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Chapter 37

February 4th, 2017
Manchester, UK
Mayhem - Halestorm

“Oh my God! Delete that shit!” Leah grimaced, trying to snatch Chris’s phone from his hand as he put it up in the air. Her head still hurt like a bitch, but her reputation was at stake.

Marc had finally dumped his cheap, rotten, snake-licking girlfriend and after trying to hit on two chicks, he ended up kissing the floor. Leah couldn’t help but laugh.

He was handsome, charismatic, and had his own business. The bimbos seemed to be into him. They talked and laughed for a while, and they would have probably left together if a guy so into his mosh pit dance hadn’t bumped into him, knocking him down—if it had been any other person that would have ended up in a fight, but Marc wasn’t like that.

They were watching the scene from their seats in the club, and Leah burst out laughing, crying, and choking, hand on her stomach, but she didn’t calculate right and hit the back of her head with the mirror wall behind her. The resounding thud only muffled by the music pounding loudly as it reverberated inside her skull.

Fucking instant karma.

After checking she was okay, Chris didn’t think twice and took a close-up picture of her face. Scrunched up nose, narrowed eyes, mouth twisted in the weirdest frown, and hair a complete mess. She had looked better with the flu.

“Hell no! I’m keeping this to blackmail you in case you have something against me one day!” the guitarist laughed, putting his phone up in the air, above his head—no way she could reach it now.

“You better not post that on any social media,” she warned him, “or I’m calling my father and asking him to shoot you.”

“He loves me, he would never do that.”

“Oh! Then, maybe I should call your mom and tell her how many girlfriends you have at the same time.” She flashed him a smug smile. That was always the ace up her sleeve.

“Bitch,” her friend muttered.

“I love you too.”

They waited for Marc to come back from the bathroom, drinking and listening to the music in that flashy club. Their banter still going on since there was no one to stop them.

Erik and Julia had gotten lost, either in the bathroom or back to their hotel room. The two had been like fucking rabbits for weeks.

Yeah, Leah was jealous.

It had been two weeks since she last saw Søren, and the itch between her legs was starting to burn like a skin rash. They hadn’t talked about where they really stood if they were exclusive or not, but as horny as she felt, she didn’t feel like banging anyone else. After the mind-blowing sex she had with him, all she wanted was to have him inside of her again.

She was close to starting a cult to worship his dick. That basilisk had given her the strongest, fainting, gut-twisting, skin prickling orgasm of her life.

“Earth to Leah!” Chris pinched her cheek.

“Ouch!” She slapped his hand.

“Where were you?” he chuckled as he drank from his beer.

“None of your business.”

“You have it so bad,” he mischievously grinned, perfectly knowing who she was thinking about. “So the rumors are true, huh?” He arched an eyebrow.

“Don’t even do him justice.” She giggled, sighing.

Søren had been busy during the past few days as they were still on tour, but he always made some time to talk to her. He had even texted her past midnight to wish her a happy birthday, because, yeah, time didn’t stop and she just turned twenty-seven that day.

They exchanged memes, joked, flirted; he told her about their short trip to Galway and Cliffs of Moher before they went back to Dublin to play the next day, and she showed him a new guitar she was working on, doing a floral carving on the front side—and they didn’t phonicate because he was never alone to do so. She was feeling so needy it hurt.

“He’s really getting under your skin,” Chris commented with a humorous tone of voice.

“Nah... He’s just more human than I thought, which makes me admire him even more, as an artist and as a person. And the sex is amazing, but that’s where it ends,” she lied, still trying to understand the intense connection they shared.

She didn’t have any romantic feelings for him, but the way he made her feel always teleported her to another planet. They sure had enjoyed each other’s bodies in the roughest, filthy, dirtiest of ways, sexual haze clouding their minds for hours when they were locked in that hotel room, but their talks let her see a part of him she didn’t know about before.

He was a sarcastic ass with a very dark sense of humor who knew a bunch of historical, weird, and random facts to talk about. But seeing how tender and good a friend he could be when Ian got the bad news about his wife warmed her heart.

There was a lot more to Søren than he let the world see, and the only thing she wanted to do was to peel each and every one of his layers.

“Gonna get another drink, want something?” Leah asked Chris as she got up.

“I’m good.”

“Okay, be right back.”

With the empty glass in her hand, breaking through the throng of people with her elbows, sliding between the long-haired mastodons, she made it to the bar.

“Hi!” She waved her hand at the waiter, who was talking with some chick.

“What can I get you?” He smiled as he approached her.

“A rum coke, please.”

“Coming right up!” He winked at her.

As she waited, she absentmindedly looked around, catching Chris laughing, patting Marc’s shoulder as he came back—the two chicks joining the group. The atmosphere was exciting and vibrant. Everyone was enjoying their night out, listening to the music blasting through the speakers, headbanging, drinking, laughing. She smiled.

“Hello there...” A male’s voice and a sudden groping of her ass made her jump.

Slapping his hand away, Leah turned around, fuming. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just want to have some fun,” he slurred, alcohol breath brushing her face, making Leah scrunch her nose. “And you’re here, all alone... Looking so hot...”

“Fuck off!” She pushed him back, in vain. The dude was a huge wall of muscles. Fucking asshole. Guys like him were the worst. They thought that because they looked good, they had all the right to step in your personal space without even knowing you.

“Come on... It’s obvious you’re looking for something.” He ogled her up and down.

“First, I’m getting a drink. Second, I said fuck off.”

“Here you go.” The waiter interrupted them. “It’s five pounds.” He glanced at the guy behind Leah, giving her a knowing look. The music might be too loud for others to hear what was going on—or they just didn’t mind other people’s business—but he probably knew something was up just from her body language.

“Thanks.” Leah smiled at him, giving him a quick nod, telling him everything was fine. But when she was about to leave, moving away from the drunkard, he grabbed her wrist, making her stop so abruptly the liquid from her drink splashed out of the glass.

“What the fuck?”

“I was talking to ya.” He could barely speak.

“What didn’t you understand about fuck off?” She glared at him. “And don’t fucking touch me.” She tried to shake off his grip.

“It’s rude for you to leave like that.” His hand tightened around her wrist as he stared down at her.

Without giving it a second thought, she threw her drink over his face.

“Fucking bitch!” The drunkard roared, pushing her back with such strength Leah lost balance and almost fell.

Before she could process what was happening, Chris had run past her and launched himself over the dude, landing on the ground on top of him as he punched his face, beating the shit out of him.

It all happened too fast.

Marc went after Chris, tried to pull him, get him off the guy. As strong as the bassist could be, he needed help from both of the doormen to stop the fight.

“You fucking touch her again and you’re dead!” Chris growled, still wrestling, trying to free himself from the gorilla-like doorman’s clutch.

“Okay, buddy, you better relax,” the man holding Chris warned him as he dragged him towards the exit.

“I’m going to sue you!” the drunkard yelled while the other doorman held him against the wall of the club, nose bleeding.

“Go ahead, you fucking piece of shit!” the guitarist shouted, busted lip bleeding.

“Dude, shut the fuck up!” Marc grabbed him by his shirt collar. “Don’t make things worse than they already are!”

When the security of the club took all of them out, the police sirens were already breaking up the background noise of people walking up and down the street, blue lights illuminating their surroundings when two white patrol cars with a blue and yellow band on each side pulled up right in front of them.


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