The Daymakers, page 8
Once we’d arrived, I’d found her passed out, sound asleep. I’d hovered slightly longer than necessary, just to make sure she was breathing.
Poet had come up behind me, oddly silent for a man with one leg. He’d taken one look at her and shipped everyone back to the hotel. He could be pretty authoritative, considering he was the softest spoken of the bunch. When he spoke, we all listened.
Even when Royal had grumbled that we should just wake her up, Poet had given him a surly look, making him shut his trap. Knight had thrust the contracts in front of him, and he’d begrudgingly signed them without the theatrics that I’m sure he would have preferred.
I’d had Steve drive the guys all back to the hotel, then crawled into my bunk and slept like the dead. It had been a hell of a long day.
Unfortunately, I’d only gotten about five hours of sleep before I had to be up to take the guys to a range of TV performances and radio interviews here in Vegas. Some days, they got to sleep all day while on tour, but because we were here for more than two days, the label had decided to cram in as many PR stunts as possible.
Checking on Charlotte once more, I found she was still asleep. Royal had put the contract on the pillow beside her like some kind of figurative horsehead, but at least he hadn’t woken her.
Pulling out some money from my wallet, I left her a note saying Whitt had dropped off an advance, and put the cash on the breakfast nook table in the main section of the bus. She needed more clothes and personal items. A couple of hundred dollars would cover that, especially in Vegas. I didn’t think keeping her financially chained to the tour was even remotely ethical. I also grabbed the security pass, so she could come and go as she liked, without a repeat of yesterday.
With that, I scrubbed my face in the bathroom and headed out. I’d shower at the guys’ hotel, which was way easier than wedging myself into the tiny shower here.
I waved to some of the roadies as I grabbed my bike. It traveled on the tour with us, and me and the guys all knew how to ride. Sometimes you just needed to get away, and a heavy helmet and leathers definitely hid you from the paparazzi. It could be suffocating for the guys, with eyes on them almost all the time.
Hell, it was suffocating for me, and no one really gave a fuck about me.
Driving through the early morning weekend traffic was easy, and I made it quickly to the five-star hotel the label had put them in. Scanning my keycard, I parked in the underground lot near the elevators. I stopped in the lobby, grabbing pastries and coffee. Double shots in each, because I needed them alert and alive, and since last night’s show had run over, it would be hard.
I smiled and tipped the barista, then hopped in the elevator, happily ignoring everyone else in there. When I reached the penthouse, I let myself in.
Unsurprisingly, it was silent. The guys were bunking two to a room in the suite, and I laid out breakfast before I even considered waking them. Opening the blinds, I looked out over the Strip, with the hustle of people stumbling from casinos and that unique skyline which was one hundred percent Vegas.
With a sigh, I looked down at my watch. I’d start with Royal; he always took the longest to get ready.
Wardrobe had already brought over their outfits and the masks that they wore to interviews. They had spandex balaclava skull masks, which Helen had screen-printed with their tell-tale pieces. The gas mask for Knight. The crown for Royal. The eyepatch for Poet. The rune vegvísir burned into a skull for Hero. The balaclavas helped them remain in character, but were less oppressive than the full stage masks. Plus, it meant they didn’t have to wear the hoods in the desert, which everyone appreciated.
Opening the door, I saw Royal sprawled out on top of his blankets. He was thankfully alone, which was always a bonus. I couldn’t count on two hands how many times I’d walked into his hotel room to see him and Hero wrapped up in girls. Knight had had his girlfriend, Laura the Bitch, for way too long. She’d been a leech—in love with the lifestyle, not my friend.
But Hero had once upon a time been as much of a manwhore as Royal. There’d been a couple of years there where I’d felt like I spent most of my time escorting eyelash-fluttering groupies from hotel rooms.
I wasn’t exactly quiet as I strode across the room, and Knight’s eyes snapped open. He’d always been a light sleeper. “Go away, Shep. I’m not ready,” he groaned, rolling onto his stomach and burying his head beneath the pillow.
I nudged Royal as I stole Knight’s pillow. “Sorry, brother, but you have an interview with some drivetime radio show in, like, an hour, and we still have to make it across town to their studio.”
He let out a string of muffled curse words and a yell.
Royal opened his eyes and gave me his bitch look. Luckily, I was immune. “Time to wake up, sleeping beauty. We gotta be out of here in forty minutes, and we both know your hair takes that long.” He flipped me the bird, making me chuckle. “Don’t be sour. There’s coffee in the living room.”
I moved to the next room, where the sounds behind the door told me that Hero and Poet were definitely awake, but weren’t exactly ready to get out of bed. I’d walked in on them fucking once, and it wasn’t a mistake I wanted to make again.
I knocked on the door roughly. “We have to go. Quit fucking and get out here,” I shouted through the wood.
“Fuck off!” Hero shouted back, and I grinned.
By the time I made it back to the living room, the shower was running, and Knight was sitting by the window, sipping his coffee. “How’s Lottie?”
I shrugged, like I didn’t give a shit. “Still asleep when I left.”
Knight snorted. “Cut the shit, Shep. How long have we been friends? A decade or more? I know when you’ve got a hard-on for a girl, and you want Charlotte.”
I rolled my eyes at him, but if he knew, then it wasn’t long before everyone would know. Knight was the biggest gossip in the band—hell, maybe on the tour. I handed him a chocolate croissant to shut him up.
Knight just gave me a shit-eating, know-it-all grin that made me want to rearrange his face. Lovingly, of course. “I’m cool with it, you know? Adding you to the agreement. Or not, if you want to pursue her after the end of the tour. But I have to say, if you’re going to be territorial, you might be in trouble. Either learn to share or wait your turn.”
I gritted my teeth at him. “She’s not a piece of meat, Knight. Watch your mouth.”
He just smirked and ate the croissant as he looked out over the Strip.
Poet and Hero finally stumbled out of the bedroom, looking disheveled. Poet gave me a happy smile, and why wouldn’t he be happy? He wasn’t walking around with a giant case of blue balls. “Morning, Shep.” He grabbed his coffee, passing the other one to Hero.
Slumping down on the couch, Hero raised a brow at me. He also looked perky this morning. “How’d you sleep? Sorry you got stuck on the bus again.” Normally, I’d sleep at the hotel with the guys. Not in a room quite as fancy as this, but still in the same building.
Shrugging, I scrolled through my phone, answering texts and emails about mundane shit, which people knew how to do but just wanted me to hold their hand or pat their head about it. So irritating. “Fine. I don’t care about sleeping in the bunks.”
The guys’ bus was better than the roadie buses, that was for sure. Some of those were like sleeping in a coffin, with eighteen guys on a bus and all your shit stored in that tiny little space with you. Absolute hell. But the guys had some decent head room, and there were only six bunks, plus the artist suite that Charlotte was occupying. I could deal. I’d lived most of my life with not much. Being on the road was a cakewalk.
Royal emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and swiped the remaining coffee from the table before striding into the bedroom and shutting the door. Poet moved to the bathroom, and Hero stood to follow him.
“Separately, you two. We’re in a time crunch.”
Poet smirked at me. “What do you mean?” But he walked to the bathroom and shut the door, his laughter drifting through the thin walls. Jesus, it was like dealing with horny teenagers sometimes.
I went over the day’s events with Knight and Hero, including when the publicist would arrive downstairs, and what time they had to be back at the arena tonight.
Royal appeared, dressed in a black silk shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest to show bronzed skin. Hero disappeared into the bathroom, while Knight headed back toward the bedroom. “I spent about forty minutes in the shower rubbing one out last night. If I get any cleaner, my balls will shrivel up,” he grumbled, and I screwed up my nose.
“Too much information, asshat.” I threw a pillow at his head, and he slammed the door shut, giggling like a schoolgirl.
Sometimes it was hard to remember they weren’t dumb kids who couldn’t even grow a mustache anymore. I’d met them when I prevented them from being robbed in a shitty part of Coney Island. They’d been pushing a still-broken Poet down the boardwalk in a wheelchair, looking as upper class as you could get, a big neon sign that basically invited you to mug them.
I’d dusted them off, bought a crying Poet an ice cream and asked what the fuck they were doing there without their parents. They’d been, like, thirteen or so. Royal had told me to fuck off.
It had been Hero who’d given me his cell number and told me that he owed me one and to call if I needed anything. Getting an IOU from a thirteen-year-old had been wild—what was he going to give me, a box of cookies and a Playstation?
But the gravitas with which he’d handed me that card made me keep it. And then use it, three years later, in the worst period of my life. On the street. Beat to hell.
Maybe that’s why Charlotte’s situation was getting to me so bad; I’d been her once upon a time. Before I grew into my body. Before I’d lost faith in the world. Before I’d had these four guys.
Fuck it. I owed them everything, and if that meant I couldn’t have the pretty brunette with the big blue eyes filled with secrets and pain, then so be it.
TWELVE
CHARLOTTE
Whitt had left three hundred bucks on the dining table of the bus and told me to go spend it on myself. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d held three hundred bucks. Maybe when I was ten, and a local gang had bought a big batch of meth from my dad and paid for it in dirty money? My dad had let me hold it, and I’d spent an inordinate amount of time flicking through it, thinking it was the most money I’d ever seen in my life.
Of course, my dad had then bought coke with it and I’d gone hungry again, but still. For a while, I’d been able to find all sorts of change lying around, which I’d pilfered to buy food and another pair of shoes from the thrift store.
Soon, that would all be over. I wouldn’t have to scrabble in the crevices of life for change ever again.
Changing into another black tee and my jeans, I headed out and over to the thrift store once more. Three hundred bucks somewhere decent would get me half a wardrobe. But at a thrift store? I could buy pieces that would make up an entire closet and then some.
I needed some decent heels, though. I loved my Converse, but I needed something better. Mentally setting aside a hundred bucks for emergencies, a hundred for toiletries and makeup, fifty for the thrift store and fifty for shoes, I set out for the day. I ducked over to see if Tricia was around, but I didn’t think she stayed on the lot either when she didn’t have to.
Making sure my lanyard was tucked inside my shirt, I retraced my steps from the day before. I ducked into Walmart and grabbed some cheap makeup, as well as toiletries I might need over the course of a few months. I mentally tallied each dollar in my head, because old habits died hard.
When I arrived at the thrift store, I smiled at the cashier who’d been so damn nice to me last time, and she gave me a wave. As I flicked through the racks, I gravitated toward items that were black. I found myself smiling as I loaded things into my basket, creating a black rocker wardrobe that would make Joan Jett envious. Vintage tees, tartan skirts, torn jeans, pretty lace tops—it all went in there. A few hoodies and sweats too, because no one wanted to be fancy all the time. I even found a little rolling suitcase and snagged that.
But the real winner was the shoe section. Some worn-in chunky boots would go with almost all my outfits, especially if I went back and got some tights from Walmart. A pair of sky-high dark purple heels were completely impractical and slightly over my price budget, but they called to me. Normally, I would resist, but I needed them.
Finally, I went to the book section. When was the last time I’d read a book? Reading had gotten me through so much of my childhood. Tom had ridiculed my taste in books until I never bothered anymore, just to save the embarrassment. What was wrong with reading romance? A little bit of fantasy never hurt anyone, especially when men like the heroes didn’t exist in real life. I knew that firsthand.
I spent thirty minutes picking out some well-loved paperbacks. I liked to think that these books had seen so much, they’d had lives of their own. Tears had soaked into their pages. Laughter had ruffled their leaves. People had gripped their covers so tightly that they’d crinkled the cardboard. Corners had been dog-eared to remind the reader of moments they wanted to reread over and over again.
Finally, I settled on a stack of six books. Any more than that would take up too much room in my suitcase. Maybe I could donate them and get new ones at the next stop.
Dragging my haul up to the checkouts, I smiled at the cashier.
“Ah, it’s good to see you again. Win big on the slots?”
I shook my head. “Nope, just finally got what was coming to me, you know?”
“Girlie, do I know or do I know,” she cackled as she rang me up.
We packed it straight into the suitcase. I’d stop at a laundromat too, just to get it all washed and dried.
“Seventy-two even today,” the cashier said, and I handed her eighty bucks.
“Keep the change for your kindness,” I told her softly. “Or give it to the next girl who needs help.” Eight bucks wouldn’t get you much, but it was better than nothing.
“Bless you, love. Have a good day.”
I saluted her and headed back out into that dry desert heat. I’d passed a laundromat on the way here, and that was how I intended to spend the rest of the day.
The laundromat was wonderfully air conditioned, and I threw my new clothes into a machine and sat on the hard plastic chair. Cracking open the first book, a romcom, I curled up and read. Peace washed over me like a wave, and I finally relaxed as I was pulled into a world of vampires and small towns.
Five minutes later, someone touched my shoulder. Startled, I swore, then slapped a hand over my mouth as I saw a young mother with a toddler on her hip. “Shit, sorry.”
She just grinned. “Your machine has been done for fifteen minutes. Thought you’d want to know, so you weren’t stuck here longer than necessary.”
Looking at the clock on the wall, I realized I’d been reading for an hour. “Damn. Thank you.” Hustling over, I moved my clothes from the washer to the dryer and settled back into my book.
Twenty minutes later, I checked my clothes, but they still needed a little more. The mother and toddler were the only people remaining in the laundromat with me. The kid was playing on the floor, while the mother had a little notebook out that she was staring at intently. It looked like she was doing a budget, and I felt a kinship with her. If I hadn’t religiously replaced the implant in my arm every year since I’d turned sixteen, that might have been me with a toddler in too-small clothes, trying to make every penny stretch.
The toddler pointed to the juice in the vending machine, and the mother just shook her head. “Not today, Mellie. Here, have your water.” She pulled a sippy cup of water from the diaper bag at her feet and handed it to the little girl, who promptly tossed it across the room, straight at my feet. The mother just looked annoyed and overwhelmed, lines around her eyes creasing deeper, even though she was probably only my age. “Go and pick that up.”
The toddler’s lip jutted out, tears pooling in her eyes. She started crying so loud, I was pretty sure dogs down the block could hear her and were barking in solidarity.
The mother threw me a frantic look and rushed over to pick her up, patting her back as she squirmed and grumbled. “Shhh, shhh. Maybe next month, I’ll buy you a big tub of ice cream and juice, baby. Would you like that? Be good now and stop crying, okay?” Reaching down, I picked up the sippy cup and handed it over to her. She looked embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. Normally, I let her have juice while the clothes are washing, but the store jacked up the price of her formula because there’s some kind of stupid shortage, and there’s nothing to spare this month, not even a couple of dollars.”
I waved away the apology. “Don’t even stress it.”
Hesitating, I reached into my purse and pulled out my hundred in emergency cash. She might have been taking me for a ride, scamming me out of money, but honestly, I’d rather help a mother who might be scamming me, than ignore a mother who was in genuine need. Besides, a laundromat was a weird place to try and scam someone.
“Take this.”
The woman gave me a wide-eyed stare. “What?” she whispered.
I held out the folded fifties to her, pushing them into her hand. “The money. It’ll help while the month is hard. A little buffer never hurts anyone.” I probably should’ve taken my own advice and not given away my own buffer, but at least I only had to worry about me. I didn’t need to worry that I couldn’t afford to feed my kid.
She shook her head and tried to hand it back. “Is this one of those things where they record it and put it on the internet for views, then people judge me as a mother just because I can’t buy my kid juice?”
I frowned. “People do that?”
She looked at me like I was nuts. “All the time.”
