The Gift (29 page)

"You promise you'll be listening?"

Doren touched his lips with a kiss as light as mist. "Always."

"Time to go, Doren!"

August didn't even place the voice. Don't leave, he wanted to shout. Don't go. God, please don't do this. It didn't stop Doren from pulling away though.

He watched the five of them take their places: a sentry of music, an army of sound, and with a rush of lights and noise they were gone. Although the vocal intensity of the crowd erupted into near-cataclysmic levels and the instruments awakened with peals of electrical jubilance, the sudden loss of the other men's physical presence in the back room felt stiflingly silent and dead.

A gasp of panic escaped August's lips and he raced for the wing of the stage, a desperate need to see, to verify that Doren still existed all but overwhelming him.

Doren stood in the middle of the stage, eyes closed and face to the ceiling. He lifted his arms and the crowd went insane.

Memories of the squirming demons from August's dream hit him harder than anything August had ever felt. He shook on weakened legs as one by one each of the musicians found their start and began to weave their intricate patterns together, transforming note to music, hushing the calls and drawing the attention of the crowd below them. Doren reached for the microphone. Vocals mixed with instruments, a hush fell over the audience, and with the reverence of a Sunday morning congregation they watched as a star went supernova.

From song to song the crowd fell even more in love with him. Excited, wide-eyed stares watched in frenzied fascination as Doren growled through the hard, fast licks; tearstained, awe-filled gazes fantasized along as he purred through the soft, haunting notes of the quieter ones. August was spellbound: every face turned towards Doren, every mouth moved with the words they knew, attempting to recall the rest; every eye sparkled for him, every heartbeat tuned to the rhythm, every pump of blood through every vein radiating the life he woke inside them. August had the uncanny feeling that even the mice in the walls, even the stars in the sky, had stopped to listen, feel, and be part of it.

This, August thought, this was what Diana had meant. It was right there on every face and it was pure and it was beautiful and it was magical and good. And, oh, how badly this devotion could be used. How wrong it could all become.

Time flew on the wings of sound and when the band stopped playing halfway through the set, and the stadium slipped into silence, August felt as exhausted from listening, as the rest appeared to be from playing. The crowd waited in hushed obedience, captivated adoration, as Doren introduced a new song.

With a frown August finally stopped watching the audience and his head swiveled to the stage. They'd been working on a new song? How long? His heart skipped a beat, suddenly anxious. Was this Anton's influence? After all, he knew nothing about it.

He bit the inside of his cheek and watched the stage nervously.

He couldn't see August there, in the blackness of the wing, but there was no question as to whether or not August remained in place. He smiled at the spot. For you, baby, he thought, this one is for you.

It was the rain that had fallen with the whisper of threat inside it, the litany of laughter as the two of them raced for shelter. It was the promise of an uncertain but interesting future and the chuckles of angels as they gathered to release arrows at two men who didn't really believe in their existence. It was peace and harmony spoken from the rails of a roller coaster ride. It was August.

It was “Summer Dream.” And for Doren, it could not have been more aptly named.

When the music faded and the lights dimmed, the crowd went wild. Doren lifted his face and rode the sound of their fervor; breathing it in, letting it fill him, feeding off the sound. Awesome: there was no other word to describe it. The show had been awesome, Doren felt awesome, and the crowd had responded in exactly the way Doren had hoped they would.

He flinched when Curtis touched his shoulder, but understood the nod when it was given and reacted quickly to it. It was time to leave.

They tumbled in a group, slapping shoulders, grins wide, as they headed to the wing to collect August. Doren was met with a flurry of arms and legs as August wrapped his whole body around Doren's. Laughing, Doren lifted him, spinning August like a child. He caught August's mouth and kissed him hard. "Did you like it, Aug?"

"The song ..." August whispered. "My, God, Doren. That song."

Doren moved in for another kiss, a lighter one, a tease. "It was for you."

Another kiss followed, until several had blurred into a long moment of exploring each other's mouths and Curtis smacked Doren's back. "Okay, Romeo. Not here. Let's get the fuck out of Dodge."

In the stadium the crowd still screamed. As they moved in a group towards the exit, Doren was stopped by a guard. "Encore, buddy! They're calling for an encore."

Doren shook his head no and tried to press past. "At least send the band out for one more bow," the guard said. "Let the people know you're not coming back. We gotta deal with this after you guys leave."

Breathing a huff of irritation, Doren shot August a quick glance and motioned with his finger, one more minute. The five of them found the stage again and the crowd roared. Tears spilled. Eternal love was avowed as the boys waved their farewells to appease the straining mass of people. But all Curtis gave them was a single minute. Yanking Doren back, once again they moved away. When Doren heard the first, "Oh, shit," he looked about wildly. From behind, several quick-bodied teenagers stumbled onto the platform and looked around anxiously for the missing star.

"Quick, sir, this way."

They were only fans, Doren thought. Right? But a sudden pressing whine in the back of his head and the look that fell over Cooper's face had him questioning the thought.

He didn't fight when Security began to pull him towards the dressing room. "Sir, we've gotta get you out of here before the crowd grows."

Confusion escalated quickly. Speech bubbled at him from everywhere.

"Fuck, Max, watch out! There's more of 'em coming this way."

"Get that hallway cleared!"

"Someone call for a few more guys!"

Doren stopped dead the moment they entered the hallway and sound faded. "Where's August?"

He was shoved from behind, a massive hand from a massive man that growled, "Move it, kid. It's my head if you get hurt here and my ass ain't up for getting beat on."

He stumbled, but he didn't let that stop him from planting his feet and trying again. "Where's August?" When there was no reply Doren lifted his voice to be heard over the rest. "Cooper, buddy! Where's August?"

Cooper looked up and paused before he too was shoved towards the dressing room. "Hey, fuck off, idiot!"

"Cooper!" Doren couldn't control the panic out of his voice. "Concentrate, please! Where is August?"

"I—I don't know!" Cooper looked on the verge of tears. "There's too much! I can't find him!"

What felt very similar to a punch in the kidneys almost knocked Doren off his feet. Even still, the pain of it had him crumpling to one knee. "Aug," he mumbled, trying to pull together enough strength to relax, to hear. And suddenly the band was gone, ushered through the door and forced into the dressing room. Doren was pulled to his feet and barely felt the needle that stole his consciousness.

When the door slammed behind them it took a full minute to realize Doren wasn't with them.

He didn't scream the expletives that raced to his tongue, saving his energy to yank on the doorknob that refused to allow them reentry to the hall. It had only been a second, just one second of regrouping, how had he let this happen?

He looked around the room in horror, trying to grasp the situation. They probably had all of about ten seconds to make a decision. So why was he having trouble?

"Stand aside," Geoff said calmly. "A little wooden door is not going to keep us."

He'd watched them say their goodbyes, had still been able to feel the electricity Doren's kiss had ignited on his mouth. He'd been so happy for them, had watched Doren's beaming face, thoroughly enjoying Doren's joy.

He'd been sloppy.

He hadn't kept himself on guard.

When the arms had slipped around August's waist and lifted him, when the hand had cupped over his mouth, when he'd been dragged from the stage area into the hall, he hadn't been prepared. He forgot to call. He forgot, in fact, everything except fear. He'd kicked and he'd screamed and he'd made every effort to bite the palm that silenced him, but the body that held him had been strong and merciless.

When August had grabbed at the door handle as he was carried through it, trying to hoist himself away, he'd been tossed against the concrete wall so hard his breath had run fast and far. And even then his captor had shown no pity, choosing to drag him by his collar until August became such a distraction he had to be picked back up again.

There was no power August could pull; the man was just a man. Just a big, strong, asshole-brute of a man. So when his breath returned, and his voice with it, it took only seconds before August's screaming drove the man over the brink. With the hand of a giant and the force of a freight train, the man slapped August's face so hard that his ears rang. August shook his head, growled at the floor, and spit at him, pooling the blood in his mouth to get a good splatter. That was all the man was going to put up with. The fist that hit August's jaw sent him spiraling into darkness.

"Beautiful." He stroked Doren's face and hair, eyes shining with glee. "Just beautiful!"

"Sir?"

The voice broke Anton's attention away from Doren's drugged body and he glared reproachfully at the new arrival.

"I was told to tell you that we have the assistant, sir. He's in the basement now, awaiting Morana. What are you instructions for the singer?"

The rush of anger that hit Anton's core was unreasonable and uncontrollable. He rose with an angry cry, rushing the guard and pinning the man against the wall by his throat. "Doren," he hissed. "His name is Doren."

As the guard choked his apology, Anton tightened his grip, "Who told you that you could refer to him like that? Singer?" Anton checked his voice with a deep breath. "You think he's a mere singer? You can't possibly be that stupid. Which means that you are just disrespectful." Hands flew up to meet his own, beating fruitlessly against the assault. Fishes could not look so lovely gasping their final, silent pleas for mercy as they lay on the sand, Anton thought. As the guard's face tightened in agony, as his thrashing became more violent, Anton grinned. Fear-filled eyes pleaded silently for mercy that was not granted, and when they faded into vacancy, Anton let the body slip slowly to the floor. "And I don't tolerate disrespect."

He stepped away, stretching the tension from his neck as another guard entered the room, surprise shining on the man's face when he saw the still body on the floor. "I need someplace small and dark, something I can padlock," Anton snapped. "What can you give me?"

Anton glared without explanation, body language and expression making it quite clear that the man would meet the same fate as his associate if Anton's request wasn't reacted to quickly and efficiently. He almost dared the guard to hesitate; his soul itched to do it again.

"The service van, sir. The back of the service van. The windows are blacked out, it's only about four by eight, and it locks."

Anton waved the nervous guard away. "Make it happen."

Taking deep breaths Anton moved back to the prone body of his favored toy. With a quick glance at the door to ensure they were alone, Anton shifted to stretch out beside Doren, lying beside him like a concerned lover, and once again began to stroke Doren's sweat-bathed skin and wet hair.

"You should be careful, boy, what you let your enemies overhear. They will use your fears against you if they can." He trailed his fingertips over Doren's peaceful face. "Beautiful, but stupid."

The door splintered easily underneath his fists. With a mighty heave he pushed it so hard it laid half off its hinges, suspended in mid-descent in the hallway. The area was deserted. Not a sound made its way through the hall. An overhead light winked on and off, on and off.

"Now what?"

"This way," Dawson said, taking the lead. "Follow me."

"Be careful, you fools," Anton barked at the two uniformed drivers. "That's not a sack of potatoes for Christ's sake!"

Doren was slowly regaining consciousness, turning his head from side to side, trying to force open eyelids that refused to comply while Anton surveyed the back of the service van. When the driver reached for the handle of the door, Anton stopped him.

"No. Not yet. Wait."

He stood back and watched Doren as the boy tried to regain his senses.

"Sir?"

Once again rage washed over Anton in a fit and he had to resist the urge to slice the driver through. Fucking questions. Fucking questions and interruptions. Why couldn't they just shut the fuck up and wait like they were told?

"I want him to know," Anton said quietly. "I want him to understand where he is and what's happening. Knowledge is power, so they say."

It was only a few more seconds before Doren was able to open his eyes and focus long enough for recognition to register on his face. Anton smiled as understanding dawned and waved at the pathetic expression as Doren struggled to find his feet. "Too bad in this case, the power is for me, hmm?"

He nodded at the drivers. "Shut the door and lock it. Lock it well. He can move a simple tumbler so be sure to padlock it. Better yet, let's not take any chances. Padlock it twice."

He began to whimper as soon as the doors started to close. Breathing through his nose, closing his mouth tightly, Doren tried to swallow the screams that threatened to race out of his throat. He crawled to the back of the van, slipping on the slick metal surface, and banged on the door. Was it just his imagination or could he hear a sound? Mice? Rats? Worse?