My dress shoes pause at the edge of the stage.
“Ah,” I breathe as the rest of the band joins in with me and Cope. “But misery loves company. You seek to breed the same disease you caught on your own. And during your judgment day, you'll see how your heart is weak and your confidence blown. Ask me to forgive your sins. Beg to forgive your mistakes.”
Ransom joins his words to mine, his liquid black voice filling in all the shadows cast by the light, bright notes coming from my own lips.
“Hell, I know you're bleeding, dead. That all the monsters you fight are locked inside your head.” I point a finger at my skull and pretend to pull a trigger.
Ransom trails off, leaving me alone, my voice carrying above all the instruments.
“Trapped inside your own walls, keeping you from seeing the sun. You just wanna grab me and drag me down. You just want to wreck me all on your own.” I drag my fingers down my face and then shove sweaty blonde hair off my forehead. I wonder what my parents are thinking now, after having kicked their only flesh and blood out in front of their closest friends. I hope they're fucking wrecked. Dreary bastards. “I can't believe you're that dumb. You've never wanted to work this hard.”
My mates rock out behind me again, making the walls quiver as I lean my head back and let out a wild scream. I bloody love this part, the screaming. What other industry would pay a bloke like me to shout at the top of his lungs?
“Hell, I know you're bleeding, dead. That all the monsters you fight are locked inside your head,” Ransom sings as I round out my scream and then tear my tie over my head. I throw that out to the crowd and then raise one arm up, using the other to keep the mic at my lips. Sweat drips down my body, soaks into my shirt and pants. It's hot as fucking hell in here, but the atmosphere, that's electrifying.
“You're coming down on me, spreading wings of poison. You try to wrap me up in one, but oh, I've seen the sun.” I point at my chest with my free hand. “I have seen the sun, Mum.”
I laugh and drop the mic, snatching it by the cord and swinging it in a circle as Michael, Muse and Ransom step up to the front of the stage and prop their feet up on the speakers, tearing through the crowd with violent sound.
“So now I wave goodbye,” I croon, lifting the mic up by the cord and singing into it as it swings. “Now I say goodbye. Enjoy your misery and the memory of me, walking away and letting you die.”
I swing the mic back up and into my other hand as the guys round out the last notes of the song.
Seems like harsh words to sing to one's mother, but what can I say? She didn't exactly impress me at dinner the other day. That was her chance, her one chance and she blew it. Least I managed to grab the ring.
The ring …
I just acted on impulse in front of my parents, didn't think much about it.
I'm still not sure what I really meant, but I suppose it doesn't matter right now. That bit, we can worry about later.
The song ends and I take a bow, removing my cuff links and shrugging out of my jacket.
“We've got a few more songs for you,” I tell the crowd, catching Ran's eyes as he moves back to his spot behind and to the right of me. “Just a couple more little tunes to light up the night.”
We break eye contact and I turn back to my audience, getting ready to fire them up and get myself pumped for a night of partying. There's no last call in Tokyo, so we're planning on burning the midnight oil before yet another long ass fucking flight, this one to Auckland in New Zealand. One more stepping stone on our way back to the States.
I'll probably sleep for a week when we get there.
And then I'll figure out if Lilith really does want to marry me.
There's this show in Tokyo that features bikini clad chicks dancing while robots and dinosaurs fight shit out next to them. There are lasers and lights and a lot of fucking neon colors. I feel like my head's going to explode by the time I get out of there, sweating and shaking and wondering what the hell just happened to me.
“What …” I ask as I scratch at my scalp in confusion. “What the shit was that? Were there people inside those costumes or were those, like, actual robots?”
“I have no idea,” Lilith says, but she looks like she's having a damn good time. That's all that matters, right? “If there was a storyline, I couldn't follow it, but it was pretty fucking amazing. I'd never have seen anything like that back in the States, not even in New York City.”
We walk down narrow streets crowded with colorful signs that I can't read for shit. It's a rainbow of lights and images, clubs and restaurants and shops rising up above us. It's not like anything I'ver seen before, that's for sure. Usually in the US, all the public places are on the ground level and there's nothing but residences or offices up above. Not here.
“I'm …” Octavia starts and then pauses. I glance over at her, at her unbound brunette hair and heavy makeup. It's the first time I've ever seen her looking like this, like a person instead of just a worker bee for the label. I'd almost forgotten she was with us she's so quiet.
Pax scowls at her, but he doesn't say anything. I think he's given up on the idea of firing her. I have to admit, the way Lilith handled the situation with Octavia surprised the shit out of me. It's that forgiveness thing again, I think. Sounds a little arrogant, but I imagine it has at least something to do with what I said to her in the jewelry store. She took my advice to heart and ran with it.
And now she wants me to do the same with Tim.
“I'm glad you asked me to come out with you tonight,” Octavia hazards as Lilith hooks their elbows and marches her down the narrow, crowded streets like she knows where she's going. She has no clue. None of us does. I think we're headed for some sushi restaurant that's open until five thirty in the morning.
Muse pauses next to a vending machine that sells beer and sake, and just stares at it. Then he puts some money in and comes up with a drink. According to him—and he is the trivia master—street drinking is legal here.
“Fuck, that was easy,” he says and then opens the top on a green and white can. The only words I can read on it are Strong Zero. He passes it around the group and everyone but Octavia takes a few sips. It's actually really goddamn good. I think it's grape flavored? But I have no fucking clue. I'm already a little buzzed from the drinks we had at the Robot Restaurant. And yeah, that's literally what it's called: Robot Restaurant.
“How long until we have to be at the airport?” Lilith asks Octavia, the skirts of their dresses swishing together as they walk.
“Four hours,” she says, and I watch as my new girlfriend's lips turn up into a smile.
“That's plenty of time to get into trouble,” she says as I step up beside her and take her other arm, thrilling at the feel of our bare skin brushing together. Best decision I ever made in my life was to join this crazy train and start dating my friends' girlfriend. It's still a little weird, but I'm getting used to it. Hell, if those other idiots want to have sex with each other, that just leaves more time for me to be with Lilith, right? “Hey Pax,” she asks randomly, as we pass by a group of girls wearing maid costumes. I raise my eyebrows, but fuck, who am I to judge? “How come your parents haven't taken their jet back yet?”
He shrugs his shoulders, his dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, flashing some of the tattoos on his midsection as he walks. I catch sight of the new one, right above his heart and feel my own itching between my shoulder blades in response.
“I have no fucking clue. Maybe because they lent it to the label and don't want to look like the selfish gits that they really are?”
“It would be extremely unprofessional for them to try and change our plans. We'd have to come up with alternate transportation; we'd probably miss our next show.” Octavia responds just like you'd expect a manager to. Fuck, she needs to have a few more drinks and loosen up. Maybe she needs to get laid? When we get back to Seattle, I'm setting her up with one of my friends. Shit, maybe I should set her up with Tim?
&nb
sp; Because I know that no matter how much I hate him right now, I don't have the heart to cut him out completely. Well, unless he marries Vanessa or some shit. I can't even imagine having to deal with that bitch for the rest of my life—not even as in-law. How did I ever think I could marry her myself? Have kids with her? I probably would've put a bullet in my brain.
Vanessa and I were not meant to be together.
“Here it is!” Lilith says, excited that she's somehow managed to find the restaurant in this crazy city. I wouldn't be surprised if we fell down a rabbit hole and ended up back in Seattle. I can barely tell which direction is up with all these flashing signs everywhere. It's like Times Square on crack.
We follow Ran, Cope, Muse and Pax into the restaurant, but I don't let go of Lilith's arm, not even when we take our seats and try to figure out how to order without speaking a lick of Japanese. Mostly we just point at shit.
But me … I'm focused less on the crowded restaurant and the heavenly smell of food, the chatter of late-night patrons, the wild nightlife outside the doors, and more on Lilith. Mostly on Lilith. All on Lilith, actually.
She told me she loved me and I said fuck.
Who does that?
How awful is that?
I need to fix that situation and quick.
But not here, not with Octavia, not even with the other guys around. I swear, Muse waited purposefully for us to show back up in the hotel room to announce his feelings.
That's not my style at all. No, I think I'll wait until we get a moment alone—even if I have to wait until we get all the way back to Seattle to do it.
This is it, I think as I stand up and head for the door of the Blackwell's jet. I made it.
I grab the bag with my digital drawing pad, my sketchpad, and my pencils and head for the steps, moving out into the grey light of a Seattle morning. For the past week, I've been craving this, a chance to try out everyday and normal with these boys. As much as I loved the Bat Cave, the museums, and the fighting robot shows … I was ready to get back to this.
What do you think, Dad? I ask as I pause on the cement and stare at the waiting cab while Michael and Muse talk with Octavia. It seems like we should have an escort home or something, but … the bodyguards that have silently tailed us for most of our journey are leaving.
“We don't need them when we're here,” Cope says as he watches a woman and a man chatting a dozen or so feet away from us. “We're not that popular.” He smiles at me. “Not yet anyway.”
“You'll get there,” I say, although I'm not sure how popular they really want to be. I think they like where they are, worshipped onstage but mostly invisible when they're off. Mostly. I can think of at least one encounter with fans in public in each of the last few cities we visited: Auckland, New Zealand; Sydney and Perth, Australia; Johannesburg, South Africa; and Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Even listing them in my mind makes me feel dizzy.
When Ransom said they'd be sleeping all day, everyday by the end … he was right.
Sort of.
I guess the boys aren't quite used to having their own personal groupie to follow them from city to city, so some of that sleeping … was broken up with a little sex. Okay, a lot of sex.
Still, I made sure I hit at least one major attraction in each place—and I didn't miss a single show.
“You guys ready?” Michael asks, coming up to stand beside me and Cope. He has dark circles under his eyes, something he shares with the rest of his bandmates. Even standing here now, he looks like he's about to pass out. “I'm ready to go home and crash.”
“You all want to spend the night at my place?” Ransom asks, buried inside his hood. “I think I have the biggest bedroom.”
“Whatever works,” Michael says, his yawn infectious enough to drag one out of me, too.
“Keep your phones, and I'll see you next week!” Octavia calls out to us as the driver loads our bags into the van, and we climb inside, collapsing into the seats like our bones are made of jelly. I know if I'm this tired, the guys are probably three times as fucking exhausted. And still, they always put on a good show. You'd never know they were near collapse if you were watching from the crowd.
The van door slides closed and I watch out the window at a semi-familiar looking landscape. I mean, obviously I've never been to Seattle before but compared to the cobblestone streets of Edinburgh, Scotland or the crowded night scene in Tokyo, this is pretty normal.
I don't actually realize I've fallen asleep until Ransom is lifting me up in his arms and hauling me out of the van like I don't weigh anything at all.
“Welcome home, beautiful,” he whispers in his winter-dark voice, carrying me up a short stone walkway and inside the promised purple house. Immediately, I snap to like I've been splashed with cold water, wiggling out of his arms to stand in the center of his living room.
I'm so excited I can barely hear anything above the beating of my heart.
This is Ransom's house. His house. He fucking lives here.
Even though he's been gone for over a month—it's been about thirty-five days since I joined the tour—the whole place still smells like violets.
One wall is a dark eggplant color while the others are in shades of soft champagne. There's a silky brown couch with satiny stripes, a sea of pillows with totally random designs on them (right away I spot the one with the Jolly Roger on it), and a black leather recliner
The room is soft, sumptuous, and inviting. In fact, if it's at all possible to decorate a room the way someone's voice sounds, then that's what he's done here.
“This is a little surreal,” I say as I walk around and Ransom follows me, hands tucked into his pockets, the hood on his sleeveless sweater sitting on his shoulders instead of his head. He feels comfortable here, obviously. I mean, it is his house.
“What do you think, honey?” he asks, and I can tell he actually cares about my opinion.
“It looks like you,” I tell him, watching the scar pull at his lips as he smiles.
“I should probably go home and see my mom,” Cope is saying when Ransom takes me by the hand and shows me to his bedroom. It's a tiny room, mostly consumed by the bed and a pair of black nightstands on either side. The spindles on their legs remind me of the Bat Cave and I realize then that no matter where I end up living, I'm going to try to recreate that room. Silver and grey striped walls, black headboard, a lamp with a red shade. That's where I'll feel most comfortable, in that den of sin that unknowingly gave me my salvation. “But I don't know if I can move.”
“Hey, look at this,” Paxton says, digging through one of Ran's nightstand drawers. He lifts up a pair of leather handcuffs and shakes them around by their chain. “I told you he had this shite all over his bedroom.”
“Stop going through my stuff, you dick,” Ransom says, but his eyes are heavy and half-lidded, total bedroom gaze right there. He doesn't sound at all pissed off about it.
“Visit your mom tomorrow,” Muse is saying, using the mirror over the single black dresser to remove his contacts. There's barely enough room between the end of the bed and the piece of furniture to get the drawers open. That, too, reminds me of the Bat Cave, and I smile.
“I think I'm gonna have to,” Cope says, making me wonder about the boys' cars. They probably all have one, right? I move over to the curtains and peek outside at the driveway, noticing what looks like a brand-new black Jeep Wrangler.
“Is that yours?” I ask as Ransom comes up behind me and curls his arms around my waist, resting his chin on top of my head. I lean into his warmth, into the hard planes of his body, and close my eyes.
I knew I'd feel at home here because of the guys, but holy shit … Ransom is holding me protectively, possessively, like he's really getting off on having me in his bedroom. I can't blame him; I feel the same way.
“Yep,” he says as I drop the curtains and just revel in his smell, in his body heat, in the strength of his tattooed arms holding me close.
“Where are the rest of your cars?”
“At home,” Michael says, and I can hear the distinct sound of clothing being shed behind me, the intimate sound of covers rustling.
“What do you all drive?”
“Muse has got this hideous little hybrid piece of shit,” Pax answers, making Derek laugh.
“Yeah, I drive a Prius. I live in Seattle, what did you expect?” He doesn't sound at all ashamed about it. “Somebody has to make up for the gas guzzler that Michael drives.”
“Which is?” I ask, opening my eyes and carefully extracting myself from Ransom's arm.
I slip out of my dress and climb into the pile of men on the bed, flopping into charcoal grey sheets that smell like laundry detergent and flowers, like Ransom.
“I have a green pickup, a Ford F-150. You know, now that I think about it, it's pretty much the same color as your eyes.” Michael pulls me close and tucks me right against his body, mingling our shared spicy pomegranate smells together.
“Pax?” I ask, noticing that he's watching Ransom undress. Hmm. I keep wondering when they're going to take the plunge and move past heavy petting sessions and blow jobs. I can tell they both want to.
“Cadillac Escalade,” he says and I roll my eyes with a laugh.
“I think I could've guessed that,” I tell him, glancing back in time to catch a smirk rolling across his lips like a storm. “Cope?”
But the poor guy's already asleep, curled around one of Ran's feather pillows.
“He's got a vintage Ford Mustang GT in poppy red with white racing stripes,” Ransom says and although I'm not all that good with cars, I get the idea that it's a sexy hunk of machinery from the way he talks about it. “It's a '65, I think. It used to be his grandma's, but he had the whole thing redone when we got our first paycheck. It's actually pretty fucking sweet.”
“As if you couldn't tell, Ransom comes in his pants whenever Cope lets him drive it,” Pax drawls with a sigh, relaxing back into the pillows and closing his eyes.
Moxie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 3) Page 18