Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1) (47 page)

“The life of a rock star.” Possibly, there was a tone in her sassy answer, because his eyes narrowed again, this time in contemplation, and she added her apology. “I’m sorry too. I can be a bitch. And last night I was.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and reached for another muffin.

“Those are really good.” Eager to dispel the awkward aura, she nodded to the remaining half a dozen on the plate.

“Poppy seed. I think.” He picked up the plate revealing an index sized card. “Yep. Lemon Poppy Seed.” Obviously, he felt the same because he engulfed the second helping as quickly as the first.

“The recipe?” She wondered, when after reading the card, he carelessly let it fall onto the countertop. With a shake of his head, he explained that the name of the dish, the ingredients, and any serving instructions were always left along with the food.

The ingredients but not the measurements. It seemed weird. But when I voiced it aloud, he thought my question just as weird.

"In case of food allergies. Why? You wanna bake muffins, Scar?"

The teasing glow in his eyes took me back to our teenaged days, and I enjoyed the fuzzy feelings. “Maybe.” He eyed me again, and I turned to the window to escape this familiar and yet unfamiliar gaze.

She waited until he’d had a few sips of his coffee and then asked if he had a car she could borrow.

“Where are you planning to go?”

“I’m not sure. I thought you could help me figure that out.”

She told him the story of Ivy. “It was her dream to meet those guys. She’s talked about them and downloaded or bought every Rageon song for years. When she told me they were playing at Key Arena, I emailed your dad, and he was great enough to send VIP passes and tickets to ‘Will Call.’” Here she paused, remembering She and Gage had gone to a couple of concerts in that venue.

Gage fixed himself another cup of coffee, and she watched his movements, studying the black circles beneath his eyes as she resumed.

“I was going to fly into Seattle and go with her. But I didn’t end up having the money and was slammed with assignments due. At the last second, she went with a friend.”

He was listening intently as he seized yet another muffin and pushed the plate her way.

“No thanks. Anyway, Ivy texted a couple of times during the concert and throughout the after-party, sending me pics and uploading pics and videos to Instagram. She was thanking me and saying what a blast she was having…”

Her eyes fell to her lap, and she could feel his gaze on the side of her face.

“The last texts I got said something about how great the guys were. She’d been invited onto their bus and was having drinks and on her way to the next venue with them. She sent me a pic of the inside of the bus. And I never heard from her again.”

“When? How long ago was this?”

“About a month ago. When she didn’t answer my texts or calls for a few days, I called her mother.” Even though Ivy didn’t live at home anymore, her mom was worried as she’d never gone a full day without talking to her. “Her mom filed a missing person report, but nothing is coming of it. The authorities don’t seem serious about it, given the circumstances.”

“The circumstances?”

“You know. Girl idolizes rock band. Most likely goes on the road with rock band if that’s where she was last seen.”

“And it was Rageon, you said?”

“Yeah. Her voicemail filled up and stayed that way. And now her number is disconnected.” Scarla added the last bit of information to convince him this wasn’t a ‘runaway with the band’ scenario.

He rubbed a finger to his chin, thoughtful, and she noticed that although his hair was drying in damp waves from a shower, he hadn’t shaved.

“If I think on it a minute, I’m sure I can figure out some link I have to someone who knows one of them or where they hangout.”

“Thank you!”

“But I can’t go with you or anything. I’m on a deadline in the studio. You can use one of my cars—or my driving service.”

“W
ell, I'm off!” Scarlette’s voice floated ahead of her. She appeared in the doorway of his studio before Gage could respectfully cover the evidence of the line he’d just blown.

Her brows puckered in a disapproving frown. Since she’d already seen it, instead of putting it away, he stood, rounding the table his goodies were spread upon.

“To the Rainbow?” He'd told her about two women who worked at the bar and grill and who frequently partied with Rageon, among other bands.

“Yeah.” Her eyes were now scanning the gear, equipment, and furnishings in the room.

Since he kept the room locked, especially when anyone was over like his hookup the previous night, he knew this was the first look she was getting of this room. Her eyes seemed wider in appreciation of all she was seeing—except for the drug paraphernalia.

“Wow. So after the shower, this is where it all happens, huh?” She’d trailed around equipment and cords to stand before a rack of guitars. Turning to face him, she tucked a strand of hair behind one ear.

He couldn’t get used to the new color of her hair. It was beautiful on her. But he’d grown up with a Scarlette whose childhood golden blonde hair had gradually turned a sunny shade of brown when she became a teen.

“Yeah. My part of it anyway.”

“You write the songs?”

“Mostly.”

“They’re great, Gage. You’ve done well.”

After her anger the night before and semi-chilly demeanor today, the sincerity of the compliment threw him for a moment. And because she was practically his sister, it embarrassed him. Strangers could sing their praises all day and all night. But it felt odd coming from someone who knew him so well.

“Know how to get there?” He changed the subject. He’d offered to call his driver service, but she’d turned that down.

“I'm sure my phone’s map app will get me there fine.”

“The cars all have maps too.”

“Cars?” The ‘S’ hissed in emphasis at the end of the one word question.

He walked her to the garage. The light flickered on the moment he opened the door. Motioning her ahead of him, he paused before entering to select from the fobs hanging in the key panel. Following her, he found her again surveying her surroundings with her lips agape.

“Do I get to pick?” She ran her fingertips over the hood of a bronze Bentley.

“Hell to the no!” He feigned horror.

“C’mon. I’m a good driver…” She’d moved on to his yellow Lotus Esprit GTA.

“And that’s why you wrecked your Subi the day after your sixteenth birthday.”

“It wasn’t the day after. And that wreck wasn’t my fault.” Stopping before his Ducati bike, she regarded it.

“Says you.” He joked, knowing full well the fender bender she’d been in as a teen and had texted him pictures of, hadn’t been her fault. He held up the key fob.

“Fine. I’m happy to drive any of these babies.” She pivoted at the black Escalade and closed the distance between them.

Their fingers brushed as the device exchanged hands, and she pressed the button. When the Lotus flashed, she grinned.

“Thanks, big bro. I’ll take good care of it.”

“Be careful, Scar. It’s got a lot of muscle. It’s only a car. But you’re irreplaceable.” Had he really spewed that parental vomit? But she didn’t mock him. The smile when she tilted her face up to his before hastening to the car was so familiar, he marveled he hadn’t recognized her at first sight the previous night.

For a nanosecond, a familiar current ran between them, and the warm tingles of cozy memories tangled in his cerebrum.

“I will. I swear.” She took her place behind the wheel, adjusted the seat, and looked up with a bright smile. And he loved being the one who had put the glow of excitement on her face.

Shaking a pill from the script bottle,
he palmed it. Finding the whiskey bottle on his dresser empty, he popped the tablet into his mouth and swallowed it dry. Heading back down to the studio, he picked up a custom Charvel and strummed as he waited for the chemical compound that had been his muse in the past to infiltrate his bloodstream.

The house was quiet. Scarlette routinely was gone by the time he woke each day. She had arrived two days ago, and her lingering aura seemed to block any creativity he might have had. Every day he settled in the studio to work, feeling guilty about letting her go out alone on her search for her friend. He continually advised her with any names or addresses he knew related to Rageon.

His own problems he addressed one hurdle at a time. One song in three weeks. It could be done. It had often been done in less. He'd dug around in some of his unused stuff and found one suitable to work up.

As the afternoon grew late, he worried when she wasn't back at the time that had become normal for her. Whether it was instinct, dumb luck, or someone had told her, the last couple of afternoons she'd been back before the freeway traffic completely stalled with evening rush hour.

Hearing the front door slam, he raced into the hallway, but it was Seth. “Oh, it's you.”

“Hello to you too.”

“Shut up, shit head.” Reaching out, he ruffled the boy’s long layered hair. “Where's your dad?”

“Talking to your neighbor”

Gage rolled his eyes, thinking of the starlet Colt had been fascinated with since seeing her at her mailbox months ago.

“You been practicing?”

“Yeah. Dad's going to buy me that Gretsch I want for my birthday.”

“Cool. Bring it over when he does.”

“Bring what over?” Colt arrived on the scene.

While Gage worked with Seth, Colt isolated himself in the recording booth where he listened to what Gage had laid down so far. Dramatically ripping off his headphones, and bursting into the main room, he declared it crap.

With an aggravated sweep of his hands, Gage surged to his feet.

“Well, go on. Say what you
really
think.” He picked up a box, flipped up the lid, and selected a vape pen. Seth, likely realizing his own practice was over for the day, slipped from the room, and Gage felt a twinge of guilt.

Colt curled his bottom lip in disgust. “It sounds like you’ve taken shit we scrapped and mixed in new shit.”

Which was exactly what he’d done. But the end result wasn’t shit, although it still needed work. “I knew you’d be a douche. Let’s hear what the others have to say.”

“Let’s don’t. They’ll think you’re slipping. And you don’t need them to think that right now.
We
don’t need them to think that right now. Dammit, if you fuck this up for all of us, I’ll fuck you over.” Colt threw himself on the couch and kicked back.

“Try, it, motherfucker. Go ahead and try it now. Why wait?” He ceased loading the atomizer and backed the challenge with an icy stare.

But Colt’s attention had drifted. “One of your women escaped from the basement.”

At Colt’s words, Gage looked up, seeing Scar. Little did Colt know, that was a bad, bad joke at this time. He hadn’t mentioned it to Scarlette, but certain members of Rageon were known for their extreme fetishes. There were rumors of hush money settlements and borderline abduction incidents.

Sitting up straighter and ignoring the fermenting fury on Gage’s side of the table, Colt defended himself. “What? Not like you don't tie them up sometimes.”

Restraining himself from punching the other guy in the throat, he instead made the introductions. “Meet my sister, Scarlette.”

The moment the introduction registered and Colt realized she wasn’t a random chick wandering in, he immediately sprang to his feet.

“Scarla.” She held her hand out to Colt, and Gage watched the polite handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

Colt responded with a surprised but meaningful look toward Gage. When Gage refused to confirm his evident question, he leaned in to kiss her hand. “The pleasure’s all mine.” Right before his lips met the skin, he turned it palm side up.

Scarlette’s eyes fluttered a moment, and when she was slow to pull her hand back, Gage leaned in and invaded their space. “We ordered Indian takeout. It’s in the kitchen.”

“Sounds wonderful. I’m starved.” With a last look and smile at Colt, she exited the room, and Gage wondered if he was imagining the extra sway in her hips. Five angry clicks turned the pen on and a five-second ram of the button heated it.