The very last thing that Christine Hill expected was the exponential success of Mötley Crüe-the band she loved to hate.
And she never would've surmised that she'd be dragged-kicking and fucking screaming, by the nape of her neck-along for the wilde...
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Trigger warning: suicide
And though she loved to hate Nikki and his convoluted ideas, Christine had to hand it to the man. He certainly had a gift.
Whether it was the gift of irascibility and painful irritation, vexation and annoyance, or just being exceptionally musically talented, Nikki Sixx had a fucking gift that she could hardly ignore.
He'd managed to pull it out of the metaphorical bag and quash the negative notions that whirred through the brains of Beth and herself. Though, Beth had always been a little bit too negative...and rightfully so, actually.
With a husband like Vince, Beth Lynn certainly had a plethora of reasons to think of the absolute worse case scenario.
"Good morning."
"Afternoon." Nikki corrected Christine's greeting, slipping into the kitchen. "It's afternoon."
"Oh, okay." She muttered, flicking through a few pages of the newest issue of PlayBoy to get back to her favorite segment that centered around Christie Brinkley.
She loved her.
"You're back early, aren't you?"
Tommy grumbled, hurling himself into Mick's usual beaten up armchair. "Yep. Beth went batshit on Vince at the studio. Kicked us all out."
She scoffed, putting the magazine atop her lap. "What for this time?"
"You got two guesses."
Slowly, she closed her eyes and heaved out a deep, exhausted breath.
Had she been more of a domineering force, Christine would have known how to control Beth and her ridiculously prurient impulses whenever it came to a certain Vince Neil.
For the longest time, she had struggled. To pull her away from him, to inspire semi-decent ideas within their ridiculous relationship, and to at least try to encourage her best friend's abstinence from the blonde imbecile she chose to involve herself with.
"Was it a blonde?"
"Nope." Nikki snickered, cracking his beer open against the kitchen doorframe. "A redhead. And Beth is not happy."
His complete nonchalance and just general carelessness made her want to wrap her hands around his neck and fucking squeeze the life out of him.
"Well, duh. Of course she isn't happy. She just found out that her husband was balls deep in some ginger slut—"
