Ashen Rayne (Shadowlands Book 1) (13 page)

Ashley leaned forward and kissed Smoak on the cheek. “Try not to do anything else crazy tonight, okay? I don’t think I could stand it.”

“Promise,” Smoak replied.

She watched Ashley disappear into her room and pulled Blaze’s number from her pocket. The ink had run in the rain, but it was still legible. Feeling the butterflies starting to flutter and dance in her belly, she dialed the number.

She answered on the second ring. “Hey, who’s this?”

“It’s me,” Smoak replied.

“Kamryn? I was starting to think you wouldn’t call. I missed you at Lollipops, someone named Rikki told me you weren’t coming in tonight.”

“Things have been kind of busy this evening. I never made it to work.”

Blaze’s tone changed from teasing to concerned. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I just had some business to take care of, that’s all.”

“Cool. Um… I’ve got a gig in like twenty minutes, and I really need to get to sound check. I’d love it if you would come listen. You know, if you want to.”

Smoak smiled. “I definitely want to. Where?”

Blaze’s voice grew higher, and she spoke faster. “I’ll be at The Stage off Thirty-Eighth. I’ll leave your name at the door and get you a place near the stage, okay? Don’t be late.”

“I’m on my way,” Smoak said. “See you soon.”

“See you!”

Smoak heard Blaze say, “Guys, I’ve got someone coming—” before the phone cut out. Her excitement made the butterflies in Smoak’s stomach do back flips.

“What’s wrong with you?”
she muttered. “You’re a dancer, you bring girls home almost nightly, get a grip on yourself. Keep doing this and you’ll end up talking to yourself like Chandler does.”

She put the phone in her pocket and turned toward the door. That’s when she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was pointing east, and she looked as if she’d gone three rounds with an angry lion.

“Shit!”

The Stage was a bar in the Miami Design District. On the outside, it was fairly nondescript with a discrete neon sign and a few umbrella-covered tables on a cozy patio out front. Inside was a cozy bar, which catered to a crowd that shared a love of live music and good whisky. Smoak arrived five minutes late and parked her bike at the curb behind a white cargo van. Even outside, she could hear the strains of an acoustic guitar playing, and she recognized the tune.

She looked down at herself and hoped she looked okay. She’d changed into a pair of skinny jeans, a white open-back top that showed off her tattoos and brown western boots. She’d managed to wash off the worst of the grime and run a rake through her hair, but hadn’t had time to put on any makeup, and she felt self-conscious about the scars on her jaw.

She pushed her hair back with her tinted driving glasses and hurried through the door, where a large man wearing a red polo shirt with the word security on the left breast stopped her.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “We have a ten dollar cover tonight.”

Smoak handed over a wad of cash. “Sure. Fine. Um, I think Blaze Nightingale told you to reserve a spot for me?”

The man smiled. “You’re the one B is waiting for? One sec.”

He looked up and raised his voice. “Yo, Jimmy! B’s friend is here.”

A much smaller man with close-cropped hair and the original pencil-thin mustache appeared out of nowhere at Smoak’s elbow.

“You must be Kamryn,” he said. “Follow me.”

Smoak smiled her thanks to the security guard and followed the small man through the crowd toward the stage. Blaze was sitting on a stool, her acoustic guitar resting on her thigh. A three-piece band, including drums, bass and piano, played behind her. They sounded amazing. Blaze sang like an angel, and she looked even better. Her flaming hair looked like a fiery waterfall framing her face and cascading over her shoulders. She’d dressed in a black vest, matching jeans and a pair of black western boots with white stitching and chiseled silver tips that glistened as she kept time.

Smoak sat at the table they had reserved for her and tried to quiet the butterflies. She looked like a ragamuffin compared to Blaze.

The song ended to roaring applause, and Blaze stood to put her acoustic guitar down and trade it for an electric Fender with blue sparkle paint.

“Thank you all so much,” she said. “Our last gig was cancelled ‘cause of bad gator bites, so we really appreciate you coming out tonight. I’ve got a friend here this evening, and I still owe her for almost knocking her over in the hallway. She’s never heard me sing before, so please excuse me if I show off a little for her.”

She winked at Smoak, and the band launched into a song called “Superstition” that showed off both her guitar playing and her wide vocal range. This was followed by a medley of blues, rock, and pop that lasted close to forty minutes. Smoak listened to every song in rapt attention while the ice in her glass of Talisker melted. When it was over, Blaze handed her guitar to one of the guys in the band and jumped off the stage to join Smoak at her table.

“I was worried you weren’t going to make it,” she said.

Smoak smiled. “I realized I looked like crap and needed to change. I still look like crap, but at least I’m clean.”

Blaze laughed and waved to a waiter to bring her a beer. “You look great. It’s refreshing to see you without all that makeup. You don’t need it, you have beautiful skin and amazing eyes. I’ve never seen anyone with purple eyes before. Are they contacts?”

“Thank you,” Smoak said. “No, I was born with them. Everyone thought they would be more blue as I got older, but they just got more purple.”

“Very cool,” Blaze said.

Her beer arrived, and she took a sip before continuing, “So what did you think?”

“I think you sing like a goddess,” Smoak said. “It’s no surprise you’re studying music.”

Blaze blushed and looked away, taking another sip of beer. “Thank you. It’s my passion, but Rayne always said passion wasn’t enough.”

“Maybe she’s right, and maybe it isn’t. But you have talent, too. Talent, passion, and drive are the keys to making it in any business.”

Blaze smiled. “How can you tell I have drive? Is it stamped on my forehead?”

“You didn’t give up on me, for one. And two, I know you went to class all day and worked all afternoon, yet here you are playing in a bar for a few hundred bucks. That’s drive.”

“I couldn’t give up on you, Kamryn,” Blaze said. “I knew the moment I ran into you, you were someone special.”

Smoak blinked at Blaze, who burst out laughing.

“Okay, so that was the dumbest line anyone ever said. But it’s kind of true. Most people would have gotten angry or been rude, but you were sweet and took it in stride. You even shared my crappy toast with me.”

“It was an accident,” Smoak said. “There was no reason for me to be rude about it. Besides, the coffee was good.”

“I do make good coffee. I make amazing flapjacks, too.”

“They can’t be worse than your toast. Maybe you can have me over for breakfast again.”

“Maybe. I’d have to see how Rayne…oh.” Blaze frowned and sank into her chair.

Smoak kicked herself. “Still no word?”

Blaze shook her head. “No. Nothing. I’m starting to worry that she’s dead.”

“She’s not dead, Blaze. She will turn up, I know it.”

Blaze stared at her beer. “Yeah. I just thought they would have had something by now, you know? I’ve heard these girls really know their stuff.”

“I understand,” Smoak said. “I wish I could make her appear and make all the worry go away for you.”

“Having you show up tonight is a big help, Kam. Believe me. I haven’t really talked with anyone except Rayne since I broke up with my last girlfriend. Most of our friends were really hers.”

“I know how that goes. Even if they are still your friends, it feels weird. I’ve been in the same boat.”

She watched Blaze for a moment then reached out and took the younger girl’s hand. “Look, I know you’ve had a rough time of it. Do you want to get out of here and go have a little fun?”

Blaze smiled and Smoak watched life creep back into the girl’s deep green eyes.

“What did you have in mind?” Blaze asked.

“I have a friend who does night flights over the city,” Smoak said. “He’s really good and will give us what he calls the spirited tour if we want.”

“That sounds like fun. What’s the spirited tour?”

“Kiril does nighttime aerobatics over the ocean and city,” Smoak replied with a grin. “Scary as hell.”

“Awesome, I’m in!”

“Let’s do it. Do you need to do anything before we can go?”

“I just need to freshen up and let the guys know I’m bailing,” Blaze replied. “They’ll take my guitars with them, and I’ll get them tomorrow.”

“Okay, I’ll call Kiril and meet you outside.”

Blaze joined Smoak by her bike less than ten minutes later. She ran a hand over the bike and squatted to look at the detail on the side.

“What kind of bike is this?” she asked.

“It’s made by a company called Classified Moto,” Smoak replied. “It was custom made for me.”

“You must do very well as a dancer,” Blaze observed.

“I do okay and have my share of regulars. Maybe later I can show you, and you can tell me if I’m really any good,” Smoak replied with a grin.

She slid onto the saddle and turned the key, bringing the bike’s 900cc engine to life. “Hop on.”

Blaze frowned at the motorcycle. “I haven’t been on a bike since I was a kid. Maybe I should just take my car.”

“Trust me,” Smoak said. “Just get on and lean into me until you’re comfortable.”

Blaze did as she was asked, sliding into the seat behind Smoak and leaning forward. Smoak smiled at her over her shoulder and lowered her glasses. Blaze smiled back and Smoak took off, guiding the bike into the street, down Thirty-Eighth toward the causeway.

Smoak took it easy, at first, letting Blaze get used to the motorcycle, the way it rode and the way it leaned into the corners even at a moderate speed. After a time, she felt Blaze’s grip loosen and her body press more firmly into her back, and she accelerated, her hair streaming behind her to mix with the fiery redhead’s snuggled into her back.

“How fast are we going?” Blaze yelled into her ear.

“About eighty,” Smoak called back. “Do you want me to slow down?”

“Faster!”

Smoak grinned and leaned forward, feeling Blaze move with her as she twisted the throttle, accelerating over one hundred miles per hour. The custom bike was smooth under her hands, and she guided it through nighttime traffic with ease, showing off without putting Blaze in undue danger.

They pulled onto the airport road, and Smoak guided the bike through the open gate to an airplane hangar off to the side.

“That was awesome!” Blaze said once they were off the motorcycle. “I forgot how much fun it was to ride a bike.”

“It’s my favorite way to travel. I own a truck, but I’d rather get soaking wet in the rain than drive it instead of the bike.”

“You have a truck?” Blaze asked.

Smoak nodded.

“You don’t seem the type,” Blaze continued. “I see you as more a muscle car kind of girl.”

Smoak laughed. “I don’t own it ‘cause I want it, I own it ‘cause sometimes its practical. I had a Mustang when I was a kid, I guess I still do, it’s probably in a barn somewhere out near Lakeland.”

While they were talking, a short, thin man with sandy blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail walked out of the hangar and joined them by the motorcycle. He smiled at Smoak and held out his hand.

“Smoak, where’ve you been, girl?” he asked in a slow southern drawl. “I ain’t seen you in a couple of years.”

“Hey Kiril,” Smoak said. “Work’s been keeping me busy. I’m barely keeping my license current with everything that’s going on. How are you?”

“Same old, same old,” Kiril replied. “I still got two nickels to rub together.”

“Smoak?” Blaze asked.

“Kiril, this is my friend Blaze. Blaze, I’ve known Kir since I was in high school. He’s the guy responsible for me learning to fly. Among other things.”