Rock Redemption (Rock Revenge Trilogy 3)

Naked, I walked out of the bathroom and padded down the hall to the kitchen. Flynn and Rory were watching something in the living room, and Rory called out as he heard me on the stairs. He was lucky he hadn’t looked my way, or he would’ve gotten an eyeful.

I cleaned up my mess and got dressed in a pair of loose pajama pants and an old T-shirt. The guys were on the sofa in front of the telly—Flynn had a retractable screen, though he hadn’t seen fit to tell me such when I’d inquired that first day—and I joined them without a word. Rory passed me the bowl of popcorn, and I dug in eagerly.

“Uh, what the hell happened to you?”

I didn’t look up from shoveling popcorn into my mouth. “What’re we watching?”

“Figured we’d broaden your education.” At the other end of the sofa, Flynn nodded to the telly.

I blinked at the splash screen with a guy in a hockey mask and a bloody machete. The popcorn I’d been swallowing got stuck in my throat. “Not sure this is my kind of flick.”

“Aww, is wee Ian scared? You can always hide behind your hair. Oh, yeah, it’s gone.” Rory poked me in the side of the head. “What’d you use? Pinking shears?”

“First aid scissors.”

“Christ. Now I’ll have curly brown hairs all over my bathroom?” Flynn shook his head and leaned across Rory to take back the popcorn. “You deserve this movie.”

“I cleaned up. Listen, let’s watch something else.”

“What, didn’t they have horror movies over in England?”

I didn’t tell them I felt as if I’d lived in a horror movie the last few years, culminating in Margo’s kidnapping. I had no desire to cackle gleefully at other people’s manufactured misfortune.

So, I went to make my own bowl of popcorn. If I had to watch this garbage, at least I’d fill myself on butter and salt.

When I returned, they were waiting. They hadn’t even started the movie.

Fuckers.

“Go.”

Flynn pressed play.

The music sounded like something from the seventies. I didn’t want to watch. I let my mind wander, running through lyrics and chords in my mind, replaying the bridge of “Heartbeat” and refining the words, until sometime later I tuned back in just in time to witness some hapless teenager’s murder. I slouched down in my seat and reached for more popcorn.

All gone.

Rory and Flynn were laughing about something, but I was too tired to keep track. My eyelids were heavy, and my head ached.

I wasn’t going to drink again. Ever.

I’d just close my eyes, rest them a little. No one would notice if I took a quick nap.

If I was lucky, I’d dream of Zoe and not homicidal maniacs. With my track record, there were no guarantees.

Seventeen

I woke up stretched across Rory’s lap with someone tearing apart the house and a maniacal clown laughing on the telly.

Good God.

I shot straight up on the couch and fumbled wildly for the remote.

Clowns? Hell no.

Rory knuckled his eyes and ducked down to avoid the bright streams of light filtering through the room. “Sunshine? Jesus, it’s the middle of the night. What is that sound?”

Now that I was more coherent—slightly—I had to guess it was the door. Someone was knocking on it, possibly with a shovel. “We have a guest.”