Two days later, after a kick-ass show in Denver, we arrive in Cheyenne.

Toombs and I shared this morning’s coffee in silence. He’s been quiet since we left the Armstrong Suites, which is fine by me. I’m not interested in talking either. But knowing he’s there if I need him is enough to keep my head above water.

The single cup of joe I sank, however, was not nearly enough. A caffeine headache threatens to kick my ass, and my ass has been kicked quite sufficiently of late, thank you very much. I’ve been at Lizzie’s side every free minute, waiting for her to flub up and give my voice recorder the happy ending it so rightly deserves.

Still shooting blanks.

I’m not sure how many more emotional beatings I can endure from her. Or the other pain in my ass who snuck onto the Banging Betties’ bus last night with Shades.

Letty stumbles down the aisle from the bathroom, flaming red hair a disheveled mess, tank top hiked up to reveal her flat stomach. She folds her arms over her chest and stares at me expectantly.

Speak of the devil.

Those two idiots are lucky the security guys didn’t catch them in Lizzie’s bunk.

Correction. I’m lucky the security guys didn’t catch them.

Letty snatches a donut from the bag I was about to put away. I clean up the ketchup dollops, spilled sugar, and empty chip wrappers one of these slobs left in the kitchen area. She sits on the edge of her bunk. I pour my coffee.

“What were you doing in Lizzie’s bunk last night, Letty?” I ask.

She coughs. Powdered sugar flies from her mouth. “Spying on you. What else?”

I nod.

“You have nothing to say? I thought you were gonna ‘shut me up.’” She air-quotes.

She’s got me there. Richard followed me onto the bus when I was looking for my cigarettes. We had a heart-to-heart about keeping a short leash on Letty. Apparently, Letty’s ignited Lizzie’s ire (again), which personally, I’m all for, but professionally, I can’t condone.

I swear, it’s like refereeing a fucking playground.

I opt for distraction and change the subject. “Megamusic TV sent a documentary crew to follow the bands on this tour.”

“Yeah, I saw them yesterday. Also noticed that Anna chick has her tongue so firmly implanted in Lizzie’s asshole, she’ll need a pair of pliers and a gallon of lube to remove it. Your point?” She finishes off her donut. My butt cheeks clench at the mention of assholes, pliers, and lube.

“My point is you need to be on your best behavior when they come knocking.”

She laughs harshly as barely contained fury ignites her expression. “Because your buddy Dick doesn’t like it when I upset his little princess? Fuck him. Fuck her. And fuck you.”

A wave of desperation churns my stomach.

Goddammit, I can’t afford to pull any more punches with her. Lizzie is this close to kicking us off the tour.

Ultimatum level: unlocked.

God help us all.

“Listen to me and listen good.” I square my shoulders and barge well past the boundaries of her personal space. “You do not want to tangle with him, her, and especially not me. I’ve put up with your attitude on this bus for almost a year. I’ve held your hand through the rough times. I’ve kicked your ass when you deserved it. I pushed you to the top when you wanted to quit. You fuck this up now, and you can find yourself a new manager. I’m sick of cleaning up your messes, Letty.”

“Messes? I make the messes around here? Who’s banging the Betty over on that tour bus?” She stabs an accusing finger at the pink gas guzzler through the window. “Who sold us out so she could suck that Betty’s dick, huh? What’s the allure, Jillian? She must be giving you some goooood head to get you to turn against your own band.

“I got an idea. Since you’re doing so much for them, how about you go over there and join their little Cult of the Inept and Shameless? Then you can have your Betty 24/7 and you’ll never have to put up with my sucky attitude again.”

She might as well have slapped me like Lizzie’s so fond of doing. Except a slap from Letty hurts a hell of a lot more than one from Lizzie.

“Don’t. Tempt. Me,” I bite out, livid and dazed from the sting.

Jinx rushes over, eyes round and brows lifted. “Whoa. What’s going on?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” Letty seethes.

Someone knocks on the door. The tension between Letty and me stretches to the breaking point.

“Documentary crew …?” Toombs calls from the front of the bus.

“Yeah, let them in.” Jaw clenched, I inhale a deep breath as Anna DeVille—the reporter from Megamusic—and her cameraman climb aboard. I quickly pat down my hair and smooth my suit.

Letty’s eyes blaze. With a pissy grunt, she turns on her heel and nods Jinx toward the couches in the rear. I put on a smile I don’t feel and join the documentary crew. After a quick round of introductions, I step aside and let Anna set up to interview Rax and Toombs.

She’s low-key with her questions, throwing softballs, dancing around the music stuff, and focusing mostly on the tour, which makes sense. You’d think she’d want to get more insight into what makes the band tick. We are second billing, after all. She’s spent hours following Banging Betties around—I’ve silently thanked her for it numerous times, as she’s often my out for ditching Lizzie—but with Rax and Toombs, she’s … detached. Usually, women can’t keep their tongues in their mouths around the boys.

I’d guess she was a lesbian, but my antennae aren’t twitching.

Whatever.

Eliza and Gabrielle’s arrival interrupts the interview. Eliza waves at Shades, who just got out of the shower at the ass-end of the bus. He pulls a shirt on, kisses Letty, and joins his ex and daughter. Well, possible daughter.

“Hey, you got time for an interview later?” I ask him.

“Sure. Catch me in a bit,” he agrees on his way down the stairs. “We’re just taking a quick walk.”

“Okay.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Text from our driver, Freddie. There’s a parking glitch with the venue. We may have to move the bus to a more distant spot, which will be a huge pain for the roadies. Nope. Fuck that. I reply, I’ll be there shortly.

Anna wraps her interview with the guys.

“We’re gonna go hang with DomMob.” Rax jerks a thumb toward the door. “They got a PlayStation.”

“Rax wants to get his ass kicked in Call of Duty again,” Toombs clarifies.

Rax shakes his head. “Fuck you, man.”

“Be back in time for dinner,” I say. “Wouldn’t want you boys playing on an empty stomach tonight.”

“Sure, Mom,” Rax tosses behind him as he and Toombs skip down the stairs after Shades, Eliza, and Gabrielle.

Anna turns to me with a huge smile. “I’m excited to talk to Letty and Jinx about smashing female rocker stereotypes.”

Ah, now I get why she seemed so lackluster with the guys. Hardcore feminist. Or maybe my gaydar is jammed. It would totally explain her constant fawning over Banging Betties. I relax my stiff shoulders.

“I’m sure they’ll be happy to fill your ears with their opinions,” I say. “Jinx? Letty?” I call to the back. “Can you come here, please? Anna has some questions for you.”

Letty and Jinx take their time swaggering up the aisle. My hands itch for a cigarette.

“Anna wants to get your perspective on the tour and other stuff for the documentary. She’s especially interested in women’s roles in rock music. Jinx, you wanna go first?”

Jinx glances to Letty. “Uh, okay.” She sits on the couch. Anna slides in beside her.

Another text from Freddie: U coming? They r waiting.

Shit.

“I’ll leave you to it,” I say, fingers curling around the box of cigarettes in my jacket pocket. “Back in about an hour.”

I make eye contact with Letty and will her to behave. She lifts her chin at me.

She’s not going to behave.

* * *

On my way to the bus after the show, I inhale the crisp November breeze and pull my jacket tighter around my shoulders. I haven’t seen Lizzie much today. She’s been as chilly as tonight’s air since I left her and Beth in my room at the Armstrong Suites. Fine by me.

I only wish I could’ve caught her on the voice recorder doing more than pushing me around in bed. I listened to the playback, and there’s not much I could use other than her harsh tone of voice. Sharing the recording would probably make me look worse than her.

It’s been hard looking in the mirror after I let her abuse me. Violate me. The only dignity I retained from the awful encounter was denying her the triumph of forcing me to use my safe word.

I’m still in control.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Again. What the hell is it this time? The screen blows up with social media notifications. Like, our usual number times a hundred.

With a sinking feeling, I stop in the middle of the parking lot and open Facebook. Killer Buzz Float’s page is overrun with comments on a video about Letty.

“No,” I whisper as I scan the page. “No, no, no, this can’t be …”

But it is. Boy, oh boy, it is.

With a shaking finger, I press the play button.

The video shows Letty on our tour bus being interviewed by Anna. Except it’s not an interview. It’s a slaughter. Letty slams Lizzie for buying a house in Hollywood. Letty accuses Banging Betties of making noise rather than music. Letty turns on the cameraman like a rabid animal, threatening bodily harm.

FUCK.

Rage blurs my vision. I charge to the bus, rampage up the stairs, and storm down the aisle to the couches where the band members sit. Letty jumps to her feet. My lungs work overtime to process the incoming rush of fury overwhelming my senses.

“I can explain,” Letty says.

“I don’t want an explanation.” I shut her excuse down with a snarl.

This is the final straw. Letty isn’t just killing herself with her rock ’n’ roll hubris. She’s killing the rest of the band too. It ends now.

“I want you to pipe the fuck down and keep a low profile until this tour is over. Don’t say another word to Anna or Lizzie or any-fucking-one unless I tell you to. Stay away from the Internet. Make no posts. Answer no questions. Not a word. Do you understand, little girl?”

Letty flinches, her bottom lip trembling about as hard as mine is. She nods and plows toward the exit. Shades starts after her and calls her name.

I round on him, slapping a hand to his sternum. “Let her go. She needs to reflect on how badly she fucked up this tour for everyone and how she’s gonna make it up to you. If she even can. Maybe she’ll finally learn something about tact. And fucking humility.”

Shades’s eyes narrow as he clenches his jaw, no doubt biting back his own retort.

“Yeah? When I dislodge this knife from my back, I’ll see what I can do, you goddamn traitor,” Letty fires over her shoulder as she thunders down the stairs.

Her vitriol bullet hits me square in the chest. I cave from the power of it.

She thinks I’m a traitor?

All I ever wanted was to give these kids what they deserved: a spot at the top of the charts. This video just killed that dream. But as hotheaded as Letty is, she’s not one to take her negative feelings toward the hand that feeds her to the streets. I smell something rotten in the Cowboy State.

If I know my Lizzies, I’d bet those Louboutins I squirreled away when I first got this job that she had more to do with the train wreck of a video than Letty did.

I survey the fallout.

Shades pushes past me and runs down the stairs after Letty. Rax scrolls through comments on his phone, shaking his head every few seconds, mumbling random “fucks” along the way. He huffs to his feet and paces up and down the aisle. Eve emerges from the shower in a towel, confusion plastered over her face. Jinx and Toombs glance up to Rax, to each other, to me.

“What are we supposed to do?” Rax asks.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “This is a PR apocalypse. Maybe we should wait for it to blow over and pick up the pieces when the zombies finish feeding.”

My mind races for excuses I’ll never be able to defend publicly without proof. Not having witnessed the interview in real time, I don’t know exactly what Letty said or did, aside from the damning footage.

“So, we’re just gonna let them eat her alive?” Jinx asks timidly.

“We can’t sit here and do nothing,” Rax argues. “This affects all of us. We could get booted from the tour.”

“They won’t boot you from the tour,” Eve says.

She doesn’t know Richard or Lizzie the way I do.

Toombs and I exchange worried looks.

“You might take some hits,” Eve continues, “but this isn’t big enough to knock you out of the game.”

Rax waves his phone. “Based on what I’m reading, it damn sure is. We gotta contain this shit. Make Letty apologize or something.”

“Letty’s never been big into apologies, especially when she thinks she’s right,” I say.

Rax clamps his lips together and shuts up.

Regardless of what Letty did, as Killer Buzz Float’s manager, I can’t stand by and let her weather the storm on her own. I have to do something.

“Fuck this,” I mumble and head for the door.

“Where are you going?” Rax asks.

“To fix this.”

“How?” he says.

By selling my soul to the devil. Again.

“Not sure yet, but I’m pretty fucking good at improvisation.” I descend the steps and head toward the Banging Betties’ bus.

I could kiss Lizzie’s ass and tell her how great her band is. Or offer myself to her on a silver platter. Whatever form of flattery it takes to sneak into her good graces and gather what I need to knock her bitch ass off the high horse and put Letty back in the saddle.

The parking lot is a flurry of activity as roadies load equipment and prepare for the move to the next city. A few straggler fans pinball around. Security guards advise them to move along.

Under a floodlight, Anna DeVille disembarks from the Banging Betties’ bus with the cameraman beside her, fresh off another interview, I assume.

“Hey, did you get my email?” She snickers to the lithe, red-haired figure approaching the pink bus.

I dart into the shadows.

“I did,” Lizzie replies with a lopsided grin. She puffs on her cigarette, tips her head back, and laughs through a lungful of smoke.

“I’ve enjoyed playing tag with you these last few days,” Anna declares.

My ears perk up. What kind of heinous shit have these two been exchanging through cyberspace?

“It is fun, watching the mighty fall, no?” Lizzie’s cruel laughter reignites the fuse on my anger. “Catch you later.”

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Anna struts away to her car.

My heart pinches.

They colluded to fuck Letty over.

My Letty. My band. My kids.

The proof lies somewhere on an email server.

Vengeance thunders through my veins. Fuck with me, I’ll put up a fight and accept the consequences, whatever they may be. But fuck with my kids, and you are a dead rat corpse floating in a river of your own blood.

I lick my lips.

“Bitch, you have fucked with the wrong submissive,” I mumble.

Throwing my shoulders back and tits out, I head for the Banging Betties bus.

I am momma bear. Hear me roar.