Nocturnes (18 page)

“What the fuck is your problem, Rax? Why don’t you get it, you stupid motherfucker? What’s it gonna take to make you see you’re killing yourself?” His voice catches. Droplets poise at the brink of his lids, begging me for a reason not to fall.

I got nothing but truth for those fucking tears.

Writhing like a snake, I try to get out from under him, but he clenches his thighs to hold me in place. I stretch an arm under the bed. He pounds the floor beside my ear. “Stop it. Just stop.”

I can’t. I twist and jab and swing. I wildly shove and slap and pummel his chest. He takes it. Just sits there on top of me, absorbing blow after blow and curse after curse. Out of energy, I keep hitting him until my arms become lead weights, and I can’t move.

When I’m totally empty—of fight, of care, of everything—he drops his chest to mine and wraps his arms around me.

And tears pour out of me.

My body jerks under him as I struggle for air. He holds me tighter. I cry like a fucking little bitch, and Toombs doesn’t let go.

Streams flow from the corners of my eyes into my sweat-dampened locks onto the carpet beneath me. We lie like that in a heap of broken flesh, broken love, broken dreams, squeezing each other until a quiet voice shatters the silence.

“You okay?” Jinx squats beside me, smoothing the ratty hair from my cheek.

I can’t look at her. Not like this.

Toombs sits up. Sniffles. Scrubs his face.

My former best friend hugs Jinx and then helps me sit. The three of us together. Just like old times. Except now I’m the third wheel instead of Jinx. Allegiances have shifted and damaged so much in this room. And I’m to blame for all of it.

Exhausted, beaten, and conquered, I tug up my shirt hem and wipe my eyes with it. Let them have their moment. I’m no longer a part of them. I brace on one very sore knee and start to get up, but they stop me.

Jinx dives into my chest, tears and pain streaking her pretty face. Sobs wrack her shoulders, and I reluctantly hug her. Toombs embraces us both, and the three of us sit in that awkward yet perfect circle for what feels like eternity. When the trembling stops, when our eyes are empty of tears, and when our breaths even out, we draw back into our individual selves and look at each other.

It feels like I’m seeing them for the first time in some ways. In other ways, it’s like we’ve known each other intimately for ages. Not in a sexual way—though we’ve definitely been there—but as family.

Toombs lifts the bed skirt and rolls out the vodka bottle we fought so hard over. Lifting it by the ass end, he points its mouth toward me. I take it. My arms are so weak from fighting, I can’t hold it up. It falls on its side and rolls away a few inches.

“You’ll always be my brother, man.” Toombs rubs his short hair. “I…I respect the hell out of you. Always have, since we were kids. But I can’t stand by and watch you ruin yourself with booze any longer. We’ve got the band to worry about.” He turns to Jinx and takes her hand. His pinched gaze lightens when it meets hers. “And now I’ve got Jinx. Doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, but…things have changed, and you gotta admit, a lot of it is your doing.”

I nod.

He points to the vodka lying in front of me. “That shit is killing you. It killed
us
.”

I heave a deep sigh. “I know.” I look away. The truth fucking hurts a thousand times worse than the bumps and bruises. Jinx clamps a palm over the back of my hand and flashes me a tight smile.

I owe her an apology too. A real one instead of the flippant bullshit line I gave her outside the police station when she and Jillian bailed me out for public drunkenness a few weeks ago.

“Sorry for being such a dick to you.” I glance at Toombs and then lower my gaze. “To both of you. There’s no excuse.” I nudge the bottle with my foot.

My arms are suddenly full of Jinx again, which is a pleasant surprise. She gives me a long squeeze and whispers into my hair, “All’s forgiven. We just want you to be happy. Without the booze.” She pecks me on the lips, smiles, and stands. “I’ll tell Jillian we’ll be at the studio shortly.”

When she leaves, Toombs gets up too, and using the bed for support, I follow gingerly. I grab the bottle and pass it to him. It takes every bit of strength I have left to let it go when it hits his palm, but I do. Remembering how twitchy I was when I woke up this morning, I close my eyes for a couple of seconds. Giving up booze is gonna be the hardest thing I’ve ever faced.

Toombs shuffles close and grips my shoulder. “You can do this. I’ll help you. We all will. Just…just come to me when you’re struggling. You were always there when I went through shit in school. Let me be here for you now.”

More goddamn tears well. I grab him by the arms and squeeze the shit out of him. He holds me up when my legs threaten to give out. Goddamn Toombs. My fucking rock.

After a long embrace, we awkwardly disengage. Something stops us. A tether? Psychic connection? Past lives? Who knows what it is, but I can tell he feels it as strongly as I do. I’m not sure why I feel so compelled, but I lean in and kiss him. He accepts. This kiss isn’t like the ones we’ve shared for years—steeped in sex and groupies and rampant need for pushing boundaries and living for extremes. No, this is totally different. Not sexual, yet ripe with emotion. Consoling, tender, understanding. The tether tightens through the kiss and then loosens as our lips drift apart.

We’re okay. Toombs and Jinx and me—we’re all okay.

Taking a step backward, he hits me right between the eyes with a bullet of conviction. “You and I might not be together anymore, but I’ll always love you like a brother. No matter how many times you fuck up, I’ll never stop fighting to save you from yourself.
Never
.”

I nod and smile a little. “Thanks, man.”

And Toombs disappears from my room in a swirl of silver piercings, scary tattoos, and vodka.

Side B: “Nobody’s Fault But Mine”

The next morning, I wake up alone to the chime of a text from Satan, aka Rico:
Come to the club at 10:00.

Great. Not only will I be subjected to Rico’s ugly fucking face first thing today, but I also have to endure the disappointment of not even getting a goodbye kiss out of Rax before he ditched me.

My bed will never be the same without him. Not to mention the Jacuzzi.

God.

The dumbest part? The sex isn’t what I miss, though it was seriously amazing. It’s
him
. Despite everything that’s wrong with Rax—the incessant drinking, the cocky attitude, the haughty self-righteousness—what lingers in my mind now that he’s gone is the devotion. Last night, his eyes bore deep into my soul, sifting through layers of filth and shame, seeking treasure that might or might not have been there. He took a chance, tossed aside all the inconsequential dirt that got in the way of his excavation. And after all that digging, Rax found
me
. Not Lola, the broken-winged angel from Nocturnes’s Hell who’ll do anything with anyone for the right amount of money. He unearthed
Eve
. Invisible, frail, orphaned Eve.

He held up a mirror, forced me to face myself, and dragged me from my own rubble.

Coming from a drunk, self-absorbed rock star, that was fucking powerful.

Mourning the loss of our intense connection, I slip on a pair of blue jeans and the plainest, least revealing black shirt I own. A growing sense of doom splits my heart into two pieces: one that craves more of him, and the other that needs Nocturnes. Both halves are equally heavy and mutually exclusive.

I can’t let Rax’s disappearance get to me. We had an arrangement. I delivered what he requested. He paid me. All ties are severed.

So, why do I feel like goddamn road kill with tire tread stripes down my back?

Don’t play coy with yourself, Eve. You like him, and he left you for a bottle of booze. Maybe with a couple of groupies on the side.

It hurts when good sense proves you right.

Said the whore to the whore-banging rock star.

Visions of him sleeping after we had sex thrill my perverted mind with a soft-core peep show on replay. Lying naked on his stomach, arms folded around his head, he was a study in gorgeous ass, curls, and tattoos. Taut shoulders bunched, reptilian scales highlighted by waves of muscle glinting under the candlelight, satisfied smile as he dreamed…

Damn.

Rax may be the serpent in my lady garden, but I’m the one who tempted him. I only hope his choice to bite into my apple doesn’t prove as devastating as the original Eve’s did.

I scold myself with a shake of my head.
Just let it go, Eve. Move on.

So I do.

I leave my memories at the loft, call Jon for a cab to pick up my car on Victory, and head over to Nocturnes. I arrive a few minutes early and rap on Rico’s office door. He tells me to come in. This time I leave the door open and refuse the chair he offers. I lay my hands on my hips. “You wanted to see me?”

Rico opens a manila folder and flips it across his desk. No pleasantries, no warmth. Not that he’s ever been warm before. “You’re quickly becoming more of a problem than you’re worth, Lola. Care to explain this?”

I pick up the grainy black and white computer print out. It’s a picture of Rax and me hugging outside Nocturnes in the alley last night. I play my thoroughly disinterested card and shrug. Inside, my stomach is experiencing a grand mal seizure.

“I told you to stay away from this guy. He’s not welcome in Nocturnes.” He pauses. “Apparently, you still have an issue with following the rules. I thought we…corrected that.” He buffs his gaze down to my boobs and licks his lips. Then he frowns over a fake smile as if he’s tasted something revolting at a gourmet dinner.

Anger pulses like acid in my gut, and I lean over the desk, bracing myself on a palm and pinning him with an unyielding stare. “He wasn’t
in
the club. I talked to him for a few minutes, and then he went on his merry way.”

The cruel grin on Rico’s lips doesn’t touch his eyes. “Really? One of my buddies from the New Orleans Police Department disagrees.” He stands, lazily rounds the corner of his desk, and slithers between me and the expensive hunk of mahogany. I back up. He settles his butt against the edge, kicking a foot over an ankle. The pose is anything but casual. This is a preemptive strike in the making.

Good thing I’ve got my anti-bullshit heat-seeking missiles at the ready. I narrow my eyes on him and cross my arms. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Unless his “friend” has pictures to prove it, Rico can’t do dick.

“Come now, my angel. You and this Rax fellow left Nocturnes for the park where you got nice and cozy. Security cameras don’t lie.”

So,
someone
saw what we got up to last night, but Rico’s omission of our sexcapades by the fountain suggests he might not know
everything
that happened. Girding my mental muscles in anticipation of the killing blow, I lift my chin. “Show me.”

A trace of doubt shadows his eyes. Barely there, but it’s enough to tell me he either doesn’t have the footage, or the video is too dark to identify Rax and me. I smile inwardly. The knot in my stomach loosens a tad.

“I turned my information over to Charlie. We’ll let the boss decide what to do with you.”

Well, that changes things. I hesitate.

“What’s the matter, Eve? Cat got your tongue?” His smarmy smile and use of my real name rev my internal combustion engine to roaring heights. I severely underestimated Rico. If he’s got the cops in his pocket, following me—a fucking
stripper
—around town, I’m not dealing with an overeager boss. I’m dealing with a goddamn stalker.

Oh God, Rax…

“Let me make something clear. As long as you work at Nocturnes, you belong to
me
.” He jabs his chest, and his pupils spike wide, tightening the invisible noose around my throat. “That dickhead you’re seeing is as good as dead if he shows his face anywhere near this zip code again. You understand what I’m saying, Eve?” Nostrils flaring, Rico looks beyond pissed.

Now I’m scared.

“Yeah. I got it.”

“Good. Now be a dear and stop in for a chat with Charlie before you leave.” He sits on his oversized leather chair and logs into his computer as if I’m not there.

Blood coagulates in my chest. My tongue shrivels inside my dry mouth. I leave Rico and head down the hall to the door with no sign. I’ve never set foot inside Charlie’s office. My heart dents my ribs with its frightened thumping.

I rap three times on the wood.

“Come,” a voice calls.

Slipping inside the room, I keep my head down. Charlie likes angels to be submissive in everything. Even though I’m not technically working, there’s a certain amount of respect that must be shown.

Whispers of fabric and the appearance of a pair of designer shoes in front of my feet warn me to be on my best behavior. Two delicate, slightly wrinkled fingers curl beneath my chin and lift. I meet a pair of green eyes—neither hard nor soft, cold nor warm, angry nor happy.

“Eve Belikov.” She pronounces my name as a good Russian would with the perfect intonation. Reminds me of Mama. And readjusts my internal thermometer to a chilly 32 degrees.

“Yes, ma’am.” I’m rarely intimidated by anyone, but Charlie is one of the few exceptions. It’s hard to look her in the face, let alone her eyes, as she seems to want me to do.

She stares at me for what feels like forever, giving no indication of her thoughts, no signs of disappointment. But no sign of approval, either.

“Sit.” She pivots away and gestures to a pair of chairs bordering a coffee table in a cozy sitting area. Thick, expensive carpet gives lightly under my feet as I pad over and take a seat.

Charlie claims the other red satin-covered wing chair, settles her elbows on the rests, and folds her hands with index fingers forming a teepee. In her late fifties, she wears a smart black power suit. Her makeup is perfectly matched to highlight the emerald of her eyes, and her blond hair is done up in a bun on top of her head. She’s the picture of royalty. Underworld style.