Audition

by Skye Warren

  I wouldn’t come here if I had any other choice. But Caleb and I don’t chat on the phone anymore. I have his address so North Security can keep tabs on him and step in if he tries any especially egregious bullshit. We let him run drugs, because I’m not the world’s goddamn mommy. I stop him from dealing in weapons or humans, though.

  He’s not happy to see me when he opens the door to his apartment. I kick it open another foot before he can shut us out. “You really take the bolt off the chain without checking the hole? You’re going to get killed making stupid mistakes like that.”

  “Fuck you,” he says.

  “That’s original.” I keep up the running commentary while we stroll in the front door. Caleb scowls at the both of us, standing back with his arm sarcastically extended to usher us in. He pushes the door shut not a second too soon.

  “What do you want, North?”

  “Heard from Connor lately?” I stretch my arms above my head, which has the intended effect of reminding Caleb about the gun I keep tucked in my waistband for occasions like this.

  “No.” Caleb’s eyes flick toward the ceiling. The fucker still has the balls to roll his eyes at me. “You made sure of that.”

  “I’m only checking because Connor’s been harassing your sister. You should see the threats he sends her in the mail. Really choice stuff.” For the first time Caleb’s eyes slide to Bethany. She faces him head-on, arms crossed over her chest.

  “Is that true?” His voice has a shake to it I recognize. It’s abject fury.

  Bethany nods.

  Caleb looks back at me. “And what the fuck are you doing hanging around her? I’ve got people to watch her for when she needs protection.”

  “Well, they’ve been doing a shit job, since one of the letters got hand delivered to her locker. And you don’t appear to have heard about any of this. Admit it, Caleb. Was it Connor? Are you two having a little fun, like in the old days?”

  Caleb stabs a finger at my face. “You don’t have the right. You don’t have the fucking right to be anywhere near her, you piece of—”

  “This is why we came here?” Bethany puts her hands on her hips. “So you could have yourselves a pissing contest in front of me? Are you serious?”

  “I’m your brother,” Caleb says with a growl.

  “You’re domineering.” She glares at me. “So are you. Both of you are bastards.”

  “No argument here, sweetheart.” I give her a wink, mostly to annoy Caleb.

  “Neither of you get to control me. Neither of you have any rights on me except what I agree to.” Her dark eyes pin me to the wall. “And I have a performance.”

  Caleb doesn’t want to blink first, and neither do I. We both let Bethany walk out the door. Noah’s waiting in the car downstairs. He’ll watch over her for a few minutes. We need to work something out, man to man. Bastard to bastard.

  Her footsteps fade to nothing. Then it’s just me and him.

  “You fucking her?” he asks.

  “Like she said, that’s none of your business.”

  “She’s my little sister. I protected her before you even knew she existed. Now you think you can take over because you have a goddamn Escalade and a government contract? I know what you really want.”

  I step forward, putting my face an inch away from his. This is the language that bullies understand. It’s the language that I speak more fluently than English. “Because I want your sister’s pussy? Yeah. You didn’t need Mamere’s crystal ball to figure that one out. So what are you going to do about it?”

  A vein pulses in his forehead. “I can kill you. I can ruin you. I can—”

  “You can stop running your mouth for a goddamn second, and answer a question. Before you puff up your chest anymore, know this: your sister’s safety is at stake. Have you had any contact with Connor?”

  A tense moment. “He came at me six months ago. Said he’d just gotten out of lockup, had this crazy idea it was my fault, said I owed him something.”

  “Funny how ratting out your friends pisses them off.”

  Black eyes flash with hatred. “You’re one to talk.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You and I? We were never friends. You wanted to use me, but I used you first. Now tell me where Connor is.”

  “I don’t fucking know. He didn’t exactly leave his business card.”

  “Think.”

  “I don’t know! He looked high as fuck, and I gave him some money so he’d calm down. That’s all. I gave him some money because I felt sorry for him.”

  I’d love to keep pushing, pushing, pushing until Caleb lets loose with something more helpful. Unfortunately, I think he’s telling the truth. At the very least he’d offer to sell out his so-called friend for money if he had a line. Plus he seems genuinely pissed off at the idea of anyone—me, Connor, or goddamn Captain America—touching his sister. He’s always treated her like she was six years old.

  “He contacts you again, you call me.”

  A sudden laugh that seems almost boyish. “He contacts me again, he’s a dead man. And I wouldn’t make any long-term plans if I were you, North. No one who messes with Bethany gets away with it. That’s a promise.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  A teacher from Bakersfield, California, played the video game ‘Just Dance 2015’ for 138 hours 34 seconds, earning herself a world record and raising over seven-thousand dollars for charity on the live stream.

  Bethany

  My piece-of-shit apartment is exactly the same as I left it.

  Josh was wrong. Nobody cares enough to break in.

  I had him drop me here instead of the theater because the rest of my performance clothes are still hung up over the kitchen sink, drying for weeks now. I’ve been at his place too long. He offered to buy replacements, but I didn’t want that. He’s not going to give me another thing. Not today. I wrench the clothes off the hooks and shove them into my messenger bag.

  I don’t know how I’m going to get over that ridiculous visit to my brother’s place. I don’t need to see him at his house. We cross paths at Mamere’s and that’s enough for both of us. Ugh, this apartment is baking. My windows have been closed—for security—and I’m sweating inside five minutes. It’s disgusting here. I hate how much I’d rather be at Josh’s mansion. I hate how much I’d rather be with Josh.

  Instead it’s Noah who brings me to the theater and back. Noah who brought me to my apartment so I can grab some more clothes. Noah waiting in the front of the building.

  How does Josh spend a night like that with me and go right back to fighting with my brother? As if I’m some piece of meat to be fought over? I take the final step onto the cracked concrete sidewalk, still fuming.

  And look up to find an empty curb.

  No Noah. No black SUV. No sign of him at either end of the street. Shit.

  This is rule number one of staying safe—be aware of your surroundings. I wheel around, heading back for the door. “Uh-oh,” says a voice behind me. It almost sounds kindly, like I’ve dropped a receipt from my purse and someone wants to give it back.

  By the time I’ve turned fully around, I know exactly how wrong I am.

  I’d know Connor anywhere. He hasn’t changed. Except that his grin has gotten more screwed up by the year. It sends a wash of cold to the pit of my stomach. “Hey, Connor,” I say tentatively. We never spent much time together. Not until I needed some money. Not until—

  “Where’s your guy?” He shrugs his shoulders, that grin plastered on his face like a mask. “Somebody’s supposed to be here to pick you up. Your brother’s always got his people lurking around, but I don’t see them.” He taps the side of his cheek, an exaggerated mockery of thinking. “Oh! I know. They got tangled up with the North asshole’s man. They can all have a little party. I bet someone else will be here to pick you up.”

  I hesitate. The hesitation costs me everything.

  Connor’s gotten faster, and I haven’t been practicing sprints. He catches me a
round the throat after a single step. My whole body jerks back as if I’ve run into an invisible wall. “I know who’s here to give you a ride, sweetheart. It’s me.”

  Josh

  A baby kicks in its stroller, jostling the array of fabric and plastic insects hanging above him. Another child drags his mother toward the bright candy-filled shelves of the newspaper store. Disinfectant and Starbucks coffee scent the stale air.

  I’ve never met anyone at the airport before. What’s the point?

  Even when I reconnected with my brothers, we were all self-sufficient enough to find our own way home. Somehow I got roped into meeting Liam and Samantha. They’re fully capable of driving themselves to their hotel, but here I am. It feels strange, like something a family would do. Liam, me, Elijah—we were more like a nuclear wasteland than a family.

  Somewhere along the way that changed.

  Maybe it was when Liam fell for Samantha. Maybe it was when she got pregnant. The bump is barely noticeable, but Liam acts like she’s made of fucking glass. The idea of a child would terrify me, but he seems happy.

  Happy. The idea is foreign.

  It’s not meant for men like me. Or is it? Bethany’s been staying with me for weeks now, and I don’t feel stifled or trapped. I like her in my bed.

  The thought of her leaving makes me feel something close to panic.

  A text appears on my phone. North Security’s private jet has landed safely. It will only take a few minutes to complete the airport’s procedures, so I push through the sliding glass doors. I watch the jet come to a rolling stop. The stairs fold down and Liam appears at the top. He helps Samantha down, who’s carrying her violin case. That much hasn’t changed.

  When I reach them, I give Liam a quick hand-clasp. That’s as close as we’ve ever come to caring physical contact—and a far cry from the punches and kicks our father used on us. Samantha isn’t shy. She throws her arms around my neck, and I hug her back, feeling uncommonly emotional. “What’s up, squirt?”

  She gives me a gentle shove in retaliation. “What’s up is that I’m glad to see you. Where’s Bethany? I’m so glad we could make it before her show ends.”

  “She’s in practice, but you’ll be able to see her tonight.”

  A sly look falls over Samantha’s expression. “Oh, that’s right. Because she’s staying with you. And here I thought you two didn’t like each other.”

  Discomfort moves through my stomach. I don’t want Samantha playing matchmaker. Then again, it’s not like she needs to. I’ve settled Bethany into my life pretty well on my own. Settled her so deep I can’t imagine living without her. “For safety reasons.”

  Liam frowns. “Have you made progress on her stalker?”

  “Some.” Not as much as I’d like.

  My phone vibrates on my hip. I lift the screen to see a phone call from Noah. My blood runs cold. Why would he be calling me? He’s supposed to be picking Bethany up from the theater right now. He’ll bring her back to my place, where she’s safe, safe, safe.

  Time slows as I press the green button on my phone. “North.”

  Noah sounds unsteady and far away. “They got the drop on me.”

  A visceral sensation, like something being torn apart—internal organs ripping to shreds. That seems more likely than the idea that Bethany’s in trouble. “What do you mean?”

  “Some men were sniffing around. Caleb’s people.”

  “They took her?” There’s a clench in my chest where I hope that’s the answer. Her brother’s fucking crazy, but he doesn’t want her hurt. If he has her, I can get her back. She’ll be okay. I need her to be okay.

  “They insisted I walk away. I refused.” In those few words I know that my friend must be really fucking injured. “When I tried to call for backup, a third guy came from behind. I was fighting the three of them when she came out of her apartment. He was ready. Waiting. He must have known these fuckers were going to make a play for her today. It was exactly the distraction he needed.”

  My blood runs cold. “Connor James. He has her?”

  My eyes meet Liam’s, and I suddenly understand every insane thing he did to save Samantha, every pillow he puts around her pregnant body, every moment of soul-deep fear when she might be in pain. Is this love? It feels like death.

  “Affirmative.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Tupac Shakur is best known as a rapper from the late 80s and early 90s. However, he also studied ballet and poetry at the Baltimore School of The Arts. He played the Mouse King in their production of the Nutcracker.

  Bethany

  Josh. He’s the first thought in my head. His green eyes, playful and merciless, demanding that I get it together. Pain pierces my head, and I fight against the tides of unconsciousness pulling me down.

  It would be so much nicer in blind and blissful ignorance.

  There wouldn’t be this ache or this dread.

  Instead I lift my head. It’s dark, and my eyes can capture only dust motes and shadow. Then slowly, the expanse of a room. Pictures flash through my mind in close succession, a horror reel of my afternoon—my apartment, the black SUV.

  Where’s Noah? Has something happened to him?

  Well. Something must have happened. I remember the sound of Connor’s laugh, like a deranged frat boy. Something small and black in his hand. And then the most terrible pain searing my nerves. A taser? Jesus.

  There’s something very menacing about a taser. It shows a level of forethought that chills me to the bone. It’s almost worse that it’s not a gun—it means he doesn’t want to kill me. No, he wants to drag this out. He wants me under his control, and he doesn’t care how much it hurts.

  There’s humming somewhere in this cavernous space.

  It echoes off the walls, slightly out of tune and broken up, raising goosebumps on my arms. It’s the Dance of the Swans. Which could be random, but considering Landon adapted it from Swan Lake for his show, Duckling, it feels pointed.

  As if he knows that.

  As if he’s been watching me even when I’ve been rehearsing.

  Footsteps cross the floor with a familiar sound. This isn’t a regular floor. It isn’t concrete or tile. It’s parquet, the same kind we used to practice. I blink up at the ceiling. It’s mottled and moldy, but it looks familiar, too. Where did he take me? Lingering pain still clouds my senses.

  Someone looms over me. He kneels. “You’re awake, little dancer. I’ve been waiting for this performance for a long time. You don’t even know how long, do you?”

  The unhinged lilt in his voice makes me shiver. “Connor?”

  “You remember me. God, I was worried you wouldn’t. But I didn’t need to be.”

  I wonder if I should stroke his ego. I wonder if that would keep me alive longer. A fist squeezes my heart, because I want to see Joshua. I want him to hold me, except I never should have let myself fall for him. Not five years ago. Not today. “Of course I remember you. You worked with my brother.”

  Immediately I know it’s the wrong thing to say. His expression turns dark, almost feral. “Your fucking brother. He sold me out for his freedom and a bottle of Jack. Him and Josh got real cozy.”

  My breath catches. Connor blames my brother. That’s fair enough. It’s more scary that he blames Josh. Will he go after him next? “It was a long time ago.”

  A short laugh. “Five years seems like a long time when you’re behind bars. Even that was lucky. I had to turn over so much fucking information for them to even meet with me. Name after name. Detail after fucking detail until we could finally make a goddamn deal.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, and strangely enough, it’s true. Connor deserves to be behind bars. He probably deserves worse than that. Except I wanted my brother alive. I felt that much loyalty to him. So I asked Josh to help, and despite his cruel words, he did.

  In a complex way, I’m responsible for what happened to Connor.

  A blunt finger traces along my jaw. “Don’t be. You’re goi
ng to make it up to me. I’ve been dreaming of you. Imagining you dancing. All those times Caleb wanted me to walk you home, as if he didn’t know I’d want to fuck you. He wanted us to see what we couldn’t have.”

  The shadows behind him finally sharpen, and I suck in a breath. We’re in my old dance studio. The last time I was in here, Josh was the one who escorted me home. Soon after that everything came to a head—and when Caleb lost his source of income, I lost the ability to pay for these lessons. I kept dancing, of course. I made my own way in the world, without the help of my brother or his terrible money. “Connor.” I try to make my voice sound reasonable, as if we’re having a conversation in Starbucks instead of with my hands tied behind my back. “I understand you’re upset with Caleb. And with me. You have a right to be angry, but I—”

  “With you? No. No, I’m not angry at you.” He makes an abrupt movement with his hand, as if cutting off his hands. “I know I sent those letters. Maybe I was angry that you hadn’t visited me in prison, but I understood. Your brother wouldn’t let you.”

  I stare at him, a cold chill settling over me. It sounds like he’s created this story of a romance between us, one that I should have pursued, one that I wanted. “I didn’t know you were in jail. I didn’t know that, but even if I did, I wouldn’t have visited you, Connor. We barely knew each other.”

  His brown eyes narrow. “You little bitch.”

  Part of me knows I should placate him. He’s the one with the taser—and probably worse weapons. The other part of me is truly offended by the very idea of placating him. “We can get to know each other,” I say, throwing out the idea more with panic than any real plan. “I want to know about you.”

  He’s not fooled. He might be crazy, but he’s not exactly dumb. He wouldn’t have been useful to Caleb if he couldn’t see through a blatant lie. “Enough talking. That’s not what I was dreaming about all those years behind bars, anyway. I was thinking about this.” He runs a hand down my side, cupping my breast through my clothes, and I gasp out, “Stop.”