Jillian smacks a kiss on Leo’s lips. “Nope.”
He studies her face, looking for I’m not sure what, before he shrugs. “Fair enough.”
I breathe a sigh of relief.
One band ends and they take their bows before the lights turn off.
Layla nudges me. “Is Gene next?”
“Yeah.”
A few minutes later the lights go on. The stage has a big screen the bands can project images onto and do cool light shows while they play. This is one of the places music execs come to check out the indie scene so the bar has great production for their shows. Gene and his band have been trying to get a gig here for over a year, so this is a huge night for him, and I’m super excited for him.
I love the music scene. With all its vibrancy and life. There’s nothing quite like music. It can help you transform, grieve, laugh. It can make you instantly recall a forgotten memory or fall in love. If I could find a career in music, I’d actually be excited about a career. But that’s not meant to be.
I’m a good enough singer, better than most probably, but I do that for fun—it's my hobby—I don’t have the talent or the relentless drive to sing professionally. I’m okay with that. I made peace with that a long time ago, and I don’t love it the way I should to be really successful.
The screen flickers and the album cover I designed flickers on the screen. I smile at the image. It came out pretty good in the end. It was worth all the fussing I’d done. It looked great and most important, Gene and the guys had loved it.
I sense Chad watching me and I turn my face up to his. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He peers at me. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
“About what?”
He tilts his head. “About your stunning accomplishment sitting front and center for five hundred people to see?”
I laugh and wave a hand. “Don’t be silly. It’s not about me. It’s about the band.”
He blows out a breath and shakes his head then turns his attention to the group. “Did you guys know Ruby designed the cover?”
I flush, turning hot with embarrassment.
Layla’s expression widens. “Are you serious? Why didn’t you say anything?”
I shrug. “It was a favor. It hardly seemed worth the mention.”
I want to kill Chad but I don’t want to make a scene.
Layla turns back to the screen. “Some favor. It’s awesome.”
“It’s really good,” Jillian says, looking at it with a critical eye of the art dealer she’s becoming. “Do you do any digital art?”
I shake my head. “It’s not art. Sometimes I design covers or logos for bands I like since they don’t have a budget for anything.”
Layla lets out a little scream. “You did that for free?”
I roll my eyes at her. “Not everything has to be about capitalism, Layla.”
She waves a hand at Chad. “Would you please talk some sense into her?”
One brow raises and Chad turns his attention from me, to Layla. “Have you had this discussion before?”
Oh no.
Layla shrieks. “Yes! Although she’s been going behind my back on this stuff.”
“I am not,” I yell before throwing my hands in the air. “It’s no big deal. I did a favor for a friend. So what?”
Layla blows out a breath. “The big deal is you’re talented and you continue to let people take advantage of that talent.”
“I do not. Stop being dramatic.” I cross my arms over my chest and turn back to the stage. With gritted teeth I stare at the image, all my previous happiness about the results gone.
Chad grips my arm and looks down at me, a frown on his face. He turns to the rest of the group. “We’ll be back.”
Then he starts dragging me away. I glare at him. “What are you doing?”
He doesn’t speak, just continues to walk in the direction of the front door until we’re outside. He leads me down the sidewalk until we reach a spot that isn’t littered with people. I jerk my arm away and point in the direction of the bar. “I don’t want to miss him play.”
“We have time before it starts.” His expression isn’t contrite or apologetic, it’s angry. What does he have to be angry about? “You’re upset. We need to talk it out.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I don’t want to fight with him about something so trivial. I just want to forget it and go back inside and watch the band and have a good time.
He raises a brow. “Why are you upset?”
“You know why.”
“I want you to tell me anyway.”
I blow out a breath. “Can’t we have a good time? Why do you have to make this a thing?”
“We can have a good time after you tell me what upset you.”
I let out a short scream. “Why did you have to go and say something to them?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Because my girlfriend did something pretty fucking awesome and I want to brag about it.”
I shake my head. “Don’t put it that way.”
“How would you like me to put it?”
I put a hand on my chest. “Don’t make me the unreasonable one.”
“You are the unreasonable one.”
I huff and drag my hands through my hair. “I don’t get what the big deal is. So I made a stupid picture. So what?”
He raises his gaze to the sky as though he’s just too exasperated for words. “Right here is the big deal. Why do you do that, Ruby?”
“Do what?”
He looks down, pinches the bridge of his nose, and shakes his head. “You know what really pisses me off? I actually believe you have no idea what I’m talking about.”
“That’s because I don’t.” I blow out a breath. “Look I get that you and Layla care about me and that makes you want to be my cheerleader. I get it and I appreciate the support. But I promise you it’s not necessary. I don’t need a sticker that says good job. I don’t need a participation ribbon. I did the album because I thought it would be a fun, interesting challenge. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
He steps forward, and like lightning he grips my chin and jerks my head up to meet his gaze.
I blink. I’ve never seen him angry before.
“That’s what you don’t get, Ruby. I’m not saying it to pat you on the head like a good little girl.” He shakes me a little. “You’re so goddamn talented and you’re content to let it rot away because you’re too fucking scared to try.”
Defensive rage spikes in my blood, turning hot and jagged. “You saw one picture, Chad, don’t you think it’s a little premature to be talking about me like I’m some sort of genius. You don’t know anything about art or graphic design. Trust me, I’m nothing special. You’re making it into a huge deal and it’s not.”
He releases his hold on me. “Do you think I’m paying so little attention?”
I cross my arms protectively around myself. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Do you think I don’t notice what you’re working on when we’re sitting on the couch?” He narrows his gaze and leans forward. “Do you think I didn’t Google your name and see the other covers you’ve done. And those are only the ones you’ve gotten credit for, because I’m positive you didn’t insist your name be noted as the designer. I mean, why would you?”
He’s right. I never ask. It hardly seems important. I choose to focus on his violation. My hands clench into fists. “How dare you Google me.”
“I dare because I know how you are and you sure as hell wouldn’t show me. You’d blow me off and tell me it’s nothing. I got curious and I looked.”
“Well, so I did a few covers. Nobody cares about me, it’s about the band.”
“Sometimes I want to throttle you and your stubbornness.” He shakes his head and a muscle jumps in his jaw. “Let me ask you this. And if your answer is no, I will drop it. Deal?”
I’ve been with him long enough to sense a trap and the hairs on the bac
k of my neck raise. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch. Just a simple yes-or-no question.”
“Fine.” The word is a huff.
“Have you had people contact you because they’ve seen the work you’ve done for other bands?”
The implication sinks in and my gaze slides away. Besides Gene’s, the last three covers I did were because of other work. I shrug. “Yes.”
“So is it possible I might have a point?”
“Maybe, but so what?” I look at him, my heart beating fast. “I don’t understand why it matters.” Because I don’t. “What’s wrong with having a creative outlet? I like doing it. I want to do it.”
“Nothing is wrong with that.” He steps close and puts his arms around my waist and pulls me to him. “All I want is for you to glimpse your value and believe it’s worth something. I want you to see what I see. What Layla sees.”
I lean back. “And charging money will somehow prove that to you?”
“It’s not about that. Although you should be paid, because you put your whole fucking heart and soul into it, and deserve to be compensated for that effort.” He leans down and kisses me. “But acknowledging you did something pretty cool is a start.”
“I’ll try.”
“You do that.”
With that, he seems to relax, but a sense of foreboding creeps over me, leaving me cold.
Afraid.
Chad
I’m nursing a beer, watching Ruby talk to her friend Gene while trying to control the irrational possession beating away at me. I don’t like the way the guy’s looking at her, smiling at her. I thought he lingered too long when he hugged her. I though his gaze was a little too hungry.
Of course, I’m ninety-nine percent sure this is all made up in my head and even if it’s not, Ruby’s a big girl. She can handle herself. I’ve always rolled my eyes at jealous boyfriends, and I’m sure as hell not about to become one of them, even though that’s how I feel on the inside.
I’m too enlightened for that.
My mom raised me better. Girl power and all that.
Gene puts an arm around Ruby’s waist and hugs her again.
I grit my teeth and signal the bartender for another beer.
Someone taps me on the shoulder and I turn to find Layla looking up at me. She smiles. “Hey.”
“Hey.” At least I’ll have a distraction away from the guy talking to Ruby and how much I don’t like it. I don’t even understand the emotion. Except that it’s wrong. That it says something about me.
Jealousy is weakness. It’s a lack of confidence.
So that must mean I don’t feel confident about Ruby even though, in theory, she’s exactly where I want her.
Layla tilts her head to the side. “You know, I’ve been thinking.”
The bartender hands me the beer and I sit down on the empty stool to focus on Layla. “Oh yeah? That’s dangerous.”
“Indeed.” She sounds so much like Michael right then it can’t help but make me smile.
“And what have you been thinking about?” I take a sip and ignore the compulsion to find out what Ruby is up to.
“How life is funny. When we met on that blind date so long ago it was like I knew you, even though you were a stranger.”
I nod. It’s true. Even though it was pretty clear she was traumatized at the time, Layla and I had connected that night. Not sexually, but in that instant kinship kind of way. So much so that when I ran into her months after on a fluke it didn’t surprise me in the least. “It was like that.”
She waves a hand at Ruby. “Maybe she’s why.”
Given an excuse to drink her in I gaze at her, still talking to Gene, but now the other guys from the band are there too. It’s hard to remember back to when I first met her and didn’t give her more than a passing glance. It wasn’t that I hadn’t thought she was smart and interesting and pretty, but more that we came from different, incompatible universes. “Maybe.”
She clears her throat. “Did you tell her not to talk to me about you?”
I raise a brow. “Do I really seem like the kind of guy that would do that?”
In fact, I wish Ruby would talk to Layla and Jillian. In my experience women need other women to talk to, to help calm the noise in their head. That Ruby chooses to remain silent about her relationship with me is worrisome.
“No.” She shakes her head in the rhythm of the word. “But I don’t understand why she won’t talk to me. I’m her best friend. I have experience. I know her. Her fears. Her reservations. It has to be overwhelming, and I can help her with that, but she won’t open up.” She waves a hand in Michael’s direction. “But he insists I have to let her come to me.”
I’m not surprised Michael’s said this; he’s a very intuitive guy, almost scarily so. But the request didn’t come from me. I shrug. “You’ll have to listen to your fiancé, Layla. You know I can’t help you with that.”
A sly expression crosses over her features. The kind smart, submissive girls are prone to. “He said I couldn’t talk to Ruby, he didn’t say anything about you.”
I laugh. She’s found the loophole. “I wish I could help you, girl. But this is between Ruby and me. She’ll talk to you when she’s ready, but I’m not stopping her.”
“I know, but I want to make sure she’s okay, you know?”
“I know.”
“At least I can rest assure that you’re a good guy who will finally treat her the way she deserves.”
“I do my very best.”
“I know you do. I’ve never seen her so happy.”
“I’m glad.” And I am, my main priority is keeping Ruby happy.
Layla fingers the silver necklace she wears, a tiny lock around her throat signaling to anyone who knows about that kind of thing, that she’s owned and spoken for. In our crowd it speaks as loudly as the ring on her finger.
I wonder if I’ll ever put something like that around Ruby’s neck.
And just like that it hits me like a two by four.
Why I’m jealous and possessive. Because there’s a part of me that feels like she’s not really mine. For weeks I’ve been telling myself I’m cool with the way things are between us. Because everything is so, so good. And it’s true, in theory, I’ve been taking exactly what I want from her almost from the very beginning. I’ve been slow and careful and methodical. I make sure she craves everything I do to her, and god does she respond, but it’s not settled.
I want more.
I don’t want to ignore the elephant in the room.
And while I don’t need a bunch of rules the way other dominant types might, I do need acknowledgment that I control her. That I’m the one running the show.
Like Layla, I want Ruby to finger the necklace at her throat and know it’s there because of me. That she wears it because she chose to belong to me.
I need her acceptance. Her submission. Not by default, as it is now, but because she gave it to me of her own free will. Because it’s what she wants and needs as much as I do.
I haven’t pushed her, or forced her to talk about it, telling myself it was because she wasn’t ready.
But that’s bullshit.
I’ve been lying to myself. I haven’t pushed because I’m afraid. Afraid all the time I’ve spent showing her how submissive she is, and how good it makes her feel, won’t matter. That I’ll lose her because of this.
She’s ready; it’s straining at the seams to get out, even if she doesn’t see it that way. I’ve known since I touched her for the first time the confrontation wouldn’t be easy. And at the start, I’d been right not to force it. But we’re past that now.
It’s me—and my fear—that’s standing in the way.
That’s not a good reason.
I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t exist. That it’s not important to me.
Because it is.
She needs to understand that. If she can’t, if she won’t accept it, then I can’t let either one of us go deeper.
<
br /> I can’t ignore it any longer. Good dominants don’t let things slide. It’s their responsibility to push. To help their submissive grow and become everything she’s meant to be. And I can’t do that if Ruby doesn’t give me that power over her.
If she doesn’t get down on her knees and officially turn it over to me.
I turn back to look at her. My stubborn rocker princess.
Deep in my gut I know the truth. As I’ve known it all along. I’m in love with a girl that only wants a part of me, and as much as I don’t want it to matter, it fucking does.
Ruby
Something is wrong.
We’re back at Chad’s, but he hasn’t attacked me the way he normally does. Hasn’t tried to consume me, or driven me crazy, or sexually tortured me. Instead, he’s watched me. Intently and with purpose. As though he’s waiting for something, only I don’t know what it is.
On the ride back home he hadn’t teased me at all. He hadn’t touched me. He’d been silent.
I’m not used to his silence.
I’m afraid to ask what’s wrong.
I’d removed the plug—such exquisite torment at the beginning of the night, now forgotten. I’m in the bathroom not sure I want to face whatever is waiting for me. Earlier, I’d thought all I’d had to be nervous about was Chad’s big cock in my ass, but I know now I’m not going to get that lucky.
I’m wearing a black tank top and my batman panties and I want to put something else on but all my clothes are in the bedroom. I bite my lip. It’s time to stop stalling.
I take a deep breath and go meet my fate.
When I open the bathroom door, he’s waiting for me, as I suspected he would be.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, fingers laced, and that’s not happiness on his face.
Unable to stand it a second longer, I clear my throat. “Are you still mad about before?”
He shakes his head. “No. That’s not it, but we need to talk.”
Panic rushes through me, turning my stomach, and making me sick. Oh my god, he’s breaking up with me. Here I’ve been falling in love with him and he’s breaking up with me.
Debauched (Undone Book 3) Page 19