Heart Broke (Hard Rock Roots Book 8) Read Online Free Page B

with a crush.
    “You always said I was the smartest of the bunch, right?” he asks, moving around the wheelchair and pulling me into a brotherly bear hug that warms my heart and makes me smile. Sometimes I want to scream when I look at this group of idiots that Trey dumped on my doorstep. Other times, it's kind of nice to have a bunch of dopey ass little brothers. “Let me take care of this, okay?”
    “Stop fucking hugging on each other and tell me what the hell is going on!” Trey tosses a water bottle at us and ends up hitting Ronnie right in the back. We both ignore him as we pull apart and take deep breaths.
    “Never disposed of a body before,” I mumble, sliding some lip gloss from my pocket and prettying up my mouth. Never hurts to have a beautiful mouth. Seriously. I switch back to my cigarette. “Don't forget to take back the sweater and the gloves and all that. Trey'll have a fit if you leave 'em in whatever dumpster you drop Cohen in.”
    “I want a goddamn explanation. I'm tired of you people sneaking around and whispering and shit. I want to know what's going on. Why is there a dead guy in my fucking wheelchair?”
    Ronnie and I continue to ignore Trey as we smoke our cigarettes and give the body another once-over. As stupid as this all seems, you gotta admit, my idea is pretty goddamn brilliant. If Cohen slumps or looks a little off, we can just pretend that Trey's having a bad day or something. It's perfect. Foolproof. Genius.
    “This is fucking stupid,” I murmur. “We are so screwed. Come on, Ronnie, spill. What're you gonna do with the body?” I spin to face Ronnie, blonde hair fluttering around me, silver cigarette smoke trailing from my pretty mouth.
    Ronnie reaches up and scratches at the back of his head, ruffling his dark hair and biting at his lower lip.
    “You know, I haven't really gotten that far yet.” There's a pause and then his face brightens up and he snaps his fingers. “I've got it.” I raise my eyebrows.
    “Okay?”
    “Can you call Dax for me?” I feel my lips twitch while Trey continues to bitch in the background, his screams fading to muffled curses. Thank god. Not sure how much more of this I can take.
    “Why do you need me to call Dax?” I ask, trying not to grit my teeth. Ronnie notices anyway and smiles wryly. “Because, you know, getting someone else involved in this shit doesn't sound like a very good idea.”
    “I'm not saying you have to call him up and tell him there's a corpse in our van. Just … get him to meet us in the lobby or something, okay?”
    “Us? It's an us now?” Ronnie shrugs his shoulders. Of course it is. I should've known better. I roll my eyes and stomp my feet out. Yeah, it's that sensation thing again. Just thinking about Dax gets icy chills running down my spine and tickling goose bumps up on my arms. “This sounds like a really stupid idea,” I tell Ronnie, straightening out my hot pink tank top and pointing a finger at him. “Really bad idea. Ridiculous.” Ronnie crosses his arms over his chest and blows smoke over Cohen's corpse-y little head.
    “Just do it.”
    “Fuck. Fine.”
    I slide out my cell phone and dial up Dax McCann.

Back at the hotel with nobody and nothing, I decide that getting smashed is my best possible option, especially considering I can order room service and get exactly what I need. A god-awful number of pints in, I'm trashed on some overpriced lager that smells like the mothballs my grandma keeps in her closets, and I'm dialing up my dad.
    “Not really my fucking dad,” I mumble as the phone rings and my conscious mind rails at me to hang the fuck up. With everything that's going on around me, why would I want to open up this can of worms, too? I mean, obviously this whole bullshit thing with America and Travis and whatever didn't start twenty-three odd years ago. This particular bit of shit, this is all mine.
    “What the hell do you want?” Arnold McCann asks when he finally picks up the call.