Riffs That Ruin (Survival Records #2)

2. Raina

M y fingers are already twitching with the need to take pen to paper, to spill the lyrics to a song that releases my anger better than breaking any stick could—even if that was exactly what I needed in the moment.

I snap my fingers at the first runner I see, quickly recognizing her as the same woman who brought me the coffee before the blind auditions. Man does that feel like a lifetime ago . Her eyes go wide, but I don’t wait for her to respond, it’s clear I have her attention, and I’m barely holding myself together right now.

“Take me to the exit where my bus is.” My voice cracks, but I hold my head up confidently, pretending it never happened. If I don’t bring attention to it, maybe nobody else will realize it happened either.

Denial is a girl’s best friend.

It doesn’t take long for her to navigate the halls and take us to a door, opening it and ushering us outside. Frigid air smacks me in the face, the sweat clinging to my skin freezing almost instantly. February in Chicago is no joke.

My arms instantly cross my body, my hands running up and down, trying to fabricate some semblance of warmth. Clearly, my rush to escape the venue wasn’t well thought out.

Before I have a chance to even think about hyperthermia, my jacket falls around my shoulders. Glancing over my shoulder, I find Blake. My heart warms seeing him there. His hand rests between my shoulder blades, keeping the wool coat from sliding off.

“Thanks, handsome.” I give him a wink, taking advantage of any chance I get to boost his confidence. He’s not wearing his glasses right now, though, so I don’t think it lands as hard. I really do prefer him with them on, it does something to me that goes straight to my lady bits.

We walk clear of the door, and it snicks closed behind us. I’m surprised there aren’t any fans waiting back here. It’s almost unheard of. I could probably count on one hand the amount of times I’ve exited a venue and wasn’t accosted by reporters or Storm Chasers who want an autograph. Security must’ve come through and cleared them out, but the question is why?

Quickly surveying my surroundings, I notice several buses to my right. Instinctively, I turn towards them, but something catches my eye from the left. I find Russ from Napalm Delights, his scornful expression solely focused on me as he climbs into the front seat of a black SUV. The door shuts with a loud thud, and the vehicle immediately speeds off.

I cock my head. Where the fuck are they going when there’s an after party celebrating their soon-to-be pet? There’s no doubt in my mind that they’ve already started grooming Carmen to do everything they ask.

Pushing them from my thoughts, I focus on getting to my bus—The Storm. Yes, I named it—and out of this fucking cold weather. Wind slaps me in the face bringing a fresh burst of iciness. They certainly don’t call it the Windy City for nothing. Reaching my fully decked out bus, I extend my arm to open the door, but the guard next to it blocks my way.

“This is Carmen’s,” he says in a deadpan voice. “Yours is that one.” He points toward Thunderstruck, the bus I used to tour with.

I should be used to every possible detail in this god forsaken nightmare I’m living to be ass backward, but somehow this takes me off guard. A growl rumbles through my throat, that quite honestly irritates my vocal cords. “Absolutely not. I paid for this bus myself, not the label. Move out of my way.”

The douche canoe stands his ground. “I don’t know what to tell you. Your stuff is in the other bus, this one has Carmen’s belongings already unpacked. Someone came by earlier to make sure everything is squared away.”

They’re giving her the fucking sparkle treatment, feeding her the dream of what things can be if she only spreads her legs for the disgusting monster who owns the label… If only he wasn’t my uncle; if only he hadn’t done the same thing to me.

Nausea rips through me as my skin crawls with the legs of a thousand spiders. I loathe thinking of him as my uncle, as someone related to me knowing that he raped me. Stole the innocence from my soul, scraped it clean and kept it for himself like a trophy he can display on his mantle.

I can’t do it anymore—can’t think of him in that context. Mr. Lexington isn’t any better. That’s my last name, and I don’t want to think of him having any connection to me. Not anymore.

He needs a new name. Something that gives me a little dose of dopamine whenever I have to think about him to counteract the negative… The phrase I used earlier comes to mind, and I can’t help but want to use it. Dickless . It reminds me of how he lacks the balls to find grown ass women to date so he rapes helpless underage girls. Ball-less is probably a little more accurate but doesn’t roll off the tongue quite so well.

No, his name will now be Dickless, and my damaged little heart can smile a little every time I use it.

My grip tightens around my phone as yet another gust of wind lifts my hair, reminding me how sweaty I am. It’s the cold that drives me to stride to the rundown bus where another guard moves out of my way and lets us climb in without a word. I haven’t given up yet, though.

Warmth wraps around me, a dry heat that smells of stale sweat, old beer, and what I fear might be crusty cum. It’s worse than the last time I was in here and a big motivation for why I wanted to get something new myself. The label wasn’t willing to do it, so I used my own earnings.

It’s cramped in here compared to my pristine bus, I’m not sure how we’ll cope with five of us living here. And I honestly don’t trust any of the surfaces to be clean. Wrinkling my nose, I cautiously make my way down the middle walkway, worried about what I’ll find when I get to the bunk area and the bedroom beyond.

“Clearly they cleaned since the last people who used it, but they didn’t do a good job,” Blake says from somewhere behind me.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if we found a used condom somewhere in that couch,” Nash adds, clear disgust in his voice. I shudder with how right he probably is and open my text app.

Alyssa, why the fuck was I denied entry on my goddamn bus?

Finding the bunks, I grimace, they aren’t even made up. Sheets sit on top of each one haphazardly thrown on top of the thin padding. They didn’t even have the courtesy of setting things up for us. Not that I’d trust it if they did.

The whole place makes me feel nauseous, and it’s not only because of the filth. It feels like sharp nails scrape over my skin, and the longer I stand in here, the more my mind threatens to flash back to my past—the times I hid in the back, cuddled under covers as I sobbed after Napalm Delights cornered me at a party. This might not be where they raped me, but it’s where I fell apart afterwards.

“Raina,” Blake barks, making me jump and turn around. It’s a tone he hasn’t used with me since I ran from the show where Tristan twisted my lyrics, making my soul burn into embers along with the bond tying us together. He gives me a concerned twitch of his mouth. “I called your name like five times. You okay?”

“Bad memories,” I mumble.

His hand takes hold of mine, his thumb soothing circles into my skin as he guides me to the front of the bus again. My phone buzzes in my other palm, and I bring it up to read the notification.

You subleased the bus to the label. It’s our discretion who uses it.

It’s my fucking property, and I’m the bigger name. I’m the one drawing the fans to the shows. If you don’t want me to cause a scene, then you’ll switch the buses.

You aren’t the only one who holds power here. You can hold threats over my head, but I’m able to cause some damage on my way out.

My thumb slams on the glass, hitting send in an all too unsatisfying fit of anger. I squeeze the phone in my grip, not strong enough to do any damage, but wishing I could break something.

Shit… Keaton’s ideas are rubbing off on me. Maybe I shouldn’t have given in to breaking his stick. Glancing at him, I find he’s already grabbed another set, flicking them between his fingers. Why is that so damn hot?

You know what? I’m not full of threats on this one. I won’t stand for being forced into this shithole living situation while the bus I own is given to a first time wannabe pop princess who thinks it’s okay to belittle me. My thumbs fly over my screen as I send an email to my lawyer. There’s a chance there’s something in the subletting contract I have with the label that prevents something like this. Hopefully, I get a response soon, but I won’t hold my breath for any answers tonight, it’s too freaking late.

Not for the first time I regret the decisions of past me, for being too trusting and putting my faith in the hands of people who didn’t have my best interests at heart. It’s bit me on the ass one time too many, yet I can’t go back and fix it. I’m forced to grin and bear it all, waiting on pins and needles for when I’m screwed over again.

One day it’ll end; I won’t trip over mistakes I made when I should’ve known better. At least that’s my hope. For some reason, my mind takes me to a place where my bandmates are by my side, helping to make sure nothing like this happens ever again. They surround me, protecting me from anything that threatens to harm me, even if it’s myself.

Clearing the thoughts from playing before my eyes, I find Blake beside me. My free hand is still in his as he works to soothe the tender frayed edges of my soul. I wish we were on the deck at my beach house. I ache to hear the haunting sounds of his cello, drawing out the echoing notes into the dark night. I know he’d play something that speaks to my soul, allowing me to feel heard as I wrap myself in his music.

Without second guessing it, I fold myself into Blake’s chest. Breathing him in, I swear it’s like my mind conjures the ocean scent clinging to him, like we really are back home together instead of this cum-infested, beer-stained bus.

The salty freshness of a cool breeze glancing off the crest of a wave seems to dance with the grounding qualities of sage. With just one hint of his scent, I feel more balanced. I’m sure it helps that Blake’s arms instantly wrap around me, holding me close. One arm banded behind my lower back, and a hand cradling the back of my head, I snuggle into his neck.

“We’ll figure this out, Tigress,” he murmurs into my hair.

“I’m booking us a hotel room for tonight. I’m not sleeping here,” Nash says as he opens the door and steps outside.

My heart beats twice as fast. Once for Nash’s thoughtfulness. A hotel room was next on my scattered list of things to do, although I was holding onto the hope of getting things resolved tonight. And once for the way Blake makes me feel when I’m close to him.

Wait… did he call me— “Tigress?”

It must be something in my tone that gives away how much I don’t like it, because a chuckle bursts out of him. “You’re the strongest person I know. I thought the moment called for a nickname that matched. Something to give you a little more empowerment.” His hand smoothes down my hair, and he leans back to look at me. It’s almost weird seeing him without his glasses. “Did you not like it?”

“No,” I whisper, getting lost in his Caribbean blue eyes. Does everything about him revolve around the ocean?

The cocksure smile he gets when he’s not wearing his glasses shows up as his hand leaves the back of my head, and his fingers grip my chin. He tilts me back until he’s towering over me, his lips a hair’s breadth away.

“Is that because you’re my snuggle bunny?” Butterflies swarm through my chest and stomach. My lips part, but before I can answer him, he’s already speaking again. “Shh, Bunny. I already know the answer to that.”

I knew his lips were close enough to kiss me, hell, they were brushing against mine with every word, teasing me with the possibility. But somehow I’m still surprised when he presses them against me. I melt into him, loving every single move he makes to comfort me.

His tongue flicks out, teasing at the seam of my lips, and I don’t even think about it, I open for him, deepening the kiss. His hold on me tightens like he wants to get ever closer, and I can’t deny that I want the same thing, too. There’s such a sweetness to his kiss, yet demanding at the same time, like he has complete control over what’s happening, a control that I gladly give to him.

The sharp pain lances through my lip as he bites it, only to soothe away the sting as he softly sucks it into his mouth and runs his tongue over it. I moan, the opposing sensations confusing me. I don’t know whether to jump away or strip, so he has better access to all the areas he’s awakened.

I’m not given a chance to figure it out. He breaks the kiss, moving his lips along my jaw until they’re at my ear. “Sorry. I might’ve gotten carried away there. Let’s get you tucked away into whatever hotel Nash arranged so you can get a good night’s rest.” He trails kisses down my neck, laving at my pulse point before scraping his teeth over the tender area. “I need you out of my arms, Bunny, before I sink my teeth into you and leave some marks behind.”

An unbidden moan slips past my lips, and I feel him smile against me.

“Would you like that? Wearing my mark for everyone to see?” he asks, a thread of vulnerability hidden within the words.

The thought sends a thrill through me. “Yes.” I breathe out a longing sigh. “Just not on my nipples,” I warn, not wanting to get triggered the way I was with Tris.

Blake steps away, putting space between us. The overly confident, contacts wearing cellist winks at me. It sets off the butterflies again, and I stand dumbfounded as he walks off the bus. I lift my hand to my bruised lip and smile. Who would’ve thought a first kiss from my sweet nerd would be viciously tender?

And if I’m not mistaken… he doesn’t simply enjoy biting, it’s an actual kink.