4. Marley

CHAPTER 4

Marley

I relish the roar of the crowd, their enthusiasm for the music we make, a natural high that nothing compares to, but tonight my mind isn't on them. All I can focus on is my best friend's lightning-quick fingers moving on the strings of his guitar. Iggy Donnavan is on fire. He's putting on a show as if trying to run away from the demon chasing him.

During our shows, Iggy amps up the sexual tension for the audience. He and I pretend to kiss. He saunters to my side of the stage and tightens his hand around my neck, forcing me to my knees to give the illusion of sexual acts. Shit, Cain and Lars occasionally bang onstage. But for the last three shows, Iggy has avoided even looking at me. I'm fucking glad that tonight is a rest night and we get a break from each other and the bus.

The last song drifts off and the four of us walk offstage.

"What the hell is going on?" Kaye demands.

"What do you mean?" Iggy asks.

Kaye points toward the crowd. "These people pay good money for a show. You and Marley are fuckin' not putting on a show. I've been getting calls asking if there are problems with the band."

"What are you talking about?" I ask, cracking open a bottle of water and taking a swig.

Kaye raises an eyebrow and places her hands on her hips. "You very well know what I'm talking about." Kaye steps forward until she's in my face. "Give them what they want."

My eyes move over Kaye's head, and I meet Iggy's eyes. "I'm afraid you're taking it with the wrong person. You should talk to your boy over there. "

Kaye swivels her head, glaring at Iggy who swigs a bottle of water, followed by two more. He probably popped some MDMA and now has a dry mouth.

"I got you, Kaye," Iggy says. "I'll make sure they get the encore that will have everyone's tongue wagging."

We stand there in silence while the crowd keeps roaring the band's name or their favorite song that we haven't played yet. We wait another ten minutes before Cain steps out onstage, followed by Iggy, then me, and finally Lars.

"Thank you, Saint Louis, you've been fuckin' fantastic," Lars speaks into the microphone. The screams of the audience echo through the amphitheater as Iggy plays the opening chords to our Grammy-winning single "Disruptive", followed by Cain on the drums. My eyes focus on Iggy again as if he's the only person in the room as my fingers glide across the keys, adding my distinct sound to the song.

Iggy turns his head and walks toward me, his hand still effortlessly playing his instrument like a maestro. I drop my head, focusing on my hands as if I've just learned the song and don't want to make any errors when, in reality, I can play the song in my sleep. My hands are clammy, and my heart is beating so fast that I think it's about to burst out of my chest.

Iggy leans in and pulls his mask up, exposing his lips. He places his lips by the shell of my ear, and whispers, "You ready?"

Fuck no, I am not ready. I pretended everything was okay after I woke up to a mind-shattering blow job. All I've thought about in the past few days was his lips on my cock. I'd walked around with a hard-on from him being in the same space as me, breathing the same air. That night a few months ago was already a fuckin' hurdle I had to go through, but that morning created a fuckin' unbearable pain not only in my pants but also in my already fragmented mind. I can't understand what Iggy's hang-up is. I lied and told him it was all on the Molly. What else does he want from me? At least he had the common sense to not be bringing chicks around. I don't know why, but the idea of him walking off and fucking a bunch of girls ticks me off .

Large hands grip my throat as he dips my head back and crashes his helmet to mine before his other hand roams suggestively over my body. I'm sure if he could, he'd kiss me or lick up my face. Iggy lives for sensationalism, anything to make people talk. How does one touch from this man set my entire world spinning? A part of me wants him to never touch me again, while another would do anything to keep his hands on me forever. His touch is both an affliction an and assuagement. Trapping me in a turbulent abyss that brings the greatest heights and the lowest lows.

Somehow, Iggy and I have created a quagmire between us. A relationship which functioned with ease and comfort is now riddled with volatile and lascivious fervor that neither one of us has the mental or emotional competency to navigate.

When Iggy removes his hands from my body, I feel relief and dejection simultaneously. I'm not sure how my dueling emotions and thoughts can cohabitate in my mind, but they do. Another facet of the conundrum when dealing with my splintered mind and how it lives in the fringes of madness. Unsure of what thoughts to process and which feelings to unleash.

My teeth grind viciously against each other as my eyes fixate on his gyrating body and his guitar laying limp by his hip. Iggy didn't even seem to be fazed by the proximity of our bodies a moment ago, while my body trembles and my fingers shake as they press down on the keys.

Fuck this.

Fuck him.

He doesn't get to act like nothing is amiss when he strikes the match and sets it all ablaze. It's Iggy who is the chaos demon that needs the high of disorder and insanity. I'd finally found myself in a place where I didn't look in the mirror and hate myself, and then he had to come around and destroy the fragile peace I had constructed for myself.

W hen we get to the hotel, we're immediately bombarded by the small group of scantily-clad women waiting on the sidelines. I'm about to move past them and head back to my room when I catch a woman with her venomous hands all over Iggy's chest inside the small hotel restaurant.

"I'm up for anything, baby," she says as she scrapes her fingers on his long black coat. "I'll even let you pee on me, Daddy, if that's what you're into."

"Why don't you wait for me at the bar? I'll be right with you."

The girl giggles and shakes her ass as he chats up another girl. He's probably hoping for a threesome at best and an orgy at worst.

Every logical thought in my brain tells me to mind my own business and carry on with the plans I'd intended, but I don't. I step up to the girl and smile. "If you're lookin' for a good time, sweetheart, you're obviously with the wrong man. "

She smiles as her fingers curl a piece of her hair. "Oh, my god. You're Mayhem. The way you play the keyboard is sheer artistry." Her eyes glance to my hands. "Your fingers are magic."

I smirk as I lean forward, caging her between my arms. Her body trembles as I move a strand of her hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear. "You've got no idea what these magic fingers are capable of."

The girl shivers under my touch, and I know I've got her. I don't want her, but I've definitely got her.

"Striker told me to wait for him over here. Maybe we can all party together?"

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make sure you get a taste of Striker after I'm done with you."

Her eyes scan the space beyond me, and her body stiffens. I turn my head to find she's staring at Iggy as he flirts with another girl.

"Oh yes," I say, "Striker doesn't do solo sessions. With him there's always sharing involved." Her lips part as I glide the pad of my thumb along her bottom lip. "You could have the best of both worlds. My undivided attention followed by a party that will blow your mind."

The girl's pupils dilate and she inhales a deep breath, making her top that barely covers her tits slide up, exposing the bottom of her pink nipples.

"So, what do you say, sweetheart?"