Page 8 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
"I said I need to go."
I manage to make it out of the venue and into an Uber without anyone following. The driver tries to make conversation, recognizes me maybe, but I just stare out the window and give one-word replies as I let the city blur past.
The hotel room is a blessed relief. Mid-tier place, nothing fancy but at least it's private. I triple-lock the door, check the windows even though we're on the fourteenth floor, then finally,finallylet myself breathe.
The binder comes off first, and I actually groan at the relief. My ribs expand properly for the first time in hours, and there are angry red marks where the fabric has been cutting into my skin. My tits—on the smaller side, thank fuck—are killing me.
The silicone cock gets peeled off next, taking some skin with it where the adhesive got too warm. I've got a raw patch by my groin that's definitely going to scar. Add it to the collection.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror in just my boxers, looking at this body that doesn't fit anywhere. Not masculine enough to really pass without the costume. Not feminine enough to be what people expect from an omega. Just this awkward in-between that requires constant maintenance to sell the lie.
What the fuck just happened? And why was Rex Steele going off about where we got our music? It came from Stephen. Most of it, anyway. I have no clue what he's talking about, even if I gave a shit.
My phone buzzes.
Speak of the devil.
[STEPHEN:Heard there was some drama tonight. You okay?]
How does he already know? Of course he knows. He probably has people at every venue, watching, reporting. The thought makes my skin crawl.
[BELLS:All good. Just some drunk asshole.]
[STEPHEN:Rex Steele isn't just some drunk asshole. Stay away from him. The show was a hit and you’ve got another gig with Vespyr in two weeks. Labels love a good feud. Don't fuck it up.]
The response is immediate, and the tone makes my blood run cold. This isn't a suggestion. It's an order.
[BELLS:Will do.]
[STEPHEN:Good boy. See you tomorrow for rehearsal.]
Good boy. That makes me want to puke, throw my phone across the room, or both. He may be a beta, but he's just as scummy as any alphahole in the industry. Instead, I set it aside and go to my bag, digging through the false bottom where I keep my medical supplies.
The suppressants are running low. I've been taking more than prescribed, paranoid about my scent breaking through. The doctor said they're becoming less effective, that my body's building resistance. Said I need to have at least one heat every year or risk serious complications.
But I can't. Not now.
Not when everything's so precarious.
Chapter
Four
PHOENIX
The sushi sits between Rafael and me like a fucking peace offering to the universe. Like maybe if we pretend hard enough that everything's normal, the world won't implode. My chopsticks fumble with a piece of salmon sashimi, and I drop it twice before getting it to my mouth. Rafael watches with that look he gets when he's about to make fun of me but decides I'm too pathetic to kick while I'm down.
He's been treating me with kid gloves since Nash died.
Wish he wouldn't.
"You eat like a wild animal that just grew hands," he says anyway, because Rafael's never met an impulse he didn't follow. He delicately picks up a piece of tuna like it's made of glass and his signature long tongue curls out to take it off his chopsticks.
"And you eat like someone who's trying to convince his food to let him fuck it," I shoot back.
The comment makes him snort mid-bite and he almost drops the whole piece, which serves him right. A grain of rice sticks to his bottom lip and he licks it away, laughing.
The tour bus rocks slightly as we hit a pothole, and my soy sauce threatens to spill. I steady it with one hand while shovinganother piece of sushi in my mouth with the other. It's good, surprisingly good for takeout we grabbed at two in the morning after last night's show. The wasabi clears my sinuses and makes my eyes water, which is perfect because now I have an excuse for looking like I have fucking tears in my eyes.
