Page 46 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
"What about you?"
"I loved him like a brother. We all did. Even when he was impossible, even when he was so fucked up we had to carry him off stage." I set the notebook down carefully. "The band died with him. We've just been going through the motions since."
"Until Rex decided to get revenge."
I'm surprised he's speaking about it so bluntly. Acknowledging the reason he's here, however indirectly, when we've all ben tiptoeing around it for weeks. I'm still not sure if he knows we know he's being blackmailed somehow, but maybe it's better not to pick at that scar. Not right now.
"Until that, yeah."
Why is it so fucking easy to open up to this guy? I barely know him, and I don't even get the impression he likes me, but I feel like he's been in the band a hell of a lot longer than he has.
Weird.
Bells looks around the empty room, and I can see him trying to piece together a person from the absence. "This room feels like a held breath. Like it's waiting for something."
"Maybe it was waiting for you," I say, only half-joking.
He meets my eyes, and there's something vulnerable there. "I don't think I can fill this space."
"Nobody's asking you to. Just... exist in it. That's enough."
I head to the kitchen, and after a moment, Bells follows. The empty room seems to exhale behind us.
"Coffee?" I offer.
"Please."
I busy myself with the coffee maker, grateful for something to do with my hands. Bells perches on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island, still wrapped in that protective posture.
"What did Stephen really do?" I ask, pouring two mugs. "Back by the side of the building when Rex attacked him. Rex has had plenty of opportunities to beat the shit out of Stephen Hughes. Trust me, he's been fantasizing about it since long before Nash died. So Stephen must have done something worse than just existing to make Rex snap like that."
Bells's eyes snap to mine, and for a second I see pure panic. Then the mask slams down—and yeah, I'm starting to realize everyone in this fucked-up situation is wearing masks of one kind or another.
I slide one of the mugs across the counter to him. Bells wraps his hands around the mug but doesn't drink. "He was being a creep," Bells mutters.
My spine stiffens. "How creepy are we talking?"
"Does it matter?" His voice has gone sharp, defensive. "He's a creepy fucking asshole who deserved what he got."
I hold up my hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm not arguing. Just trying to figure out what happened. Because from my angle, Isaw Rex beating Stephen's face into hamburger, and before that I have no fucking clue what went down."
Bells takes a sip of coffee, grimaces at the temperature, and sets it down. "Stephen cornered me. Got in my space. Said some shit that... reminded me of things I'd rather forget. And then Rex appeared out of nowhere and went full protective alpha mode."
"Protective over you?" I can't keep the surprise out of my voice. "No offense, but Rex hates you."
"Yeah, well." Bells's laugh is bitter. "Apparently his hatred has limits when it comes to watching people get..." He cuts himself off, jaw clenching.
"Get what?"
"Nothing. Doesn't matter."
But it clearly does matter. The way Bells is holding himself, the shake in his hands he's trying to hide by gripping the coffee mug… this isn't just about some verbal threats. Not to mention the knife Bells was gripping when Phoenix and I arrived, like he was about to shove it up Stephen's ass and disembowel him. The pieces start clicking together in a way I really don't fucking like.
"Stephen scares you," I say carefully.
Bells's eyes meet mine, and fuck me, he does look scared. Then it's gone in a flash, buried under layers of attitude and deflection.
"No."
