Devoured (Devoured, #1)(40)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN





The creator of the documentary doesn’t try to ask me any additional questions, and I’m sure he thinks I’m a massive bitch now. Still, I make it a point to stay away from him. I can feel his eyes burning into the side of my face, though, as if he’s just dying to confirm whether or not something is actually going on between Lucas and me. As if he knows that the reason why I do my best not to meet Lucas’s eyes is because my mind goes to places it shouldn’t go in public.

Or in private.

The band performs four takes before they nail the song. Then Wyatt disappears, directing a dangerous look at Sinjin and swearing he’ll rip the walls down if he doesn’t get a break. I take this opportunity to check my personal cell phone. There’s a missed call from Seth and one from Gram. Even though I called her earlier, fear slices through my body. Does she know where I am? Has Seth told her what was on the Internet yesterday morning?

Numb, I excuse myself from the control room yet again and call my voicemail as I pace the hallways. Seth’s message is short, and surprisingly, sort of sweet. “You can’t ignore me forever, Si. I was wrong. I’m a shithead. Let’s talk, okay? You and Gram are all I’ve got so call me back.”

I listen to my grandmother’s message next—she’s just returning my call and wants me to dial her back when my work isn’t so crazy. “And I’m so happy you’re coming home soon,” she says before ending the message. She doesn’t say anything about Lucas or the videos or pictures of us that ended up online and I feel a weight lift off my shoulders.

For now.

I start to return Seth’s call but then decide against it. When I call Seth, I want to have plenty of time to get some things off my chest, and I don’t want to do it in a studio where pieces of my conversation may end up in some documentary about rock bands. I pass by the private room that Lucas and I were in earlier, pausing when I hear the sounds of someone moaning on the other side. I move forward, but a hand closes around my upper arm.

Startled, I jump and spin around to face Sinjin. He holds up his hands, wiggling them around as if to show me he’s not armed. Then he grins. “Spying is rude,” he tells me. “Though if you want to join Wyatt and the little blonde with the tits, I’m sure he’d let you, red hair or not.”

Size Nothing and Wyatt. I don’t want to be surprised but I am, especially after the way she eyed Lucas earlier. “I’m good, thanks,” I say, starting to walk off. Sinjin plunks his hand on the smooth wall next to my face, stopping me. Feeling my muscles tighten, I shove it away and continue towards the exit. He follows.

“You look really familiar, you know.”

“I’m sure you meet a lot of girls doing what you do, even redheads.” If my grandmother could hear the coolness in my voice right now, she’d pop me in the mouth for being so rude. I can’t help it. There’s something about Sinjin that rubs me the wrong way, but then again, it always has.

When I worked the “All Over You” video, I had tried my hardest to stay as far away from him as much as professionally possible, but of course he’d been unavoidable. If Lucas had fallen head over heels in kinky lust with my submissive tendencies it was because of Sinjin. Back then, he had freaked me out and even now I just want to shake him off of me.

I push open the exit doors, breathing in fresh air. Sinjin is right on my heels. “No, I don’t think that’s what it is at all. Did we f*ck? Or did you f*ck one of the others before you started up with Lucas? I mean, I know I don’t remember you from him because he doesn’t hold on to ‘em for very long, if you know what I mean?”

“Actually I don’t,” I say. Now, my voice is hard. “I was under the impression that he’s had the same personal assistant for years.”

Sinjin’s nose wrinkles and he shakes his head in pity. “Is that what he says you are—his personal assistant? Whatever keeps your mouth around his dick, right?”

He’s just trying to get a response out of me, but God, he sure is going for a big one. When I say nothing, crossing my arms over my chest, he begins to laugh. Loud, boisterous laughter that makes a woman in the next parking lot glance over at us with her eyebrow lifted.

Turning his body in her direction, he yells out, “What are you looking at, you fat bitch?”

Even from several feet away I hear her gasp before she flushes a bright red, rushes into her car and speed off. What’s wrong with this man? He’s shaking with laughter, raking his hands through his short, blonde hair, and singing. I back up towards the door to get inside of the studio, banging on it so that the guard can let me in.

Sinjin turns back around to face me, and there are tears streaming down his cheeks. Now, instead of laughing, he’s sobbing violently. I move closer to him, finally noticing the beads of perspiration on his upper lip. He shakes his head, backs up.

He’s messed up, completely obliterated. I’ve not been around drug addicts for so long that it’s taken me this long to notice it.

“Don’t touch me, you slut,” he hisses, pulling at clumps of his hair.

“I’m trying to help you, and—”

He lunges toward me, and out of reflex or watching too many movies with Tori, I ram my elbow back into his nose and bring my knee up to strike him in the stomach. He stumbles backward, glaring down at the blood on one of his hands and holding his belly tight with the other. Then he vomits all over himself.