It’s almost two in the morning and I want to go back to the hotel so I can go to sleep.
I bang on the door again. Hell, I’m tempted to kick it down at this point. “Hurry up.”
“What are you still doing here?” a stern voice belonging to my new boss questions.
I keep my expression neutral. “Phoenix is in there screwing some groupies.”
No point in lying. Like Phoenix said, what he does with his dick isn’t my responsibility. Nor is it in my job description.
Which is just fine by me, because I don’t give a rat’s ass. The damn thing can fall off from an incurable STD for all I care.
Heck, it probably will sooner or later.
Chandler rubs his head. “In that case, I’m heading back to my room for the night. Make sure he gets back to his.”
“Will do.”
He grumbles something under his breath as he stomps away.
When I look around, I notice most of the crew has disappeared, and the ones left seem to be shutting everything down.
If this asshole thinks I’m going to spend the rest of the night—make that morning—backstage when I can be sleeping in a nice, cozy bed, he’s out of his mind.
Growing frustrated, I flag down a passing crew member. “Hey. Do you have a key to this room, by any chance? I’m with the band.”
“I don’t. But Bruce does.” He gestures for another man to come over. “She needs to get into the greenroom.”
“Sure thing.”
Bruce produces a key from his pocket and unlocks it.
My stomach twists before dropping to the floor.
I was expecting Phoenix to be mid-thrust when I walked in…
Not gone.
“Where the hell did he go?”
“Who?” one of the guys asks.
“Phoenix Walker. He was supposed to be in here.”
The guy points to a door on the other side of the room. “He probably went out that way. There’s a long hallway that leads out to the strip.”
Fuck.
I make a mental note to check all greenrooms, bathrooms, and whatever other rooms Phoenix intends to enter in the future as I walk down the corridor of our hotel.
I mutter a curse when I swipe the key card because I don’t hear voices or fake moans of pleasure.
Walking past my adjoining room in the foyer, I enter his suite.
After checking every possible nook and cranny, I come up empty.
Out of options, I go to Storm’s room so I can enlist his help.
I knock five times before he answers.
It’s clear he’s annoyed at being interrupted because he swings the door open and grunts, “What?”
“I can’t find Phoenix.”
He expels a long sigh. “Shit.” Turning his head, he bellows, “Be a good girl and stay put. I’ll be back later.”
“I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to,” some girl replies. “But don’t be gone for too long. I need that big angry monster inside me.”
Big angry monster?
I file that under things I didn’t need to know about Storm.
He closes the door behind him. “Where was Phoenix when you saw him last?”
“In the greenroom with some groupies.”
“You know there are two doors in the greenroom, right?”
I don’t miss the hint of jest in his tone.
“I do now.”
In my defense, the one and only time I was inside it was when I realized Phoenix had vanished.
I’ll never make that mistake again.
We stop at another room and Storm bangs on the door.
A buck-naked Memphis answers…along with a blonde whose lips are fused to his neck.
I keep my gaze trained above his waist.
Then I remember I’m young, single, curious…and he’s famous, nude, and hot.
Yup. Little Memphis is the opposite of little.
Evidently, the members of Sharp Objects all have large objects.
Memphis gives me a sly smile when he catches me staring. “You’re welcome to come inside. I’ve got plenty to go around.”
“She can’t,” Storm rumbles. “Phoenix is missing. Have you seen him?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Have you tried his cell?”
“Unless his number is the same one from high school, I don’t have it.”
After fetching his phone from his pocket, Storm brings it to his ear. “Straight to voice mail.”
My stomach knots.
The blonde kisses her way down Memphis’s stomach, drawing his attention back to her. “You’re gonna have to do better than that if you want my cock again.” He looks at us when she drops to her knees. “Good luck.”
Then he slams the door in our faces.
Storm marches down the hall. “Let’s check the casino downstairs.”
Planet Hollywood is essentially one giant circle which should make it easy to spot him…
If he was here.
Exasperated, we exit the hotel and walk onto the strip. It’s after two a.m., but it’s a weekend in Vegas so there are tons of people outside.
Which is why I don’t think twice when I notice a large crowd gathered around the Bellagio fountains.
Until we get closer and I notice a bunch of cops and firemen surrounding the area.
Storm must be curious too, because he stops walking.
“What’s going on?” I ask a woman who’s shaking her head as she ambles away from the crowd.
“Some idiot jumped into the fountain during the last show. Emergency services just fished him out. He’s lucky he didn’t die.”
Damn. “That’s crazy.”
She nods in agreement before strolling away.
“Maybe we should split up?” I suggest.
This way, the odds of finding him are better. Because I’m exhausted.
Storm mulls this over. “I guess—”
Suddenly, he stops talking and I stop breathing.
Because twenty feet away is a dripping-wet Phoenix Walker…being dragged away by two police officers.
“I didn’t pee in the pool,” Phoenix slurs.
“It’s not a pool,” one of the officer’s grits out. “It’s a fountain.”
“You piece of fuck,” Phoenix grumbles as we race over. “Go shit yourself.”
I’m so screwed.
“Calm down,” the second officer says.
“Don’t tell me what to do, prick. I’m Phoenix fucking Walker.”
He yells the last part so loud I wince.
“I’m aware,” the officer states. “My daughter’s a big fan.”
“Wait,” I tell the officers as they lead him away. “I’m his—”
I stop talking because I don’t think telling them I’m his sober companion when he’s clearly trashed will work in my favor.
“Friend,” I settle on, despite the way it makes my insides twist. “Please don’t arrest him.”
“Arrest me, pussies,” Phoenix roars, trying to get out of their hold. “I don’t fucking care.”
I’d punch him if we weren’t in front of law enforcement.
Storm glares at his friend before looking at the officers. “You said your daughter’s a fan, right?”