Free Tough Luck (Hard Rock Roots) by C.M. Stunich Page A

be contrary.
    “Why are we leaving so fucking early? Seems like a waste of time to me.” I cross my arms over my chest and let KK get a load of my tits. She doesn't have any of which to speak, so I know it pisses her off to see me flashing mine around like they're made of diamonds. She just stares at me, her frizzy hair clinging to the sides of her sweaty face. She always looks like a freaking train wreck, but today is worse than usual. Her eyes are all shifty, darting from side to side like she expects someone to leap out at her.
    “Milo Terrabotti thinks it'd be best to remove his band from the situation boiling outside. I'm inclined to agree.” Hah, I think as I stare at her pimply chin. You're inclined to agree? You're inclined to listen to whatever Mr. Rutledge tells you to do. This is one of the reasons I hate dealing with KK so much. It's like she isn't even a real person, just a bot for Mr. Rutledge to use when he isn't around. I miss our old manager, Monroe. She might not have been able to book us a gig like this, but she had a passion for our music. Monroe actually gave a shit about the heart and soul. Right now, it's all about the money and the fame. And the destruction. Can't forget about that bit. Everything comes at a price anyway, right?
    “Yeah, alright, whatever you say, boss .” I throw the term out there as an insult and open the door to my room. As soon as I get inside, I feel the wrongness in the air, but it's too late.
    “Hey there, bitch,” Hayden Lee growls, grabbing me from behind and shoving me forward onto the bed. “Where've you been? You get Ronnie into bed yet? It's not really all that difficult, you know.”
    “Get the fuck off me you anorexic scrag,” I snarl, elbowing her in the side and trying not to grin when I feel myself connect with her boney ribcage. I flip around and stumble away from the bed, watching as she sits back and leans against Cohen's bare leg. He's sitting in my bed smoking a cigarette, his junk hanging out like it's on display. Unfortunately for him his family jewels have never been museum quality.
    “Put your ugly chode away, Cohen,” I say, adjusting my glasses while I try to assess the situation. It smells like dirty tuna and skank in here now. Doesn't take a genius to figure out what they've been doing. “Am I supposed to care that you fucked this ho?” I ask with a laugh while Hayden leans back and rubs all over Cohen's chest, curling his hair around her finger. Looking at him now, it's almost possible for me to remember the boy he was not so long ago. I've always thought he had a sloppy charming sort of look. Now, he just plain disgusts me. “Because believe me, from what I've heard that's not really a difficult accomplishment.” I pause and study Hayden's blue eyes. They're so clear, I can see straight through 'em and down to the murky depths of her shallow soul. I'd sure like to cut the bitch. There's nothing worse than a traitor. Nothing. “Naomi Knox is looking for you,” I tell her, watching her face for some flash of emotion, something that tells me she regrets getting involved in this. I know the circumstances, but what I can't understand is the fervor in her eyes, the way she relishes every cut, every scrape. She just doesn't act like someone who's being blackmailed.
    “So?” Hayden asks, sitting up and snatching her purse from Honesty's bed. She digs around in it and comes up with a joint. “Why should I give a fuck?” She lights up and inhales deeply, blowing smoke into the stagnant air of the hotel room. “If you guys hadn't fucked things up, she wouldn't even be here right now.” Hayden closes her eyes and sways back and forth, in time to some beat neither Cohen or I can hear.
    I put my hands on my hips and listen to the call of the ice crystallizing in my veins. It tells me I'm happy, that nothing bad's ever happened to me, that I am a fucking superwoman. My heart swears otherwise. I choose to ignore it. If I keep feeling sorry for