The Devil's Reprise: A Rockstar Romance (The Devils Duet Book 2)

by Karina Halle

  Sorry, Nice, hope you enjoyed it while it lasted.

  When the encore was over, the high started to leave my system. Sometimes it was hard to tell if I got high from the crowd—just the exquisite adrenaline rush of playing my soul to an audience, people there for me, to hear me, see me, really get me—or from the drugs and alcohol. I think most of the time, the high from playing live won out. When I was in Hybrid and playing shows, I could be sober as hell on some days and I’d still be walking off the stage absolutely buzzing—dick hard, heart racing, hands shaking, nerves on fire. Such a fucking sweet, organic feeling that not many people would ever get to experience.

  I was staring at an empty bottle of rum—someone had left three-fourths of it in the dressing room—when Jacob rapped at the door.

  “We need to talk,” he said. It was the voice he used when I was in shit and he had to be the manager of the year and change my diapers.

  “Go away,” I said. Then I thought better of it. “Actually, can you bring Tricky in here?”

  There was a pause. “Tricky gave me something to give to you. I don’t know what it is. It’s wrapped up in tinfoil.”

  Bingo. I got up and opened the door, smiling lazily. Jacob leered at me.

  “Such a trollop,” he said before he quickly shoved me back inside the room and squeezed in through the door, slamming it shut behind him so hard the walls shook.

  I raised my brows, suddenly uneasy. “What the hell is wrong with you? Where’s the tinfoil?” I asked, noticing his hands were empty.

  He marched right over to me and grabbed me by the shirt collar then spun me around until the back of my head hit the wall. “Fuck, Jacob,” I grimaced as the room spun.

  “Fuck you,” he grunted. “Fuck you for being you.” He shoved into me once more, his face as red as his hair and sweat beading at his temples, before removing his hands and walking to the opposite side of the room, his fists closing and unclosing at his sides.

  I watched him pace back and forth like a caged animal. I was sobering up fast, unsure of what he was going to say or what he was going to do next. So I shut my mouth, smoothed out the collar of my shirt, and waited.

  Jacob stopped in the middle of the room, gaudy checkered-suit-back to me, and stared at a framed picture on the wall, one of the Nice waterfront.

  “Did you know I lived in France a really long time ago?” he asked, voice dry but pleasant. Calm. It was unsettling.

  “No,” I said slowly. “You speak shit French for someone who did, though.”

  “My French is perfect, you wanker. I just choose not to speak it. I worked in a manor, just north of here, outside the town of Grasse. I was the butler to a wealthy family who owned one of the perfumeries. They grew a lot of lavender. Had a lot of money. They also had a young daughter, Yvette, who was beautiful, smart…they wanted her to marry rich, marry well.”

  This was starting to sound like a Jane Austen novel. “Uh, when was this?”

  “Last century,” he said matter-of-factly.

  I blinked. “Right. But Max said that you don’t remember all your lives.”

  He still didn’t turn around to face me but clasped his hands behind his back. “He was oversimplifying. He’s not been around as long as I have. You often do, just not all of them and not all of it. But you remember the important ones. I remembered this job because I failed.” He paused, his head turning slightly so I could see his profile. “I failed Yvette because I thought I was all she needed. I was her guide at the time, you see. She was being plagued by visions, visits from the other realm. Slowly, carefully, I revealed who I was and how I could help her. I taught her how to use the Thin Veil, how to communicate, and sometimes, how to help the dead who were lost. But in those visits to the Veil, and every time she opened herself up to another realm, there were spirits—and worse, demons—that would come over. They tormented her. They made her feel insane. And I was all she had.”

  He sighed and looked to the ground. “Except there was a boy. Her friend. He was lowly, to her family anyway, and worked on the farm picking the flowers for pressing. Jacques. But they were close—she loved him, even though she had to hide it from her family, and he loved her. Still, she never confided in him what she’d been going through. I told her not to. I thought I was protecting her, that Jacques wouldn’t understand, that he wouldn’t be there for her at any rate. I was her Jacob. It was my job to help her through—no one else’s.”

  He slowly turned around to face me, and I saw a vulnerability in his hardened, pockmarked face that I hadn’t seen before. “She killed herself one morning. Drowned herself like Ophelia in the creek outside the property. She told me she was going to do it, too, I just didn’t realize how serious she was. She said she was sick of being alone through this. Even though I was there with her, I wasn’t like her. I wasn’t mortal. And most of all, she did not love me. She loved Jacques. And she slowly went mad without him there to shield her from it. The ghosts, the madness, this impossible life she’d been living. Had I just told her to confide in him, to involve him, maybe she wouldn’t have died. Maybe just knowing that she wasn’t suffering alone would have been enough to save her. Her ghost haunted me for a very long time…decades, even, through many lives. Just reminding me of the time I failed.”

  Walking over to me, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a flask. He unscrewed the cap and took a long swig before handing it to me. I took it gingerly, afraid to partake. He nodded at it. “It’s one-hundred-year-old scotch,” he said. “Have some.”

  I did. Nothing tasted smoother.

  He took it back from me and took another shot, wiping his mouth with the edge of his sleeve. “Sage, I don’t want to fail with Dawn. I don’t want her to think she’s alone in this.”

  “She has Max…and you. And she has me.”

  “No,” he said with a sad shake of his head. “She doesn’t have you. You’re somewhere else, as you always are. You’re trying to take the easy way out again, trying to escape. You did it when you were in Hybrid. You did it in Hybrid A.D. And you’re doing it now. Whenever life throws you a curveball, you run and you hide and—though you may be standing here right now, though you were standing on that bloody stage playing your music that at that moment meant nothing to you—you’re numb to living.”

  I didn’t want to hear this. “Curveball? That’s a pretty nice way of putting it. Putting out a shitty album or spilling coffee on your dress shirt, that’s a curveball. I have fucking demons after me, after my bandmates, after my girlfriend!” I tugged at my hair in frustration, turning away from him, feeling the anger rising out of my chest. “My mother was raped and murdered when I was fourteen. That’s not a fucking curveball. That destroyed me. That destroyed my whole life.”

  “Sage,” he said delicately. Oh, how I wanted to punch him in the face. “In the grand scheme of things, they are all curveballs. It doesn’t matter what happens to make you want to derail, it’s how you handle it. It’s how you don’t derail. Right now, this is unacceptable. Right now, this is not about you. You and your rock star bullshit ego. This is about Dawn. She needs you now. She saved your life once, remember? You didn’t love her. Now you can and you can use that love to save her.” He took a step toward me, breath like whiskey, and handed me the flask again while his eyes bore into my soul. “I know the thought of losing her is painful. I know you think this is helpless, that you can’t do anything. I know you’re afraid. Well, boy, I’m afraid, too. The joys of being mortal. But you have to be there for her. She needs you. This is how you’ll save her—just by showing up and giving her your all. Don’t let her go through this alone. She deserves better than that.”

  I slowly swallowed down the alcohol, enjoying the burn. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to be around her,” I said quietly. “I thought Max was trying to keep her from me.”

  “Well, the fact that you were high and drunk off your blooming tree for the day didn’t help you, did it? But that’s also Max. T
his, right now, is coming from me, and believe me, I know more about this sort of thing than he does. Who does he think he is, anyway, with that hair? Ginger Elvis?”

  I smirked at that and handed the flask back to Jacob. “So what do you suggest I do?”

  “Go be with her,” he said, sticking it back in his pocket. “Listen to her. Talk to her. Make sure she knows she is not alone. Make her your one-man show.”

  I smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Where is she?”

  “She should still be with Max, probably in the venue lobby. He wanted to take pictures of the audience afterward, and Dawn said she’d try and interview them, though I don’t know how far she’d get. Now her French is terrible.”

  I left Jacob backstage and pushed my way past a group of fans who had gathered at the entrance. I tried to ignore their waving pens and album covers, their squeals of joy when they saw me, their hands grabbing my arms, my waist, my legs. They wanted me, all of them, every part of me, but the exchange between us was over. The only person who could have me, all of me, was standing in the distance under the glow of a chandelier, her wild red hair a frame for her warm eyes and guarded smile.

  “Dawn,” I called out, stepping out of the mob of people and walking freely over to her.

  She stopped scribbling in her notepad and looked up in shock. The young man she was interviewing, a lanky shit with hair down to his ass, looked in shock, too. Max stood off to the side, not saying anything, not yet.

  “Sage,” she said. “I thought you were…”

  Fucked up, passed out, on the town. She was thinking any of those things. I had to show her the truth.

  “I’m right here,” I said. I reached out for her arm and pulled her toward me. She looked up with wide, curious eyes, beholding me as if I could break her in two. I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her softly on the lips. I heard her pen and notepad fall to the ground beside us.

  When I pulled away, I rubbed my thumb over her lips, feeling her smile underneath it.

  “What was that for?” she asked, her eyes darting over my shoulder now. The chatter of the fans had grown, and I was sure they were going nuts with what I’d just done. Did Sage Knightly just kiss that woman? Who is she?

  She was Dawn Emerson, and she was mine.

  “It’s for everything,” I said gently. My eyes flicked to Max as I bent down to pick up her pen and notebook. “Do I have permission to take Ms. Emerson out for a walk on the beach?”

  He grimaced and unfolded his arms, his lips pursed. “I don’t know…”

  And we three knew it was dangerous. But damned if I wouldn’t be there for her like she deserved, especially after Jacob put me in my place. I wouldn’t let her feel alone.

  “Can I come, too?” the young fan said in broken English.

  I smiled at him and reached into my pocket. I brought out a guitar pick and placed it in his hands. “No, but here’s a souvenir. Thanks for coming out, man.”

  I held on to Dawn’s hand and led her out into the night, past more fans. I signed a few autographs until I let them know I had a date. With my girlfriend.

  Dawn looked up at me wide-eyed as we walked down the street toward the waterfront. “Girlfriend?” she asked.

  I raised my brow at her. “Too presumptuous of me?”

  She shook her head. “No, I…thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For coming to get me.”

  I sucked in my breath. “I’m sorry I wasn’t really…with it today. It’s been rough. And I mean, it’s been rough for you. I’m just not…handling it well. And I should be.”

  “Jacob put you straight, huh?” she asked. We stopped at the lights on the street corner. Across the street, the tall Phoenix palms rustled in the ocean breeze and lifted the hair around her face. I tucked the strands behind her ears.

  “He put me straight. He made me realize that I can’t run away from this, from you…from the idea of losing you. Dawn,” I bit my lip, my fingers disappearing into her hair, “I won’t lose you.”

  “I hope that’s true.” God, she looked so scared and so fucking cute. I was serious putty in her hands.

  “I’ll do whatever I can to make it true. Whatever I can.”

  But you can’t tell her you love her, said the voice in my head. Because that will make it true.

  I swallowed hard and kept my focus on her. Damn that voice. But tonight I wouldn’t silence it the way it wanted me to.

  She looked past me, and I caught a subtle rolling of the eyes.

  “What?” I asked, looking behind me at the crowd that was still outside the theater. A tall figure was sauntering toward us.

  “Max,” she muttered. “I think he aims to follow us.”

  “For your own good?”

  “I hope so.”

  I didn’t like the idea of Max following us around, but if he could protect Dawn in a situation that I couldn’t, I couldn’t afford to be an immature prick about it. Well, not really.

  “That’s fine,” I said, leading her across the street as the lights turned. “If he wants to watch you at every turn, then that’s his problem. Not ours.”

  We made our way across the seawall and down the cement stairs to the beach. Now, at night, there were a few torchlights lit in the areas that the hotels and lounges controlled, but the public areas of the beach were completely deserted. I took her across the thick pebbles, our feet sliding over them, until we came to a spot a few feet away from where the surf was breaking. I settled down on the beach then pulled her down into my lap.

  She giggled shyly and immediately straddled me.

  I rested my hands on her bare thighs. “It sure is lucky you’re wearing a skirt.” I slid my fingers up toward her ass and then couldn’t help but grin like a cocky fucking bastard when I realized she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “Now you’re just being extra lucky.”

  “Lucky for whom?” she asked coyly, placing her hands on my shoulders and squeezing the rounded muscle there.

  “For both of us,” I said. I grabbed her face and kissed her, our mouths in perfect synchronicity, that slow burn that was stoking us white-hot. I could have kissed her all night long, just loving the feel of her in my hands, at my mouth, the sweetness and the passion in her softly exploring tongue. She went for my pants, unbuttoning my waistband and zipping down the fly. I groaned at her touch, wanting it all now and still wishing it could take forever. Just us on the beach in France, with the waves breaking at our back and the stars in the sky above. In this moment there were no demons, no deals, no deaths. Just her and just me. Just us. Always us. This song.

  I’d spent the day numb and now I was feeling everything, open to the world.

  “Do you think he’s watching?” she whispered, her voice throaty as she guided my cock to her, teasing herself with the tip.

  I moaned slightly, not giving a fuck who was watching. “Let him watch. Let him think he’s lucky, too.”

  I quickly pulled out a condom from my pocket and slipped it on before we got too carried away. We made love on that beach for a long time and then slept in each other’s arms, the pebbles our bed. We made our way home just as the sun was rising. We managed to keep our demons at bay.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dawn

  Sleeping on a rocky beach may not have been the most comfortable thing in the world, but I was just so grateful that I’d gotten any sleep at all. You’d think that being out in the open like that, with the world watching if it looked through the darkness, would make you more vulnerable. But we were only vulnerable with each other, not to the supernatural.

  At least that’s what I told myself.

  Once back at the hotel in the safety of the morning, we had another romp in the hay. I don’t know if it was the constant adrenaline surging through us, the fact that our lives, or at least mine, were threatened, or that we were finally coming together as one, but we just couldn’t get enough of each other. When he was
pushed deep inside me, this man of muscle and heart and oh God, the stamina, I felt fearless. Hopeful. Free.

  It was only when we were dressed again that I felt reality coming to bite me, to remind me of the very unreal yet real situation I was placed in. And again, I could only blame myself. It was a terrible thing to know something was your fault, even though it was beyond your control or intention. It gave me just a little appreciation for what Sage must have been going through all throughout Hybrid and afterward. No wonder the man was such a mess.

  Me, I was barely keeping it together. But somehow I was putting one foot in front of the other. I had Max, I had Jacob, and I had Sage. I knew all of them would do what they could for me, one more out of necessity than anything else. But it was more than enough. It had to be. I had no choice. The only thing I could control was how I dealt with it.

  We had a train to board to Italy in the afternoon, an overnighter, which put me at ease slightly because I couldn’t imagine anything spooky happening on a train surrounded by all those people. For the last couple of days, though, I’d been so wrapped up with what was happening to me, too wrapped up in Sage and the tour, that I’d forgotten to call Mel or my family.

  When I was all packed, and Sage had given me some privacy, I called Mel and was able to talk to her for a few minutes before she had to go out. I nearly cried when I heard her voice and realized I missed her like crazy. She was the only person back at home who knew what I had really gone through with Hybrid, the only one who would listen to the truth. But I couldn’t unleash on her my problem. It wasn’t fair when she couldn’t do anything to help.

  With a heavy heart and a knocking on the door from Jacob, telling me I had to go, I hung up the phone. It was only when we got to the Nice train station that I realized we had another hour to kill—Jacob liked us all to be early, just in case. I stole a few moments away, promising to stay in sight of them and the band, and found the nearest payphone on the platform.

  I dialed Eric, and he answered on the second ring.