by Cari Quinn
The woman looked up, her face aghast in the faint light, and Elle swallowed a moan of pure despair. Not a pink sweater. Blue. Under a jacket.
God, she’d zeroed in on the wrong woman. Maybe not for the first time.
Elle held her palms out in apology and backed up, shutting her eyes as the frightened woman roared out of the space. Gravel pelted her thighs above the boots, and she fought a hot rush of ashamed tears.
She couldn’t cry. Not about this. She’d given her mother enough tears for one lifetime. If the woman she’d seen had even been her, and how would she ever know now?
Her chance to find her was gone.
The sound of someone whistling made her jerk her head. She opened her eyes and frowned at the guy leaning on a muscle car directly in front of her. “Hey, beautiful. Sorry she wasn’t who you were looking for.” He pulled a smoke out of a package with his teeth, watching her in that predatory way that made her back stiffen. “Or maybe you’re looking for something else.”
That. That was why she’d braced. Not because he was hitting on her. Oh, he was, but he wanted something more than what was under her tight skirt.
He wanted her money in exchange for whatever pretty baggie he’d produce from his hot little car.
She knew the type. And she knew she had to walk away—now.
Even as she did, he followed, his heavy footsteps echoing on the concrete. Her skin buzzed and she shook off the sensation. The club was so close. She could make it.
Sure, run inside, little girl. Hide behind Mal. Pretend you didn’t almost crumble and take what he was offering, no matter the price.
“Aww, don’t be like that. Don’t run away. Did I scare you? I only wanted to talk. Get to know you a little bit.” The guy’s hand clamped on her upper arm and she spun around, her fist coming up. He caught it and his teeth gleamed around his cigarette, the wolf zeroing in on who he assumed was his innocent little Red Riding Hood.
“Sure you do.”
He spat out the cig and crushed it under his boot though he’d barely taken a drag. “Look what I have here.” He lifted his other hand and opened his fingers to show her the small bag of glistening snow. “Cut you a deal. Half price.” He leered at her chest, barely contained by the stupid cami. “Maybe even free, depending.”
She jerked up her knee and nailed him solidly in the groin. He let out a groan on his way down, but she didn’t leave well enough alone.
Of course not.
She grabbed the fucking baggie and she ran. Not toward the club. Not toward Mal and her brother and her band.
Safety.
And their questions, and their probing looks, and the reality that she’d failed again by being weak enough to go chasing after ghosts one more time.
On this night of all nights, she hadn’t been able to leave well enough alone.
What was she supposed to do now? Just stuff it all back into a box and pretend she wasn’t bleeding?
She couldn’t do it.
Without thinking, she raced for the gates that led out of the parking lot. She flagged down the first Uber she saw, hopping in and thanking God for the fifty she habitually tucked into her boot. It was an old holdover from her druggie days, back when she’d never been sure when she might desperately need a score.
Now she needed something else, she just didn’t know what yet.
“Where are you headed?”
Elle shut her eyes and gripped the baggie she didn’t want and didn’t dare throw away. Not yet. “Please, just take me anywhere away from here.”
Four
Christ, answer Jules already, dickhead.
“Yeah, we’re doing okay.” Mal rubbed his hand over his head and wished he’d hung on to his own shirt to mop up with.
He’d lost the shirt early on, tossing it to a crying girl who’d been on the verge of throwing herself against the protective barrier Lord Lewis’s security people had erected in front of the stage. Their setup was more rigid than most of the bands that performed there, for obvious reasons.
One thing Mal couldn’t dispute Lord Lewis was absolutely right about. Especially when he was staring into the pained brown eyes of the woman left behind due to a security lapse on yet another stage, yet another night.
“How are you?” Mal let his gaze drop to her belly before looking away. Babies seriously freaked him out. “Kid looks…big.”
Jules laughed faintly, cupping her belly. “Almost fully cooked.”
“Everything right on schedule?”
“Seems to be.” Jules cleared her throat. “I wanted to speak to Elle for a minute.”
“She’s around somewhere.” He gestured vaguely behind him. “Not sure where she got off to.”
“No, I imagine not, since she ran out of here like her ass was on fire. Hope she’s all right. It’s a difficult night.” Jules tilted her head, scrutinizing his face far too closely for his liking. “Though you seem just fine.”
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
“Can’t they just.” Jules stroked her stomach. “Look, if you see Elle, have her text me, would you?”
Something about her tone rankled, and he didn’t know why. If he’d been anyone else, he would’ve been walking on eggshells with her. She was dealing with a lot and tonight was difficult, as she’d said. “I’ll deliver that message, if you don’t intend to upset her. I want her to spend tonight in peace.”
Jules laughed again, sounding far less friendly. “God forbid she be upset.”
He crossed his arms and waited. If it meant protecting Ricki, he’d play the asshole.
It was his most natural role anyway.
Jules let out a long sigh. “No, that wasn’t my plan. I just wanted to speak to her. But you know what, never mind. We’ll talk when we talk.”
Mal swore under his breath. “Look, I didn’t mean—”
She walked away and left him talking to himself.
Christ, he sucked at dealing with women. People in general, but women specifically. Add in a traumatic event and he was better off not saying anything at all.
Ricki never had that problem. She always seemed to know what to say or do when someone was hurting. She’d make a fantastic mother someday, unlike his own shitstorm of a maternal figure.
And that was enough of that line of thoughts, thank you very much.
“Hey, have you seen Ricki?”
Mal closed his eyes at Nick’s voice. Clearly, he was not going to get a break. “Why are you asking me? Wasn’t she beside you?”
“She was, but she took off. Something about the bathroom.”
Mal frowned. “Is she sick?”
“Hell if I know.” Nick pushed a hand through his already spiky hair. “She seemed fine when we were playing and then she just blew out of here. Thought you might know what was up, since you’re supposed to be her fucking fiancé and all.” The way Nick said the word fiancé, it might as well have been a fungus.
“She’s allowed to take bathroom breaks. I don’t guard her twenty-four/seven. Speaking of wives, where’s yours?”
“She’s talking to Jules. Handling shit like she always does.” Nick shifted his guitar to his back. Mal had seen him arguing with a tech out of the corner of his eye, refusing to give up his instrument to be shelved with the others.
That was Nick. Round peg in all the square holes.
Just like you, jackass.
Funny they weren’t better friends, considering all they had in common. Or friends period. Of course, Nick trusted him not at all.
Oh, he claimed to. But it was pretty obvious Nick was just waiting for the day Mal fucked up and broke his sister’s heart.
Since Mal guarded Ricki the same damn way, he couldn’t fault the guy. But that didn’t mean he had to stand there and accept Nick’s dirty looks as he subtly communicated his opinion of why Ricki had split.
Mal had done something. Somehow.
Nick backed up and was about to turn away when Mal grabbed his soon-to-be brother-in-law’s arm. “Wait.”
“Hands off, Terminator.”
Mal cursed and let Nick go. “Look, you didn’t see anything happen? Nothing weird? You know her better than anyone.” At Nick’s narrowed eyes, Mal rubbed his still-sweaty head. Fuck, he needed a shower. “Don’t give me that look. You shared a womb with her, for fuck’s sake.”
“If you don’t know her, you shouldn’t be marrying her.”
“Did I say I didn’t know her? I said you know her better than—you know what? Never mind. Go fuck yourself.”
“Boys.” Lila glided up between them and laid a hand on her snarling husband’s chest. “What bone are you two tussling over now? Let me guess. Our fair Elle.”
“Ricki took off and he’s trying to pin it on me.”
“Listen, jackass, I’m not pinning anything. She’s allowed to go for a damn walk. I just asked if you knew something, but I’ll find her myself. Thanks for nothing, asshole.”
Mal headed out of the backstage area and aimed straight for the dressing room. Sharp heels clicked behind him and he gritted his teeth as Lila stepped in front of him and held up a hand.
“Forgive my husband. He probably wouldn’t trust God himself with his sister. He barely trusts me.”
Mal cocked a brow. “You double-dipping the Crandall twins and I missed it?”
Lila didn’t crack a smile. “I’m her boss for all intents and purposes. As I’m yours. Not that it matters to you.”
“You’re also Nick’s. Don’t see that holding much sway.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.”
“Spare me the kinky boss and assistant fantasies. I got shit to do.”
“You’re worried about her.”
Mal said nothing, just locked his jaw and stared at the wall of torn leaflets and old concert posters from days gone by. Theirs would be up on that wall after tonight. Just high enough for random hands to stretch up to rip it apart.
“He is too, you know. He growls the most when he’s scared. You’re alike that way.”
“I’m not fucking scared. She’s allowed to take some time for herself. I’m not her keeper.”
“Of course, she is. But we both know it’s not like her to run off after a show this important. Something made her miss this time backstage with the people she loves—with you—and it probably wasn’t bad shellfish.”
“She’s not knocked up either. Just so you know.”
“Thanks for the bulletin. People do throw up for reasons not associated with pregnancy,” Lila said drily.
“Not with this crew. Isn’t even safe to drink the damn water around here.”
“And yet you bravely forge on without becoming abstinent. How noble of you.” Lila shook her head. “Do you want me to text her? Casually.”
He snorted. “You, casual?”
“You’d be surprised at what I can pull off.” She pulled out her phone but he covered the screen with his hand.
“No. Don’t. I don’t want her to think I sicced you on her this fast.”
Lila’s forehead furrowed. “She’s my sister-in-law, in case you’ve forgotten. The closest thing I’ll ever have to a sister. I love her. And not because she’s my investment.”
He nearly groaned at the obvious hurt in Lila’s expression. Christ, he needed to get away from other human beings before he razed every relationship he had. Most of them were tenuous in the first place.
“I know that. It’s just everything is so delicately balanced and fuck all if I know what to do ninety-nine percent of the time.”
“You’ve been together six months,” Lila said gently, peeling his fingers off her phone when they locked in place. “We all saw how you were with each other tonight. Seems to me you’re doing just fine. Give yourself a little credit.”
“I just don’t want her to think I don’t trust her. Jesus.” Mal gripped the back of his neck. “It’s hard fucking work loving someone.”
“It is. It’s also the best gift you can give yourself, never mind someone else. Caring is scary. As is standing back to give someone the space to do what they need to, whatever that looks like.” Lila smiled. “Or maybe she just had cramps.”
He laughed. Could do nothing else.
“Thanks.”
She nodded and squeezed his forearm. “You know where I am if you need me. But my money’s on you.”
He searched for his voice as she walked away. “Li.”
She stopped, but she didn’t look back.
“You did that for me. You gave me the space to figure out how to accept you.” He wet his dust-dry lips. “Had to have been hard.”
“Wasn’t a picnic. We’re working on a decade now, aren’t we?”
He laughed again and shook his head. “Thank you. For not giving up.”
She shifted and caught his gaze as she swallowed hard, her eyes glittering. “You can bet your ass I never will.”
After she walked away, he went to the locker he’d snagged earlier to retrieve his bag, then detoured into the tiny, ancient shower off the dressing room. He suspected it had been put there as much for performers to sober up before getting on the stage as for cleaning purposes. There was also a layer of grime three inches thick on the tiles, but it would do.
Too bad the Blue Rhino’s recent renovation hadn’t included this particular area, but water was water. Cold and sharp enough to beat the demons out of his head.
Okay, not that cold, but better than nothing.
His phone still hadn’t buzzed by the time he’d soaped and rinsed and dressed in clean clothes. Not that he’d called her yet. She knew he’d be waiting on her. Saying it felt anticlimactic.
And fuck, he was scared shitless to call her number and get voicemail.
But maybe she needed the words. He could give her that much.
He’d give her everything.
Instead of calling her in the dressing room—where he’d have to talk to his bandmates if any of them stopped celebrating backstage long enough to change—he headed out, veering down darkened hallways just in case she’d needed a minute or twenty alone. He checked the women’s rooms, ignoring the indignant shrieks from other club guests, and wandered through the place from top to bottom twice. A few lingering fans tried to talk to him, but his glower shut them down.
Maybe that made him a dick, but now wasn’t the time.
When he was sure she wasn’t on the property, he went back to retrieve her stuff from their joint locker and headed for a side exit shrouded in red from a gleaming Exit sign. Even that felt ominous.
They were a long way from the end. Even if his call went straight to voicemail and icy fingers scraped his spine as he stared out into the shadowy parking lot.
She’d left. He didn’t know how he was so certain, but he knew she wasn’t physically on the property any longer. Whether she’d run from something or to something else, he didn’t know. Whatever it was, it didn’t have dick to do with him.
He pushed open the door and stepped out into the muggy night.
Now what?
Five
Elle got out of the Uber at the old Fluff ’n Fold laundromat in Carson and passed a wad of bills to the driver with a mumbled thanks. The driver had asked her twice if she really wanted to get out here.
It was a reasonable question.
The building wasn’t in the best shape. It had passed hands a few times and lived through several incarnations, becoming different businesses over the years. But the spirit of the laundromat where Oblivion had first practiced as a band after-hours seemed to linger, as did the old ghosts in their basement apartment.
Where she was headed, bobby pin that had been clipped around her money in hand.
Another holdover from her past, except not the drug-fueled part of it. Her darling brother had actually been the one who’d taught her how to break into places with bobby pins and credit cards and occasionally, burglar’s tools. He was like a larcenist cat, always sneaking in and creeping places. Elle hadn’t shared his views on breaking and entering, but that this building was no
w owned by Nicky’s best friend, Simon, allayed some of her concerns.
What was a little B & E among family? And Simon was the closest thing to it, without sharing a bloodline.
Except recalling what Nicky had shown her a long time ago wasn’t as easy when she was unsteady on her boot heels and squinting in the dark. She belatedly turned on the light on her phone, then darted a glance around, hoping no one had spotted her. Not that anyone would probably say much in this neighborhood. Transients and drug dealers and all kinds of dangerous types made this particular area their home.
So you figured you’d come chill here with your baggie of stolen blow? Smart, Crandall, real smart.
Sweat dripped into her eyes as she struggled to angle the light where it needed to go and shifted the pin in the lock. It took finesse. A certain capable touch she so did not have. She tried multiple times, swearing under her breath, biting her lips raw, her fingers going numb. Until she heard the sweet tumblers click into place and the door swung inward.
She grinned. See, Nicky, you’re not the only break-in artist in the family.
A dubious honor to be sure, but hey, she’d take it.
She stepped inside the dark, dank basement apartment and sucked in a breath ripe with the scents of sweat and pot and mold. A yummy combination. Simon was not doing his due diligence in keeping this place up. From the looks of things, it was being used as a squatter’s playground.
There were bowls with crushed cigarettes all over the place. Empties littered the floor, and springs popped out of cushions that hadn’t been in great repair even when her brother and his bandmates had lived there. The place had always been on just the other side of squalor. Now it wasn’t even that.
So why had Simon even bought it, if he was just going to let it waste away?
Not her problem.
This also wasn’t her place, but it meant something to Nicky. Back when he and Li had broken up in the early days of their relationship, he’d brought Elle there to practice playing as a way to avoid all the shit that sucked her in so easily. Namely pot and blow and even occasionally horse. The last she didn’t like to admit, even to herself.