The Gift (15 page)

She caved like pavement over a sinkhole. "You know," she touched her pen to her lip and Doren coaxed her with an interested raise of his eyebrows, "I do have something that I set aside for a young man last week. He hasn't been back yet and we do only promise to hold items for two days."

Doren gasped a smile and took her hand. "Oh? Can we see it?"

She waved him away. "Oh, all right. But if I get in trouble ..."

"Whoa." Doren's eyes widened at the light gray suit she brought back. "That has to be the second-most sexy thing in this store." He winked at the saleswoman who chuckled, falling into the assumption that Doren meant her, and waved them to the dressing room.

"It's Gucci," she explained. "Fashioned after a sixties day suit. A little out of the league for most budgets but I'm sure—"

She waited for Doren to finish for her, smiling when he added the requisite, "Price is not an issue."

"Doren," August grumbled. "I'm not buying this. It's over twelve hundred dollars."

"And worth every penny," Doren argued. "Let me help you."

"I can dress myself just fine, thank you—" Doren was already undoing the buttons on August's shirt as August insisted he didn't need assistance.

"Silk," Doren told him, handing him the shirt.

"I am aware."

"And uhh," Doren squinted at the tag in the jacket. "A silk and cotton blend Poplin-Dylan, apparently."

"Mm hmm." August grabbed the jacket and wrestled it on. "For the low, low price of—"

"Who the fuck cares?" Doren said, pretending to read the price tag. He looked up and pulled in a breath, whistling softly. "You look hot."

August rolled his eyes in the mirror, straightening the jacket. "You're just trying to suck up."

"That too," Doren agreed, stepping closer, reaching his arms around August from the back and unfastening August's pants. "Is it working?" The button gave way easily; he nudged August's pants over his hips but made no move to reach for the new ones. Instead he dragged his fingers over the outline of August's dick.

"I said when we got back to the room …" August frowned, but the hitch in his voice gave away his interest.

"The deal was we had to find something to wear," Doren argued. "We did."

"Jesus, Doren," August huffed. "We can't—"

"We can do whatever we want, baby," Doren chuckled into his ear. "Welcome to rock and roll."

He sat back in the car, watching the two men on the monitor. Did they have no sense of class? Did they not realize that every dressing room from there to Alaska had cameras in them? What if the press got hold of this? What if someone else had tapped into the feed of that system and, as Anton watched with his fists clenched and his teeth gritted, his beautiful star and that simple, cursed nobody was being streamed all over the country?

He watched Doren toss the jacket aside, the two of them laughing like kids as August redressed in street clothes. As they left the room the camera caught a perfect shot of August's face when he turned to Doren and smiled. Anton snapped the keyboard and froze the image, zooming on it until August's face filled the screen.

Then he pulled back his fist and punched it as hard as he could, again and again, until the monitor lay in shattered pieces over the back of the limo and the image was no more.

The food was mediocre but the service was awesome. They doted on Doren like he was a god. August seemed uncomfortable but that didn't surprise him. Doren was sure to send him a riveting smile anytime he looked over, the thought of August's smooth, hard body under the new clothes making him hungry for more. Maybe even more than just lips and hands.

August's tension seemed to increase a hundredfold when Morana was introduced to the table, even if the woman did seem to be trying her best to put August at ease. It was calculated though, the old woman's attention. Doren could sense it. But surely her efforts were nothing more than the attempt to try and smooth the waters for Anton?

Anton leaned closer, his face shrouded in the all but non-existent lighting, and pulled Doren's attention away from the other two members of the table. "That's a great jacket, Doren. Is it new?"

Doren grinned, tracing the crushed velvet with his fingers. "Yeah, just a little something I picked up today. Thanks, by the way." Why his chest swelled every time Anton pursed his mouth in disapproval he wasn't sure. But it did feel damn good to piss the man off.

Anton resettled his smile. "You're welcome. It looks good on you. Worth whatever its cost was, I'm sure. It is, however, not the only treat I have for you today. I think you'll be just as pleased with this one."

He did everything in his power to keep his voice level and uninterested. "Oh?"

"Yes. A local band. They call themselves La Lege. I think you'll like them. Gritty. Hard. A bit raw. But their music is riveting."

Doren shrugged. "Whatever. I'm sure it's more interesting than the conversation." He caught Anton's tightened expression and couldn't contain his smile. "Fuck you, Anton," Doren told him in silence. "Fuck you and your weasel eyes. Fuck your sleaze and your scheming." He was starting to wish he'd never signed that contract. There had been half a dozen studios interested in him and he was regretting not spending more time researching them. Anton's may have been the biggest but Doren was getting a nagging suspicion that biggest did not mean best; that perhaps "in his best interest" had nothing to do with Doren's interests at all.

He spent the next half hour watching the boys set up on stage and semi-listening to Morana lay out a tentative schedule with August—most likely just trying to appease him into submission since the studio still hadn't released any further details on the tour, except, apparently, for the one show which seemed to be the center of the conversation the two were having. At least that would give Doren something to look forward to. And he should probably start working with the musicians tomorrow. They'd had the weekend for fun; it was time to get serious.

He cast a glance at August, nervous at the way the drinks on the table never quite seemed to get empty, yet never seemed to be refilled or replaced. For the thousandth time Morana flicked her eyes up and caught his stare. She made him uncomfortable. Worse even than Anton.

He was just starting to fidget when the wail of a guitar forced his attention to the stage. The drummer was the first to start playing, a steady thump that reverberated through the tiny area. Two guitars and a bass followed suit, and the room was quickly caught up in the hard rush of their music. Doren sat back and followed the sound, watching the faces around him, reading the effects of the chants and chords on the audience, enjoying himself for what seemed to be the first time since they'd got to that damned city.

Doren's mind sucked at the chaotic rhythm like it was life support, and he was sitting with his head up and eyes closed, arms clasped behind his head and chair perched on two legs, when Anton's touch brought him back to the moment. "The guys are going to break in a couple of minutes," Anton shouted. "They'd like to meet you if you're up to it."

Forcing his mind to come back to him with a blink, Doren looked around at the empty table. The chair found ground with all four legs and a solid bang. "Where's August?"

Anton thrust his chin towards the door, waving distractedly. "With Morana. Don't worry; she'll keep an eye."

The room suddenly paused with the hollow echo of silence before the audience filled it with their approval. Anton urged Doren up, pulling on his arm and Doren frowned towards the door.

"Come on. We won't have long. They're back up again in ten."

Doren continued to hesitate. Should he wait to see if August came back? Try to find him? Or just let August do his job? After all, he probably wouldn't be able to locate the two of them and still make it back to the stage within the ten minutes the band had allotted to their break. He could always try to find August afterwards.

Shrugging to himself, Doren followed Anton through the dark room towards the stage.

As August leaned over the sink his head was swimming. Morana came up behind him, as silent as a cat, and handed him some paper towels. "Here you are, August, love." Morana turned his face towards her and patted gently at the dripping water. "Are you feeling any better?"

August shook his head, watching his reflection sway in the mirror. He wasn't sure if he was actually moving or if his mind was playing games with his eyes. He was more than certain he hadn't had that much to drink. Had, in fact, never been a big drinker and tried to stay away from it for the most part. So, was he coming down with something?

He caught Morana's black-eyed gaze as the woman cooed and soothed his burning skin with the water. Her image faded and reappeared in front of August's eyes. He reached out to stabilize himself and careened to the side, misjudging the placement of the counter. He tried to speak but his tongue seemed unable to remember how to form words. Morana caught him as he swooned, drawing him towards the wall and using it to help support his weight.

"Poor August," she whispered into his ear. "I think you are unwell."

The woman was uncomfortably close, all but lying against him, and August struggled to move away. His muscles were as unresponsive as his tongue. The only thing he was able to muster was a grunt. Morana shivered against him. "Shush now," she whispered, touching a finger to August's numb lips, dragging it over his mouth. "Everything will be all right, boy. I'll take care of you."

August was able to pick up the husky undertones to Morana's voice but unable to do anything to make her stop. A rush of fear slid into his belly when Morana leaned in to his neck, pulling a deep breath. "Oh, August. What is that I smell on you? And here I thought you were so sweet." Holding him against the wall with her body, surprising August with how much strength she actually had, Morana dug into his jacket and dragged her hands over his shirt.

He forced out another gruff sound, and the fire burning in Morana's eyes increased. "Methinks you are not so sweet now, are you? Not so pure." She dragged her mouth over August's neck as she spoke, igniting flames of intense, erotic fear that ravaged through August's weakened body. When she spoke again, the low tone and rumbling power in her voice made August's knees buckle. "I believed you to be weak. I wonder now. I don't sense weakness in you and yet, I am unsure exactly what it is that I do sense. Perhaps you are so much more clever than I gave you credit for? You've let him touch you, haven't you, August? Let him rut against you and convinced him that you've offered him some kind of wonderful gift. Smart boy. With a simple slip of skin and mouth you've given yourself all the power to control him, hmm?"

His heels slipped on the tile underneath him as August tried to force himself to move away. "Poor, poor August," Morana said, her eyes flashing in glee as she caught his weight again, one hand falling firmly between his legs. Talons gripped sensitive bits, August choked out a pitiful cry, and Morana's excitement grew as she tightened her hold on his balls. "You have no idea what you've got yourself into, do you? Did you really think we'd sit idly by and let you own the advantage? Take my advice, August, and go home before it's too late. Leave Doren to us."

A sadistic gleam darkened Morana's eyes further. "What is that look in your eyes, August? Is it fear or defiance? Why are you so hard to understand? I flip back and forth between the need to destroy you and the need to figure you out." Pressure became unbearable as Morana squeezed. "Why do my senses keep telling me there is far more to you then you're letting on?"

The bathroom door banged open, August was released, and he crumpled to the floor. Footsteps followed, slowed, "My son," Morana said sweetly. "He's had too much to drink. Do not worry, he will be fine."

There was no further exchange as two sets of footfalls shuffled past. Stall doors opened, shut, and again the bathroom door sounded.

"Where is he?" Morana snapped.

Anton's smooth voice echoed quietly through the bathroom and August struggled impossibly to rise. "With the band. And him?"

Even August's head refused to rise. He rested his forehead on the cold tile, breathing through the pain in his testicles. "Send him back to the hotel."

A huff, another one, a mumble that could have been rebuke … "Not yet. Just get a car and get him out of here. I have an odd feeling about this one, Anton. Until I know what that means, until I know what's hiding behind those eyes of his, I want to watch him. You can tell Doren he partook in too much drink. Tell him August said they would meet back at the hotel."

"He'll be furious."

"No." Morana's voice again. "Not if our plan works as expected. If the band manages to do what we're hoping, Doren won't even think twice about him. For that matter, if everyone does their job right, by the time Doren leaves tonight he won't ever worry about August again."

He was manhandled upright, by Anton, he assumed, and when his head fell back he was able to finally pry open his eyelids.

"You better know what you're doing," Anton hissed.

"Never throw away a soldier, Anton love, until you know for sure that he is not the one that will win you the battle."

The last thing August saw, as he was half-dragged, half-carried out the door was Morana's reflected smile as she lifted her hands to her face, inhaling deeply.

This was how it should be, Anton thought as he watched Doren absorb the sound: just the two of them feeling the music. The power that ebbed from the young man was thrilling. Anton longed to have it, at least control it, felt the need for it much stronger than any sexual or primal urges he'd ever had. He looked at the audience surrounding them—laughing, joking, some even worshiping Doren from their perches—but none of them, not a goddamn single one of them, actually knew what they had there in the room with them. Only he did. And his heart thrilled with the power of his knowledge. Only him. Well, him and that crazy old woman, if he was being honest. The woman who—he frowned at the thought—was actually starting to cause him some concern. She'd been useful so far. Her power was magnificent. And once you got past the fading body, the intensity of the youth she had once been was still there. Sex with her always brought a stellar sense of renewal and strength, as if she filled him with her body instead of the other way around. But at the end of the day it was only sex. And sex could be found anywhere. He would not let her complicate his plans.