Wicked Torture

by J. Kenner

  "What do you want?"

  He lifted his hands and let them fall again, his whole body telegraphing frustration. "You and Kelsey--you were separated for about ten years, too, right?"

  "Twelve," Wyatt said. "Twelve very long years, for which we are now very enthusiastically making up for lost time."

  Noah laughed. He'd grown to love Austin, but God, he missed his friends. "How did you two bridge that time?"

  "Are we your case study?"

  "Pretty much," Noah admitted. "Consider yourselves my role models."

  "In a word, trust." Wyatt shrugged. "We had to learn how to trust each other again."

  Noah considered that. "When I first saw her here--in town, I mean--I almost let her go. Hell, I thought I should let her go. I was the one who fucked her over, right? No sense in bringing back painful memories. She deserved more, and I--well, I didn't deserve anything at all."

  Wyatt looked purposefully toward the bed. "And yet . . ."

  "And yet . . . I couldn't make myself do it. I had to see her. Talk to her. I had to touch her, you know?"

  "Oh, yeah."

  "Even after all this time, I needed it. Wanted it." He shook his head, trying to order his scattered thoughts. "I still do."

  "Does she?"

  "She's wary. And we're working together now, which makes her even more leery. And she's very firmly put on the brakes."

  Wyatt's brows rose. "You didn't mention the work part."

  "Just one more complication in my screwed up life."

  "What are you going to do?" Wyatt asked. A simple question, but it didn't have a simple answer.

  "I don't know. She's right--we've changed. We're not the same people we were. And being together . . . there's so much baggage. Guilt on my side, anger on hers. It's . . . hell, it's just hard."

  "And?"

  Noah drew a deep breath. "You know what? Screw hard. I've gotten past hard more times than I can count. I want her. At the very least, I want the chance to see if we still fit. I want my shot."

  "So take it."

  "How?"

  "I don't know," Wyatt admitted. "I guess you're going to have to get creative."

  "Flowers," Griffin said. "Inundate her with flowers."

  Kelsey pushed a lock of brown hair off her face as she rolled her large, blue eyes. "That is so not creative. The man needs real help." She was sitting cross-legged on the flagstones in her brother's backyard. Griffin and Noah sat across from her in the Adirondack chairs, and Wyatt stood off to her right, leaning against a post.

  Griffin shrugged as he turned to face Noah more directly, revealing the extensive scars that marred the right side of his face. The result of a horrific childhood injury.

  "Flowers are awesome," Kelsey agreed. "But he needs to step it up. Oh! I know. Edible flowers." She looked at the three men and nodded, clearly proud of herself.

  "What?" Wyatt asked. "Like the stuff chefs put in salads?"

  "No, no. It's a thing now. Cookies that look like flowers planted in dirt that's really a brownie. God, I'm hungry. Griff, do you have any chips?"

  He waved an arm. "Whatever's in the pantry, it's yours."

  "I shouldn't eat this late," she said, rising. "But since we're brainstorming, we need sustenance."

  Noah had to laugh. Here he was in his mid-thirties hanging out in the middle of the night in his friend's backyard to brainstorm creative ways to get a girl. Had anyone asked him yesterday if that was even a remote possibility, he would have told them he was too old for that shit.

  But he couldn't deny that it was nice. Not only because he'd missed hanging out with his LA-based friends, but also because of the simple realization that they cared about him and Kiki. And, more, that they understood the guilt he felt--but were willing to tell him straight up to get over it.

  Easier said than done, but he appreciated the thought.

  After Noah had sliced open a vein and poured his heart out, Wyatt had decided they needed Kelsey and Griffin's input. Normally, Noah would have suggested they meet up the next day, but fueled by bourbon and friendship, he'd agreed to the late-night outing.

  Also because of the bourbon, they'd called an Uber for the short drive into East Austin. Where--yet again fueled by alcohol--Noah had shared the story of his past with Kiki once more.

  It was odd, actually. He'd held it so close to his chest for so long, as if there was no reason to take his past out and look at it. Now, though--with Kiki as his goal--it seemed natural, almost easy, to tell the story to his friends.

  "Edible flowers aren't going to cut it," Wyatt said as Kelsey returned with a bag of Ruffles. "Not permanent enough. He needs something more tangible."

  "Maybe," Kelsey said reluctantly. "But don't feel like you should avoid them as a gift--say, to your wife--just because she'll end up eating the evidence of your love."

  Wyatt laughed. "Noted."

  "You're such a freak," Griffin said, in response to which Kelsey wrinkled her nose at him. "And you're all missing the point," he added.

  "Fine." Kelsey leaned against Wyatt, and he slid an arm around her waist. "Enlighten us, oh wise one."

  Griffin turned to Noah. "You have to tell her a story. Nobody falls in love with a flower. They fall in love with your heart."

  "You're the one who suggested a flower," Kelsey pointed out.

  "And I was wrong," Griffin said. "Stop being so annoying."

  "My irritating little brother has a point," she said, the laughter in her eyes making clear that, irritating or not, she adored Griff. "Not about me being annoying, but about the story. You need to catch her up on your life. You need to get to know each other again."

  "We need to start over," Noah said.

  Wyatt and Kelsey shared a glance. "Pretty much," Kelsey said. "But you get to start with a shared history." She bit her lower lip, then said gently, "Does she know what happened to Darla and Diana?"

  He shook his head.

  "I think you should tell her. Sooner rather than later. If you want to move forward, she deserves to know."

  "Deserves?" he repeated. "She didn't deserve the hurt I caused by leaving. And now to pile this on? She must have hated Darla along with me. And now to learn that this happened?"

  He dragged his fingers through his hair. "I wanted to keep the two paths of my life separate."

  "You can't," Griffin said, flatly. "Because if you're going to let her see who you are now, you have to let her see what shaped you."

  He knew that. He also knew that it was going to hurt. Him, and Kiki.

  But maybe that was a good thing. He'd been numb so long, maybe he needed to hurt. Maybe that was just proof of life. And if he wanted Kiki in his life again, then by definition, he needed to start living again.

  He stood up. "It's getting late, and my mind's going in circles. But I hear you."

  Kelsey slipped away from Wyatt to give him a hug. "Good luck," she said. "We're here if you need us, even when we're in LA."

  "Ditto," Griffin added. "And I'm almost always right here. The downside of working out of my house."

  "And there's Sunday," Kelsey added, looking over her shoulder to Wyatt. "Right?"

  "Absolutely."

  "What's Sunday?" Noah asked.

  "We're having a housewarming party here for Griff," Kelsey said. "Just a few friends. But you should come by. And," she added, with a sly smile, "you should bring a date. Or a work colleague if you need to spin it that way." She shrugged. "Basically, just do what you need to do."

  What he needed to do.

  He was still thinking about Kelsey's words as he rode in the back of the Uber. So far he didn't have a firm plan, but he intended to come up with one by tomorrow. The entire weekend was spread out in front of him, and he didn't intend to waste it.

  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, then realized that he hadn't checked his emails in hours. And while it was a long shot, she might have sent him a note.

  Urged on by a tiny flicker of hope, he pulled out his phone and op
ened his mail app. Nothing from Kiki, but third in line beneath two bullshit ads, was a message from Damien.

  Been talking with our potential competitors--they've experienced breaches from both inside and outside. Considering we're walking the same path, be sure to use precautions. We'll talk Monday. I'll have C put it on your calendar.

  It was cryptic, but Noah could instantly see why. The Israeli company they were racing to the finish line was the victim of corporate espionage. And not only did they not think that Stark was behind it, but they feared that SATA might be vulnerable, too.

  Noah wasn't too worried. He'd overseen the online security himself. As for the human element, that was trickier. But the office was still small, and he'd familiarized himself with most of the staff. It was possible that an outsider was getting in--someone from building security or the janitorial staff, maybe--but they'd still have to breach the system.

  It was a puzzle, and not one he was going to solve in his current state of semi-inebriation. He'd grab some time this weekend to go to the office, though, so he'd be prepped for his call with Damien on Monday.

  He was still thinking about the possibility of a leak when the car dropped him at home. Noah got out, then paused at the door of his building as he fumbled for his after-hours security card. As he did, he noticed a dark green pickup truck parked in one of the metered slots on the other side of the street, clearly illuminated by the line of street lamps.

  Nothing unusual about that, except that there was someone sitting in the truck--a guy, or possibly a woman, in a baseball cap--and the someone turned quickly away when Noah looked that direction. And, Noah was certain, he'd seen a similar truck earlier in the day, when he'd held Kiki close and kissed her hard.

  With a frown, he entered his building. He'd considered going over to the truck, but what would be the point? For all he knew, it was someone waiting to give a ride to a resident. Or a college student who'd been kicked out of his apartment, and was spending the weekend in his truck. There was no reason to think it had anything to do with Noah.

  "Hey, Joe," he said, seeing the rail-thin man with salt-and-pepper hair reading the paper behind the security desk. The building didn't have full-time security, but Joe was a retired cop who did weekend rotations, doing walkthroughs and checking the security feeds.

  "Mr. Carter, good to see you. I was just about to email you a report about the woman. Figured it was too late to buzz your unit."

  Kiki?

  "What woman?"

  "Came in about twenty minutes ago looking for you. Pretty thing. Not that you could get the full picture with her hair all shoved up in a cap."

  Frowning, Noah turned back to the entrance, but the truck had pulled away. "Did she say what she wanted?"

  "Said she knew you, and that she wanted to know if this was your building. Said she wanted to see you again." His smile widened. "I told her that it's above my pay grade to give away any resident information, but that your name didn't ring a bell. I hope that was right. I know you like to be discreet."

  In addition to working at the condo, Joe pulled a few shifts at various downtown hotels, and he'd seen Noah on more than one occasion with a woman. And never the same woman twice.

  Noah frowned. He didn't know why one of his one-night stands would be hunting him down, but he was glad Joe had put the brakes on. He was never circumspect--he always gave a woman his card in case she needed to contact him. But that was an email address, not his home.

  "You did the right thing," Noah assured Joe. The last thing he needed was a one-night stand deciding getting back together with him was her new pet project.

  Especially since he already had a project of his own--Kiki.

  10

  "I can't believe you're not freaking out," Celia says, her voice surprisingly clear through the speaker on my mobile phone. "Matthew Holt has our track. Matthew. Fucking. Holt. Seriously, Kiki, how can you be blase about that?"

  "I'm not blase," I assure her, catching Ares' eye. He and I are both sitting at my tiny breakfast table, and my phone rests near my picked-over plate of chocolate chip pancakes. Celia--his cousin and my best friend--is about fifteen hundred miles away, having a not-so-quiet freak-out session in Culver City. "I just don't want to get my hopes up."

  I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Dude, that's what hopes are for, you know? I mean, if Holt likes our track, who knows where it could lead? Actually, fuck that. It could lead to a Grammy. Worldwide tours. Licensed Pink Chameleon merchandise available in a department store near you."

  "She's right," Ares says. "Soon, you too might be an action figure."

  "You're such an ass," Celia tells him, and I start laughing.

  "All right," I say. "You win. I'm super-duper excited about the fact that you had a friend of a friend slip Holt a CD that is even now probably sitting in a cardboard box filled with similar CDs that will very soon be transferred to his secure vault. Otherwise known as his trashcan."

  "You, my friend, are a downer. And we didn't send a CD. We sent a digital file. To his personal email address. Come on, Kiki. This is awesome, and you know it."

  She has a point. Holt has serious clout in the industry. He's a triple threat, and his company--Hardline Entertainment--has fingers in the music, film, and television industries. He has a reputation for being reclusive, dangerous, and brilliant. Some of the wilder rumors even say that he killed a man, but I think that's PR-driven hype. He doesn't sign many bands, but the ones he anoints inevitably climb the charts fast. And if Celia really has managed to get our music in front of him, that's one hell of an amazing feat.

  I give in with a laugh. "Fine, fine! It's cool. And my fingers are totally crossed." I draw a breath. "I'm sorry for yanking your chain. I'm just--"

  "Afraid someone's going to pull the rug out from under us?" she supplies. "Certain that the universe has it in for you? Convinced that every time your fingers touch something you want, it'll be ripped away from you?"

  I swallow. She's hit a little too close to the mark.

  Apparently, she realizes it, because the next thing I hear is her soft curse, followed by, "Oh, hell, Keeks. I'm sorry. Forgive me?"

  I picture her biting her lower lip, her model-pert nose scrunched up as she waits for my answer.

  "Fine." I say. "You're forgiven. So long as you stop calling me that."

  "Phhhbt. It's cute. It suits you."

  I glance at Ares, who looks toward the ceiling and shakes his head in exasperation. "The woman runs her own high powered marketing company," he says. "You're really going to saddle her with Keeks?"

  "Hey, I think it's great that your consulting gig is doing so well, but right now we should be focused on the band. Seriously, you ought to move out here. It'll be easier to record more tracks."

  "What track did you send Holt?" I ask, intentionally changing the subject.

  "Back to You," she says, referencing the song I sang Wednesday night at The Fix. It was the first song I'd performed on stage in years, but not the first I've written. It took me years, but once I picked up my pen again, I realized how cathartic it was.

  Now, I have quite a collection, and we've been culling through them, picking the best to score together. Kristi and Eden--the other two members of the band and my second best friends next to Ares and Celia--are both doing studio work in Nashville through the end of the year. But they come to LA at least once a month, and when they do, the three of them record the music and their vocal parts in LA. I record my vocals here at the studio Ares uses. And then Celia edits it all together. She's not a sound engineer, but she's done a damn fine job on the three demo tracks we've pulled together so far.

  "I'm serious," she says, ignoring my change of subject. "You should move back here. We could re-launch Pink Chameleon so much faster if you were closer. You wouldn't even have to stop consulting. There are plenty of places out in LA that need a kick-ass marketing consultant."

  I meet Ares' eyes, looking for support, but he just shrugs. "Don't look at me.
But if you are going to quit, then I think you should tour with Seven Percent. It's only a few months, and it would get you back in a performance rhythm."

  "You're just frustrated because some of your new material really needs a female lead singer," I say.

  "I admit it openly," he says. "Just tour with us for a month--even a few weeks. We can audition replacement girls on the road."

  I let out a frustrated groan. "You guys, come on. I like my job, and I like Austin. Besides, LA is freaking expensive, and I'm living mortgage-free here." Cam and I had inherited Gram's house, where I now live alone, since Cam rented a place closer to campus. "And, the whole point of working and living on the cheap is so that I can stockpile money to live on so that I can focus only on the band when I do move out there." The when being once Kristi and Eden are back, and once we've got enough songs ready to go that it makes sense to book some studio time to record the tracks, start releasing them, and get serious about finding a tour manager.

  "Plus," I continue, because now I'm on a roll, "I need Maia to be up to speed on Crown Consulting. She's got great ideas and works well with clients, so she could hold the business together for a few months. But she's still green, and I want her on this current Stark job with me. Because then--when, not if--Pink Chameleon goes on tour, she can babysit Crown Consulting and I don't have to worry that the business I built is going to crash and burn just because we're getting the band back together."

  "Oh, please. Your business is going to be bigger than ever. Because you'll be the one promoting the shit out of Pink Chameleon."

  "True," I say. "But why is it always on me to go to you? Why don't you come here? Austin. Music. They kind of go together, remember? We can work on band stuff while I finish this job. It's got a tighter time frame than I thought, so I should be clear by early next year."

  I don't mention that I'll have little to no free time. I know Celia well enough to know she's not going to jump on that offer.

  "You want me to give up the beach for Texas? Yeah, no. We'll stick with the plan. It's just that I'm really not a patient person."

  That's such an understatement, I burst out laughing. "Believe me, I'm well aware. And I'm excited about getting Pink Chameleon back together, too," I assure her. "But I have to do this right. I screwed up my music career once before. I don't think I'll get a third bite at the apple if I screw up this chance, too."