Riding for a Fall (Get Your Rocks Off Book 2) Read online

  I stopped him with a kiss. A searing, hot kiss that hopefully made all of what I’d thought and felt clear to him. He tugged me closer, deepening things until he was forced to either pull away or do as he said.

  “Coffee, the green lace underwear, jeans, and this.” He held up a shirt, waiting for me to register what it was.

  “Oh, my god…” He nodded, put it gently into my hands, then patted me on the arse. “Try it on. Show Daddy what it looks like on.”

  “Daddy?” I said with a snort.

  “We’ll explore that kink later. Now get dressed.”

  “Slow down!”

  We walked towards the stadium from the staff car park where the buses were all stashed. Nervous energy had turned into actual physical energy, my calves feeling like they were coiled springs, able to push me forward in leaps and bounds. My camera bag banged on my hip as I went, a rhythmic counterpoint to the sounds I could hear from the sound check.

  I turned around to walk backwards, unable to stop, and saw the others struggling to keep up. They were being cool and restrained, like this was no big thing, but for me, it was. I’d probably never want to hear the dulcet sounds of “check, 1, 2” again before the end of the tour, but right now, I felt like I was experiencing something momentous. This was my first fricking concert, and I was going to see The Changelings live! My hands ached with the need to document everything.

  “I know you’re excited…” Jen huffed as she drew up beside me.

  “I am! And nothing you can say is going to change that. This is my first concert, Jen. My first! I can’t not be excited.”

  She just shook her head, her hair bleached white by the late afternoon sun.

  “Fine, let’s go then.”

  She grabbed my arm, and we broke out into a run, leaving the others behind.

  “Miss Rutherglen, Miss Leigh.”

  Some of the mad excitement drained away when I saw the security team. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt rather than a suit, Mark stood there with Paulie and several other sentinels, and I tried very hard to not notice how well those pants fit him.

  “Here are your passes, and if you’ll just hold out your hands…” Mine jerked out on automatic, something that had pretty much everyone smiling. Look, I was keen to get inside the venue. The fact that I was doing a fair approximation of a Labrador puppy was just an aside. There was a brief feeling of warmth, and then an elaborate glyph appeared on my skin before disappearing.

  “This is for humans,” Vervain said, holding up the backstage passes. “That is for other fae,” she continued, pointing to my hand.

  “Now, the Rutherglen has asked me to stress that no outside trips are to be undertaken without at least two sentinels joining the party. Failure to comply will result in the cancelling of contracts, the—”

  “Yes, yes,” Jen said with an irritated wave. “I have your number, Mark. I’ll let you know of any plans we have.”

  “Excellent,” he said, moving aside so we could pass. “Have a lovely night. Miss Leigh, you’ve been asked to go to the stage area.”

  “Come on,” the others said as we got past security. My eyes were wide as we walked from the car park, up the stairs, and into the backstage of the auditorium. My camera was in my hand without even thinking about it, and I only looked away from the bustle to turn it on.

  “Kira,” Jen said with a laugh, “we’re not even near the band yet.”

  “Don’t care,” I said. “Some of this will be for me, for when all this wears off and I can feel my face again.”

  “Well, if we’re taking snapshots.” She stopped and fished her phone out.

  “Selfies? C’mon, Jen. They’re like the—”

  “Shitty graffiti of photography, clogging up the visual world with endless banal images,” she finished, doing an imitation of my voice. “C’mon, I want a souvenir too. This is the start of something huge. We’ve got courts from all over coming to the after show. This is like your debut into court life.”

  “Well, that’s not reassuring at all.”

  “Please?”

  I was one of the few people Jen said that to, since she only had to click her fingers to get what she wanted from most. Not that she did. She had that natural air of authority about her that had people following her orders, except with me. I got to see the slightly vulnerable smile, the pleading look, and I stepped in close and ducked under her outstretched arm. She clicked off a couple of shots, and there we were, grinning like idiots on the glossy display, the drab grey cinder block wall behind us packed high with black and silver road cases.

  “Alright, I’ve gotta get my mind on the job. Where will you guys be?” I asked.

  “Around. I’m overseeing this leg of the tour. Find me in the wings once the concert starts. I don’t give a shit what those overgrown frat boys want, we’re watching this together.”

  “You got it,” I said. “Now where the hell is the stage area?”

  There was staff everywhere—on phones, talking in small groups, ferrying gear or crates of drinks, plates of food, or pushing racks of clothes. I found my best bet was to skim the walls, keeping out of the main thoroughfare, so I wedged myself between several stacks of cases and started firing off some shots. Just ambience kinds of stuff. I tried some slow shutter speed shots where the movement of all these people was recorded in blurry lines, trying to get a feel for the place. Then the girls appeared.

  Looking almost coltish with long slender legs on towering high heels, they forged through the streaming mass with no fear, snarls of anger forming on their ethereally beautiful faces when people didn’t give them a wide berth.

  Find the story, Marlow had said. Well, they were the closest thing to one right now. I edged out, worming my way through the passersby before emerging out into the cluster of lounge chairs set in the middle of this chaos—for them, it appeared.

  “Hey…” My voice died in my throat as eight different eyes met mine. Every colour from green to darkest brown was represented there, as well as some I would have previously assumed were coloured contacts, but they all had something in common—their expression. Each looked at me with a steady, flat gaze I’d long associated with the mean girls. Well, I wasn’t at high school anymore.

  “I’m the photographer for the tour. Mind if I take some shots?”

  “We know who you are.”

  I looked down the lens at the spokesperson for the group, her hair a sleek bob, her eyes glittering in the artificial light. She had on what I’d always assumed was the rock chick uniform—a tight miniskirt, a spaghetti strap tank with the band’s logo on it, and a whole lot of eyeliner.

  “Yeah?” I said. She was beautiful and intimidating, but I wasn’t going to let that shit get to me or I’d never carry off this job. “You’re all gorgeous. You want in on the promo shots or not? They’re revamping the website with my photos.”

  That seemed to throw off the resting bitch face of most of them, eyes darting to each other. This was obviously a close group of women for whatever reason, but what I was offering was threatening that.

  “We’ll do this for Hartley,” a girl with an impressive mane of dark green hair said.

  Fae then, and that hair might not be dyed.

  “What do you want?” the first girl said.

  “Names would be a good start, then we talk and I’ll shoot you. It’s spontaneous, not posed, though if you’re keen for some of them for a portfolio or something, I’m happy to help.”

  That seemed to be the right thing to say. Bob girl leaned forward, revealing an impressive expanse of tawny skinned bosom. “I’m Chyna, she’s Amber,” referring to the green haired girl. The others went through their names, and I settled down in a spare chair, the lot of them a buffet of female flesh. Some sat with legs elegantly crossed, some lazy cats leaning over the arms or backs of the furniture. I took an ensemble shot, fiddling a bit to try and bring all the jewel like tones of their hair, eyes, skin, and clothes. It took a little bit of playing with the setting as the li
ght was all over the place, but when I finally had what I wanted, I turned the LCD display around so they could see the image.

  “Wow,” a girl with waist length purple hair said. “You’re actually good.”

  And there we had it, the cause for the hostility.

  “Yeah, I am, and you guys are beautiful. The camera freaking loves you. I’ve been given a pretty loose brief. What if I ask the band if we can do a sequence with the lot of you? The male audience is bigger than the female, and you’d be their perfect fantasy girls.”

  “You’d talk to the Hartley?” Amber said.

  “The Hartley? Liam or Johnno?”

  “Liam,” Chyna said, her tone saying a whole lot more.

  “Sure, I’ll talk to Liam for you, if you want.”

  “I guess you will,” Chyna said, her chin tilting up. “Up until this tour, we didn’t need that, so don’t act like you’re doing us any sort of favour. The court’s talking about you being some big thing—”

  “Chyna, no,” the purple haired girl said.

  “—but I don’t see it.”

  Fuck, did I have time for this? I looked deeper into the backstage area, saw all the people setting up the stage and the lights. Could I afford to skip it? It appeared that we were going to be in the same court, at least until I made a decision about what I wanted.

  “Obviously, I’ve been inserted somewhere you don’t want me to be,” I said.

  “Damn right, you have,” Chyna said, sitting forward, the gesture oddly impetuous when contrasted with her sleek visage. “I was building something with Liam, and with Billy—”

  “And there’s no reason why you can’t continue that. I’m here to take photos first and because Johnno’s my preceptor. That’s it.” The women blinked at me, unconvinced. “OK, since I met them, since I transitioned, I’ve touched one band dick—Johnno’s. I’ve seen Jake get it on with a group of models.”

  “Pfft…that man would hump a fire hydrant,” one woman said.

  “Well, he was sucking Liam’s dick before we got here.” That caught their attention. They all leaned forward as I described the details in as few words as possible. Their hungry looks, the reality of seeing my first live sex show was kinda a lot to get my head around. “So you see, I’m not fucking the lot of them. I’ve only had sex with Marlow, and that’s the way it’ll stay for the immediate future. You want Liam, Lucas, fuck, even Johnno. We haven’t hammered out any kind of exclusive deal, so go right ahead. I’m not going to get in your way.”

  This seemed to set the cat amongst the pigeons as the women all started to chatter amongst themselves, but Chyna held her hand up for silence.

  “You’re giving us permission to do what we’ve always done. We’re the Concubines. It was us in the bed in the back of the bus. We got our marching orders yesterday without so much as a by your leave, and got relegated to the roadie bus. For you.”

  “A choice I had no say over,” I said. “Don’t be that girl, the one that lashes out at who she perceives as a rival.” I got to my feet. “Liam’s the one you want. He made the decision. Take this shit up with him. I’d be happy to be sleeping in Jen’s bus.” I didn’t wait for her answer, just looked at the rest of them. “Look, Rutherglen’s got this whole porn Garden of Eden promo thing going on, and I reckon you guys’d be amazing for it. We might be able to get a whole Suicide Girls thing happening as a side income stream, build you guys a profile. Just a thought. Now, I’ve got to report to the band and see what I’m supposed to be doing. Lemme know if you’re interested later.”

  “You’re not her, you know,” Chyna said, forced to take a step to say her piece as I went to leave. “There’s a part of Liam you’ll never have.”

  I knew what she was saying, everyone did. Rhiannon, the only one who’d ever got past the fortifications Liam built around himself. She was a spectre that haunted everything he did, a ghost everyone he worked and lived with had to deal with. But as the girls’ smiles grew sharp, I just shrugged.

  “That threat would make more sense if I wanted anything from him. I figure that statement applies better to you than me.”

  I don’t know why I felt more confident as I moved deeper into the backstage area. If I was human, I would have walked on out of here, said no a million times over. I couldn’t compete with those women on any level. But for some reason, transition had brought with it a confidence. Nothing they’d said was inaccurate, but I didn’t care. Maybe it was the bag banging on my hip, evidence of my purpose. It wasn’t just that, though I realised I had a job to do and I had as much right as anyone to be here. So what was it?

  At school, I’d been the target of plenty of girls a helluva lot bitchier than Chyna and with less actual beef with me. Just being that odd little girl with the brain glitch was sufficient for random girls to start on me, which had been where Jen came in. Beautiful, connected enough to scare off even the hardest of heads, it’d been a large part of our friendship. But dealing with this without her support, it put an extra spring in my step that carried me all the way through the chaos to the band.

  “There you are!” Marlow said, consulting a tablet. He passed it to an assistant and drew me in for a kiss. “We don’t have time for much. The guys are warming up in there, then they have a few interviews. I need some behind the scenes promos to keep the Rutherglen happy. You on it?”

  “Sure. What else? Just the band?” I eyed a stream of people who were heading for the change room, taking elaborate costumes off the rack as they went. People were packed inside, stripping off, getting dressed, applying makeup.

  “You wanna go into the zoo?” Marlow took a quick look. “I guess some ambience shots would work, introduce the whole carnival thing Avalon’s going with. Shoot the boys, then come and find me.” His smile was slow and shy when I took a step towards him. “Then we’ll discuss the next lot of shots. I’ll set your camera up to send files to the corporate Dropbox account, so I’ll be able to keep an eye on what you’re taking.”

  For some reason, the thought of him digitally looking over my shoulder as I took my photos was kinda hot.

  His gaze was on the camera, but he gave me a small smile. “You’ll need to be careful in there. They have to work themselves up to perform before all these people and…”

  “Yep, I get it,” I said.

  “Just stay safe and call the sentinels if things get out of hand.” He held my eyes for a minute, then handed back the device.

  Ohhhkay, that wasn’t off putting at all. I walked down a hall behind Anna, who was showing me where to go. There was a series of rooms just backstage, and each musician had been given one to warm up in. I looked in the open door of one and saw Jake standing there, pants undone, two girls fighting over who got to lick his dick. He gave me a cheery wave as I passed, then it was Lucas and Billy talking intently before I got where I wanted to be. Johnno stood by an amp, looking about as hot as he could be. He was shirtless, his hair much the same as when he’d woken up, but that wasn’t it. He cradled his guitar in his hands, completely focused on the ways his fingers danced along the strings, and so was I. He didn’t play any specific tune, nothing to catch at my ear, but it did. I found myself drawn in, camera in hand.

  Right now, he wasn’t Johnno, or my preceptor, or the guy I’d jerked off beforehand. Now he was the rhythm guitarist for The Changelings, and there was something eternal and untouchable about him. I could see why guitarists were so much crack for women. The world didn’t exist for him outside that fretboard. He just focussed entirely on pulling faster and faster flurries of notes from the instrument, his hands almost a blur as they moved along the guitar neck. You couldn’t hear my shutter click as I took shot after shot, trying to capture that intent, pure, seductive intensity. I wanted what most women would want in the same position—for him to toss the guitar away and turn to see me, and then devote all that same attention to my body.

  What would those hands do if they touched me? Could they strum where I ached the most just as quickly, drawi
ng me up and up to greater heights? His nostrils flared, and his head whipped up, a smile of pure pleasure on his face.

  “Kira…” He breathed in deeply, as if he wanted to savour my bloom. “Damn, I can see why Aen calls you his flower. C’mere.”

  “No fucking way,” I said, flopping down on the bench in front of him and taking some shots. Sweat trickled down his brow, and I followed its passage down his chest with my lens, the muscles standing proud under that tanned skin. “Keep playing.”

  “Yeah?”

  His fingers moved restively on his guitar, not playing a note yet, but itching to. We watched each other, and he seemed to take in every single thing the sight of him in this role was doing to me. Something hardened a little in those golden eyes, his smile taking on a slight twist.

  “This gets you off.”

  “If you asked me beforehand, I wouldn’t have said yes. But yeah, you look fucking hot playing.”

  “What? Like this?”

  He slid his fingers along the fingerboard, strumming a few notes, and his smile widened when he saw me pause, my camera hovering halfway between my lap and my eye. His brow creased momentarily, looking slightly stunned as he continued to play, something slower and sweeter now, as if he couldn’t believe that this was all it took. I was caught under his spell and unable to look away, until the notes faltered, then stopped.

  “This is turning you on,” he rasped, putting the guitar back on its stand, then crossing the gap between us.

  “Of course it is. This is a fan’s wet dream,” I gasped as he leaned in close, taking great lungfuls of my scent. “Guys become…something else with an instrument in their hand. You look completely at ease, like you know exactly what you’re doing.”

  “Except with you.” His voice was a low buzz in my ear as his lips brushed the tip of it. “Kira, I have your scent on me, you fill up my lungs. You make me so fucking hard. Shut the door and lock it. I need your taste in my mouth.”

  I walked toward it on shaking legs. Whatever olfactory aphrodisiac he was breathing in was working on me too. My hand went to the handle, and I chanced a look over my shoulder, watching the muscular body pace across the concrete floor as he waited for me to return.