Page 27 of Revel
“You know what they say about the secretive. . . .”
I stare at her, waiting for her to expand on her statement, but she doesn’t. “No, actually, I don’t. What do they say?”
Bella laughs and digs her blanket out of her bag, draping it across the two of us. “I don’t know. It just sounded cool to say.”
Part of me wants to ask him about Hensley and just get it over with, but then again, deep down, I know the truth. My parents’ relationship has always been a mystery to me. It was like they were created as this powerhouse couple to take over Hollywood, both with music and acting. I don’t think I’ve ever told you much about my mother, but she’s Evelyn Ash, Hollywood’s darling. Having grown up in the business herself with my granddaddy being a huge movie producer, it only made sense for her to act, and she has done so her entire life. If I wasn’t in a recording studio growing up, I was on the set of one of her movies, being tended to by a nanny or her assistants. I can’t remember ever being with my parents one-on-one. There was always someone there to take care of me, aside from them. It’s amazing I didn’t turn out an asshole.
ANNOYANCE
REVEL
Motherfucker.
Cocksucker.
Cunt.
Asshole.
I could go on forever with all names I’d give the man in the back of the room staring me down like I’m stealing Princess from him. It hadn’t been my intention, but now that I’m watching that smug girlfriend-stealing piece of shit, I think about what would piss him off more than the million he offered me not to tell her.
“I’d say name your price, but I think this should cover it.”
My eyes dropped to the check in his hand. Jory Ash and me, we have never gotten along. Probably because this motherfucker only wanted to exploit my band and me. I saw from the beginning what he was doing to his daughter, and there was not a chance in hell I was letting him commercialize me like that. But still, why’d he want to keep this secret from her so much? “Why would you offer me that?”
Jory leaned in, his eyes intent on mine. “To keep your mouth shut.”
Ah, yes. Daddy didn’t want his little girl knowing what a piece of shit he was. I smiled cruelly. “Beg.”
I could practically hear his teeth grinding together. “I’m not begging you for shit, kid. I’m only going to warn you this one time. Stay away from my daughter.” But he knew he was beneath me. Before he had my girl beneath him, he knew he’d never measure up to someone like me, yet here he was, bereft of his dignity and begging me even though he wouldn’t say it.
“Request denied then.” Cocking my head, I chuckled and ripped up the check. Eye for an eye? Nah. I’d go further. Life for life. “I’ll do whatever I want to your daughter.”
He knew exactly what I was capable of.
Yep. God forbid Princess knew the truth about Daddy, and he knew I was just the man to tell her. When the time was right. Probably after she let me fuck her, but details. I’d work those out later.
Kidding. Partially.
Do you ever people watch? Do you ever wonder how honest the conversations around you are? Who’s telling lies? Who’s spilling bullshit, and in the rare instances, who’s being genuinely honest?
I think about that shit all the time. Sometimes I obsess over it and spend hours watching them trying to figure out the fucked-up shit in their head. It distracts me from my own. I can’t figure out Red though. Much to my discontent, I think about her constantly. She’s in the room, at the end of the table we’re at, and though we’re feet away, I’m sure I can tell you every time she sighs, which laughter is hers, and the expression on her face every time a reporter asks a question she doesn’t want to answer. She’ll press her lips together, tuck alluring red locks behind her ear and stare at them, waiting for them to rephrase. And when they don’t, when they press for more, she’ll politely decline, and they’ll leave it alone.
Unlike me, who’s evasive and difficult in interviews. The one they poke and prod, and demand answers from. And when I don’t give in, they’ll write up bullshit about me being irrational. Illogical. Reckless. And nothing a princess needs in her life.
Yet here we are. This princess, she has no clue who I am or what it means being on tour with me. No clue.
I’m sure you understand by now, but I’m rarely sober. I prefer to be anything but. Unfortunately for me, today isn’t one of those days. And not that I’m sober, but I’m aware of the fact that everyone I hate is on this tour and I’m stuck in the same room with them, yet again. Hatred; it can be pretty fucking suffocating at times. The music industry is bullshit. It’s full of lying bastards who will do anything to sell you out if it means they’ll profit from it. It’s ruthless, cold, and gives very little back, if anything. Whether you’re a singer, songwriter, producer, promoter, drummer, guitarist, you’re in the business of creating. Most everyone is selling an image. A brand. A persona that’s nothing close to the reality of who they are inside. Most of them have lost their identity along the way. The goal is to make money releasing music and, most of the time, that’s all that matters to them. They cook up beefs between artists to make money.
Being around people makes me uneasy and being uneasy makes me react. The first person in my line is Deacon, because he’s sitting next to me in the conference room where about fifty members of the press are staring at us. Anyone from newspaper journalists, radio stations, MTV, you name it and they’re here to ask us questions. It’s as close to hell as I get, unless of course, all alcohol and drugs in the world disappeared.
I’d like to point out that Deacon starts it. Not me. He does this with a very simple question of, “What’s with you and Taylan?” He tucks his phone into his pocket and looks over at me, expecting an answer.
“Nothing.” It’s a dismissal. It’s a “leave me alone.” One he probably won’t listen to, but just for good measure, I don’t look his way in fear it’ll spark further prying into a poison I want no part of ingesting. Instead, I keep my stare on the man in the back of the room. What’s going on with us? Hell if I know. All I can think about is fucking her senseless and until that happens, I can’t, won’t get her out of my head.
“Bullshit.”
I’m so tired of this shit. I grit my teeth and shift my focus. My glare slides in his direction. “Why the fuck does it matter what’s going on? Last time I checked, you didn’t give a fuck about my life.” I’m referring to an earlier argument we had last week. It’s not important but it probably, most likely, involved me being drunk on stage and him having to remind me of lyrics.
