Wicked Serenade: a Lost in Oblivion Collection

by Quinn, Cari

  Jazz set her teeth. “How much does Gray owe you?”

  “Gray. Hmm. That name does sound familiar.” She placed a hand over her heart as she pretended to think it through. “Oh yes, I do remember him. He has a lot of…energy, doesn’t he? I imagine you know that intimately.”

  “More intimately than you do, since you never slept with him.”

  “Is that what he told you?” Cricket smiled and thanked the waitress as she set their drinks down. She waited to continue until the waitress had moved away. “I’m glad to hear that you’re so trusting. It’s sweet, really.”

  “Cut the bullshit. If you know anything about his cock, it’s because you played stalker and cut pictures out of a magazine. Don’t bother trying to goad me.”

  “Hardly. I had my hand on it. That, darling, is sterling truth.”

  Which Jazz well knew, because she’d seen Cricket groping him on New Year’s Eve.

  Jazz pulled the wrapper off her straw and stabbed it into her iced tea, splashing some on the table. “Is that why you had your goons rough him up? Because you didn’t get to do more than touch?”

  “Goons. What an adorable word.” Cricket laughed and unwrapped her own straw before sliding it into her soda much more delicately than Jazz. “What makes you think I have any idea what you’re talking about?”

  “I want to pay you what he owes. All of it, right now.”

  Interest fired in Cricket’s dark eyes. “I’m curious. How did you get my number?”

  “Off his phone, while he was in the hospital. He’s out now. Your thugs didn’t manage to kill him.”

  “If I wanted someone dead, you can rest assured they would be.”

  “Right, because you’re so fucking dangerous in your expensive suits you buy with the money you make from other people’s misery.” Jazz sipped her tea to keep from throwing the contents on Cricket’s seductively tousled hair.

  “On the contrary. I make people happy. Why, you should’ve seen how happy I made Gray. Happier than I bet you’ve ever made him.” Cricket smiled. “Though I’m sure you’ve tried.”

  Jazz set down her glass and counted off the beats to “Ripcord” in her mind in a vain attempt to stave off her fury. She hadn’t come there to get into a bitch contest with Cricket. Whatever the other woman had done or hadn’t done with Gray was the past. All she cared about right now was the future.

  “How much does he owe you? I want the entire figure.”

  “Some big man he is, sending his girlfriend to pay off his debt.”

  “He didn’t send me. He hasn’t even told me he still owes you anything. I just assumed.” Especially when Jazz thought about the ring he’d bought her just before he got hurt. She’d added up a lot of things and perhaps she’d reached the wrong total, but she figured she couldn’t be too far off. If Gray had paid in full, Cricket’s thugs probably wouldn’t have messed with a lucrative cash cow.

  “If you don’t tell me, I’ll walk away and you’ll never get your money.”

  “Right. I’ll just forgive the debt your boyfriend incurred because you told me to. Little drummer girl, trying to act all tough.”

  “You think I’m acting?” Jazz asked in a low voice. “I’m a product of the state of California’s foster care system. I had men feeling me up before my breasts had fully developed. I’ve been on my own since sixteen. You don’t scare me, and I don’t give a shit if I scare you. I just want to pay you what Gray owes and pretend I never saw your motherfucking face.”

  Cricket fell silent as the waitress returned with her salad. She unrolled her silverware and set her napkin in her lap, as dainty as could be. Then she just looked at Jazz. “I was in foster care too.”

  “I don’t care.” She didn’t. She absolutely would not allow herself to feel any empathy for this woman, not even for a second.

  Cricket shrugged and speared a cherry tomato. “I’m not asking you to. I’m just saying it sounds like we come from the same place.”

  “No, we do not. Want to know how I know? Because I never would’ve stooped to selling to people who aren’t strong enough to say no. I never would’ve bought my fancy clothes from blood money.”

  “No, you sit back and let the men in your band protect you. Sweet little Jasmine that all the boys want.” Cricket scraped her fork over her plate. “I make no apologies for what I do. I provide a service to adults. If those adults can’t control their fucking impulses, why is that my problem?”

  “Because you’re a human being and have a heart?”

  “Maybe you still do, and if so, I pity you even more. Mine withered up years ago, and I can guarantee you that of the two of us, I’m suffering a lot less.” She set down her fork and pulled her phone out of her purse. She tapped a few keys and glanced up, her face blank. “You asked me how much he still owes.”

  “Yes.” Jazz tucked her now trembling hands between her thighs. “Tell me.”

  Cricket named a figure that caused Jazz’s pulse to skip a dozen beats. She huffed out a breath and inhaled another. No big deal. She had enough to cover it. She’d planned ahead, and she was prepared.

  “You look like you’re about to hyperventilate, drummer girl.” Cricket slipped her cell back into her purse. “Your boyfriend has a healthy appetite. His tab added up fast.”

  She wasn’t going to think about exactly how much coke that money had bought. If she did, she’d probably get nauseous again, which wouldn’t help her case for indifference. “That includes everything, right? Fees and interest and—”

  “I don’t pay taxes, so yes, that includes everything right up to this minute.” Cricket smirked. “But the clock is running.”

  “Okay.” Jazz withdrew the bank envelope from her purse. “I have about half of it here—”

  Cricket sighed. “Same tune, different singer.”

  “Shut up. I have the rest, but it’s in the bank.” And it would tap her out completely. “I’ll write you a check.”

  Cricket laughed. “Darling, mine’s not the kind of business that accepts checks. We’re strictly a cash-and-carry type of operation.”

  “Do you want your money or not?” Jazz pushed her iced tea out of the way. “I guarantee you I’m good for it.”

  “If only you had any idea how many guarantees I hear like that on a daily basis.” Cricket went back to her salad. “Fine. Give me the cash you have in hand and write me a check for the rest.”

  “I want it in writing that this satisfies the debt.”

  Cricket choked and reached for her soda. She took a long sip then shook her head. “You did say you were raised in foster care, right? Not with The Waltons on the farm? First you want to write me a check, now you want a signed note from the teacher. What’s next, a handshake to show good faith?”

  “You don’t have any faith left, good or otherwise. As for the note, humor me.”

  Yes, it was stupid. She fully acknowledged it. But some part of her refused to see this as anything but a simple business transaction. When she paid a bill, she got a notice that it was paid. Simplistic, maybe, but she needed to follow the steps.

  “You know, I like you. I have no reason to. Your contempt toward me is rather overpowering. But maybe it’s our shared experiences.” One side of Cricket’s mouth curved. “And interest in men.”

  “You don’t have an interest in him. You wanted to swallow him whole.”

  “Can’t argue with that. He is one gorgeous package. And he has one, as well.” Cricket held out her hand, her sly smile fading. “Now pay up.”

  Jazz handed her the envelope and wrote her a check for the rest. By then her stomach was threatening revolt, so she accepted the scrawled payment note Cricket gave her in return and stood to leave.

  “It was nice doing business with you,” Cricket said, returning to her half eaten salad.

  Jazz started to turn away before some unknown impulse caused her to turn back. “Do you ever think about getting a real job? Something legit?”

  Cricket didn’t look up. “So
mething legit like banging on the drums in a rock band?”

  “At least they won’t be hauling me off to jail for it.”

  “I could walk away tomorrow and be set for years. Can you say the same?”

  “I don’t want to walk away,” Jazz said, forcing out the words through her way too tight throat.

  “One difference among many between you and me.” Cricket saluted her with her fork. “Cheers.”

  Jazz drove back to the apartment with Cricket’s words running through her head. For so long, she’d wanted nothing more than freedom. The ability to be able to pick up and go without any nagging foster parents or the system trying to tag her whereabouts. Eventually she’d admitted the reason she wanted freedom so much was because she truly didn’t have a place to belong, so landing anywhere for long felt like the worst kind of lie. People like her were meant to go where the wind blew and the music carried them.

  She’d once imagined becoming a traveling minstrel, strumming a guitar for pennies that people tossed in her case. Back then she’d been sure she could live on that kind of appreciation, hollow or not. In time, she might learn to stop needing so much, though her wants seemed simple enough. Love. Affection. A family.

  Gray.

  Without conscious decision, she headed straight to his room once she arrived back at the apartment. The door stood open and music played on the sound system on low, serving as a backdrop for him to strum along with. Not Oblivion. He’d chosen one of his favorite classic songs, “Wasted Time” by the Eagles. Listening to him sing along in his husky, haunting voice made her fumble for the guitar pick necklace she never took off. Touching it forged one more link with him in spite of the hesitation that bolted her feet to the floor.

  She wasn’t ready to have this conversation with him. Would never be ready. But it couldn’t wait.

  Once the song ended, she stepped into the doorway and tightened her grip on the chain. He sat on the bed, holding his guitar in his lap. His fingers ghosted over the strings, playing a silent melody she could hear though it had no sound.

  She bit her lip, aching for him. For herself.

  “You can come in.” He lifted his head and gave her a smile tinged with a sorrow she understood all too well. “This was supposed to be your room now too.”

  She abandoned her hold on her necklace to start fiddling with her ring. “I wasn’t sure that offer still stood.”

  His lack of response created a chain-effect reaction in her body. Her skin prickled hot and a wave of dizziness rolled through her. But her unsettled stomach didn’t so much as pitch.

  Too bad she couldn’t feel any relief through her dread.

  “Come in and shut the door, okay?” He shifted to set aside his guitar, allowing her to see the suitcase tucked between the nightstand and the bed. The packed suitcase.

  “That’s from the cabin, right?” Her breath quickened. “You just haven’t unpacked—”

  “Come in.” He gestured with his fingers for her to keep moving forward and she stopped, unwilling to make this easy on him. If he was going to break her heart, he’d have to travel the last few feet between them to do it.

  Even if she suspected all he’d have to do was look, really look, at her to make her lose her last grasp on her composure.

  “No. I’m fine here.” She held her ground just inside the doorway. “W-where are you going?”

  “Jazz—”

  No baby this time. No sexy smile or hungry expression to let her know that he was undressing her in his mind even while he was talking about something banal. His eyes were guarded, his mouth set in a line.

  “Just say your piece. Don’t sugarcoat it.” She clamped her arms over her chest and prayed for the strength to get through this. To not fall to her knees and beg him not to turn her away when they’d finally gotten so close to having everything.

  It was all about timing, she’d told him once. Without it, it was impossible to keep the beat going. And theirs was always fucking wrong.

  “Please, come sit next to me. Don’t make this harder than it is already.”

  “Why not? Why shouldn’t it be the hardest thing we’ve ever gone through? If I’d wanted easy, I would’ve stayed with Nick.” His face closed off even more, but she couldn’t regret her thoughtless mention. Not when he was about to trash their past and their future.

  “It should be easy,” he said, his voice barely audible. “That’s what I always wanted for you. You deserve a man who can take care of you and treat you right. Who will never lie to you or hurt you or put you in danger for even a second. That’s not me.”

  “I don’t want to be taken care of. I don’t need it. Newsflash, Grayson Duffy, I’ve been on my own for a very long time. If I let you share my life, it’s because I wanted you there, not because I couldn’t get by without you.” She wasn’t sure of that—not at all—but she was damn fed up with people acting as if she should hide out in an ivory tower all day. “Wanna know who I had lunch with? You might know her. She’s tall and blonde and claims to have handled your penis.”

  Recognition dawned in his eyes and he jerked to his feet. “Why would you have lunch with Cricket? Or go anywhere near her?”

  “Maybe I wanted a hit.” She walked forward and slammed her hands on his chest, pushing him backward into the frame of the bed. “Ever think of that? Maybe I thought I should try it too,” she said, pushing him again.

  Too late she remembered his injuries. Fury burned in her, almost squelching out the fear. Beneath both simmered more love than she had any clue what to do with.

  He didn’t move, but the wildness in his eyes revealed the extent of his anguish. “No.”

  “Yes. I want to know what made you go that far. I want to feel that high that’s worth throwing everything else away.”

  “I didn’t have anything else.” His voice lifted to match hers and he moved forward, going toe-to-toe with her. “I’d lost you, when I’d never even had you. All I’d gotten was a taste I had to share. What the fuck did I have?”

  “How about these?” She yanked on his wrist. “You create beautiful things with these hands and this heart.” She jammed her fingers into his chest. “Inside you, there’s more music than anyone I’ve ever known. And you don’t even hear it. You don’t see what I see every time I look at you.”

  “What?” he roared, getting in her face.

  “I see the sweetest, smartest, sexiest boy I’ve ever known. He’s a man now, but when I look into his eyes, I’m a girl again and he’s a boy. I never truly got to be a child or to stop watching over my shoulder, but with him, I did. Because he stood back to back with me every day. Not in front of me. Not shielding me. I just wanted someone to hold my hand.” She panted out the rest. “I wanted it to be you.”

  He closed his fingers around her wrist and tugged it up to his mouth, pressing his lips to the center of her palm. “I let you down.”

  “Don’t you dare say that.” Tears blinded her as she shoved him once more, incapable of staying still long enough for his words to sink in. She couldn’t allow them to travel deep enough that she couldn’t dig them out again. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known. I want to marry you, and have babies with you, and grow old with you. I won’t let you keep me from getting what I deserve.” She rained punches over his torso, not fully conscious of where her blows were landing. She’d just add this to her list of regrets later. “I won’t back down. Not this time.”

  He caught her fists and pulled them up his chest, dragging her hands around his neck. Then he hauled her up in his arms, groaning loudly and swaying with enough force that she thought they’d end up on the ground. Somehow he maintained his hold on her and she held on to him, wrapping her legs around his waist monkey-style until he toppled them both to the bed. At the last second she tried to brace his shoulder but he groaned again anyway, his face going white for an instant before she crushed her mouth to his and offered him her breath.

  She didn’t expect him to respond. The guy was in agony. But
his hands slipped into her hair, turning her head the way he needed it, and his tongue stroked over hers, plunging deep. Feeding on her as if he was starving to death and she represented his last opportunity to sate his hunger. She gave him back as good as she got, biting his lower lip, sucking his tongue, pulling on his hair. He freed a hand to push under her top and she reared back to undo his jeans, her hands stilling at the soft but audible click of the door being shut.

  She slid a glance sideways and yep, one of their bandmates had closed the door. Probably the one currently laughing like a loon in the hallway.

  “Simon,” she muttered, shaking her head. She glanced at Gray and found him grinning up at her, his amusement almost enough to disguise the leftover pain etched on his features.

  He was hurt yet she’d whaled on him, and pushed him, and now she was sitting on him. She started to move away but he grabbed her arm, settling her directly over his definitely-not-ailing dick. “Stay put, freedom fighter.”

  It should’ve pissed her off to have their argument tossed back in her face. But it was hard to get too annoyed when she couldn’t stop rubbing against his rigid cock like a cat in heat. “You’re injured.”

  “And I know how you can take care of me.”

  She couldn’t help laughing at his lecherous tone. “Well then, far be it from me not to…serve.”

  She shimmied down his body to peel off his jeans and boxers, yanking them down his thighs. She wasted no time in sliding her mouth over the head of his cock, then pleasured his shaft with slow swipes of her tongue. Getting him nice and wet. She traveled lower and buried her face in his groin while she nipped and teased his flesh. She toyed with his balls, rolling them between her lips, giving them both equal treatment, before licking his length right up to the swollen tip.

  This time she didn’t torment him with a shallow suck but took him down in one long swallow, taking as much as she could in one pass. At the sound of his grunt, she pushed herself for more, digging her nails into the insides of his thighs while she opened her throat and amped up her suction.