Over the next three days, I subject myself to Lizzie’s whims, a whore desperate to expose her pimp. None of my secret recordings turn up any evidence against the bitch, and I can’t access her phone.

I requested the raw footage of the damning video of Letty from Megamusic, but unsurprisingly, the company rep I spoke to claims it’s corrupted and not viewable. Anna, no doubt, put in a good word for Lizzie on that front. Or maybe it was Richard. Either way, Megamusic won’t play ball.

Meanwhile, the internet trolls continue to feast on Letty’s corpse, and I stand by, doing what undoubtedly appears to be nothing as her career—and quite possibly, the entire band’s career—crumbles around her.

They’re killing me as much as her. It physically hurts to see her beaten like this, but I can’t risk telling her what I’m doing to try to fix things. Her lips are as loose as her filter is nonexistent. If Lizzie provoked her, she’d no doubt blab something she shouldn’t in the heat of the moment, and if this shit goes to court (God forbid), we need all our legal ducks in a row. Which means Letty stays out of the loop. For now.

Thankfully, Letty’s kept quiet online despite dwindling attendance at the last three shows and increased security amid threats of violence against the band. Her public execution has been brutal, but where I play the role of Pontius Pilate, Shades is her Simon of Cyrene. In the face of a paternity test, healing a broken dick, and running damage control, he’s the one unshakeable arm of support holding her up. God bless that man.

I got word from Richard that Socket Energy Drinks, the main sponsor for Get Your Rock Off, plans to pull the plug on their cash flow to the tour unless Killer Buzz Float takes a hike. Socket hasn’t made an official announcement or contacted me directly, but the stench of defeat fouls the winds blowing our way.

With no indication that the shitstorm is slowing down, I had no choice but to ask Letty to make an apology.

Well, not so much an apology as a statement explaining her side of the story.

Worse, she’s considering it.

I have never hated anyone as much as I hate Lizzie Smith.

As the bus ambles down I-94 toward Billings, white-encrusted conifers blur past my bunk window, their ancient branches dragged low by icicle burdens, like annoying barnacles of the woods. I’ll bet they sometimes wish those mighty arms would just go ahead and snap to relieve the stress of such weight. Then they could shake off, stand up straight after slouching for so long, and present themselves with a modicum of stoicism. A few scars here and there only prove how strong they really are.

I feel like the biggest asshole in Montana.

Beyond my bunk curtain, the coffeepot sloshes in sync with the bus’s bouncing wheels over a sketchy bit of road. Toombs must be up.

My phone dings with a text from Lizzie: I want u over here when we get to Billings.

Bitterness fills my mouth. I already know how this day will roll. I’ll go to Lizzie’s bus, grit my teeth through the degradation, and fail again to get the goods on her. As soon as she’s done using me, she’ll kick me out like a bad habit. I’ll lose another self-respect point. Same shit, new day.

Speaking of bad habits …

Grabbing my e-cigarette, I roll out of bed, clacking my nicotine-thickened tongue to incite the worker bees of Salivary Central into action. I gotta quit smoking. For real this time.

I glance to Letty’s bunk.

Lizzie’s phone is the only way out of this mess.

A rush of nausea jostles my stomach. I puff my cigarette a couple times and toss it behind the curtain.

Toombs waves an empty mug at me from his guard station at the coffeepot. I nod and join him.

“Good man, James,” I say, accepting the cup.

He retrieves the pot and tops me off, his gory tattoos rolling over the muscles in his bare chest. I angle my nose over the rising steam, inhaling the robust scent. Coffee may be the only thing strong enough to get me out of this bitter funk.

“You know, the Banging Betties’ roadies say she’s a real cunt.” Toombs beams his silver gaze at me over the lip of his mug as he samples the brew.

“Who?”

“Lizzie.”

“I coulda told you that,” I mumble and slurp.

He shrugs. “Apparently, she goes through roadies like a priest goes through altar boys. Didn’t like the way one of ’em looked at her. She fired ’im. She accused another of stealing her shit to sell on eBay. The items in question were found later—in her possession. No apology issued. The guy still lost his job.

“Jinx and I are gonna snoop around and see what dirt we can dig up today. If most of the road crew hate her, I can only imagine what the techs think of her.”

The rock in my chest softens to mud. “That would—” I catch the threatening emotion by the tail before it sneaks past my mouth and temper it with a long breath. In-two-three, out-two-three. “That would be appreciated.”

Should I tell Toombs what happened with Lizzie and Beth at the hotel?

I trust him more than anyone on the bus, but if I spill the cold, hard truth about what they did, I risk losing his respect as the band’s manager. Plus, he’s made it clear he’d happily fuck up anyone who hurts me, and Killer Buzz Float has already had one arrest too many.

No. Friends or not, this humiliation is mine to bear. Alone.

He leans closer. “She didn’t just take advantage of you. She pulls this shit with everyone who crosses her path. She’s a certifiable megalomaniac with an inferiority complex. Don’t blame yourself.” The soothing resonance in his voice calms my raw nerves.

“And one more thing,” he adds with a quick glance toward the flutter of Rax’s bunk curtain. “They’re not all like that. Tops, I mean. And every once in a while, even the ones who are have a change of heart.”

Shirtless Rax rambles toward us, his mane a sultry mess, twin piercings at either corner of his bottom lip flipping off the soft morning sun beaming through the window.

“What’s up?” His voice is as dark and scraggly as his hair.

Toombs shakes his head, lowers his eyes, and the two lightly bump chests—snake charmer meeting vivisectionist if their tattoos have anything to say about it. “Not much, man.”

Bros before hos.

Except where Eve and Jinx are concerned.

Still, I’d love to masturbate to that colorful backstory, especially after witnessing the sizzle between Miles and Red. I mean, assuming I ever get off again. In the post-Lizzie apocalypse, so far, not so good. The well she dug dried up days ago when she and Beth violated me.

I tamp down the memory with a shiver.

Eve in all her Russian glory emerges like a butterfly from Rax’s bunk chrysalis. He turns toward her as she pads down the aisle. Eve curls around Rax like the pole she commands onstage every night. As she lifts her chin, the thick scar on her neck shines pink from lack of makeup she always wears outside of the bus. His hands fall to her hips where he balls her short, black satin gown with possessive fists. A hint of white ass peeks out as she slips him a brief but deep kiss.

I resist the urge to gnaw my knuckles.

The only time I’ve ever seen anything close to adoration on Rax’s face is when she’s around. Theirs is the kind of love I want. Unconditional. Raging. Fierce.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Rax murmurs into Eve’s lips. The air ignites with their mutual passion. I bite my lip.

She pats his package with a firm palm and musses his hair with the other. He flinches on impact but remains in place. “How’s my sexy beast today?”

“Hungry,” he groans into her.

I look away and suck down the contents of my cup as they tear into each other.

“So,” I turn to Toombs, “yeah, go do that thing. Sounds good.”

The cyclone of arms and legs and heat that is Rax and Eve spins around us toward the couches in back. I avert my gaze to Jinx, coming our way. Her soft smile is for Toombs, but she says, “Hey, Jillian. My bunk needs a new light bulb. Do we have any lying around?”

“Fresh out,” I say. “I’ll add it to my list.” I mentally take note. Another trip to the store will be in order when we reach our destination.

She nods. “Thanks. Did Toombs tell you what we found out about Lizzie?”

“Yeah. Just don’t get caught sneaking around over there. Security is not Killer Buzz Float friendly.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Toombs takes another drink.

Neither am I, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Jinx edges closer and drops her voice to a whisper. “Tell us the truth, Jillian. Letty thinks you’ve gone to the other side. And I … I don’t want to believe her, but you’ve been pretty aloof since we joined this tour. What’s going on with Lizzie?”

“You guys need to focus on performing,” I deflect. “Leave the investigation shit to me.”

“That’s not your job.”

“Not yours either. Go make music.” I shoo them both away and turn toward my bunk.

“Don’t let us down, Jillian.” Jinx rarely pushes herself out into the open, let alone into anyone’s personal space, which makes her imperative all the more powerful.

“Have I ever?”

She doesn’t answer.

I climb into my bunk and drain the juice from my e-cig in a furious, head-spinning vape-binge. As the bus’s cock-and-ball wheels slow, the sign for Billings looms like a biohazard warning.

* * *

“Here, have a toke,” Lizzie says, eyes bloodshot, as she offers me her smoking joint. Her red locks splay around her head like an evil halo on the satin sheets. “It’ll take the edge off. You need to relax.”

Ha! Relax. What is the meaning of this foreign word? Translation, please?

“No, thanks,” I say. “I’m working.”

She turns over, propped on her elbows. The red sheet pools around her arms, kissing her breasts. She stares accusingly at me as smoke wafts into her face. “You’re always working. I’m sick of it.”

I hold my tongue, as usual.

She flattens to her back again and grabs her phone with her right hand. I straighten and tip my head to keep my eyes on her fingers just in case she doesn’t use the thumbprint scanner to unlock the device. The few times she’s entered her passcode, I’ve been out of the line of sight and missed it by a second or two.

The thumb descends on the button at the bottom. The home screen opens. Damn it. Zero-for-a-thousand.

“I’d love to know why you’re keeping me around, Lizzie,” I say, hoping to distract her from social media long enough for the phone to go dark.

She sits up and drops the dying joint into the ashtray sitting on the windowsill. A wicked grin washes over her face. “You want the truth?”

I lift a brow. “That would be nice.”

“I enjoy using you to taunt your little cunt of a singer.”

My blood chills at the mention of Letty.

She fiddles with my hair. I clench my jaw to keep the spit from flying at her.

“I love watching her lose her fucking mind over how you ‘betrayed’ her to be with me. That’s right. I have eyes everywhere, Jillian. It’s hard to miss her fits when she throws them out in the open.

“And let’s face it. She dug her own grave with the arrogant shit she spewed about me in that interview. She deserves every fucking thing she’s gotten for being so confident and sure of herself, jabbering her ‘artist’ bullshit lines, staring down her nose at me like I’m the lowlife. Ha! She thinks she’s a goddamn queen of rock, but she’s proven she’s a fucking pathetic, jealous nobody. Sad thing is, she’s the only one who can’t see it.”

I look away. Because if I have to watch Lizzie’s smug-ass face as she beats Letty down with one more word, I’ll fucking cunt punch her at the risk of jail time. “You don’t know her.”

“Yeah. And I don’t want to. There’s no place for self-centeredness on this tour.” Oh, that’s funny. “It’s a shame, really. The rest of the band isn’t so bad. I like that Jinx chick. She seems like she’s eager for a good ass-whipping. The guys are fucking guys. Irrelevant.

“Short answer, I revel in using you to make Letty suffer.” She lights up the remains of the roach and puff, puff, puffs until the cherry glows bright red.

Inhale. Exhale.

Smoke swirls, shrouding her in gray. The wind encroaching from the outside refuses to carry the toxic fog away through the window. Her right hand brings the joint to her lips just as her phone blares a ding! Our eyes catch and hold for several seconds.

I own you, bitch, she seems to say. Now and forever.

She’ll get no answer—verbal or otherwise—from me. Not yet.

I end our visual standoff with a submissive drop of my head, only to covertly avert my greedy eyes to that goddamn phone waiting for her to give it the love she’s obviously incapable of giving to humans. She picks it up with her left hand. The message from Anna disappears a millisecond after I read it. J’s snooping for the footage.

Pretty sure Lizzie didn’t catch it. With her left hand, she brings the phone closer to her face, and she puffs the roach with her right. Her thumb taps. I hold my breath.

“You know,” I say, committing the numbers 8430 to memory, “I used to think you were gorgeous, but you’re only beautiful in the way a cobra is. Pretty patterns and scales on the outside. Ugly venom and cold blood on the inside.”

Lizzie’s cheeks redden, and her dull, stoned eyes sharpen.

“Apologize for that.” She drops the phone and throws an accusing finger in my face.

I stand up and shimmy into my pants, giving her my bare, bruised ass. “No.”

“I SAID APOLOGIZE!” she shrieks.

With a smile, I slip on my shirt and button it quickly. “No.”

“Get out of here, you fucking bitch! Get out and never come back!”

No problem there.

I snatch my jacket, purse, and the cigarettes I’ve miraculously managed to resist for a couple days. I stare at the box for a second and toss it into Lizzie’s lap. Then I stomp toward the exit.

“I’ll fucking ruin you, Jillian!” she shouts from her bed.

I smile as I hop down the steps to freedom.

I need two minutes alone with Lizzie’s phone. Two minutes.

One way or another, I’m gonna find those two minutes tomorrow.