Lilac

by Reid, B. B.

  He pretended to mull it over before finally stepping aside and letting me in. I swallowed my whimper when I stepped over the threshold. I needed these shoes off now.

  Jericho and Loren appeared in the foyer, hair mussed and eyes still glazed over from sleep. Houston moved past me, and I realized he was the only one remotely ready for the day.

  “Why did you have me come so early if it wasn’t a good time?”

  “Who says it’s not a good time?” Houston shot back. He didn’t wait for my answer before disappearing.

  Was I supposed to follow him? I scoffed while staying put. Only dogs trailed their master when they moved.

  I tucked my lips to hide my smirk when Loren and Jericho left the room behind Houston.

  Entering the first room on my left, I found the dining room, which led to the kitchen. Helping myself to one of the Fiji bottles I found in the fridge, I guzzled the water down while kicking off my heels.

  I stopped caring about decorum the moment they left me to fend for myself. Hearing my stomach growl, I found the walk-in pantry, spotted a box of granola bars, and tore it open. I devoured two before Loren found me.

  Taking in the crumbs dotting my lips and chin, his eyebrows rose as he held up my discarded heels with his forefinger. “You sure made yourself comfortable quick.”

  Shrugging, I swallowed the last bite of my breakfast. “None of you seemed interested in playing host.”

  “Among other things,” he agreed. His gaze dropped to my chest, and then he groaned. I was about to punch him for ogling when he spoke. “If I didn’t before, I definitely hate you now. Let me guess, you had a thing for Axl.”

  “What?”

  Wordlessly, he nodded to my dress and the Guns N’ Roses print on the front.

  Oh.

  “Dictators aren’t really my type.”

  Loren peered at me curiously before plucking the box of granola from my hands and returning it to the shelf. He then pulled me from the pantry, and I tried to ignore the burning sensation of having his hand on me. Sure, it was only my elbow, but I was hard up. Sue me.

  “Do you have any coffee?”

  He dumped my heels unceremoniously on the floor before nodding toward a fancy-looking machine that I had no clue how to work. Jericho walked in before I could ask Loren to show me. When he beelined for me, my guard shot up even higher.

  “I’m calling a redo,” he announced, thrusting out his large hand. “I think we can all agree that we got off to a bad start.” I was shocked, to say the least, and when he smiled…I’d never witnessed anything more magnificent. Jericho had perfect pearl teeth and plush pink lips, but it was more than that. It was the sheer honesty behind the gesture that made it even more breathtaking. “I’m Jericho. My friends call me Rich.”

  Shaking his hand, I returned his smile. “Brax.”

  “Brax?” Loren mocked, wiping the smile from my face. His back was to me, but I could hear the sneer he undoubtedly wore as he fiddled with the coffee maker. It was all he seemed to do whenever I was in the room. “Is that supposed to make you sound cool?” Sensing that he’d won my attention, he peeked over his shoulder, and the look I gave him made him snort.

  I decided right then and there.

  I hated him the most.

  “You can call me Braxton.”

  His stormy gaze, the color of a starless sea, held mine. For a while, it seemed we were both caught in the whirlwind.

  Unfortunately, he broke free of the spell first, and I cursed him for beating me to it.

  “How about I call you brat instead?”

  “I’ll up the ante—don’t talk to me at all.” Deliberately giving him my back, I faced the drummer with the genuine smile. “So, your name is Rich Noble?”

  “Yup,” Loren answered despite me dismissing him. “He’s a pretentious little shit, isn’t he?”

  I inhaled deeply, ready to give him a piece of mind when it occurred to me that Loren wasn’t being rude to be cruel. The wild thoughts flitting through my mind were my most insane yet—worthy of a trip to the looney bin. Still, they couldn’t be helped.

  Was Loren trying to steal my attention from his friend? That would imply they were in competition and—

  No. I wouldn’t go there.

  Without turning around, I spoke to Loren while staring at Rich. “I thought we established that you and I had nothing more to say to each other?”

  He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he prowled on silent feet. By the time I realized he was on the move, it was already too late. Loren had me pinned between himself and Rich. “Bothered, Brax?”

  The cool mint on his breath from his toothpaste wafted over my nape like a cool breeze. The small hairs stood on end while goose bumps spread over my skin. He was too damn close. It was all I could do not to drive my elbow into those abs he loved to flaunt. I bet he oiled them since he thought he was too pretty to break a sweat. Watching his interviews online always made me cringe and groan from second-hand embarrassment, yet I never missed a single one.

  “We already know you’re hot,” Loren continued. “Is that why you blocked me on Instagram? I just thought I’d return the favor and offer some constructive criticism of your performance.”

  Turning, I faced Loren, but I had to tip my head back to meet his eyes. He was that close. “I’m no more bothered by you than a fly when I swat it. You’re a mild inconvenience at best. Besides, there’s nothing constructive about you knowing the color of my underwear.”

  “You think so?” Loren pressed in closer until I felt the barest brush of his lips against my forehead. If I still wore my heels, he’d undoubtedly be kissing me right now. “Because I think the ones that you’re wearing right now are black like your heart, Braxton Fawn.”

  He was right. They were.

  Against my will, I backed up a step only to trade one wall of fire for another.

  Jericho.

  I was trapped with nowhere to run.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  My head flew to the right, and I never thought I’d be happy to see Houston. That was until I realized his angry gaze was directed at me, and so was his question. Unbelievable.

  “Just a little playful hazing,” Loren answered when I kept my mouth shut.

  “This isn’t a frat,” I snapped, feeling flustered. Neither Loren nor Rich bothered to move even though Houston had crashed their little party. “And you’re not boys. You’re grown men.”

  “You’re absolutely right, and I have the dick to prove it.” Running his thumb across my lip, Loren’s gaze roved my face. “Tell me you’re not interested,” he challenged. Behind the cocky assurance, I could see the small glimmer of hope that I’d say yes.

  “In catching a venereal disease? Not a chance.” Feeling a familiar ache between my legs and the taste of cherries stronger than ever before, I pushed past him, and he let me. “Now, if one of you could be professional and point me to a bathroom, please?”

  No one said a word or moved a muscle for several tense seconds. Finally, Houston decided. “When you hit the stairs, keep walking. There’s one on your right.”

  I fled the kitchen without saying a word.

  By the time I found the bathroom, sweat had poured from my pores as fast as arousal ran from my center. Twisting the faucets on the sink until water rushed from the spouts, I pressed my back against the wall and wrestled my hand down my tight jeans and past my black thong.

  The moment my fingers touched my clit, a cry slipped from my lips that I quickly muffled with my free hand. Another brush of my fingers and my eyes rolled back as right there in Bound’s powder room, I relieved the ache that had been building since the day I walked into that conference room.

  “Should one of us check on her?” I asked after too much time had passed. It had been twenty minutes since Braxton locked herself in our guest bathroom, and she still hadn’t come out.

  “No, soft-ass,” Loren snapped with a scoff. “She’ll come out when she realizes she’s scre
wed like the rest of us.”

  “Yeah, but why did you have to fuck with her? I thought we agreed to make her one of us.”

  “We never agreed to like it. Or her.”

  “I like her.”

  Fuck me, what wasn’t to like? She was hot as hell, a rare gem of intelligence, kind… the icing on the cake was that she talked back when we weren’t. I got hard just being in the same room with her—my friends, too, though Houston liked to pretend while Loren had no problem making his attraction known.

  Loren made another sound of disgust before waving me off. “You like everyone.”

  “Yeah, lucky for you, asshole.” We’ve been best friends longer than I can remember, and I still haven’t figured out why. Loren slowly looked up from his phone and met my gaze. As much as I wanted to hold my ground, I looked away from the intensity of his stare and what burned inside.

  Deciding, I stood from my seat behind my drums. “I’m going to go see if she’s okay.”

  Neither of them bothered to stop me as I made my way out of the living room. I was at war with myself and needed those precious moments it took to reach the bathroom where Braxton was holed up to think about my next step.

  She wasn’t my enemy, but I was hers. It was just the way the dice rolled, and neither of us was to blame.

  I tapped on the bathroom door, using the drumsticks still in my hand before shoving them in the back pocket of my jeans. There wasn’t a peep on the other side, making me wonder if she’d slipped out without any of us seeing. I wouldn’t blame her if she had.

  I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until the door slowly opened, and her big brown eyes appeared. How could someone who caused so much trouble look so goddamn innocent? She could fool the entire male population with those eyes. No one would ever see the huntress lurking beneath.

  No one but me, apparently.

  I shifted my feet. Why the hell was I nervous?

  “I guess I overextended my welcome in your bathroom, huh?” she asked me after I just stood there like an imbecile.

  “No, it’s not weird at all,” I lied.

  Opening the door, she put her back against the wood, softly biting into that succulent lip. “I was debating.”

  “If you should leave?”

  “And burn this house down with all of you in it,” she added. Her steady gaze was unnerving, yet I couldn’t look away.

  “I’m both terrified and aroused. Look,” I rushed to change the subject when I saw her gaze turn wary, “I can’t say that we wouldn’t deserve it, but can I offer some advice that might be useful?”

  She hesitated for only a second before mumbling, “Sure.”

  “You seem pretty solid.”

  “For a girl?” She’d called me out on my bullshit with a raise of her brow.

  I shrugged when nothing intelligent came to mind. I couldn’t deny my sexism, so I ignored it instead. “You’re not falling at our feet,” I continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “It says a lot, but it’s not enough. You need to make them respect you, or else they never will. It’s now or never.”

  “And what about you? Do you take your own advice?”

  Astute. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  I could see the contemplation in her eyes before she gave an abrupt shake of her head. “Nothing. Why are you being nice to me?”

  “That’s a risky assumption.”

  Braxton seemed to see right through me when her eyes formed slits. “You think standing up to them is going to backfire.”

  It wasn’t a question but an accusation. She was right to be paranoid. “Your chances are fifty-fifty.”

  If my plan worked in her favor, she had a better chance of getting through the tour. If it didn’t, Houston, Loren, and I would have someone else to direct our anger toward other than each other. As much as I wanted my friends back, I found myself hoping for the former.

  Maybe Loren was right. Perhaps I couldn’t commit to being an asshole.

  “So, are you toying with them or me, Jericho?”

  Braxton’s gaze was piercing as she waited for me to respond. I had a hell of a time swallowing past the lump in my throat. Either she was a mind reader, or someone had tipped her off.

  Someone else knew that Houston, Loren, and I had become strangers forced to work together rather than best friends who used to build forts to keep everyone else out. The last time we let an outsider in, he almost destroyed us before destroying himself, and whether Braxton knew it or not, she was here to finish what Calvin started.

  “It doesn’t matter. What matters is making it to the end of the tour…with you.”

  I swear her red hair looked like a river of flame, matching the fire in her eyes as she stood up straight. I’d insulted her.

  “I’m not going to run.”

  “I’m sure you believe that, but you don’t know them. Or me.”

  “And none of you know me. If you don’t believe me, consider this. Would anyone else have made it this far?”

  Daring to invade her space even more than Houston had at the festival or Loren half an hour ago, I placed my hands on each side of the door frame. I was so close I could feel every one of her quick breaths on my neck. If I placed my hand over her heart right now, I knew I’d feel it racing.

  Warmth spread over my lower stomach before shooting to my groin. I dug my fingers into the wood to keep from touching her. Neither Houston nor Loren would have practiced such restraint, but I wasn’t them.

  “I wouldn’t celebrate just yet, Braxton. A year is a long time. Once you get on our tour bus, there’ll be nowhere to hide. There will only be the four of us and long, lonely nights with nothing to do but learn what makes you tick.”

  The twinkle of panic in her eyes was gone as quickly as it appeared, but I knew I hadn’t imagined it. Something that raw was too real to fantasize or fabricate.

  “Then I suppose it works both ways,” she whispered more to herself than to me. I felt her small hand on my stomach, making the muscles spasm and dip before she pushed me out of her way. “Excuse me.”

  I didn’t follow.

  Instead, I watched her go, waiting to see if she’d turn toward the noise Houston and Loren were making as they hauled equipment into the living room or keep straight where the front door waited.

  I didn’t realize how anxious I was anticipating her next move until she pivoted on her bare feet toward our rehearsal space.

  My relieved exhale was harsh and swift.

  “You told Loren and every anus at Savant responsible for you standing here that you knew our material better than he did,” Houston began the moment I was plugged into the amplifier.

  I sighed, silently cursing my big mouth. It was not only a bold claim but an arrogant one, and now Houston wanted to shut me up.

  “If I recall, I said I probably knew it better.”

  “Well then, you probably shouldn’t have opened your mouth,” he shot back. “You’ll be responsible for both lead and rhythm, which means I need to trust not only your skills but your instincts. Show me ‘Flayed Alive.’”

  You mean like you intend to do to me before the day is over? Sweet.

  Wisely, I kept those thoughts to myself. Not every battle was worth fighting, and since I was technically there to learn, there was nothing I could argue. It was time to put up or shut up, and I was done letting Houston have his way. Lucky for me, I knew exactly what he was up to.

  “Flayed Alive” wasn’t a mainstream song. The underground work appeared on their first EP, meaning only a true fan knew of its existence. And the icing on Houston’s cherry-topped evil cake is that Calvin wasn’t their guitarist at the time.

  Nope. That honor belonged to Houston.

  Calvin wasn’t a founding member of Bound. He didn’t join the band until a deal was already on the table, and rumor had it that none of the three watching and waiting for me to butcher their song had picked him. If not for Calvin and now me, Bound would have been one of the few bands that started and ended wit
h only their original members.

  Aw, was that why they hated me?

  Boo-fucking-hoo.

  Houston folded his long frame onto the couch directly in front of me while Loren and Jericho exchanged wary looks. Neither made a move for their instruments, so I guess I was in this alone. Without bass and drums…

  Fuck it.

  Taking one last look at the scenery behind Houston, an unobstructed view of downtown Los Angeles, I inhaled the fresh air coming through the open doors of the veranda and cleared away the brine that wasn’t there.

  I didn’t realize how high up we were until now. It was a beautiful home though it didn’t seem at all like their style. It was too elegant and modern with clean, white lines—too much like a trophy. I pictured them in a dark castle on a foggy hill much higher than this one, far away from civilization and neighbors, with a haunted graveyard out back.

  I let out a short laugh before I could catch myself.

  “Something funny?” Houston inquired.

  “Yeah.” I snorted. “You think you can stump me.” His brows dipped, and I cut off his response with a six-bar riff.

  With each note, slashes of black and gray whipped the air around me like lightning ripping through the sky, followed by red bursting before pooling down like an open, bleeding wound.

  The song was morbid and dark, cutting, and angry.

  It hurt.

  I wondered which one of them wrote it and decided I didn’t care.

  The chord progression underneath was a little tricky and not one I practiced often, so I stumbled through the first and second verses with gritted teeth. The greens, yellows, blues, and pinks occasionally lighting up the room made it obvious each time I played the wrong note. I didn’t catch on until I reached the chorus, and by the third verse, I’d gained confidence. So much that I tweaked the rhythm of the fourth verse, giving it a smoother transition back into the chorus. It was a minor change, one I doubt they’d notice, and it made me smile at my treachery.