A Hotter Touch, A Better F... Than Any Girl You'll Ever Meet

Chapter 14

"I've forgotten my cigs!" I exclaimed, searching frantically through my pockets before looking up at Matt with a pleading expression.

"Know where they are?" he asked, shaking his head slightly.

"Dressing room," I answered, wrinkling up my eyebrows. "I think."

He sighed overdramatically and rolled his eyes before giving me a light push. "Go get 'em."

I smiled and turned around to start back towards the venue.

"You're paying for every extra minute the cab has to wait!" he yelled after me.

I flipped him off, laughing.

******

As I re-entered the building, a feeling of dread shot through me. You know the one where you're convinced something bad is happening, but have no clue why? I guess my 'female intuition' should've been my first clue to the fact that I wasn't completely straight.

Whatever it was, I started walking at a brisker pace, nearly running towards our dressing room.

Perhaps some asshole was stealing my cigs?!

I finally reached the door and wrenched it open, looking around frantically. I was out of breath. Funny, I'd have thought all the dancing I'd been doing lately would've gotten me into shape, but this was just another proof that while I was alright again, it was going to take a long time before I got over the pill-incident completely.

I kept looking around and my eyes fell on my cigarettes, but those weren't the focus of my attention anymore. I could hear sounds coming from the far corner, which was kind of covered by a makeshift dressing wall. Although I had no idea as to why anybody had put that there.

Some of them could be described as, well, for lack of better wording, horny, turned on, excited. Got it?

Some of them, which soudned like they had another originator, sounded frightened, desperate, painful.

And while I doubted I'd heard the first voice before, at least in more than passing, I recognized the second one.

I tore around the wall to be met by a view I'd never thought I'd see.

A man, who I thought I vaguely recognised as one of the roadies had Brendon against the wall. And it didn't look very consenting, may I add. One hand was holding Bren's arms tightly in place above his head, the other was struggling to get his boxers the rest of the way down.

But really, that part of the view wasn't what I took in. That would be Brendon's face, which looked like it was bruising and had a scratch from what looked like a ring. Tears were running down his face as he writhed and whimpered out pleas to stop.

Well, if you think I was the best person to have walked into something like this, then you are sadly mistaken. I'm lanky and while I hate to admit it, I'm about as weak as I look.

Still, nobody was doing that in front of me and getting away with it, especially when Brendon noticed me and his eyes met mine, widening in desperation.

And so, while I wasn't exactly strong, my father had still indirectly taught me where any sort of hit hurts the most.

I directed the hit at his temple, and if I'd been just a bit bigger, I knew it would've knocked him out.

I wasn't, though, so he turned around, letting go of Brendon in the process, and faced me, rage in his eyes and the distinct smell of alcohol on his breath.

I hate to go for the absolute weak point of any man, but he was still a lot bigger than me, he was fisting his hands and I was running out of options. So I brought my knee up as hard as I possibly could, slamming the kneecap against his exposed, naked, well, parts.