The Daymakers, page 17
I made it three before I ran into something solid and warm. Putting my hands on the chest in front of me, I tried to guess who it was. I ran my hands over their hard chest, up higher to their neck. Too tall for Knight, so that left me with Royal or…
“Are you all right?” Shep’s low voice was close to my face, like he was stooping down to talk to me.
I hadn’t seen him before we left, and I’d wondered if he was even going to travel on the bus with us. I guess him standing here answered my question.
Smiling, I gave into the urge to run my hands up to his face. “I’m fine. I don’t know why everyone keeps asking me that. It’s not like I was a blushing virgin before we left LA.” I kept my tone light, though I wished I could see his face. “Is there anyone else around?”
“No, Royal and Knight are asleep. They stayed up… late.”
I guess we’d kept the whole bus awake with our shenanigans.
I pushed up my mask so I could see his face. His jaw was tense, the dim strip lighting of the bus casting shadows in the hollows of his cheekbones. His eyes were impenetrably dark as he stared down at me, closer than I realized.
“I think I should apologize.”
He shook his head, leaning in closer until his forehead rested on mine. In the still of the darkness, time stopped. I breathed him in, and all too soon, he was pulling back. “Get some sleep. We’ll stop in a couple of hours for something to eat and so the driver can rest.”
With that, he slid my mask back down, and I felt the wall of his body disappear. I stood there dumbly, trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened.
Finally, I felt my way back to the room and climbed back between the sleeping bodies of Hero and Poet, but my whirling brain wouldn’t let me drift off again.
TWENTY-SIX
SHEP
We’d parked near an overlook just outside of Las Cruces in New Mexico. The rollout had been later than I’d hoped, but John had noticed a check engine light on in the bus, so we’d had to get an emergency mechanic out to have a look. He’d patched up whatever was wrong, but when we got to San Antonio, it would have to go in to be repaired. So the bus just had to take it easy until then.
We all sat outside while the driver slept, the band with their hoods pulled up and gators pulled up over their noses. “This is fucking impractical,” Knight ranted. “There’s no one else out here, and if it wasn’t for that stupid contract, I could actually breathe in this heat, rather than sweating through a damn mask.”
I didn’t miss the flash of hurt on Charlotte’s face. “I can always go back on the bus? Or put on the internal section of mine?”
Knight reached out and gripped her hand. “I’m not blaming you, Dreamer.” They’d all done a good job of using her new code name in public. “Just the stupid clause in the contract. You shouldn’t have to be blindfolded just so we can be comfortable.”
“Why the fuck not? She signed up for it.” Royal had his face tipped toward the sun, soaking in the warmth like the cold-blooded creature he was.
Hero reached over and punched him in the arm. “Don’t be a dick. Technically, we signed up for it too.”
Royal made a rude noise. “That’s why you don’t hear me whining about it.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes as she played with her phone. I knew for a fact she’d removed all her social media, and I was confident that she wasn’t going to waste an assload of cash to post that we were at some shitty desert overlook. I also knew that she had a hundred thousand good reasons not to out the guys after the tour ended, making the masks redundant, but we hadn’t gotten this far by being trusting.
The guys continued to bicker back and forth while I looked at the very real missile that was perched up on a pedestal right beside us. According to the infographic boards that no one but me would read, they used the basin below as a missile range. It was pretty, in a wide-open kind of way.
If I was honest, I was a city boy at heart, and this much space always gave me a touch of anxiety, like I really didn’t matter. Existential angst, as Poet would call it.
Charlotte sucked in a breath beside me, and I looked over at her casually, as if I wasn’t watching her religiously every fucking day, like a stalker.
She looked terrified right then, though, and all my security instincts went on high alert. I looked around, but there wasn’t another car in sight, except those driving on the interstate beside us.
“What’s wrong?” I strode over to her, taking in her pale complexion. “Are you in pain?” Fuck, maybe she’d fractured her rib or something else that had been brewing there in the background, waiting for us to be complacent and in the middle of fucking nowhere.
She shook her head, but the scared look never left her face. Her knuckles turned white where they were clutching her phone. I pried it from her fingers, looking down at what was on the screen. Had the press gotten photos of her? Released her name? Taken long-range photos through a hotel room window of them having sex? That had happened more than once. The whole world had seen a masked Royal fucking a girl against a hotel window in New York once.
Instead, it was an email. Pure vitriol was written on the screen, telling her that she was worthless, that if she ever spoke a word of what happened, he’d destroy her and her reputation until she’d end up giving blow jobs for five bucks. An unconscious stream of threats and insults followed for an entire page, from what I could tell was a burner email address, given the random combination of words.
It got more and more unhinged, until that stopped right before the end. Then it sounded so calm, it could have almost been a formal request.
Return home, and we’ll forget this ever happened. I will treat you the way you deserve. I love you, Charlie. However, if you don't, you’ll force my hand, and you won’t like the consequences.
T
That fucker. That absolute fucker.
She was shaking now, still deathly pale, and I wondered if she’d pass out. The guys had now noticed, and Hero was in front of her immediately. He tilted her face up to his, searching her for injury. She sucked in lungfuls of air, but continued to wheeze. She looked up at him with frantic eyes, like she was trapped in a nightmare.
Poet nudged Hero gently out of the way. “She’s having a panic attack.” He gripped her hands, squeezing them tightly. “Charlotte, baby, you’re having a panic attack right now. I’m here. I’ve got you, and you’re safe.”
“Can’t. Breathe,” she choked out, and I started to worry it wasn’t a panic attack, but something worse.
Poet just hummed softly, his hands never letting go of hers. “It’s hard; I know. But try for me. Deep breath in”—we all took a deep breath, like we could physically compel her to join us—“and then out. One more time. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. You’re safe. You’re with us. Look around you. Tell me three things you see right here.”
Her eyes darted around, like she couldn’t see anything around us, but then they stalled on the missile. “Missile.”
“Two more.”
“Bus,” she croaked out. Her eyes flicked to me. “Shep.”
“Three things you can hear?”
“The cars.” She let out a shaky breath. “A bird. You.”
He stroked her face softly. “That’s it, baby. I’m right here. Now, lift your head and look at me with those pretty eyes, so I can see you're okay.” She lifted her chin, and he smiled down at her while I stood there feeling completely, utterly helpless. “Now, touch my face. Know that I won’t let anything happen to you. None of us will.”
Even as he said the words, I knew it was true. This was temporary, but it was hard not to let Charlotte slip beneath my skin. Impossible, even. I was going to find out everything I could about that fuck and then I was going to make him wish he’d never been born.
Poet pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in his arms, while we all hovered around looking uncertain. Even Royal had lost that shit-eating confidence he seemed to possess twenty-four seven.
He drifted back toward me, raising an eyebrow. We’d been friends long enough that I knew what he was asking. I handed him the phone, and he read the email, his brows getting lower and lower until his eyes were filled with molten rage.
“We’re going to make this go away,” he said to me, his voice pitched low. I nodded. I was already thinking of people from the old days I could call to figure this shit out. Royal slid his eyes to me, and they were blazing hot with fury. “Find out what you can and I’ll take care of it.”
He wasn’t without his own connections, and while they mightn’t all run on the less savory side of the law, that didn’t mean they weren’t terrifying.
I nodded again, my eyes drifting back to Charlotte, who was finally breathing normally. Knight’s hands rubbed circles over her back, and the look on his face was devastated. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who’d suddenly found Charlotte Lochrin deep under my skin.
We were back on the road, but the bus was unusually quiet. Knight was strumming the guitar as he worked on music, with Poet at the little dining nook, writing in his notebook. Charlotte lay curled up on the couch with her head in Hero’s lap, as they watched a movie about robots.
Her breakdown had affected us all, and I wasn’t immune. I made a list of things I wanted to know; as much as I wanted to give her space, parts of that email had me worried. They were violent, bordering on psychotic. That wasn’t some spurned lover with anger issues—that was someone with far greater problems than I had even contemplated.
I sat down across from her, which drew her attention from the television. Her gaze shuttered as she took in my expression. She was a smart woman, despite her lack of formal education. She knew what I was about.
“I’ll ask you these questions now, for your safety and the band’s. You’ll only have to talk about it once, and then we’ll never mention it again, unless you bring it up first.”
She nodded her agreement, and Hero buried his fingers in her hair, stroking his fingers through the dark lengths.
“First, what’s his full name? Just so he’s on the no-fly list anywhere we go.”
She chewed her lip. “Thomas Granville Junior.”
“What’s he do for a living?”
“He’s a junior associate at a law firm. Helena, Perlman & Carlton. They’re a firm in LA.”
Well, shit. That was either really good or really bad. Guys like that had shit to lose, which could either make them more pliable or more unhinged. I had a feeling he’d end up in the latter category.
She was still in Hero’s arms, but I could see her pressing her head further into his hands. Knight was still playing, but it was the same chord progression over and over again, so I knew he was listening to the conversation while pretending he wasn’t.
“And the night we met, was that the first time he’d hurt you?”
She shook her head. “No. Not the first. Or the tenth,” she said bitterly, and I wanted to reach out and bundle her up in my arms. “He wasn’t like that at the beginning. Only after he knew I had nowhere else to go. No escape.” A tear rolled down her cheek, but she didn’t lift her hand to brush it away. She just let it run its course.
Hero curled over her, lifting his mask enough to kiss her temple. “You did escape. He’s just throwing a tantrum, because you’re smart and resourceful.”
I agreed, but I had to continue with my questioning. “Did you take photos of any injuries?”
She nodded again. “Every time. I’d store them in the cloud, then delete them from my phone. He checked my phone all the time to make sure I wasn’t seeing other guys.”
Hero smiled down at her. “See? Smart and resourceful.”
I continued to grill her until I had an entire picture of Thomas Granville Junior. Firstly, he had sway. He was friends with cops, plus the partners in his firm were well connected. He was also a narcissistic sociopath who’d likely beaten her down because her home life had been worse, probably figuring she wasn’t someone anyone would miss. I wondered if, eventually, the beatings would have gotten bad enough that he’d have killed her.
“How you want to proceed is up to you. We can ignore the email and hope it goes away.” Well, not completely ignore it. I’d have backup plans waiting in the wings, but Charlotte didn’t need to worry about any of them. “Or we can involve the cops and press charges, get ahead of it.”
She was already shaking her head. “I just want to forget he exists. I want to start fresh. We just need time and distance, and then he’ll forget about me…” And move on to someone else. The unsaid words hung in the air between us, and I could see that didn’t sit well with Charlotte.
Hell, it didn’t sit well with me either. But I wasn’t going to force her into anything. Maybe one day she’d bring him down, but right now, if she just wanted to hide and heal? That’s what we’d help her do.
And maybe, just maybe, I could arrange for him to have an unfortunate accident along the way.
TWENTY-SEVEN
DREAMER
The next three stops—which I thought of as venues, now that I’d been on the road for a little while—were a blur. The guys had been all super respectful and polite, but someone came to bed with me every night. Well, Knight, Hero or Poet. Sometimes a combination of both Hero and Poet, but the bed wasn’t really conducive to a good night’s sleep if there were three of us in there. It got hot and sticky really quick.
Sometimes Knight would just crawl in beside me after the show, wrap himself around me and go to sleep. Sometimes he’d fuck me until the only thing I knew was his name. The same with Hero and Poet, though normally, they made love to me together.
After I thought about it some more, that’s what it had felt like, right from the beginning. They didn’t fuck me. It felt like more than a mindless meeting of bodies, and I don’t know why that scared the shit out of me.
The only thing that had changed since Las Cruces was that Royal hadn’t come near me. Oh, he chatted to me with the group while we were moving from place to place. But he kept his touches respectful, even if his tone was always imperious, then at night, he went to sleep in his own bunk.
I didn’t know why it was frustrating, but it was. I’d asked Shep if he was fucking groupies again, because if that was true, then me even being on the tour was for nothing. That had been an awkward conversation, because no matter how monotone I said it, the words sounded jealous as hell.
Shep had assured me Royal wasn’t fucking anyone, and the small spark of satisfaction in my chest was worrying.
However, despite all the worry, I’d finally finished my mask that I’d been working on with Helen in my downtime. The older costume designer had held it up to the light, moving it this way and that, before making an encouraging noise. “It’s very good for your first mask, Dreamer. You’re a natural.”
I knew she wasn’t just placating me, because I don’t think that word was even in her vocabulary. Then she critiqued it, but I couldn’t help the goofy grin on my face. Eventually, she smiled back.
“We’ll make a costume artist of you yet,” she whispered conspiratorially, and every part of me had been filled with pride.
Which was why I was going to wear it to tonight’s show. I didn’t go to every show, but most of them. I stood offstage and watched the guys play. It was almost like foreplay, because they were really something else under the heat of the stage lights. Sweat-soaked beauty.
The guys were already out of the bus by the time I made it there, and I pulled out an outfit I’d picked up from a thrift store in New Orleans. It was a short lace dress with tulle skirts, but had an embroidered bustier top with a sweetheart neckline, which cinched in with ribbons at the back. The top was trimmed with lace that spiraled up a sheer insert like vines, ending at my throat, with a collar wrapping around like a choker, a small snake charm at the center. More sheer fabric ran down my arms before it billowed out into more tulle, puffy sleeves ending at my wrists in tight cuffs. The dress was a lot, and I’d spent more money on it than I would have even contemplated a month ago, but I’d fallen in love with it.
Torn opaque tights and my boots finished off the ensemble. I curled my hair around my shoulders and placed my mask on my face. It was all intricate swirls and loops, more like silver lacework than my last one, dipping low down over my cheeks. Crown-like spikes of wire were wrapped around pink quartz crystals along the top, and a moonstone was set in the middle of my forehead. It was still a blind mask—you couldn’t see my eyes—but I could see out of it surprisingly well.
I couldn’t help the smile on my face as I took in the vision in the mirror.
I looked like an ethereal goddess. I loved it. I felt cute—beautiful, even. No bruises remained on my face from Tom. No part of beaten-down Charlie remained. All that was left was Dreamer, who took her destiny in her hands and ensured that life worked for her.
As I walked through the security checkpoint, the guy on the gate looked at my laminated badge and raised a hand to stop me. “Excuse me, Miss, but we were told to escort you. Just give me a second to get someone to relieve me at the gate,” he asked imploringly, like he thought I was just going to sprint across the road without him and get him fired. At this venue, the private parking lot was across a busy main road from the actual arena.
I smiled, and the way his jaw went a little slack made me feel good about myself. “No worries.”
He turned and radioed someone, keeping an eye on me. Finally, he clipped his radio back to his belt. “You’re Dreamer.”
I raised an eyebrow, not that you could see it above my mask. “I am today.”
An older man came to relieve the security kid, who had to be like eighteen, max. We walked to the pedestrian crossing, and across the road, there were hundreds of people milling in front of the arena. Some of those people stopped to stare, and as I walked across the road, I realized the low buzz of voices was now littered with the word Dreamer.
