Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
Salem
“Hold it. Mm, yeah, right there. That's so good.”
Snap, snap.
Refocusing my camera lens, I zoom in on Taylor mounting his bright yellow dirt bike, inked biceps rippling when he runs a hand through his damp hair. Christian comes next, completely shirtless, his sun-kissed abs glistening with sweat.
Their fans fucking love these kinds of photos.
Snap, snap, snap.
The sun hasn't fully risen yet, barely cresting the horizon, but the guys are already running practice drills for our first show tonight.
They take turns launching off the metal ramp, each one trying to out-stunt the other.
I crouch in the dirt with my camera and try my best to ignore the million itchy mosquito bites covering my body.
In hindsight, sleeping outside in the middle of Tennessee summer was a horrible idea, but I'll never admit it out loud.
Lifting the camera, I snap a burst as Tay pulls off a perfect whip, Christian chasing right behind him with a backflip.
The small stadium we're in is empty now, just the two of them carving lines into the dirt.
Their engines echo off bleachers that will be filled with screaming fans tonight, if ticket sales are anything to go by.
This place had everything I looked for in a venue: ramps at the ready, stands pre-set for crowd flow, spots mapped out for photo ops.
Don't get me wrong, we travel with some of our own equipment, but I figured dragging everything we’d need halfway across the country would cost way more money and patience than we all have combined. The places I chose for this tour let us jump right in—less setup and more riding.
Sure, I could’ve picked bigger arenas, but those places are a logistical nightmare.
We’d spend hours building ramps, double-checking structures, chasing down permits.
Stadiums like these come with all of it.
Less time fucking around with measurements, more time letting these two maniacs be exactly what they are—terror on wheels.
And it's not exactly like I had any help planning this shit.
I shift, trying to focus on Taylor's Superman seat grab through the viewfinder, but another mosquito bite flares to life.
The camera drops as I scratch myself furiously, gritting my teeth.
Thick humidity last night had me stripping off my bra in my sleep, and now my back is covered in bites that I can't fucking reach.
“Girl, what the hell.” Arya giggles from behind, watching me dance around in a circle to reach my shoulder blades. The morning light catches on her pink sundress. “You look like you have to pee.”
“Thank fuck you're awake. Scratch me. All over. I’m dying.”
She snorts but obliges, raking her acrylic nails down my spine. “You know you could have shared with me and Christian instead.”
A loud moan leaves my lips when she hits the right spot. “Those bunks are tiny. We'd be on top of each other.”
“Wouldn't be the first time.”
I roll my eyes, shivering when she scrapes another bite.
While I have shared a bed with her and Christian in the past, I have no desire to do it again.
Despite their many, many propositions, nothing happened between us.
They fucked while I tried to sleep through it.
Arya is beautiful, but she's my home girl, and Christian is my best friend.
I refuse to take those relationships anywhere else.
“What took you so long getting ready, anyway?” I ask, moaning again as she continues to scratch.
Her movements falter slightly. “I was, um… occupied.”
A catch in her voice snags my attention, and I glance over my shoulder to find her smiling sheepishly. My gaze narrows. “What did you do?”
Her big blue eyes shift sideways, but she only shrugs, giving up on my bites to saunter away. I consider dragging her back to explain herself when a spot on my thigh itches so bad it stings.
“Goddammit.” One more mosquito bite and I'll lose my mind, I swear.
Brushing the dirt off my legs, I sling my camera over my shoulder and make my way toward the RV. The guys are still tearing across the lot, engines screaming, but all I can think about is calamine lotion or an acid bath.
Inside, it’s blissfully empty. Sick Like Me by In This Moment plays from someone’s Bluetooth speaker, the smell of stale coffee and bacon lingering in the air from breakfast. I dig through the first aid kit, finding only band-aids, old cough drops, and ibuprofen that expired two years ago.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I growl, slamming it shut harder than necessary.
No calamine. No relief.
Muttering curses under my breath, I start tearing through drawers, desperately hoping maybe someone stashed something somewhere, but come up empty once again. Of course.
Because when in my life has anything ever been easy for me?
“Looking for something?”
Spinning around, I catch sight of Logan in the doorway wearing a blue polo that makes his honeyed eyes pop. My pulse kicks up a notch.
I hate his gorgeous fucking eyes.
“Calamine lotion,” I snap, rummaging through another drawer by the sink. “Or itch cream. Or fire. Something to keep me from ripping my own skin off.”
He’s quiet for a beat, watching me scratch my arms. “You don’t need lotion.”
“Oh? And what do I need, Logan, since you know me so well?”
He pulls open the silverware drawer before holding up a… spoon. “This.”
I blink slowly at him. “This itching sucks, but heroin's a bit extreme.”
“What?” His brows slam down. “No, I… Warm metal. It helps stop the itching.”
“That sounds like a bunch of bullshit.”
“It works,” he says softly, studying my face. “I can do it for you.”
My heart leaps, but I ignore it, shaking my head as I step around him. “No, thank you.”
“Salem, let me help.”
“I’m fine.”
His hand gently catches my elbow. “No, you’re miserable. Let me help. Please.”
That whispered plea has me pausing, but instinct makes me hesitate. The urge to take his offer battles with the impulse to prove that I don't need anyone. “I can do it myself.”
Logan exhales slowly through his nose as he rubs his temple. “You won't be able to get the ones on your back. Just sit down.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he just looks at me calmly. Patiently. It’s infuriating. I hate this. I hate how easily he still slides into this space with me like he never left it.
But my back is on fire. It's either this or rub against a tree like a bear. Taylor and Christian would never let me live it down.
“Fine.” With a frustrated sigh, I drop onto the bench and peel off my shirt, thankful that I took my necklace off this morning. “This better fucking work.”
“You'll feel better, I promise.”
He turns on the sink to fill a mug with hot water before sliding behind me on the bench.
His thighs encompass my hips, the warmth from his body radiating through me. I'm so stiff that my muscles scream. It's been over a year since we've touched each other.
When his fingertips lightly trace the edges of my sports bra, I bite my tongue to keep from shivering under his touch.
“This should probably come off too,” he says mildly, thumbs slipping beneath the band. “You’ve got bites under here.”
“Whatever.” Lifting my arms, I let him pull it off, the cool air instantly pebbling my nipples. I have to fight the urge to cross my arms and shield myself. I've never been shy about my body, but being vulnerable around him again puts me on edge.
And fuck, the way my stomach clenches when he gently sweeps my hair over my shoulder tells me that I'm in serious fucking danger.
“This is going to feel warm,” he murmurs, his breath on my neck when he presses the spoon to my skin. The shiver I'd been holding back rolls over me. “Too hot?”
“No,” I rasp, shaking my head. “How did you know about this little trick, anyway?”
He drags the spoon to another bite. “My maternal grandmother. She was kind of eccentric.”
“You never mentioned your mother's side of the family before.”
There's a lengthy silence, only the sound of his shaky breath before he speaks again. “We never saw her much. She didn't hold the same values Dad did, so…”
I scoff, twitching when the warm metal raises goosebumps on my flesh. “God forbid anyone thinks differently than your dear old dad.”
Logan says nothing, only dips the spoon into the water before returning it to my back. When it becomes clear he has no plans on responding, I glance over my shoulder to catch his attention. “What’s going on between you and Devon?”
He freezes, something visceral flashing in his eyes before they shutter. “Nothing.”
“Don't lie to me. You're a shit liar.”
“He fucked my wife,” Logan snaps suddenly, surprising me by the force of it. “You want me to be all cool with him after that?”
I reel back, attempting to scoot away from him, but he holds onto my waist tightly. “I'm not your fucking wife, Logan.”
“Yes, you are.” His jaw clenches stubbornly when he meets my gaze, fingers flexing against my stomach. The ring on his left hand digs into my skin.
We glare at each other in silence, the air growing heavy between us. Slowly, I turn around to face him and straddle his lap. His gaze drops to my chest, pupils dilating at the sight of my taut nipples.
Grabbing him by the throat, I lean forward until our lips brush, still obsessed with the whimper that leaves his mouth when I squeeze. His eyes flick up to meet mine.
And once I’ve got him in my snare, I go in for the kill.
“You don’t get to call me that,” I hiss, rolling my hips over the ridge of his crotch. “Not after you left me in a fucking hotel like I was nothing.”
A flash of hurt crosses his features. "You slept with Dev like I was nothing.”
I press down on his pulse points to remind him who’s in charge before swiftly letting go. "Then maybe you shouldn’t have treated me like a dirty little secret our whole relationship. You want a good little wife? Find someone else.”
He glares at me, jaw clenched, but his palms slide up to grip my waist when he thrusts between my legs. “You’re a fucking trainwreck, you know that?”
With a sharp laugh, I snatch his hands to cross them over his chest. “And you’re still a coward hiding behind Daddy’s approval.”
“At least I haven’t slept with every person on this tour.”
Anger and heat singe through my veins. I grind my clit over his covered cock, throbbing with need. “I will not be judged by some closeted church boy who likes it when I fuck him up the ass.”
Something cracks in his expression, but I’m too infuriated to care as I use him for my own pleasure, keeping his wrists crossed while I ride his lap.
He bucks beneath me, throat working around a groan when his head tips back. “I’m... Fuck, Salem, stop or I’ll come.”
“You know what word to use,” I grit, continuing to move my hips in circles until my own orgasm starts to build.
“I’m serious, I don’t want this right now. Not when you’re angry.”
But I’m so close, body tensing as my nipples peak. A cry forms on my lips just as I nearly fall over that ledge, thighs clenching—
“Colorado,” Logan snaps, twisting his arms out of my grip.
That one word stops me cold. I drop my hands instantly, still fucking aching to come.
We stare at each other breathlessly. It takes me far too long to realize how violently I’m shaking, and I slide off his lap. The sight of the wet spot over the bulge in his pants leaves me horny and guilty all at once.
Grabbing my bra, I slip it on quickly, aiming for my bag on the counter to hide how sick I feel. Logan’s gaze tracks my every step like he’s watching a caged animal. I ignore him, instead pulling out a heavily grease-stained folder that I toss across the table.
When those pretty golden eyes land on it, they darken.
“Sign the fucking divorce papers,” I spit, snatching up my camera before leaving the RV without another word.