselves, until Riff glances up and notices me walking in their direction. He throws a swift elbow at Noel and nods toward me.

  A strange vibe washes over me, and I can tell by the expressions on their faces that none of them are too happy with me right now.

  Trip turns to look at me, contempt written all over his face. “Nice of you to grace us with your presence, asshole. Where were you?”

  The sunglasses still covering my face shield the dramatic eye roll I’m giving him. “I was with Gabby.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “I thought you said you were done with that shit?”

  “Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I’m not using again.”

  I hope Trip doesn’t see through the lie and figure out I’ve been dabbling a little on the white horse. I don’t need the headache that comes from dealing with him. Besides, I don’t have to report what I’m doing to him.

  A harsh laugh rolls out of Trip’s mouth. “I suppose you just enjoy her fucking company. Come on, man, this is me you’re talking to. Your identical twin. Girls like Gabby Rodriguez are fast and easy; not exactly dating material. So don’t try and bullshit this bullshitter—I know the kind of shit you do when you’re with her.”

  The condescending tone in his voice makes my blood boil. I don’t see where he gets off. He’s not our fucking father. I can do what I want, when I want. “Since when does what I do and with who affect you?” I swing my gaze to Noel and Riff, who are both watching our exchange intently. It’s time I let them all know how I feel. “Since when does my business affect any of you? All of you have your own fucking things going on. What does it matter if I’m out having a good time?”

  Riff narrows his eyes. “It fucking matters when you miss important shit because you’re too high to remember your goddamn priorities. That’s the sixth band meeting you’ve blown off. Do you even know what the fuck is going on with the new album?”

  I stare at him, the expression on my face blank. “What the fuck are you talking about? There’s absolutely nothing going on with the new album because I haven’t finished any of the fucking songs for it yet.”

  “Jesus, fuck, he’s out of it now,” Riff says as he shakes his head. “Do you even know what day of the week it is?”

  I hesitate and swallow hard. I start to reach for my phone to check the date because, honestly, I don’t have a fucking clue, but I stop short because doing that would just prove Riff right.

  Riff shakes his head and turns to Noel with raised eyebrows. “I told you he didn’t have a fucking clue. He’s bad for business.”

  I flinch. “When have I ever been bad for business? I’m the glue that holds this piece of shit band together.”

  “Not anymore,” Riff replies coolly.

  I shake my head, not missing the disgust in Riff’s eyes. It’s a look I remember all too well. It’s the same one he had a couple of years ago when Noel struggled with his addiction. The same look he had when he wanted us to boot Noel from the band.

  I narrow my eyes at my childhood friend. “You got something to say to me, Riff, just go ahead and fucking say it.”

  Riff looks from Noel to Trip and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard and then lifts his chin. “You’re out, Tyke.”

  My eyes widen as every muscle inside me tenses. “What?!”

  “You. Are. Out. You’ve become a liability. Noel knows it, and so does your brother. You need help. We won’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself and drag this band down with you.”

  Rage rolls through every inch of me. “You’re kicking me out? I fucking started this band. You can’t kick me out.”

  Trip lays his hand on my shoulder. “Tyke—”

  I shrug away from his touch. “Fuck you, Trip. Don’t fucking touch me!” I level my heated gaze on the other two guys. “Fuck all of you!”

  I take a couple steps back while my mouth hangs agape. I can’t fucking believe this. They’re giving me the boot, just like that? No chance to explain myself? Just out—like I’m a piece of fucking trash they can’t wait to get rid of.

  Fine.

  Fucking Fine.

  They’ll see.

  They need me.

  They’ll get over it.

  I storm out of the arena, needing time to clear my head and figure this shit out, but before I get through the door, Kyle stops me. “Where you off to?”

  “Hotel,” is all I can manage to say.

  The thick cords of muscle work beneath Kyle’s skin as he pulls a set of keys out of his pocket. “Come on, I’ll drive you over.”

  I follow our bodyguard to the Escalade. Kyle uses the key fob to unlock the SUV, and we both hop inside.

  As I pull the heavy door closed behind me, I reconsider leaving. I should go back in there and hammer things out with the guys now. After all, I don’t want tonight’s show to be tense. But my head’s still a little foggy from the coke I snorted, and I know I won’t be able to speak to them rationally about this until I’ve had time to calm down.

  I scrub my hand over my face. Tension in the band always fucking sucks—it’s even worse to be the cause of it. They blame me for it, I know, but they don’t see that all this shit started with them not caring enough. Not being committed enough. Not living for the band like they used to.

  “Wanna talk about it?” Kyle asks, killing the silence that has allowed me to go deeper into my own thoughts.

  I sigh. “What’s there to talk about? The guys just kicked me out. They’re pissed, I get it, but it won’t last. We never stay mad at each other. We’re brothers.”

  Kyle adjusts in his seat as he stares out at the road ahead. “That would be great. Thin
gs were going so good for a while, and I hate that there’s this underlying tension between you guys. It makes things uncomfortable for us all when you guys aren’t getting along.”

  “Come on, Kyle. Things haven’t been that bad. We’ve been through far worse.”

  He sighs. “If you say so. I would just hate to see this great thing you all have going fall apart.”

  “We’re not going to fall apart,” I say with a slight huff.

  We’re quiet for the rest of the ride. I don’t really feel like rehashing band issues with Kyle when I’m not even sure what in the hell is going on myself. After I spend a few hours sleeping and getting my head clear in my hotel room, I take a long hard look at myself in the bathroom mirror. My shaggy sandy-blond hair is a bit shaggy, a far cry from the short buzz cut I used to sport. Lately, I haven’t really felt the need to be so clean-cut. The green of my eyes looks a little dingy, a little lifeless, but that’s not completely my fault. Anyone in my shoes who’s losing everything they’ve ever worked for would look the same way.

  I rake my hair back with both hands and sigh. We just have to get back on track. I’ll go to the guys and promise to stay sober, as long as they agree to start taking this band more serious. What we need is a heart-to-heart, as brothers. We need to squash this beef between us so that we can get back to doing what we do best—making great music.

  I grab my backstage pass and slide it around my neck and slip out the door. I call a cab to take me back to the arena. It’s time to get this shit back on track.

  With a clear head, I set out to have a discussion with the guys about us all changing our ways, mending what the last few years have broken.

  The cabbie drops me off near the back gate of the arena and with the help of my pass, I have no problem slipping into the backstage area on my own.

  I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the time. It’s nearly nine, the time we are scheduled to take the stage after Gabby’s band, Sex Arsenal, opens for us. A few of the roadies nod at me as I pass by them on the way to the stage.