Free Real Ugly by C. M. Stunich Page B

hands tucked into the pockets of her navy suit coat, bits of stray hair poking out of her slicked back bun. She looks frazzled which is pretty impressive. It's the first time I've ever seen her like that. “Spencer's probably already washed it off anyway.” America pauses and looks down at Hayden and me.
    The bloody words flip through my head on a continuous loop.
    Hayden knows Naomi's truth. Keep your fucking mouths shut.
    “You have no clue who might've done this?” she asks in a very severe tone, one that brings tears to Hayden's blue eyes. God, I can't stand that bitch. At least she isn't blaming me for this shit. “Like, is there someone you might've told something to?” she asks, stressing the word for Hayden's benefit. Unfortunately, since Dax is standing there, she can't be anymore obvious, but I wish she could be. There's at least a fifty/fifty chance that Hayden isn't going to understand what America's trying to get at.
    “Not a fucking soul,” I say, and Hayden just shakes her head. Neither of us believes her, I don't think, but there isn't anything we can do about it, so I just walk away and try not to dwell on the idea that somebody just decapitated a bird (or judging from the amount of blood, probably three or four) and used its life force to write a threatening message. At least now I know I have a stalker of some sort.
    Awesome.
    I leave the bus, even as America shouts at me to get my ass back there and get ready to take care of something I should've taken care of a long time ago. The adrenaline from the message and the coke are melding together to make for one pretty amazing trip. I feel like a Titan as I storm through the camp and pause outside of Indecency's bus.
    The bodyguard just stares at me like I'm an idiot.
    “I'm here to see Turner Campbell,” I tell him, which he's probably heard a thousand times before. The man, who's as big as an ox and twice as wide, folds his arms across his chest and sighs.
    “He isn't here,” he tells me and then shakes his head, continuing on before I get the chance to start an argument. I'm kinda glad because my fights never end well. Last month, I stabbed a rabid fan in the stomach with a fucking hunting knife. Thankfully, the charges were dropped, but I have to be more careful than that. Another incident could bring everything crashing down around my fucking head, and if I go to prison, I'm hanging myself with my sheets. I won't survive in there. “But he did tell me to expect you, so if you'd like to go up and wait, that'll be fine with me. I just have to pat you down for weapons first.”
    I stare at the man like he's fucking insane.
    Expecting me?
    Turner was expecting me?
    That son of a bitch.
    My blood goes hot and my heart cold.
    “Thanks.” I force the word out through tight lips and spin away on my heel, moving across the dirt in the direction of the gas station when a voice calls out behind me.
    “Naomi?”
    I turn around and find a blonde in dark washed jeans and a red T-shirt. I don't know his name, but I know he plays bass in Turner's band. He's standing on the bottom step of the bus and holding the screen open with one hand. In the other, he has a book. I trust him right away.
    I take a step forward.
    “Yeah?”
    The man smiles.
    “Hey, I know you don't know me, but my name is Joshua Drake. I was wondering if I could talk to you for just a sec? It's about Turner.”
    A smile stretches hard across my lips, and I head for the door of the bus with a very specific purpose in mind – pissing off Turner Campbell.

I fuck around the city for awhile, hitting up a few bars and stumbling half-drunk back to the parking lot where the buses are parked for the night. I find a lot of girls that night, but I turn them all down. Cannot stop thinking about Naomi Knox.
    That was her? I wonder for the hundredth time. I'm still having a hard time believing she was the one that walked in on me fucking that roadie. Was that when we first met? Is that why she hates