Lost Lyric (Found in Oblivion Book 4)

by Cari Quinn

  Besides, Donovan always had pressing business with Lila. It wasn’t as if Denver and Ryan dating was a big deal. It was to them, but Donovan had probably seen and heard it all.

  Still, Ryan had expected some response from the man. Even if it was some dubious side-eye. Nothing.

  “Hey Molster,” Lo said, leaning forward toward Molly, who sat on the opposite side of the table, looking icily perfect in a pale blue dress and with her hair in a twisty knot thing on top of her head. “Is Ethan coming tonight?”

  Molly blinked at Lo. “How would I know?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, he just totally abandoned us at the Keith concert to play tonsil tune-up with you. Then when he returned, he said he had to go but he’d see me soon. Every time I text lately he’s MIA, so I’m thinking he’s avoiding my casual questions.”

  “Casual questions?” West repeated with a smirk. “You mean full-scale interrogation.”

  Molly reached for her water goblet. “I wouldn’t know his whereabouts.”

  “Sure about that? Y’all seemed awful cozy.”

  Molly’s blue eyes flashed. “Ask him if you want to know what happened.”

  “Oooh. Something did happen.” Lo rose and scampered around the table to sit in the free chair on the other side of Molly. “Want me to kill him? We’ve been friends forever. I know all his weak spots. He’s horribly ticklish, for one. And he hurt his knee during soccer in eleventh grade, so if you kick him just right in his left leg, you can take him down with hardly any pressure.”

  Molly’s lips twitched into a slight smile. “Why would you be on my side? Not saying there is a side.”

  “Hello, girl power.” Lo slid her arm through Molly’s and grinned. “We are the last line of defense between men and complete asshattery. We stand together or we all fall.”

  Michael leaned toward West across the table. “Dude, thinking you’ll be couching it tonight if you don’t put a stop to that.”

  “Nah, I’m good. She’s on the G-spot orgasm chapter of her book.” West winked and wiggled his fingers. “She needs my help.”

  Jules groaned. “Oh my God, is it time for the show to start yet? I’m dying here. Isn’t ‘Get Lucky’ first?”

  “Luc,” Molly corrected, still holding Lo’s arm. Maybe she was more nervous about the award than she was letting on, or else she intended to take Lo up on her offer of female solidarity. “The Grunge is performing first, and then Luc, and Lindsey York from Brooklyn Dawn, are presenting our award.” She sighed and tugged Lo that much closer. Lo snuggled in as if they were newfound best friends. “I mean Best New Artist.”

  “It’s ours. Gotta cement that shit in the Has Been Hall of Fame,” Mal said lazily, sticking his finger in one of the tiny stuffed mushrooms in the appetizer tray in the center of the table.

  Elle wrinkled her nose. “Uncouth.”

  “Big vocabulary from such a little girl. You been bench pressing with the dictionary, Little Ricki?”

  “Little Ricki could kick your ass,” Nick said from the other side of the table. Though he was smiling, it was about as friendly as a junkyard dog about to attack. He didn’t take kindly to anyone messing with his twin sister. “And I’d help.” Nick glanced at his wife. “You want a piece of this action too, Li?”

  Lila was Mal’s former stepmother. Lila had divorced Mal and Michael’s father some years ago, and Mal and Lila maintained a barely civil relationship. The civil part was entirely on Lila’s side. Mal seemed as if he couldn’t stand her.

  “I’m Switzerland,” Lila said with a thin smile. “I don’t get involved.”

  “Wish you’d said that two years ago before you came looking for me,” Mal muttered, jerking to his feet and lumbering off.

  Lila cleared her throat and reached for the appetizer tray. “Mushroom, anyone?”

  Molly narrowed her eyes. “What did he mean, you came looking for him? I thought Michael got him into the band.”

  Lila didn’t glance her way. She delicately speared a mushroom far away from Mal’s finger action and placed it on her plate. “You know Malachi,” she said airily. “Always spouting things that don’t make sense.”

  “So we’re first? God, these nerves are killing me,” Jules said, clearly oblivious to the tension gripping the table. And this latest wave didn’t have a thing to do with the awards.

  Ryan didn’t fully get what it did have to do with. Nor did he care, truthfully. He had his own problems to worry about.

  “I guess that’s good,” Jules continued, though no one had responded to her. “At least we’ll know right off the bat.” She fanned herself as if she was on the verge of passing out.

  Ryan glanced at his cell. Another ten minutes had passed while he’d tried to focus on what was going on with the band. His friends. His family.

  All of them but one essential piece.

  Still no incoming texts. He looked at the door. Still no Denver. And the longer he waited, pretending he was just hanging out with his friends, just riding the high from the buzz of excitement in the room, the more the niggle at the base of his spine increased.

  Denver hadn’t just decided to take a pre-show nap or raid the mini bar or who knows what. Something was up. He didn’t know if that involved her splitting on him or if she’d gotten suddenly sick or what, but he wasn’t going to figure it out by sitting there and checking and rechecking his phone.

  He’d just text her. Wait a few minutes if she didn’t reply, then text her again. She could’ve taken a quick nap to recharge. They’d had a long night…and a long morning. They’d been insatiable for each other. No matter how many times they were together, it was never enough.

  He hoped like hell it never would be.

  So maybe she’d decided to grab a few minutes to reboot. Hell, he was running on low himself. If not for show nerves and ring nerves and now Denver nerves, he probably would’ve been propped up in the corner, half unconscious.

  He sent Denver a quick text, letting her know it was almost time. That was it. No pressure. No “where the hell are you?” though he was sorely tempted.

  And waited. And waited some more.

  When it was obvious from the scurrying around onstage and nearby that the show was about to begin, Ryan sent one more follow-up text. He didn’t expect a response, and he didn’t get one.

  So he took the next logical step. He rose and strode over to Donovan, bending to the other man’s ear to ask a simple, important question.

  “Did you speak to Denver?”

  One of Donovan’s black eyebrows winged up. “When? This evening?”

  Ryan gripped his phone in one pocket and the ring box in the other. “Yes. This evening.”

  “No.”

  That single word was enough to set Ryan in motion. He’d made it a few steps past the table when West sprang to his feet and seized his arm. “Hey, dude, what’s going on? You’re going to miss the thing.”

  “Nah, I’ll be back in a few.”

  “Where are you going? Where’s Den? She wouldn’t miss this, would she?” West shoved his hands in his pockets.

  He was actually wearing a tux—at least the top half of one—with dark jeans. Progress came in all forms.

  “That’s where I’m headed to find out.”

  Ryan had taken another step when West snagged hold of him again. “You want help?”

  Ry had to smile and raise his voice to be heard. The Event Center was getting more crowded and noisier by the minute. “What, you think I’ll have to strong-arm her to get her down here?”

  “I don’t know. She’s been kind of tense lately. Is that…” West scratched the back of his spiky, growing-in hair, mussing it up even more. “Are you guys okay?” he asked in a low voice.

  Ryan clapped his best friend on the shoulder. It was nice to have the support, even if it didn’t do him a damn bit of good right now. “That’s what I’m on my way to find out. I’ll see you in a few.”

  “All right. If you need me, holler.” West smiled and held up h
is phone. “Or, you know, text.”

  “Thanks, brother. I’m good.”

  Or he would be, once he found Denver.

  He fucking hoped.

  Chapter Twenty

  Denver reared back, intending to slam the door in his face, but Marco calmly braced a hand on the wood, holding the door open. Smiling at her all the while.

  “You’re not going to want to do that, love.”

  Love. A word he never should have the right to utter.

  He’d used that word with her so many times. She’d accepted it, rejoiced in it even, and repeated it back to him. Fully believing that this was the man she would marry and have children with.

  Her fairy tale prince, come to sweep her away from a boring life of classes and schoolwork and staid family parties.

  Instead he’d become her nightmare. One that couldn’t be dispelled by a flick of the lights or a warm hug to chase away her bad dreams.

  “Marco.” Denver gripped the doorknob with every ounce of strength she had left.

  If she hadn’t been holding on to something, she might’ve gone weak at the knees. God, she hated that he still had that effect on her even after all these years. She’d hoped time and distance would’ve erased his hold on her psyche. The way he could instill fear in her with a single look.

  Yet here she was, a new woman in so many ways, and she was still on the verge of trembling. But this time, she would not break.

  “You look good, Casey. This reminds me of the old days. A little lower-end now, aren’t we?” He reached out to skim his fingers over the sleeve of her gown and she struggled not to react. His scent of whisky and fancy cologne singed her throat.

  But she kept her expression as composed as she could make it. Even a shudder would’ve pleased him. Anything to prove he still could influence her emotions. She’d be damned if she gave him that satisfaction.

  “The days are certainly different,” she said. “I don’t have much cause to dress up this way anymore.” Great. Give him hints about her life now. She wanted to saw off her tongue.

  Then again, the likelihood that he’d just stumbled upon her there in Vegas was slim. One of his old stomping grounds or not, he couldn’t be everywhere at once. Even his men didn’t have eyes and ears in every location. Too many for her comfort as it was.

  So that meant either she’d somehow come onto his radar or he’d been watching her in some fashion all this time. Probably both.

  “No, you don’t. Which is a shame. This lovely body was made for evening gowns and the finer things.” His dark gaze skated over her, lingering at her breasts and hips, and she tightened her grip on the knob. “He might be able to give them to you someday, but not now. Not like I could. And that little problem of his…” Marco sighed and shook his head. “You and I both know that a gambling habit is insidious. You start small, then get in deeper and deeper. You start risking the things that matter most, sometimes without even realizing it. Imagine, up for a prestigious award, and he reaches out to place a bet with the same bookies who helped make it easier for me to find you in the first place.”

  She couldn’t process what he was even saying. “What do you mean? He bet on the awards? Is that…I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

  “This is Vegas, all sorts of games of chance exist. All manner of risks and rewards.” He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “He risked you.”

  She fought not to bristle under the unwelcome touch. So much for hoping she’d somehow blipped onto his radar. He knew about her. About Ryan. God, he knew about them.

  All the times she’d told herself her worry was irrational, and here Marco was. Instead of feeling vindicated at her justifiable concern, she just felt violated. Again.

  Not only did he know about Ryan’s role in her life, he had information on Ryan and his gambling…whatever the hell it was. Interest? Hobby? She didn’t want to believe it was more. He’d told her it was just for fun, just something he did now and then, and she was trusting him.

  Too little too fucking late there. If she’d told him the full truth about Marco and his numerous mafia ties and gambling connections, maybe Ryan wouldn’t have treated his gambling so lightly.

  But that wasn’t important right now. Now she had to get herself out of this mess.

  Her only defense was to act cool until she could figure out how the hell to get Marco gone. The problem was, he rarely traveled alone. She was surprised he didn’t have one or two of his thugs lurking in the hallway. Of course, he might. Maybe he’d told them to stay farther back. To lull her into a sense of safety. As if he ever could.

  Not again.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice even. “You can’t believe I’d want to see you again.”

  He dropped his hand from her cheek. “Invite me in, Casey, and we’ll talk.”

  Her laugh surprised even her. “Not a chance. You’re lucky I’m even speaking to you at all.”

  “Oh, am I?” His smile turned cold. “I’d say you’re the lucky one. You’ve had a nice run these past five years.”

  “No thanks to you. So if you can’t reply in anything but riddles, I think this conversation is through.” Rather than try the door-slamming trick again, she darted forward, making it past him into the hall, only to trip on the hem of her dress.

  He snagged her arm, turning her smoothly and pressing her back into the wall beside the door. He was still smiling as he lowered his head to speak near her ear, though his hold on her arm was bruising.

  “You used to be faster. Or maybe you just like to be chased. To be caught. I remember that you enjoyed all manner of games.” He brushed his nose against her hair and the back of his thumb grazed the side of her breast. She struggled and he pressed her into the wall, his fingers sliding up her body to tighten around her neck.

  Icy sweat slicked over her back. She couldn’t show him her fear. He got off on that far too much. “I remember that you taught me most of them.”

  “I did.” His mouth curved, sickeningly. “You forgot to take the knot out of the pillowcase on the floor, by the way.”

  She shut her eyes. The idea that he knew—had even the slightest inkling—of what she and Ryan did in bed made her skin crawl. The worst part? He probably assumed he’d been the one to create the desire for bondage and kinky play in her. Not that she’d had it all along, buried deep. That somehow he had unlocked the treasure chest to what pleased her sexually, rather than just being the first man she’d tried those things with.

  “You’re going to want to let me go,” she said, opening her eyes. Making sure they stayed focused on his, no matter how much that same frightened part of her that had guided her actions for years shrieked at her to retreat. “Right now, we may look like we’re lovers because I’m not shoving you back—yet—and you’re pretending to kiss my hair while you try to make me feel ashamed. Newsflash. I’m not.”

  “You were never embarrassed about how you found pleasure. That’s one of the things that made you so refreshing.” He twirled a lock of her hair. “We look like lovers because we were. So much closer than that, weren’t we? We were going to be married. We were going to rule the world together. Me as your king, you as my queen.”

  She snorted. She couldn’t help it. Naive or not, she couldn’t believe she’d ever fallen for all that bullshit. Somehow he’d convinced her back then that most of his so-called enterprises were legal. That, yes, as time progressed he held more power over others, but that he was generous and benevolent. She’d seen evidence of his men’s trust and loyalty, and she’d been just young enough to believe that he’d earned it through methods other than brutality and intimidation.

  But she’d learned. Oh, had she learned.

  “Yeah, right, all while avoiding the cops. So sexy.” She tried to push him back, to gain some space to think, but he gripped her chin and forced her gaze back to his.

  “Prison orange isn’t my color. Neither is this green yours. Tell me, Casey, what do you have on beneath?
” He rubbed his thumb over her lips, and she pressed them together to bar him entry. “You used to favor skimpy lace. Is that still so?”

  “You’re never going to find out, so let’s end this charade here and get to what you want.”

  Slowly, threateningly, he licked his lips. “You.”

  “Not a chance in twenty lifetimes.” She shoved him back with both hands, forgetting for a moment that she wasn’t supposed to be making a scene. She was supposed to be biding her time, figuring out a plan, not responding from anger so he knee-jerk reacted and summoned his goons.

  But he didn’t take out his phone. Didn’t do anything but lean against the opposite wall, watching her with that predatory gleam in his gaze that had once seemed so exciting. Back then, she’d loved that he had made her the center of his world when he was so respected. Among his peers, he’d commanded so much even then, and he’d only been rising through the ranks. She couldn’t imagine all that he had in his purview now.

  The hallway was eerily silent. She kept expecting someone to walk through. Anyone. A bellhop, a guest. Maybe even someone headed to the awards show.

  Oh God, the awards. She was missing Ryan’s big night.

  She slid her gaze sideways. If she could just get back into the room and slam the door—

  “Don’t try it. You forget that you might be able to elude me. Donovan’s associates have been successful on keeping you away from me thus far. His reach is impressive. But your Ryan is a different story.” Marco cocked his head. “His bright red tie was so jaunty. Did you help him with the knot as you always did with mine?”

  A dry sob left her. There weren’t tears. She couldn’t cry. It was rage and frustration and pain, all balled up into one.

  She’d brought this to their door. He’d watched them, could be watching Ryan even now. That was his implication.

  Run, and you may escape. But Ryan doesn’t even know the threat he’s facing. Because of you. Because you refused to trust him with all of your past, not just pieces.

  “He has nothing to do with this. With us.” The words tasted sour on her tongue, but she would say anything if it took the glare off Ryan. “He’s just a guy I’m banging. You said it yourself. I’m a kinky little bitch.”