Free Rock (Hard Rock Harlots #4) by Kendall Grey

walking again. “Come on. You need to get ready for the show.”
    Well, fuck me sideways with a spring-action ice cream scoop. Jillian has a crush on the number-two bitch on my Cunt Punt List.

Truths from a Forked Tongue
    T ight-lipped Jillian won’t confirm or deny the rumor I started in my mind, despite me begging for details. She shakes her head, stomp, stomp, stomping forward, dangling this new carrot of information just out of my reach.
    When we get to the bus, it’s rocking in a steady rhythm. Somebody’s getting laid in there, which gives Jillian a convenient excuse to book over to the venue under the guise of “checking on things.”
    “Get showered, dressed, and fed. You go on at eight. Make sure the rest of them are ready,” she says, rolling her eyes at the bucking bus.
    “Come on, boss. I’ll show you my tits if you tell me what’s going on with you and Lizzie.” I gotta know if Jillian’s fucking that bitch. If she is, I might have to fire her ass.
    She starts to leave, and then pauses. She flicks a finger for me to lift my shirt. Hell yeah! I flash the girls at her and jiggle them for brownie points. I raise hopeful eyebrows.
    “Not bad,” she says, admiring my boobs. She turns away.
    “Wait a minute! No freebies. What’s up with you and Lizzie? Truth.”
    “The truth is nothing’s going on. Not a damn thing. Now go.” She tosses over her shoulder.
    “You’re a bitch, Jillian.” I shoot her a bird.
    She sashays across the parking lot, swinging her hips, and flips me a return one without looking back.
    Well, fuck-a-doodle-doo.
    Up the steps I go. I identify the grunts and moans from the rear of the bus as property of Rax and Eve. I wander down the aisle, smacking the bunk curtains to see if anyone else is home. No signs of life.
    Damn. Shades is probably off singing “Reunited” (and it feels so good) with Eliza, snuggled into a booth in some cozy café, their alien love child nestled between them, projectile vomiting and squirt-shitting.
    Barf. Literally.
    I catch a glimpse of naked bodies on the couch, so I shove my butt in the nearest bunk and watch wistfully from the shadows as Rax and Eve get their hump on. What a hot couple. Shades and I were hot once. Before Eliza busted up our party. Before I broke his dick. Before our routine became too … routine.
    Rax is on top of Eve, missionary style. His tight ass clenches and loosens with each thrust. Her toned, pale legs hug him as if her next heartbeat depends on him. The shocking contrast of flawless white on tattooed, tanned skin yanks my snoozing desire to full attention.
    Her arms drape across his broad shoulders. He kisses her slow and soft, deep and long. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but the talk is tender, by the sound of it.
    Eve winds her fingers through his thick, black hair and grasps a handful as her body tautens under him in a seizure of enviable pleasure. Rax kisses her through it, smiles, and pumps her full of himself. He collapses on top of her, and she giggles.
    A few more words are exchanged, caresses given and received, and then Eve slips into the bathicle (everything on this bus is some form of cubicle) for a shower. Rax chugs some water from his bottle. His mane is wet with sweat. The smell of sex hangs thick in the air.
    I’d love to find Shades and release the squirt hounds from my dusty cooch, but in his absence—both physically and emotionally—they’ve got nothing to do but scratch their shriveled, flea-ridden balls.
    Rax rolls onto his back and twists his neck at an awkward angle to glance at me. “Something on your mind, Letty?”
    Shit. Didn’t realize he saw me perving on him. My cheeks heat as I climb guiltily from my hidey-hole. “Nah.”
    “That faraway look says different.”
    Here’s the thing about Rax and me. We don’t get along. Ever. We fight constantly. There’s no use getting into an emotional discussion with him—because that’s what this would be: me getting emotional and