Page 19 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
"You're gone." Rex doesn't even raise his voice. Just states it like a fact. "Pack your shit and get off my bus."
"You can't just?—"
"I can and I am." Rex steps closer, and Matt actually backs up until his ass hits the wall. "I may be a shitty human being, but I don't tolerate predators.Get. Out."
Matt looks at Phoenix, then at me, like we're going to save him. Phoenix just crosses his massive arms and stares at him with those blue eyes gone arctic cold. I shrug and casually examine my nails. Wouldn't piss on the bastard if he was on fire.
"This isn't over," Matt tries one last time at the door, attempting to salvage some dignity even though his already whiny voice has shot up a few octaves. "I'll tell everyone you're impossible to work with. I'll?—"
"Tell them whatever the fuck you want," Rex says, turning his back on him.
The door slams behind Matt.
"Well," I say into the silence, "that's singer number six down. Who's taking bets on seven?"
Phoenix snorts, flopping onto the couch with enough force to make me fall against his beefy arm. I growl and untangle myself from him before it becomes another of those impromptu cuddlefests he likes so much.
"At this fucking rate," Phoenix says with a heavy sigh, "we'll run out of singers before we run out of shows."
"Speaking of which…" I pull out my phone, scrolling through our upcoming schedule. "Our wonderful management has usplaying with The Reverie again next week. Same festival circuit. So we're on borrowed time to find another."
"Fantastic," Rex mutters, grabbing a beer from the fridge. It's eleven in the morning, but honestly, after the Matt situation, I don't blame him.
Something's off with him anyway, and not just because he was up all night, typing like crazy on his laptop like he was feverishly researching the secrets of the universe. The mask sits differently today, Rex keeps adjusting it, and there's a tightness around his visible eye that suggests pain. Phoenix catches my glance, the smallest shake of his head warning me not to mention it.
Great. Another secret Rex thing to worry about.
"Maybe we should just give up on finding a new singer," Phoenix says, and there's something in his voice that makes both Rex and me look at him. He's got that expression that means he's about to say something that'll either be brilliant or start World War Three. "At this rate, we'll end up merging bands."
Rex's beer bottle freezes halfway to his mouth.
"Fuck no," I say immediately. "The Reverie is campy as hell. Bells carries that whole band on his shoulders. Without him, they're just another mediocre rock outfit with good marketing."
I've watched enough of their shows now to know that Bells is different. There's something raw under all that leather and attitude. I'm not attracted to guys, but even I find something about him weirdly enthralling.
Not that I'd admit it.
"He's something," Phoenix agrees, nodding.
"He's athief," Rex snarls, slamming his beer down hard enough that foam erupts from the top like a mini volcano. "Or have you both forgotten that minor fucking detail?"
"We haven't forgotten," I say carefully, because Rex looks about two seconds from exploding. "But he didn't seem to know. Stephen?—"
"I talked to him after the last show." Rex's visible eye is practically burning through his mask. "He can't play innocent anymore. He knows full well Stephen stole Nash's songs. He?—"
He stops mid-sentence.
Just... stops.
And that's when I see it. That look. The one that means Rex's brain just made some connection the rest of us haven't caught up to yet. His head tilts slightly, like a predator who just caught a scent.
"Oh fuck," I mutter. "What are you thinking?"
Rex doesn't answer immediately. He's gone still in that way that makes my skin prickle, like the air before lightning strikes. His fingers drum against the beer bottle—once, twice, three times—and then he smiles.
It's not a nice smile.
"You know what?" Rex says slowly, like he's tasting each word. "Maybe you're onto something, Phoenix."
