Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(62)

“Fuck off.”

Nick advanced on him and Simon lifted his chin in direct challenge. Maybe if he pounded on Nick, a little of the anger simmering under his skin would dissipate.

“All right, separate corners.” Gray stepped forward. “We’re all working hard, but we don’t have to sing the whole time unlike Simon.”

Nick’s chest heaved as he clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

Simon crowded in on Nick until they were chest-to-chest. “C’mon, Nicky. Hit me. I can see you want to.”

Nick’s lip curled. “I should. You deserve it for that jab.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“What? So you can go back to the bus and sulk after I kick your drunk ass? Nope.” Nick took a step back, paused, and then Simon couldn’t duck fast enough for the fist coming his way.

He went down on one knee at the pain exploding from his cheek.

Nick bent down to him. “Now we’re even, *.” He rose to his full height. “Let’s take it from the top.”

Simon blew out a breath. When he felt a hand at his elbow, he shrank back.

“Stop being a prick,” Gray said and helped him to his feet. He slapped a water bottle against Simon’s middle. “Hydrate up.”

Simon took the water and because his damn throat felt like there was a bee stinging the f*ck out of his vocal chords, he finished that bottle and the one he’d dropped on the way up the stairs.

The rest of the afternoon was a slog of songs he couldn’t even remember. The heat and the liter of vodka put him into the ground.

He knew every word because that was how he was built. Lyrics stuck in his brain. Singing them a million times in the studio helped, of course, but it was the same for any song he heard on the radio or at a show.

The way they sounded—that he had no clue. And right now he didn’t care.

When dinner was called, Simon staggered back to the bus. He didn’t need any more band time today. He wanted to just crash and start over tomorrow. He’d slept like shit the night before. Head full of Margo and the monument in different incarnations.

All of them were full of her heated moans and then leaving him in the octagon alone.

“Simon.”

He paused at the rear panel of the bus. “What is it, Violin Girl? As you can see, I’m not exactly in an accommodating mood.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m always okay.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t f*cking care if you do or not.” He flattened his hand over the gold and black swirls of the trunk and stared at the gravel until it solidified.

She ducked under his arm and he pressed her back against the bus.

“What?” He locked his gaze with her. “You want to see how f*cked up I am today? Want it up close and personal?” He curled his fingers around the back of her neck, twisting them into her hair. “I don’t think you want any part of me tonight, Violin Girl.”

“I’m not here for that. I’m just…”

“Just what? You give a shit about me?” He slid his hand down her back and to her ass, dragging her to his dick that was hard no matter his mood.

Because she was there.

Because she f*cking breathed.

Because she was within thirty feet of him.

“All you care about is my dick and how it makes you feel. Whatever entertainment I can provide before you get off and disappear.”

“Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know.” He ground his pelvis into her. “I see it in your eyes right now.” He pulled down the front of her shirt until the tops of her breasts showed over the wide, round neckline. “Here in your tight as a diamond nipples.” He flicked open the button of her black shorts. “If I pushed my hands into your panties, I’d find you dripping for me.”

She lifted her chin. “Do it then. Use me. Put that anger to some good use.”

“Fuck, Margo.”

She slid her hand under his shirt and tugged on his nipple ring until he hissed. “I want it.”

“What if I don’t want to give it to you?”

“Is that what your hard cock says?”

His belly jumped at her words. She rarely swore, and she sure as shit didn’t call his dick a cock on a normal day. “It doesn’t matter if I’m pissed off or happy, my dick always wants inside your hot *.”

If he was crass and cruel, maybe she’d walk away. He wasn’t entirely sure he could handle a f*ck-and-run from Margo today. Not when he was already so goddamn raw.

But she was right.

He wouldn’t say no.

He wanted her even as his anger collided with the leftover vodka in his veins. And he was fairly positive he’d leave marks on her. He wanted to brand her.

He didn’t care that he could still hear staff moving around, or that daylight was still peeking in between the dense trees back near the busses.

She moved down his chest and belly to fumble at his zipper, then her hand was inside and he bowed his head as she circled the base of his cock.

He pushed her hand away and turned her around. He reached in front of her to cup her breasts and pushed them out of the top of her bra to get a hold of one as he shoved his hand down her pants. “Is this what you want?”