Get Bent by C. M. Stunich Read Free Book Online Page B

stand there watching unsympathetically as the rest of the band looks around like they're not sure what to do. They have no manager now and their leading lady is obviously suffering some sort of trauma. Naomi, their real leader, is nowhere to be found. I turn around and move off the stage quick as I can.
    “Milo,” I say, and I'm not ashamed of the words that fall next from my lips. I might never live 'em down, but hey, what's a man to do? “I need you.” Milo nods and moves forward, stepping into that role he's so damn good at, taking the stage and wrapping his arm around Hayden's shaking shoulders. He escorts her off and tosses a look over at me, worry lines crinkling his face.
    “I think it's time for Indecency to put on a show,” he says, and I nod, sucking in a huge breath and really missing the rush of drugs in my system. I can do this. Milo starts barking orders at the crew and they rush around me, splitting in half as they hurry to haul off the equipment. One of them even grabs a rag and scrubs away some of the blood that Hayden's dripped across the floor.
    “What the shit?” I hear Trey ask from behind me. But I don't have any answers for him. Whatever shit Hayden's been through will have to wait. The show must go on, right? I scrape my teeth against my tongue ring so hard that it bleeds, filling my mouth with a tangy copper taste. When I glance over my shoulder, I see cops. Don't know where they came from, probably the mess outside, but they're already hovering around Lee and whispering soft spoken questions.
    My mind struggles with this new bit of information, trying to digest it as I move to the right and try to grab a glimpse of the heaving crowd. The bouncers all look nervous which is a bad fucking sign. The metal gates up front are rattling and shifting forward as people attempt to climb up and over them, desperate for a taste of this drama. If they only knew what it was like to drink the stuff, they would't be so eager. My eyes scan the colorful mess of misfits and miscreants quickly and then go over them again, just in case. I don't really expect to see her.
    But I do.
    The bald girl.
    Turner Campbell's never really been that smart. I admit it. Yeah, I'm fucking stupid sometimes, but when I set my mind to something, I go for it. And this, this I've set my fucking heart and soul on. I move across the stage in a sprint and hit the edge with a bunching of muscle and tendons, launching myself forward and into the frothing mass.
    The audience fucking loves this, and their hands come up, like the demons of hell, reaching and grasping for a taste of me. I hit this hot wave of flesh and sweat and land like I'm floating on fucking clouds. The crowd lets me surf for a price, running their hands over me, molesting me with greedy fingers and touching me all over, rushing me back and forth, up and down, pulsing me with the beat of their hearts. The whole time, I struggle to keep my eyes on the girl who tries to turn and flee. But the crowd is thick, dense and immovable. My movements might be frenetic, uncontrollable, but at least I'm moving. The girl gets stuck between the exit and the bathrooms, choosing the easier route and sliding her body past a bouncer and into the heavy swinging door.
    And then things get bad.
    These people are riled up crazy, salivating for blood, desperate to eat a piece of me and become something. I said worship me; they said yes sir. And now I'm paying for it. My own arrogance is fucking the ever living shit out of me.
    The crowd surges and engulfs me, dropping me to the floor where I hit the wood hard with my knees. People press down on me like an avalanche, knocking my palms to the ground, scraping my skin along the splintered wood. I hear my name echoing around me, and for the first time ever, I see my fame as a curse instead of a blessing. Hiding behind the walls of my bus, behind the fog of the drugs, the whisper of sweet, anonymous lips, I haven't seen this side of it. And let me