The Devil's Reprise: A Rockstar Romance (The Devils Duet Book 2) Read online

“Oh, right-o,” he said, annoyed, and fished an ornate-looking key out of his jacket pocket. “Room 616. We’re all on the same floor.” He pressed it hard into my hand and ran off after the boys, the flaps of his ugly jacket waving behind him. He was in full-on stressed-out-manager mode, and I did not want to get on his bad side.

  I sighed and watched as Sage shook the hands of three other men—I guessed they were the drummer, other guitarist, and keyboardist—and then I made my way up the narrow staircase with a red velvet runner to the sixth floor. Just like with Hybrid, sometimes you felt you were part of the band, and sometimes it was very clear you weren’t. I was certain even my rock journalist hero, Lester Bangs, felt that way on occasion.

  I walked down the hallway, searching the doors for my room number. The hallway was dimly lit and very long and winding, with a low wood ceiling that would graze anyone taller than Sage or Max. The carpet in the hall was an ornate brown tapestry, and when I looked closer at the room numbers, I noticed the garish-looking heads that framed the plaques they were written on. I shuddered a bit at their pinprick eyes and kept walking.

  Eventually I found my room and wondered which one was Sage’s. Half of me hoped he was right next door, and the other half feared the proximity. The closer he was sleeping to me, the more likely I’d do something that I now knew would be totally stupid.

  Or I’d find him doing something totally stupid.

  I opened the door with a few twists from the cranky keyhole and stepped in. It was dark so I flicked on the light. It stuttered, making the room look staticky and jarring for a second before it evened out. My suitcase was already on one of the luggage holders at the foot of the bed, and it took me a few moments to grasp how nice the room was. The bed was a four-poster one, queen-sized, and I had a chaise and coffee table by the windows, which were large and looked out on the city.

  I let out a giddy squeal, quickly closed the door, and pranced my way over to the window. I could see the fucking Eiffel Tower from here! It was like looking out at a painting, but I was living it. Once again it hit me. Paris. I was here. I craned my neck so my face was pressed up against the glass and took in more of the view. We were on the left bank, close to the river, and I could see all of Paris spreading out before me in a sea of neutral-colored buildings and matching grey roofs, the domes and spires of the various churches and cathedrals sprinkled here and there.

  I stood like that for quite a bit, pushing up the bottoms of the windows to let the fresh air in. Then the phone rang, making me jump. Despite the peaceful view, I was still a little jittery.

  I snapped it up. It was Max.

  “Hey, little lamb,” he said.

  “Hi, giant red potato.”

  He snorted. “Red potato? That’s a new one.”

  I sat on the bed and smiled into the phone. “Oh, I have plenty more. That was the most flattering one.”

  “Listen,” he drawled. “While the band is out having fun, what say you and I get some dinner? I’d love to chat. Get to know you better.”

  I know I should have been swooning at the idea of having dinner in Paris, even though Max wasn’t exactly my type. But just the thought of getting dressed and ready for such an occasion was making me feel tired to the bone. My jet lag was coming in full force, seeping into every crevice.

  “I’d love to,” I told him, “but I think I’m just going to stay in. I’m exhausted.”

  “Don’t fall asleep too early,” he warned. “Jet lag will fuck you up, and you’ll end up waking up in the middle of the night.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Have a good one, anyway.”

  “Sleep tight, little lamb.”

  “Baaaa,” I bleated before hanging up.

  I lay back on the bed, testing the comfort of the mattress. The duvet was fluffy and silky soft. Even though the hotel was extremely old and seemed dated and a bit creepy in the halls, there was just enough luxury in my room.

  I sighed and stared up at the wallpapered ceiling, wondering what time it was back home and if I should call my dad now or in the morning.

  Before I could even calculate an answer, the jet lag pulled me under.

  I woke up, completely disoriented. I was lying on top of a bed, my clothes on, the overhead light shining in my face. There was a strange droning sound, like my ears were buzzing. I groaned and slowly sat up. I wasn’t in Ellensburg anymore. I ran my hand over the lush bedspread as I blinked hard at the light and looked over to the windows, wondering what time it was. It was black outside, any city lights lost by the glare from inside.

  I eyed the clock ticking on the bedside table. Three o’clock in the morning. Despite the weird vibrating sound in my ears, a headache, and a mouth that felt like it was crammed with cotton balls, I was feeling more awake by the second. I should have listened to Max and not fallen asleep.

  I eased myself into a sitting position and rubbed my hands up and down my arms, feeling a chill. There was something very unsettling about waking up in a hotel room in a foreign country in the middle of the night. It was a weighty feeling, the kind that makes you look over your shoulder even though you know there’s nothing there. That coupled with the loneliness that only comes to you at three in the morning meant I’d probably be spending the next few hours reading a magazine and praying for daylight. I always felt dawn brought with it safety.

  The light above my head flickered for an instant, enough to make my heart skip around with the same erraticism. I got off the bed and headed to the washroom to finally wash the makeup off my face, which had been caked on there since JFK.

  I closed the door behind me and, once I figured out I should be using the toilet and not the bidet, peed like hell. Then, deciding I needed it and it would probably help me sleep, I quickly undressed and jumped in the shower. I was in there a long time, using up all the cute little hotel toiletries and relaxing in the hot water. Steam filled the bathroom, and I slowly felt my muscles relaxing and willed all my worries to swirl down the drain.

  So what if things were weird between Sage and I? A lot had happened in those months we were apart. I scored some good gigs, I graduated college, my family had never been better, and I felt like a stronger person (when I wasn’t worrying). I was strong enough to handle this, to adjust my thinking. Yes, I wanted to be here because I wanted to be with Sage. He was my reason, above his music. I just had to approach things differently, to turn that around. I couldn’t control where he was at or what he was thinking, but I could certainly control the way I saw the world. Music and career first, love later.

  The internal pep talk made me feel a little bit better about being awake in the middle of the night, though I wasn’t sure if it would last or not. I stepped out of the shower and toweled myself off, scrunching my hair so it would maybe air dry properly.

  With the towel wrapped around my chest, I opened the bathroom door and…

  I stepped out into utter darkness.

  My heart thumped in surprise, the light from the bathroom spilling in behind me and creating dark shadows all around. I had left the light in the room on. I knew that for a fact. The curious droning sound from earlier still continued, seemingly louder now, adding to my confusion.

  Jet lag was a fucking trip.

  Thinking the bulb must have burnt out, I let my eyes drift to the window. I should have been able to see the lights of the city now with the glare eliminated, but it was still black.

  And there was something weird about that black, about the windows now in general. Somehow they weren’t inanimate…they throbbed. Pulsed.

  Breathed.

  A sick feeling crept up in my throat and I took a step forward, trying to focus on what was making my skin crawl.

  The windows weren’t black because the world outside was black. The windows were black because they were covered by something. Something that moved…pulsated. Like a textured black curtain, except it was somehow…alive.

  The light in the room suddenly came back on with a flicker. It
made me gasp.

  With the room illuminated, I got a better look at the windows.

  They made me scream.

  The windows were covered by hundreds of thick, shiny black flies. They were all crawling all over the glass and each other, coming together like a throbbing blanket from hell. Their tiny wings vibrated against each other, the buzzing sound more horrific now that I knew what it was coming from.

  I hadn’t realized how loud my screams were until I heard a knock at the door and a voice calling my name from outside.

  I scurried over to the door, keeping my towel tight around my chest, and opened it to see Sage standing on the other side like he was about to kick the door down, and in only a pair of tight black underwear. Had I not been on the verge of puking or fainting from the horrific sight of the flies, I would have ogled his fine body.

  He placed his hands on my shoulders, looking me over in panic, his brows expressive and his pupils strangely dilated. “I heard you screaming, I’m sleeping right next door. Are you okay?”

  I quickly shook my head and pointed at the window. “No. I don’t know. Look at all the flies. I woke up and took a shower and just noticed this.”

  “Jesus,” he swore under his breath. He looked behind him at the door and quickly shut it. “Do the windows open? Better them leaving through there than through the hotel.”

  I nodded and noticed my hand that was clutching my towel was shaking slightly. I then noticed I was just wearing a towel.

  “It’ll be okay,” he said quickly, his hand moving up to my head, brushing my hair behind my ear in such an intimate gesture that I wanted to swim in it. “It’s gross as fuck, but it’s just flies. This happens sometimes.”

  “Oh yeah?” I asked, my voice trembling.

  He smiled and took off for the window, taking the warmth of his hand away. “Yup. Back on the farm, sometimes I’d head into the mudroom as a kid and flies would be everywhere. They’d just appear out of the blue, like this. Maybe the housecleaner—” he paused and then shook his head, “maybe there was rotten food or something that wasn’t cleaned up properly.”

  Though he was talking quite fast and making a lot of sense, it wasn’t making me feel much better. The flies looked so inhuman, like bloated aliens made of tar and pulsing eyes. They made me feel sick to my core, no matter how Sage spun it. Their buzzing sound seemed to take over my whole head, something that would surely drive me mad if we didn’t do something.

  But Sage did do something. He cautiously approached the window, the lazy flies barely moving out of the way, and pushed the windowsill up. That was another thing—I knew I had fallen asleep with the windows open. Although I suppose they could have fallen down if they weren’t secured properly, and I would have been too passed out to even hear it.

  Once the window was up, he asked me to hand him a pillow. I did so, and he started swatting at the flies until they rose up in a black cloud and eventually flew out into the night.

  I had a good view of his broad shoulders and muscular back as he did this, my eyes focusing on that small pleasure instead of the last flies that were making their way out of the room.

  I zeroed in on long, red marks going from the shoulder blades down to midback.

  Five marks on each side. There was no mistaking what those were, but I still hoped and prayed I was mistaken.

  When all the flies were gone, he shut the window and turned around to face me, a satisfied look on his face. “Well, I think that will take care of that for now. In the morning I’ll speak with the manager. I’ve already had issues with his staff.”

  I just stared at him, my mouth wet with a new kind of terror.

  He raised his brows. “What is it?”

  “Your back,” I croaked then cleared my throat. “Your back has scratch marks down the sides.”

  I watched him closely, trying to pick up on every facial expression. His mouth came together firmly and he swallowed. His grey-green eyes flared, caught up in an internal debate.

  “What happened?” I asked. My heart was racing so fast now.

  “Oh, Dawn,” he said, shaking his head and taking a step toward me.

  “No,” I said, stepping back. “You should probably call me Rusty in this instance. It makes more sense now.”

  A wash of pain came across his brow and his jaw clenched. He sighed and looked down at his feet, still shaking his head subtly, his loose curls going in his eyes.

  Shit. “Who is she? Those looked fresh.”

  He exhaled again and said, “It doesn’t matter. It’s done.”

  Oh God. Oh God, this hurt.

  “I guess there are so many you can’t keep track.” I tried to keep my voice as monotone as possible. It was damn hard.

  He looked at me sharply. “No. It’s…it was Angeline.”

  Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck me.

  “Fuck you,” I sneered, surprised at the ferocity with which the words left my mouth.

  His head jerked back, but I could feel my face turning into an angry sneer.

  “The girl from earlier, the French promoter,” I went on. “You fucked her? When did this happen?”

  “Dawn,” Sage said again. “It’s not what you…I…I don’t know why I did it. I was fucked up. I am fucked up.”

  “You sure fucking are!” I said. “When did it happen?”

  He licked his lips and his gaze went to the carpet. I was not going to like this answer, no matter what.

  “Last night,” he admitted.

  I gasped, feeling like my chest was being chewed up from the inside out. I was being shredded to the bone. “You fucked her last night? You knew I was coming today,” I spat out incredulously.

  “Hey, I didn’t know what we had,” he said, having the audacity to argue back. “I didn’t know where we stood with each other.”

  “Well, you decided that pretty quickly, didn’t you?” I sneered. “My God, you fucked that…that…French…bitch.”

  “She’s a promoter,” he said weakly.

  “Oh, and that makes it better?” I stared at him, at this man I had put so much stock into and felt nothing but shame and remorse for doing so. “My God,” I said to myself and put my hand to my forehead. “My God, I am such a fucking idiot.”

  He came over to me, his eyes blazing in a mix of sadness and fury. “No, you’re not, Dawn, you’re not. I told you I’m fucked. I…I can’t help it…I…” He made a reach for my arm, but I jerked myself out of the way.

  “Don’t touch me. Fuck…” I sat down on the bed and had the urge to do some bodily harm to him, perhaps pull a total rock star maneuver and beat him over the head with a chair before tossing it at the mirror. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Jesus. Sage, why did you even invite me here then? What were you thinking?” I raised my hand. “You know what…don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter.”

  He was absolutely crestfallen, standing there in front of me in his underwear. If I didn’t feel a million shades of anger, sorrow, and utter humiliation, I might have laughed.

  “Dawn, I’m sorry,” he said softly, staring down at me. His apology meant nothing to me. “It was stupid. It didn’t mean a thing. I thought you and I were on a professional level here, or even friends. I just…wanted to see you. But it had been so long since everything happened. We didn’t really keep in touch. I thought about you, all the time, but…life got in the way. And I assumed you were busy. Or didn’t care. I wasn’t going to stay…single and hope I’d see you again.”

  “That’s funny,” I seethed. “Because that’s exactly what I did. And now I just learned you probably fucked half the phone book in every town you were in.”

  I said that in an exaggerated way to get a rise out of him, but he only nodded—nodded, the fucking bastard—and said, “I’m sorry. They were meaningless anyway.”

  And the knife was driven in deeper.

  I stared straight ahead, feeling everything there was to feel and finding it was turning me numb. “Get out,”
I spat, angrily.

  “What?”

  I snapped my head up and pointed to the door. “I said get out. Leave. Just go. Obviously I looked too deeply into things, into what you and I had gone through. I thought we had a bond. I thought I meant something to you.”

  “You do!” he cried out.

  I pointed again. “Just go.”

  To his credit, he didn’t argue anymore. He went for the door, and as he opened it, Jacob appeared on the other side, wearing the ugliest red-and-green pajamas I’d ever seen. He was obviously eavesdropping but didn’t seem to care about what had transpired between us. He did care about Sage, though, and his yellowy eyes bore into him as he slinked away.

  “Can I talk to you?” Jacob asked me once I heard the door to Sage’s room close.

  I put my face in my hands and sighed painfully. My own door shut, and I felt Jacob walk in. I guess he took that as a yes.

  “I’m sorry about Sage,” Jacob said. “He’s seen better days.”

  I couldn’t bring my heart to feel sorry for him. Maybe I was overreacting. I mean, Sage was right: we weren’t a couple, and it wasn’t like he had cheated on me, but it still burned. I felt flames licking me all over, wanting to smother me. Ugh, I felt like I’d lost everything when I never had anything to begin with.

  “This was a mistake,” I mumbled.

  Jacob hovered close by, coming close to the bed and then backing away. I guess the sight of me in a towel made him nervous.

  “I don’t know what to say, love,” he said. “But Sage really does care for you.” I snorted, but he went on. “He’s just not well. He’s letting the grief—the guilt—over Hybrid destroy him. He’s drunk half the time, and when he’s not drunk, he’s snorting who-knows-what up his nose. This isn’t the casual fun he had in Hybrid; this is something much worse.”

  “I doubt he had any fun in Hybrid,” I said, feeling everything drain out of me. I stared blankly at the cotton loops in the towel.

  “You might be right,” he said. “But I’m definitely worried now.” His voice was so oddly melancholic that I had to look at him. He was staring out the window, at the darkness. “To be honest with you, Dawn, I told Sage to invite you. I know he wanted to, but sometimes you need that manager’s touch. You’re good for him, you know that.”