Staged (Exodus End 3)

Behind Tamara, Logan was shaking his head and miming, apparently to keep Steve from denying the outlandish claim. What the fuck was going on?

“I have to take a wicked piss,” Logan said, now gesturing with a craning neck and pointing his eyes toward the bathroom.

Dudes didn’t typically go to the bathroom in a congregation the way that women did when they needed a private word, but this was an emergency. He nodded at Logan, who walked away.

“I’m gonna grab a drink,” Steve said as soon as Logan was in the bathroom. And he sure needed one, but he made a detour to the toilet on his way to the bar.

“What the fuck is going on?” Steve asked Logan, glad they were alone.

“That chick is completely delusional,” Logan said, pointing toward the door.

“Yeah. So why are you talking to her and why does Max think she’s my girlfriend? Roux is my girlfriend.” Maybe.

“He doesn’t think that, Tamara thinks that. She thinks you’re here to protect her from that crazy woman who tried to take you away from her. Roux has a vicious right hook, by the way.”

Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Roux did that to her face?”

“Sorry you missed it. Awesome catfight.”

“Roux is the gentlest person I ever met. She would never . . .” Steve rubbed his face with one hand. He’d done that to her. Made her act out of character and hurt someone.

“You have to tell me why you fucked Tamara in the first place. You can’t possibly be that desperate. Did you freak out over commitment and self-sabotage, or . . .” Logan peered at Steve through squinted eyes, as if he were the most challenging puzzle ever construed.

“God, no. I don’t remember fucking her.”

“You don’t remember?”

“I got really drunk that first night in Donington, and I saw her on the way to my room, but then I blacked out, and the next thing I remember, Roux is there trying to wake me up.” The only thing that could explain his lapse was that Tamara had shown up at his room and he’d been so wasted that he’d done those things with her. Steve swallowed the bile climbing his throat. Every time he thought about what he must have done, he felt sick.

“That psycho probably roofied you.”

“What?” Drugged him? She had taken a swig off his bottle of whiskey. Had she slipped something into it when he’d been distracted by hating her presence? “Does that work on guys?”

Logan snorted. “If you don’t care that his dick can’t get hard.”

His dick hadn’t been hard. That would explain how she could suck it without straining herself.

“So she drugged me, entered my room uninvited, molested me while I was unconscious, and then posted the pictures online. Is she that fucking stupid?”

“I think that’s been established, but ew. I’m really sorry, dude. That’s truly fucking horrific.”

He had to tell Roux what happened. Or what he thought had happened. How could he be sure, though? Maybe he’d been so drunk that he’d invited Tamara up to his room for a good time. But even though he couldn’t remember hours from that night, that possibility didn’t feel right to him.

“Can they detect rope in the system, like in a blood test or in the urine?” He was very familiar with drug testing, but not with Rohypnol. It was one of the few drugs he’d never tried, and he sure as hell would never slip it to some unsuspecting female. “How long does it stay in the body?” It had been almost three days; maybe too much time had passed. He did have a rock star liver and kidneys, after all. He cleared drugs and alcohol from his system like a professional.

“How the fuck would I know? Do I look like the kind of guy who’d know anything about date-rape drugs?”

“You’re the one who thought of it, so it must be the only way you can get laid.” Steve was teasing, but he got a punch in the chest for his taunt. “Maybe Butch knows.” Because if Steve had Rohypnol in his system, he could prove that Tamara had staged those photos. Or at least have enough evidence to convince Roux that he hadn’t cheated on her. She’d have to forgive him then.

“If Butch doesn’t know, he’ll find out; he’s that awesome. Now, can you leave? I really do need to take a wicked piss.”

Steve frowned. They were in a one-person bathroom, not one with multiple urinals and stalls. What must the regular patrons be thinking about the two of them holed up together in there? More fodder for the rumor mill.

Steve went to the bar to order a drink. He wondered if the bartender knew anything about date-rape drugs but figured the man would think the worst of him if he started asking suspicious questions. He collected his drink and returned to the table, not sure how best to handle Tamara. Maybe she’d spill her secrets if he played along. He would not, however, touch her under any circumstance. He chose Logan’s vacated seat so that he sat across from her rather than beside her.

“Does your face hurt?” he asked. It’s killing me, he added silently, sipping at his Irish whiskey. He’d likely never touch Jack again. He stared into his glass, wondering what Roux had been drinking to set her off on a rampage. Or maybe her attempts to rearrange Tamara’s face hadn’t had anything to do with alcohol. It wasn’t the first time a pair of women had come to blows over him, but it was the first time he hadn’t found the idea entertaining. Had Tamara hit Roux in return?

He shifted, trying to get comfortable in an uncomfortable situation. Why was he sitting there sipping whiskey when he should be looking for Roux? No mystery there. He was afraid how much it would hurt his heart when she rightfully told him to go fuck himself.

He shifted again.

If he could prove that he’d been drugged and hadn’t wanted to cheat on her, would Roux believe him? Would it matter if she did? He rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand. Had he really allowed Tamara’s tit to touch his lips? He rubbed his tongue against his upper teeth as if to scrape off an unsavory flavor. Had he licked her? Even accidentally. God! Did women have these odd thoughts after they’d been violated, as if what had happened was somehow their fault? And rather than blame their violator, did they imagine that if they’d done something different they could have avoided being molested?

He knew those feelings were bullshit, but there they were. How had she gotten into his room? He had to have let her in; no one but Roux and Zach had a spare key. Unless Tamara had convinced the front desk to give her one. Or maybe she’d gotten her hands on a housekeeper’s key. She was sneaky enough to do it, but he doubted he’d ever discover the details. Surely she wasn’t dumb enough to tell him.

“It hurts a little,” Tamara said, touching the cut on her lip with the tip of her tongue, bringing Steve’s attention back to the table. “I know I should press charges, but Dare’s right. We’d be tied up in international courts for ages. Not worth it to me. Knowing that you’re finished with her is enough punishment for her.”

Steve choked on his drink, and Max whacked him heartily on the back.

“It’s a good thing we pulled that crazy woman off your girlfriend here.” Max’s fingers dug into Steve’s back. A warning? Or . . .

“Yeah, good thing,” Tamara said. “Her father was a murderer, you know. No telling how far she would have gone.”

“How do you know about her father?” Steve aske

d, pushing his hands under the table and clutching his thighs. Tamara’s tongue was uncharacteristically loose. If he kept his cool, she might let something slip.

Tamara smiled. “It’s my job to dig up dirt on celebrities.”

He hoped the heartless wench didn’t print a story about Roux’s past. Roux didn’t need the ghosts that haunted her to become public knowledge.

“Though she’s not much of a celebrity,” Tamara said. “Not like you guys.”

Max leveled one of his million-dollar smiles at her. She blinked as if hypnotized.

“I’m sure Baroquen has a lot of secrets,” Max said. “Do you think that’s why they wear costumes?”

Steve punched Max’s knee, but his gaze never strayed from Tamara’s.

“Oh, for sure. Why do you think Sam is so interested in them? All of them have horrible stories in their pasts.”

Steve stopped breathing. Sam was interested because they were talented and extremely marketable and . . . perfect little tragedies to exploit in his tabloid.

“That tabloid of his is gaining readership rapidly,” Dare said. “Must be exciting to have your byline on every page.”

“Not every page.” She grinned. “Bianca writes some of the articles.”

“About stuff anyone can find on the web,” Dare said, and he actually reached across the table to stroke a line down the center of her hand. “But you’re out in the trenches, getting the real juicy stories. I hope Sam is paying you well.”

Tamara peeked at Steve and then at Dare’s finger before drawing her hand away and tucking it under the table. What? Was she afraid Steve wouldn’t like Dare to touch his girlfriend?

Logan flopped down in the seat next to Tamara. “What did I miss?” he asked.

He received three sharp, cautionary looks from his bandmates. They were working their collective charm on this woman, and hopefully they’d learn more before she realized she was being played.

“Dare making a move on Steve’s woman,” Max said, winking at Tamara, who flushed.