BorntobeWild (4 page)

Was that a sneer? “More likely to get away from me.” Cyn
shrugged, desperately trying to find perspective. This was his territory and
everything she tried to do or say emphasized that. “Our paths branched off in
different directions that’s all. I’ve lived here for some time, came to New
York to study and after I left the institute I never returned home. I like it
here. You know when you find your natural home? I think New York is it for me.”

The other woman nodded. “Zazz is my home.”

So she didn’t call him James. Zazz was Zazz in private life
too. Not that she cared.

Here, with Riku encircling her, she felt trapped, stifled.
Hated it. Her mind zoomed into automatic overload, yelling at her to
go, get
out of this place, leave
. She’d hated this, always disliked the hothouse
atmosphere musicians often found themselves in. It made her fidget. Riku seemed
to thrive on it. Because of his position in the band he’d have to accept a
certain amount of protection. Bodyguards, even.

Cyn didn’t belong. She was a nuisance, in the way, as far as
everyone in this room was concerned. She hated, hated,
hated
being a
hanger-on and Laura’s words had only emphasized the point. The women here had a
purpose. They were loved. Not fucked.

Resolution descended on her. She couldn’t do this and she
was kidding herself to try. The way some people stared at her, assessing her,
waiting for her to show her true colors, maybe strip or start on the beer and
spirits standing virtually untouched on the table, made her feel cheap. Not
that she thought they were judging her. Merely that she was judging herself.

She didn’t appreciate the way this place made her feel. If
she assessed the situation right, she was the only hanger-on allowed here,
together with Maddy. Chick ran a tight ship. She guessed they’d only let her in
because she was with Riku. Chick would have turned anyone else back at the
door, sent them out front.

As she was thinking this Riku pressed a quick kiss to her
temple and murmured, “Have to get ready. If I weren’t dressing simply tonight,
I’d have been long gone. But I’ll let the eagle speak for me.”

She forced a smile. “Go. I can’t wait to see you.”

She was lying. As she half expected, after Riku left, Chick
found a security guy to take them to the venue and ensure they got inside. At
least she’d paid for her ticket. Everyone behaved perfectly well but the
implication was clear enough not to require anything else. She didn’t belong.
She didn’t need anyone to tell her.

When they got to the Garden, Maddy stopped her excited
chattering when Cyn staggered as she climbed out of the taxi. The security guy
grabbed her elbow and she smiled weakly at him. “Maddy, I don’t think I can go,”
she said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize this headache was building to a
migraine.” She couldn’t devise a better excuse on the spur of the moment but it
would do.

Maddy swallowed. “I’ll take you home.” She turned to the
driver but before she could speak to him, Cyn interrupted her.

“No, please. I want peace and quiet and a dark bedroom. I’ll
be fine then.” She remembered what a migraine sufferer had told her. “If I get
to my medication quickly I should be okay by the morning. Do you mind going in
on your own?”

Maddy dismissed the question with a wave of her hand, nearly
hitting an innocent passerby, who cursed and jumped out her way. “Of course
not. But I don’t have to go in.”

“You do. You’ve been excited about this for months.” By dint
of putting her fingers to her forehead and moaning, she persuaded Maddy she’d
prefer to sit in the taxi speeding home. The security guy remained silent,
waiting with every expression of patience on his features. She guessed he’d had
practice, if not with Murder City Ravens then with someone else. His job had to
involve a lot of patience.

Maddy finally left and with a sigh of relief Cyn climbed
back into the car, after telling the security guy she’d be okay. He shrugged
and got in anyway. She cursed but he stayed where he was. “Don’t you have
something else to do?” she snapped.

“I’ll come back after I’ve seen you home. Where do you live?”

“Queens.”

They drove to her place in silence, Cyn closing her eyes and
leaning her head against the seat behind her. As well as a headache, burgeoning
for real now, bitter disappointment filled her. With her mood plummeting, she knew
she wouldn’t have enjoyed the concert and the last thing she wanted was to bring
Maddy’s excitement down.

She’d always been prone to depression but not on a clinical
level, except for once when she’d lived on antidepressants and coffee for six
months. But that had worked out and here she was. Sitting through a Murder City
Ravens gig didn’t sound like fun anymore, not when the band considered her Riku’s
whore.

Not that she cared what others thought of her. Of course
not. That atmosphere, the being-left-out vibe had happened so many times, she
was sick of it. She avoided it these days. It hadn’t happened to her for a long
time. Being an alien in New York was almost normal. Few people told her what
she already knew. She was English and the people who said it were usually
tourists. Besides, that wasn’t it.

Ah shit, she shouldn’t have fucked him in the first place.
The problem lay there, going back to the past. It shouldn’t happen. Ever.

“She did
what
?”

Ralph stared at him morosely. Riku hated that he couldn’t
read this guy but since he was all Kabuki’d up, as Zazz so succinctly put it,
he suspected the security guy couldn’t read him either. Good. Because he felt
so bad right now he didn’t want anybody to see it. No press conference tonight,
thank fuck, but one after the second gig tomorrow. That meant he was free now.

“She had a migraine, so she went home instead.”

He’d waited for her afterward, sent the guard to find her
when she didn’t show up backstage. Everybody had gone. He knew something was
wrong, suspected when he saw her at the table talking to Laura. He’d seen her
droop, then the way she’d straightened her shoulders so determinedly. Years ago
he’d never have noticed that kind of body language. He’d learned to watch and
observe since.

Ralph shifted his massive shoulders in what Riku assumed
would have been a shrug if his muscle hadn’t gotten in the way. “I made sure
she got to her place safely. Sorry, pal.”

“Yeah. Thanks for doing that.” He swiveled on one heel then
turned back again. “Tell me where you took her. Not to the store?” Apart from
any other consideration, the lease probably didn’t allow her to live on the
premises.

“Nope, to a place in Queens.” Being the good security guy,
Ralph knew the address and not sworn to confidentiality, he didn’t have a
problem telling Riku.

“Get me a car.”

“You want someone to come with you?”

“Fuck, no.”

Still buzzing from the gig, Riku climbed into the vehicle
and only then remembered he was still in full rig. Shit, he should have cleaned
off his makeup and changed. Too late now. He had to hope nobody would spot him
when he exited the other end but if they did, tough. So fucking what. If she
had a migraine he’d take care of her. If she didn’t he’d discover why she’d
backed out of the gig.

Murder City Ravens tickets were like gold dust these days
and she had a couple. That spoke of keen effort made to obtain them. Yet she’d
blown off the concert. What was more, she hadn’t informed him she was starting
a migraine and he couldn’t remember any in her past. True, his
single-mindedness had bordered on selfish but at one time so did hers.

He leaned back, closing his eyes and recalling her amazing
voice. She sang, less like an angel, more like Brünnhilde in full body armor. A
particularly beautiful one. She’d shot for the top level and failed. No shame
in that.

Except he’d done the same thing and nearly killed himself
doing it. When he heard pianists at classical concerts, so at one with their
world, he knew what went on behind the performance. Days of conditioning,
concentration and eight hours practice a day. He’d loved every minute. He loved
what he did now except for the inevitable comedowns after a great gig.

The car came to a smooth halt. Limousines had their place
and transporting hyped-up rock musicians where they wanted to go certainly
ranked high in his opinion. He got out, momentarily confused to find himself
alone. He was still full of post-gig adrenaline and the itchy, fidgety feeling
that went with it.

“You want me to wait?” the driver asked him.

Riku stared around, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t like the
look of this area one bit. Most of Queens was respectable these days, it even
had its upmarket spots but this wasn’t one of them. It looked like something
from the ’hood as depicted by a Hollywood director. Stores had the requisite
steel shutters. So did places in town but these were battered, as if people
slammed missiles against them on a regular basis. Or each other.

A few kids, some African American, some mixed race, some
white, hung around on the nearest street corner. People owned corners here.
This was so not the area for a freakily dressed Japanese American to hang
around. “Too fucking right you wait,” he said. “No, better still, drive around
or find somewhere decent to park. I’ll call you.” He took the card the guy
handed him and tucked it in his phone case. Cyn might refuse to open her door
or tell him to fuck off after five minutes. He just wanted to know she was
okay.

His driver left, probably a bit too fast, because somebody
spotted Riku and whistled. He rang the bell, rang all the bells tacked onto the
rotting doorframe. Then he rapped on the door, his finger-rings making a sharp
hit on the dented wood. Normally that sound might have interested him but right
now all he wanted was in and away from these bastards watching him. Oh yeah, a
great end to the evening.

She opened the door. She wore no makeup and had a thick
toweling robe wrapped around her small frame. He pushed his way inside, slammed
the door behind them. Cyn blinked at him. “What the fuck…?” She shook her head.
“Come in.”

“Thanks.”

She took him to a room on the second floor. This was a
house, not a custom-built apartment block and he didn’t like the smell in the
hallway. Inside her place it was better. She shut out the aroma when she closed
her door and shot the bolts before engaging the double locks. Three of them. He
watched her in silence, waiting for her to turn around.

She paused, her hand on the last lock. “You should have rung
me.”

“I called around instead. What did you expect?”

“I told the guy who took me home to let you know I was ill.”

He could believe that now he saw her. It didn’t affect his
decision to come here tonight. “Migraine sufferers can usually feel an attack
coming on.”

“There are sudden attacks.”

“How long have you been getting them?”

She turned around and let him see her. The lights in this
compact but nicely furnished apartment were bright and he smelled fresh food.
Pizza, maybe. A tub of ice cream stood on the counter of the kitchenette.

People with migraines didn’t eat and that ice cream had
condensation beading on the outside.

She’d washed off her makeup but her eyes were clear, not red-rimmed
or squinty in the light. Her hands didn’t shake. He tried to recall the other
symptoms of migraine but he knew it was a complex illness, not easily defined.
She seemed to have none of them.

“You don’t have a migraine, do you?”

She shook her head.

Dull anger swept through him, rising to tighten his throat,
send his temples throbbing. “Why, then?”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t in the mood.”

He opened his mouth to reply and paused. “What are you
talking about? You had to have bought those tickets six months ago when they
first came out, because they were sold out in an hour. That means you really
wanted to see us. They’re not cheap either. They paid for all this.”

He spread his arms, displaying the elaborate embroidery on
his deep-blue kimono. The diamonds in his ears winked as they caught the light.
Studs right up one ear and a single stud in the other.

“How the fuck do you perform dressed like a Samurai warrior
at court?”

He shook his head. “Clever adaptation. I’ll show you.” The
clothes stifled him. He pulled at the fastenings, tearing off the outer garment
before tossing it across the nearest chair.

She’d been sitting there with an old movie on the small TV.
It still played, the actors mouthing their words. She must have muted it to
answer the door or she was watching in silence. “What happened, Cyn?”

“I told you. I didn’t feel like it.” She stuck out her
bottom lip. He ached to bite it and not just from a desire to punish her. Full
and lush. She saw him looking and sucked it in. That only made his need worse.
His desire fed his anger and a growing bafflement.

“Tell, me, Cyn. I’m not leaving until you do. Why did you
run away? What went wrong?”

“Can’t you just forget it?” She picked up a remote from the
table and switched off the set. The lack of distracting movement intensified
the burning atmosphere between them, concentrated it. She tossed the device
away, heedless of the damage she might do to it. It fell with a startling
clatter.

Riku’s ears still buzzed from the gig. Modern technology
minimized the potential damage to musicians’ ears these days. But he pushed
everything he did to the edge and some of the sounds he’d made tonight could
have woken the dead. He’d done it for her, to show her what he could do. And
she hadn’t been there to witness it.

Show-offs never prospered. In this instance, in any case. “No,
I can’t, not this time. Cyn. Do you run away all the time?” Did she fear
intimacy, was that it?

“What?” She frowned, her eyes flashing danger at him.

He ignored the warning. “Here, now. The truth, Cyn. Do you?
Why did you do it tonight?”

“My business. One fuck doesn’t make you entitled, Riku.”

“Sure it does. If it didn’t, our lovemaking eight years ago
does. You walked away tonight.” He paused and then decided he’d tell her. “I
played for you.”

She gestured at the screen. “I saw the report on the news.
Not that I was watching for it of course. I wanted to see the movie and I got
you. They said you performed brilliantly.”

“I did.” He knew when he played well. “So did the others.”
He also remembered when to shut his mouth. If he gave her enough rope she might
finally tell him why she left him eight and a half years ago. They’d start with
tonight and he’d keep her on topic even if it killed him.

“Then you didn’t play for me. You did it for you.”

Ah, fuck, yes, she’d know that. A musician herself, she’d
understand the rush, the glory of hitting a high note and sustaining it,
keeping the level of performance so elevated it could give a hit better than
any drug. “You know it. But I felt you out there.”

“Then we’re not as linked as you might have imagined.” She
crossed the room, picked up a teakettle. “Do you want a hot drink?”

“No.” He’d drunk enough water to sink the
Titanic
. He
always did onstage, otherwise he’d be the one getting the migraine. The
costumes, the makeup and the intensity often did that to him. “Put it down and
talk to me. You’re running away again, aren’t you?”

She replaced it carefully, making only a slight noise when
it struck the hotplate. “No.” She turned, facing him straight-on. No more
distractions. Only the counter stood between them but he didn’t try to breach
it. Enough that she’d stopped picking things up and putting them down again. “Tonight
I felt like an extra wheel. Unwanted and unneeded.”

Shock sliced through him, scattering the intensity of his
anger. “What are you talking about? Who treated you that way?”

“Everybody. They closed ranks. They were all perfectly nice.”
She exaggerated her English accent, so it came out ‘naice’. He’d heard Brits do
that when jerking someone around. Just the tiny emphasis would do it.

He hated it, hated the superciliousness. Didn’t like it in
her either and it struck a false note now. He let her speak, didn’t try to
interrupt her, although it killed him to keep his trap shut. Now he’d forced
open the floodgates he had so much to say.

“I didn’t belong there. I saw no other strangers. You
obviously keep the last hours before a gig very tight and I shouldn’t have been
there. You shouldn’t have brought us.”

Now he’d speak. “I’ve never done it before. Not in those
circumstances, but you’re different.”

“Someone told me you liked your women in pairs.” There, she
dodged his implication that she was special.

“Who?” he rapped out. “Tell me who.”

“No. They didn’t know they were saying anything wrong.”

“More than one person?” Oh, shit, oh, fuck. Yes, he
preferred his women in pairs but not for the reason she was thinking. Well, he
admitted to himself. Not
entirely
because of that. Yes, two was fun but
not essential. He could make do with one, especially when it was Cyn.

“No, not more than one. I didn’t want to reveal the sex of
the person who said it. It’s not important. They took it as normal.”

“You don’t like the idea?”

She glanced down then back at him, her eyes hard. “No. Not
when it’s you.”

Honesty. At last, raw and unapologetic. Thank fuck. “Would
you mind if it were anyone else having two women? Another member of the band?”

She shook her head, touched the worn surface of the counter,
apparently grounding herself. “Probably not. At least, not if they’d cleared it
with me beforehand. I was always too—too everything with you, Riku. Yes, it
scared me. Of course it did. At twenty-one you’re supposed to play the field.”

“There are rules?” He watched her, waited. She might have
rules. He didn’t. “I’ve always taken things for what they are.”

“You’re supposed to have a passionate, often unrequited
crush at fourteen, probably on a teacher. Then another and then you learn it’s
not the one and only time. Then lots of boyfriends, lots of kissing and
fondling. Learning. After that, the hymen goes. And then more but education
should come first until you’re nearly thirty.”

“Whose laws are those?”

“Mine.”

He might have known. “And you’re the person who makes them
are you? I always preferred to break them.”

She grimaced, a cute tweak of her nose. “I know.” She folded
her arms across her chest, a gesture that plumped up her breasts beautifully. “I
made my own laws. When I was sixteen. I’d had the crushes, so I decided to go
along with the plan. Everything worked until I was eighteen and I met you. Then
everything went to shit.”

“Thanks.” His turn to grimace.

“I didn’t mean it that way.” A smile tugged at the corner of
her mouth. “You look like one of those cute Japanese masks.”

He knew. “It’s not supposed to be cute.”

“You decided to go elaborate after all.”

“I did. I couldn’t resist the kimono and you can’t wear one
of those onstage without makeup. Besides, the eagle’s flaking.” He turned his
head away so she could see. He’d lost the tips of his wings. “Good experiment
but not entirely successful. It’s done its job. For some reason I was feeling
great.”