Twenty-Six - Rad
I think my girlfriend is slowly trying to murder me. Not with a knife or poison. Nope! She’s slowly draining me dry, and I don’t know if I can make it any longer. And not the good kind of draining me either. I mean, she can drain my dick as much as she wants. If I had the energy for it, that is. I’m like a damn sack of potatoes heaving myself into bed each weekend.
It’s been two goddamn weeks of this. I think I’ll put an obituary in the paper and just announce my death ahead of time.
Here lies Rad. Gone too soon at the hands of his Pretty Girl, who overworked him night after night on stage.
When River said we’d have to perform every Saturday per our contract, I didn’t think it’d be like this. Hashtag–Radisdead. Hashtag–someonesaveme.
It’s all for the pact. Every one of her demands, we follow like good little boys. Now, if she’d only throw me a bone and reward me for my good behavior.
“Should I cut off my balls and put them in River’s purse now or later? I can’t decide,” I wheeze, lying flat on the ground, soaking up the cold tiles. It’s like running ice cubes all over my flesh, and it’s refreshing as fuck.
Kieran grunts in agreement or disagreement; I can’t fucking tell. Splashing water on his red face, he sits back on the leather couch, shaking his head. “I don’t know, but I think she’s trying to kill us.”
“More like punish us,” Callum murmurs with a pained groan, resting on the leather couch beside Kieran with ease.
“Why are your clothes off?” Kieran asks, raising a brow like he hasn’t known me since middle school.
Hello, being naked is like my damn calling card. Naked Rad has a ring to it, right? I can’t help myself. The moment I get on stage and the suffocating heat hits me, I need to take everything off. Fuck clothes. I’d rather live in a community where clothes were banished. Welcome to the Radalicious Naked Compound. Population: 5. Just me, the guys, and my Pretty Girl… And shit…we can’t be naked all the time. Oh, the sacrifices we make for our Little Pretty Girl and future babies. Because yeah, the second I get back inside of my woman, that’s all I want. Little me’s. Little them’s. Another little her. God. My dick springs to life at the thought, which is terrible, because I’m barely dressed. Not like they haven’t seen my dick flag fly.
“It’s hot as fuck. Fuck pants. Fuck shirts and socks. You’re lucky I still have my boxers on.” I lift my middle finger into the air, saluting the boys in more than one way. Oops. “If she keeps this up, she might,” I grunt, searching for a fan. “You guys see a fan anywhere? I need cool air on my dick like yesterday.”
If I don’t cool my nuts off soon, they will pop right off in protest and wander away, taking my dick with them. I swear they’re boiling inside my damn boxers.
“Do you think this is payback?” Callum murmurs, wiping the sweat from his face.
Kieran snorts. “It’s not like she can avoid us or get some sort of revenge for what we did.” His eyes cut to Asher sitting across the room under the ceiling fan. He hasn’t moved an inch since we got off stage and hasn’t spoken.
He’s retreating inside himself again like he did when we came to California. Back then, he focused on the music to escape her memory. And now, he’s doing the same and withering away right before our eyes. He may be an asshole, but it hurts to see him so beat down all the time. The good news is he’s moved back into his room at the band house. Since the moment we made the pact two weeks ago, we’ve been civil with him. We’ve had to be. He’s important to Lyric, and River to an extent. I will not jeopardize my future with my girls. Not one bit. So, If I have to be the nice guy, then I’ll be the nice guy. Besides, between therapy and group sessions, we’re really starting to hash some shit out and get back to the family we used to be.
Kieran’s rage has settled to nothing. He’s giving it his all and smiling more, especially when it comes to Lyric. Callum stopped fighting cold turkey and hasn’t had a bruise in two whole weeks. It’s odd to see him without the discoloration on his face or body, but I’m glad he stopped.
More often than not these days, Callum sneaks out around three and comes back at six covered in sand, with a goofy smile lighting up his face. I was starting to worry about my damn brother all the time. I knew one day I’d find him dead in an alleyway after mouthing off to some asshole on the street. Thankfully, it never happened. So, I can rest easy now.
“At least you bitches just get to sway and look pretty. I’m pounding my shit into the drums as hard as I can. God, I think I’m fucking dying.” I wave my hand in front of my face, trying to get cool air across my overheated skin. What I wouldn’t give for one of those glorious ice baths.
Ahh, yeah. Dip my nuts into the ice until they’re scurrying back inside me instead of trying to melt off. A guy can dream.
I love my Pretty Girl. I really fucking do. With my whole goddamn heart and body, I also know what she’s up to. She doesn’t think I do. Probably doesn’t think I’m as quick as I am. But I know she’s trying to get us back into shape. I’m an intelligent guy when I want to be.
But something has to give. It’s been like this since everything came to a head, and we made our pact to not fuck anything else up.
And this last stint of torture has been three long ass days.
Yesterday, we were kidnapped and taken to a county fair four hours away. Don’t get me wrong, being on stage again felt glorious. It’s been months since we’ve been on tour and getting back up there playing our music in sync was fucking beautiful. Sure, we’ve played a few shows per the rules of our contract with River. But it wasn’t like this. This is fucking brutal.
Then, after our orgasmic performance. Because yeah, I may have cum a little during because I knew my Pretty Girl was right in my sights, watching my every move. I could have used Little Rad as a fucking drumstick. Scratch that. That wouldn’t have felt very good unless it was a pussy drum attached to my girl.
Then after that performance, we were ushered home to the band house, where she ripped each of our testicles off and made a damn necklace. With pride, too. Her smile may have lit up the room, but it put the fear of God in our souls. I mean, she’s hot with nuts all around her face. Or nuts on her face. But not at that moment. Abso-fucking-lutely not.
“I want you boys to look this over,” she says, handing Kieran a piece of paper.
“What is it?” Kieran asks, taking the paper from her outstretched hand. As his eyes gaze at the report, they widen in surprise. His body stiffens, and he sucks in a breath.
“This is a list of everything I noticed that could be improved during your shows. I want you guys to look over this carefully. This will help you be aware of what I’m looking at and what you can adjust. This is your homework for tonight. We have two more shows tomorrow.”
“Two?” I choke on my water, letting it dribble down my chin. “Tomorrow?” I squeak pathetically, clinging to the couch. Please don’t let it be true. I don’t know If I can survive another two rounds of performances.
“Two,” she says, giving me that oh-so-pleased smile she’s perfected lately.
Evil Pretty Girl is hot as fuck, but goddamn, I need a break. My body might give out on me if I have to drum again.
Yup. This is fucking torture. It’s our goddamn penance for being little shits and walking away from her instead of being big boys and having a conversation. Oh, if I could go back in time and pull my dick up—we’d all be in a better place. Maybe we wouldn’t be rock stars in the prime of our lives. But nowadays, that doesn’t seem as important as River and Lyric.
“There’s like twenty things here, River Blue. Were we really that bad?” Kieran asks, rubbing a tired hand down his weary face.
“Not terrible. But not good either.”
Well, ouch. Spank my ass and call me Ashton because this woman is bending us over and telling us exactly how it is. Add in a spiky cactus up our asses without the necessary lube. I shudder. Damn, my butthole puckers at the stern look she gives each of us. Would she be offended if I called her Mommy and sucked her tit? Probably. Then we’d be in even more trouble, and she’d probably add another thousand shows to torture us with.
“When I watched you guys before you played as one, you moved around and commanded the stage, forcing everyone to have their eyes on you. You were electric, enthralling, and now, you’re like watching paint dry. You’re as stiff as boards up there, eyeing each other like you’re ready to pounce and rip your heads off. You don’t smile anymore; you don’t even act like you like music. So, I’m curious, do you guys still enjoy playing, or is this a chore?”
Talk about a slap in the dick. She accused us—Whispered Words—of not enjoying our passion. The audacity! But wait, do we enjoy our passion anymore? Reaching deep inside myself, I try to pull out the magical feeling. Shit. It doesn’t come. Where’s the giddiness and eagerness I always felt before shows? It’s…empty. The well is dry. I frown, staring around the room at the other guys, oblivious to the pain ricocheting through me.
“Just think about it. I’ll see you in the morning. We have a show at noon and a show at the KC Club in the evening. Get some rest, boys,” she coos, strolling out of the room, sashaying that curvy ass that I want to paint red with my palm. But I’m a good boy. I stay planted in my seat, blinking rapidly, and trying to digest what the fuck just happened. Also, I’m too tired to fucking move.
“Did that just really happen?” I frown, saying my thoughts aloud.
“Yeah,” Kieran grunts, staring over the paper. “Looks like we have fucking homework.”
“For the pact,” Callum murmurs, leaning over to peek at the paper.
“For the pact,” I reluctantly say.
I’d much rather sleep it off in my bed than look over my critique. All for the Pretty Girl , I repeat in my head, cringing at her words.
“For the pact,” Asher agrees.
When River leaves us sitting in our self-deprecating juices, we discuss how we want to move forward with this. We have to prove to my Pretty Girl that this is it for us, we want this, and there’s no other way around it. Music is our damn lives. Always has been and always will be. Maybe.
“So, I had an idea.”
All our eyes turn to Ash, who grabs his guitar, strumming a few chords. His brows furrow as a soft melody picks up. Over and over, he plays it until it sounds like a solid chorus.
“What is it?” Kieran asks, jumping to his feet. Never taking his gaze off Asher, who closes his eyes and sways with the tune.
“We haven’t written in forever,” Asher says with a hint of sadness. “Let’s build off this. It came to me last night in the shower, and it’s been stuck in my head ever since. I want to do something for Ly.” A deep, red blush takes over his cheeks when he looks around the room at our eager faces.
“A song for Ly?” Callum asks, rubbing his chin and nodding. “Fuck yeah.”
“That would be a perfect way to show our girl how serious we are!” I whoop, jumping to my feet.
“Lyrics come from the heart,” Callum murmurs, scrunching his brows.
“Wait, what?” I ask with a renewed energy taking me over.
“You said it once when we were in bed with River. Lyrics came to you, and you said…”
“Lyrics come from the heart and out of nowhere. They’re unexpected…” Callum trails off with his eyes widening. “You don’t think she…”
My heart beats double time. “That she named Lyric that because she was unexpected?” I will not cry in front of the guys. I will absolutely bawl into my pillow tonight. No tears here. Nope.
It isn’t until that night, when I’m staring up at the ceiling do I let my tears fall. If what Cal remembers is correct, he’s usually spot on and all. Hello, photographic memory. Then my girl named my baby girl after something I said. One day, I’ll bring it up to her. For now, I’ll savor it in the palm of my hand and keep the knowledge to myself.
“Yo dummy, are you putting a fan on your shit?” Kieran grunts, throwing a water bottle at me and knocking me out of my thoughts.
I furrow my brows, realizing I’m dangling a massive box fan above my junk. On fucking high. Huh. No wonder I’m starting to cool off. But also, there are enormous fan blades inches from my crotch. Geez, that was close. I could have cut the boys.
“Yeah,” I murmur, setting the fan beside me so it still blows the cool air across my flesh. “I think this is a punishment.” Definitely a way to get back at us for being dicks. Rightfully so. We were major fuckers.
Here I thought we were on the right track to forgiveness. Maybe we aren’t doing enough to prove ourselves. Shit. We need to step up our game and get it together.
We’ve already been on a date. Well, I mean, I joined her and Rocco again because you can’t get rid of me. I’m Rad, the never-ending rash that sticks to you even when you put ointment on me. Can’t get rid of me! At least she didn’t kick me out this time. I was allowed to sit at the table and eat my Italian food like a good boy.
Take that, Pretty Girl. I’ll never give up until you’re completely mine.
Like an angel in six-inch red heels, River burst through the backstage door with an adorning smile.
“Did we do good, Pretty Girl?” I ask, lifting my head off the cold ground and giving her my best puppy dog eyes.
“Color me impressed, boys,” she says, giving us a little clap. “You put in the work out there. I felt more included in the performance. Kieran, your voice was on point. Rad, your drumming and smiling brought the crowd out. Asher and Callum, you guys did good, too.”
I beam under her compliment, peeling myself off the sticky tile floor. “Thanks, Pretty Girl. We’re always here to impress.” I grin when she snorts.
“Right. Well, you might want to put your clothes on. You have a line of rabid fans begging for autographs and pictures.”
“We don’t really do autographs,” Kieran grumbles with displeasure.
“Oh, but now you do, Knight. I expect you by the bar in five minutes! Look alive, boys!” she shouts, clapping her hands again.
“This is a goddamn test,” I hiss, finding my pants crumpled in the corner. “Avoid the titties and ass signatures as much as fucking possible! No flesh.” I grumble in disgust when my wet T-shirt sticks to every inch of my upper body. Usually, I waltz out of here half-naked, not caring who sees me nude. Not now! My Pretty Girl is watching our every move. I will not fuck this up.
My body is River’s fucking temple. She’s the only one who can worship me now: no more ogling eyes or touchy hands from fans. I am a one-woman man. Forever. No matter what.
“She wants to watch us with the fans,” Callum surmises, rubbing his chin.
“You think she’s trying to see how we handle the girls?” Asher asks with uncertainty.
“My bet? Yeah, she fucking does.” Kieran smirks when he stands, running his hands down his ripped jeans. “Our girl is secretly jealous. So, let’s show her we can be as professional as her. We sign autographs but stay close to her.”
Ohhh, I like secretly jealous Pretty Girl. She gets all stabby and punchy. It makes my dick hard just thinking about it.
“Let’s do this. Operation prove ourselves commences,” I say, throwing a fist into the air with a whoop.