Dead Serious (4 page)

“You like him?” I ask and Sydney sighs, looking down at the floor and shaking her head. Her blonde hair flutters around her face and hides her expression from me.

“Yeah, but … I don't know, Turner. This isn't my life. I have a photo shoot coming up. I … ”

“Have a fucking lady boner for Dax McCann?” I supply and she laughs, that carefree laugh that's always surprised me. For a girl who grew up in a trailer park with a crackhead father and only two little douche-y brothers like me and Trey for company, Sydney has a confidence and a calmness I still don't understand. You don't often run into strippers who share the same self-assured smile as spoiled heiresses.

“Yeah, well. Fuck me. This isn't going to turn out well, is it?”

I shrug.

“Life often doesn't.”

After Sydney and Dax leave, I spend a good half hour searching around the lobby and the adjoining ballrooms looking for Naomi. I'm about to give up and head upstairs to wait when I run into Brayden Ryker.

Last dude I want to see right now. Motherfucker thinks he can threaten my woman with a gun and get away with it? If his biceps didn't have the same circumference as my waist, I'd whoop his ass right now. As things stand, I'm going to have to be a bit more diplomatic about it.

“Hey asshole,” I snarl, getting up in the dude's face. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Brayden appears unconcerned, smiling down at me with that weird ass half-smile that gives me the fucking willies. Redheaded ginger son of a bitch. Like an oversize leprechaun or some shit. He's wearing a blue plaid button up over a white wife-beater with some raggedy ass blue jeans, like a good ol' boy. Totally innocent. One of the good guys.

“Are you lookin' for Naomi, by chance?” he asks in his weird ass little accent that makes all the girls swoon. I wrinkle my mouth and take a step back, looking him up and down with another scowl.
Fuck.

“What the hell are you playing at? Pointing a gun at my fucking soul mate?”

Brayden sighs and shakes his head, stepping to the side and gesturing down a pink carpeted hallway that I thought I'd already been down. Shit if I know though. This place is like a maze.

“Naomi's in the practice room at the end of the hall. If you'll excuse me, my job's just gotten ten times more difficult.” Brayden sweeps past me, and I turn to follow his broad back with my eyes. My teeth hurt from clenching them so hard, the muscles in my jaw twitching angrily. My personal bodyguards keep their distance, staring at the walls around me like I'm not even there. Thing is, I think I was right earlier, when I said I felt like a prisoner. I have a sneaking suspicion that if I were to try and grab my bag, walk out the doors and hop in a cab, that they'd be right there, either following me or holding me back.

“Fucker.” I spin on my heel and stalk down the hallway, pausing when a familiar voice catches my ears and causes me to stumble, pausing in place with my heart beating fiercely inside my chest.
Naomi.
She's somewhere nearby and she's singing and holy fuck me, but if that isn't the most beautiful sound I've ever heard in my life.

I force myself to keep moving. When I come around the corner I find a set of double doors flanked by security guards. That's gotta be it. Ain't nowhere else she could be. I wave my own guys off and sneak up to the door, grabbing hold of the handle and opening it just enough that I can peek in and see the woman of my dreams with her head back and her guitar in her hands. All around her, unused equipment lies dormant and silent, dead without the hands of its gods to bring it to life.

Somebody – probably America – has had this place set up for practice, just like she did at the safe house. We could play a set in here if we wanted. I squeeze in the door and hope Naomi doesn't hear me enter, not yet. As soon as I'm inside, I flick the lock and slide to the floor with my back to the wall, just watching, listening, waiting.

Naomi's facing away from me, her muscles stiff, but her fingers relaxed. Her blonde hair hangs loosely across her shoulders as she rolls her head around on her neck and then steps forward to grab hold of the mic with her right hand. A soft sigh of breath breaks through the speakers, echoing around the empty room before she begins to sing.

“
Dream … is just another word for disappointment.
” She sighs again and my chest contracts painfully, like I can't breathe, like I'd never even fucking
want
to take a breath if her voice wasn't lighting up all the right electrical impulses in my brain. “
Another chance for a star to get lost in an endless sky. A hope lost on the wind, flittering like a faraway lie.
”

Naomi slams her fingers down on the strings of her guitar. It eats away the silence in the room, chopping up the empty space with sharpness that hurts my teeth. I almost want to cover my ears, but only so they don't get so used to that sound that I can't hear it for the first time over and over again.

“
When I lose the light to believe, I hope you're there by my side. I can't deny that I need you, baby.
” A few more notes leak into the air, cupping her voice in rough fingers before she pauses and moves both hands back to the mic. “
I can't deny that I need you. I won't lie that I want you. Dreams are disappointments, but I can't stop hoping that mine will fly. Mine will fly. Mine will fly, oh oh.
”

Naomi takes a step back and shakes her shoulders, spins her guitar around on its strap and catches it, slamming her pick across the strings in time with the refrain. Her voice is like empty glass, liable to shatter at any moment but strong enough to carry a whole host of emotions inside it. It's clear and beautiful, reflecting back the world in perfect distortions. I want to eat that shit up and let it take over my body. From head to toe, I want to absorb Naomi Knox and let her poison my blood. My throat itches to join in with her, sing this song that I've never heard before, but I don't. Can't disturb genius.

I ignore my hardened cock, running my tongue across my lips, letting my eyes take in her tight ass, her trim waist, the strong curve of her backbone.

“
I can't deny that I need you. I won't lie that I want you. Dreams are disappointments, but I can't stop hoping that mine will fly. Mine will fly. Mine will fly, oh oh.
” Naomi sucks in a massive breath and takes the microphone from its stand, stomping back a few paces and raising her chin to the sky. “
Why did I believe things could go my way? When I saw the world without the rose colored glass you gave.
” She growls into the microphone and I almost lose my shit, come right in my fucking jeans. That'd be a nice sight for her to see when she finally turns around. Turner fucking Campbell with Goddamn cream sauce all over his pants. Ain't gonna happen. I use my excess energy to rise to my feet, mesmerized. “
Why the false hope and the eternal lies? We both know I couldn't do it if I tried, but I can't deny that I need you. I won't lie that I want you. Take my dreams in your hands and let them fly, oh baby, please try. The only thing I've ever wanted to do is cry, but with you by my side, we can see this through. The world might fight, but that's okay.
” She drops her voice an octave, lets it whisper like velvet over my eardrums. “
That's okay.
” The mic slips back in its stand and her hands weave over the guitar's fretboard like she's trying to bring it to orgasm. “That's okay because I don't mind.” Naomi laughs and then jumps when I clap my hands together.

The look on her face when she spins around should, by all rights, fucking see me on the floor with my throat slit. She's not happy.

“What the fuck, Turner?” she snarls, her cheeks pink with a rosy blush. Holy mother of fucking crap. It's not often a girl like this lets her emotions show so plainly for the world to see. Orange-brown eyes sparkle with rage as her fingers curl around the guitar with anger, her body quivering and her tattoos standing out starkly against her sweaty skin. “You think it's cool to spy on me?” Naomi's eyes flicker down to the floor for a moment before she refocuses them back on my face. I embarrassed her. Don't know how. Maybe it was the song? It's definitely a new one. A little bittersweet, but I like it. I wonder if that one's about me, too?

“Door was unlocked, sweet stuff,” I say and she rolls her eyes, slipping the black and white Wolfgang off her shoulders and setting it down on the floor. I lean casually against the wall and let a smirk crawl naturally across my lips. I'm Turner Campbell, it's what I do. “Bravo, by the way. That shit was tight.”

“The only thing that's going to be tight is your ass after I shove my guitar up it. Don't do that again.”

“Do what?” I ask as she storms across the room in a fury of blonde hair and pursed lips. Naomi grabs a water bottle off the white table cloth and pops the top, dropping it on the floor by her feet as she tilts the bottle back and downs half the water in a single go. I watch hungrily as her throat moves, tantalizing and teasing, setting my body on fire. Just looking at Naomi makes me so horny that my skin starts to protest the touch of clothing, of fucking
air,
because it feels too good. I need her fingers on my chest, her tongue tangled with mine, her pussy around my cock. “Admire you? Become a fanboy for your music? Gaze longingly at your ass in those tight fucking jeans?”

“Invade my privacy,” Naomi says, turning around to stare at me. The angry look on her face gives me mad déjà vu, reminding me of that day when she threw my jacket at my chest. How things have changed since then. If someone had told me then that I'd be pledging my dick to this woman for the rest of my life, I'd have laughed in their face. Today, it feels like a fucking privilege. “I thought I was alone.”

I snap my fingers and push away from the wall.

“Yeah, see, and that's why it was so perfect. That's the kind of performance you have to give onstage, like it doesn't matter if everybody's looking because you're pretending nobody is. Like when we're onstage together, Naomi. Just me and you up there, baby.”

“Whatever,” she grumbles, sighing and dropping her tough bitch act down a few notches. The slump of her shoulders tells me a whole lot more than her words. Words lie, especially since we're so in control of what we say. Body language is a hell of a lot harder to fake, running more off basic instincts than anything else. Right now, Naomi's body is telling me that not only is it smoking fucking hot, but also that she's bummed the fuck out. Wish I had words to cheer her up. If I wasn't such an asshole, I bet I could come up with something. “Turner?”

When she says my name, I find myself drawn forward, my fingers twitching, my tongue sliding over my lips. That one word might as well be a come-on.

“Yeah?”

I pause a few, careful inches away. I'd rather sweep my arm across this table and knock the water bottles to the floor, grab Naomi and slam her over the top of it, but you know, you don't fuck with grizzly bears unless you're prepared to deal with the claws. Naomi looks like she's biting back a whole hell of a lot of
grr,
if you know what I mean.

“Secrets.” The dreaded word falls past her lips and hits the floor like a splash of blood, staining my shoes. I wrinkle my nose and try not to go into full-fledged panic mode.
Oh God, no. I can't take another one.
My mouth goes dry and my throat constricts in fear. “You're right. You are so right.” Naomi turns away and puts her hands on her lower back, bending over and breathing out a sigh that reaches deep down and cuts off the terror right at the source. That's a sigh of relief, of letting go. A good sigh. Not as good as the ones she'll be breathing out when my cock rams into her and her toes curl into the sheets with pleasure, but, eh, you know. Close enough. Naomi's laugher confuses the shit out of me, but I wait. Like I said, I have patience. I just choose not to use it often. “Secrets suck, and they kill, and I am so fucking done with them that I could spit.” She stands up abruptly and turns to face me, taking a step closer, wrapping her arms around my neck.

When her fingers slide up the back of my scalp, I growl and lean in close, so that our foreheads are touching. Heat flickers back and forth between us, like lightning, frying my fucking brain, so that it's almost impossible to get a logical thought to skitter through my Naomi addled brain.

“Hayden's dead,” she whispers, biting my lip hard and clamping it between her white teeth. I groan into her mouth and grab her hips hard, pulling her body against mine. My erection grinds against my jeans, straining to get to that warmth that's crushing the little fucker in his tighty-whities.

“Yeah, yeah, she is.”

“She killed herself.” Naomi sighs again and relaxes in my arms. Can't frigging tell you how happy I am to see that. She trusts me. She fucking trusts me. After all I've done, after what I freaking did to her the first time we met, the impossible has happened. “Over secrets.”

“Most likely.” I pause and reach down between us to unzip my jeans. Naomi doesn't stop me. “Or threats,” I snarl as she yanks on one of my lip rings and makes me go fucking crazy. Hey, I'm only half human. The other half is animal, baby.