“Naomi,” she pants, cheeks as pink as the top she's got on. It's got friggin' Rainbow Dash on the front. Like, who the fuck over the age of ten wears a My Little Pony on their clothing?
“What?” I snarl at her as I shove Wren back and stand up. Whatever it was that I was looking for in him, I'm not finding. I wonder if I should just fuck him, but I don't know if that'll help. If I'm honest with myself, I'm still carrying a big ass torch for Turner Campbell, one that I thought had gone out long ago. Guess it just got relit.
Apparently, Hayden doesn't like my tone and proceeds to rip into me.
“Hey, you stupid bitch, either come with me or not. If you don't, maybe I'll forget our little agreement and call the cops in Tulsa with an anonymous tip. Think the guy you stabbed last month will testify to your penchant for violence?”
I grab my jacket off the hook near the door and tear out of the bus on Hayden's heels, wishing I could just reach out and strangle her with her hair. She leads me around to the other side of the bus and down to the trailer that we tow behind it with our equipment inside.
I light a cigarette as we go, one that quickly gets forgotten when I see what Hayden wants to show me. The lit cherry tumbles through the dry darkness and hits the dirt at my feet.
On the side of the trailer, there's a message written in blood. Like a scene in a bad horror film, the headless body of a dead bird lies on the ground beside the wheel.
“Oh shit.”
Thank God we don't have a show tonight.
After what I saw, my hands are shaking so bad, I can hardly bring the cup of water to my lips for a drink. Or maybe that's from the coke I snorted. Not sure which.
“Are you sure you don't want to call the cops?” Dax asks, hovering above me and Hayden like an overprotective brother. He likes to think he's one of the responsible ones in the group. Not true. The only truly responsible one of all of us is America.
“No, it's fine,” she snaps at him as she paces back and forth, hands tucked into the pockets of her navy suit coat, bits of stray hair poking out of her slicked back bun. She looks frazzled which is pretty impressive. It's the first time I've ever seen her like that. “Spencer's probably already washed it off anyway.” America pauses and looks down at Hayden and me.
The bloody words flip through my head on a continuous loop.
Hayden knows Naomi's truth. Keep your fucking mouths shut.
“You have no clue who might've done this?” she asks in a very severe tone, one that brings tears to Hayden's blue eyes. God, I can't stand that bitch. At least she isn't blaming me for this shit. “Like, is there someone you might've told something to?” she asks, stressing the word for Hayden's benefit. Unfortunately, since Dax is standing there, she can't be anymore obvious, but I wish she could be. There's at least a fifty/fifty chance that Hayden isn't going to understand what America's trying to get at.
“Not a fucking soul,” I say, and Hayden just shakes her head. Neither of us believes her, I don't think, but there isn't anything we can do about it, so I just walk away and try not to dwell on the idea that somebody just decapitated a bird (or judging from the amount of blood, probably three or four) and used its life force to write a threatening message. At least now I know I have a stalker of some sort.
Awesome.
I leave the bus, even as America shouts at me to get my ass back there and get ready to take care of something I should've taken care of a long time ago. The adrenaline from the message and the coke are melding together to make for one pretty amazing trip. I feel like a Titan as I storm through the camp and pause outside of Indecency's bus.
The bodyguard just stares at me like I'm an idiot.
“I'm here to see Turner Campbell,” I tell him, which he's probably heard a thousand times before. The man, who's as big as an ox and twice as wide, folds his arms across his chest and sighs.
“He isn't here,” he tells me and then shakes his head, continuing on before I get the chance to start an argument. I'm kinda glad because my fights never end well. Last month, I stabbed a rabid fan in the stomach with a fucking hunting knife. Thankfully, the charges were dropped, but I have to be more careful than that. Another incident could bring everything crashing down around my fucking head, and if I go to prison, I'm hanging myself with my sheets. I won't survive in there. “But he did tell me to expect you, so if you'd like to go up and wait, that'll be fine with me. I just have to pat you down for weapons first.”
I stare at the man like he's fucking insane.
Expecting me?
Turner was expecting me?
That son of a bitch.
My blood goes hot and my heart cold.
“Thanks.” I force the word out through tight lips and spin away on my heel, moving across the dirt in the direction of the gas station when a voice calls out behind me.