Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2) (22 page)

I didn’t know what it would mean to me when she said it
that
way for the first time again,
our
way, but it unlocks something inside of me. A certainty that I didn’t imagine our love the way it was before. No matter what Dub or Jimmi or the media or damn Instagram would lead me to believe, I never lost her. What’s between us won’t be destroyed by one fight or two months apart or anything else that’s thrown at us.

“I live you, too, Pep.” I flatten the words between our lips. “God, so much.”

And that’s all that counts.

AMERICAN SOIL NEVER FELT SO GOOD
beneath my feet. Tonight is the last show, and we’re back in LA. We blazed a trail through Europe over the last three weeks. I’ve visited cities I never thought I would, though I didn’t get to see much of them, and seen and done all the things I only dreamt of doing, at least onstage. It would truly feel like a dream if it weren’t such hard work. Malcolm wanted me to leave a mark with this tour, to take full advantage of Luke’s audience with my opening act, and he seems pleased. At the beginning of the tour, I was a footnote.

Isn’t that the girl Rhyson Gray was dating? What’s she doing on Luke Foster’s tour?

I sang background vocals, danced in the centerpiece of Luke’s set, created my own opening act, and went on the grind to build my own following. I’ve worked my ass off to prove I’m no one’s footnote; no one’s afterthought. I’m satisfied with what I’ve accomplished so far. Heck, I think I may even be proud.

We’re just wrapping my sound check for tonight when Dub enters the arena, making his way toward the stage. I’m removing my in-ears and handing them over to the sound tech when Dub leaps onstage, grabbing me by my waist and lifting me up. My head swims a little and not just from the motion. Nothing I’ve taken for this cold has helped. My cough has only worsened. I’m slightly lightheaded, and if I’m not mistaken, sporting a low-grade fever. But you won’t hear me complaining. Not the last night of the tour. I’ll get through this final show with no one the wiser and no one disappointed, especially not all the people who paid top dollar for tonight’s tickets. But Dub spinning me around isn’t helping.

“Put me down.” My voice sounds weak to me, so I try to find a bright smile.

I was completely honest with Dub after Rhyson left Berlin. I told him that Rhyson and I were together, but just keeping it under the radar until after the tour. He said he understood, but every once in a while, I think he’s holding out hope.

“Sorry about that.” Dub sets me down. “You ready for tonight?”

I just nod because I need to rest my voice as much as I can. It feels withered in my throat. I’m surprised every night when it comes out strong for the show.

“I’m gonna let you get through this last show,” Dub says, grinning. “But I can’t stop thinking about that idea we had for your first video. Dancing in the tunnels. It’ll be fire.”

That’s one thing I haven’t done. I haven’t told him he won’t be choreographing for me going forward. I didn’t see the need yet. It would only have made things unnecessarily tense, and I wanted the last leg of the tour to be drama-free. But now we’re at the end, and he should know.

“Dub, I know we talked about a few preliminary ideas for my project,” I say, walking beside him off the stage and pausing at the front row. “But I think I need to explore some other options for choreography.”

His brows bunch together, confusion on his face for a moment before a wry grin quirks his mouth.

“Let me guess,” he says. “Your boyfriend doesn’t want us working together.”

I’m not sure how to respond without sounding like such a girl, and unprofessional on top of that. I don’t have to justify myself to Dub, but he’s been a huge part of the success I’ve had so far. There’s no rational reason for us not to continue what has been an incredible partnership.

Except my boyfriend. And I wouldn’t call him rational.

“Dub, you’re amazing.” My voice and my laugh grate in my raw throat. “The best actually, and I can’t believe my luck having you for this first tour. Artists would kill for that.”

“And you’re a once-in-a-lifetime talent, Kai. Your body was made for my moves.” His voice drops, his eyes darkening as they run over me in the cut off leotard and half shirt I rehearsed in. “We could be so good together.”

“We’ve been great together.” I give him a pointed look. “Professionally. There’s nothing else there.”

“You don’t believe that.” He lightly grasps my wrist, pulling me a few inches closer. “If Gray wasn’t in the picture, I’d already be in your bed.”

I jerk away, setting my jaw now that I see the hand he’s never shown this clearly before.

“I don’t think so.” I make my voice firm and sure. Neutral. “I’m pretty selective about who makes it into my bed. Rhyson’s not going anywhere anytime soon, and he wouldn’t tolerate company.”

“If you’d give us a chance.” He gathers my fingers into his, pressing a hand at the curve of my back. “Let me show you how it could be with us.”

I step back abruptly, pulling my fingers away.

“I’ve said no. I’ve tried to be nice, but you’re pushing, Dub. This only confirms that we should go our separate ways professionally.”

“What’s going on?” Malcolm asks from a few feet away, eyes sharp and darting between Dub and me. “Everything okay here?”

I draw a quick breath and nod. Dub’s expression stays hard, not giving the same assurances.

“Kai was just telling me she wants to go in a different direction creatively for her project,” Dub says. “And will be using a new choreographer.”

“Nonsense.” Malcolm spreads his lips over an unnaturally white smile. “You two are magic together. No need to fix what ain’t broken.”

“I don’t really want to get into it before the last show.” I smile at them both, really needing to lie down now. “It’s just something I feel strongly about.”

Malcolm’s smile slips a little before he recovers, turning to Dub.

“Hey, Dub, gimme a minute with my artist, okay?” he asks. “I think production had a lighting question about Luke’s set.”

Dub glances at me before nodding and walking off.

Dub is barely out of earshot before Malcolm is speaking again, his voice almost arctic.

“You listen here, little girl.” His sharp glance slices over my face. “Dub Shaughnessy is the best there is, and we aren’t using anyone else until I say so.”

I’ve always suspected Malcolm’s slick demeanor hid something hard and cold. Now I know it’s a knife.

“I’m not your little girl,” I say, my voice only a few degrees warmer. “And I’m the one out there every night performing. If I say I need a new choreographer, I think we should at least explore other options.”

“Except you don’t get paid to think.” Malcolm slides his hands into his pockets and leans close enough for me to smell the garlic he had for lunch. “You get paid to sing and dance and look like every man’s fantasy every night. I do the thinking. You stick to that,
little girl
.”

“I’m not getting into this.” I turn to walk away. “I have a show tonight to prepare for. We’ll talk about this later.”

His meaty hand around my arm pulls me short. I look from the fingers clamped around my arm to the hard lines of his face, but he doesn’t let me go.

“We don’t have to talk about it later.” His mouth becomes a cold curve, his teeth like icicles in his smile, fat blurring the line of his jaw. “You should have read your contract a little closer, sweetheart.”

Dread creeps over me. I read the contract, but Rhyson and I were fighting, so I didn’t run it by him and didn’t know anyone else. I just wanted out of LA. I wanted space between Rhyson and me. I wanted this opportunity, so I signed a two-year artist development deal. It seemed pretty standard to me at the time, but maybe there were some fine print details I overlooked.

“I own you, lock, stock, and barrel for the next two years,” Malcolm confirms. “According to your contract, all creative decisions are mine, including who choreographs your videos and shows. And I made sure it’s so airtight, even your famous ex-boyfriend won’t be able to get you out of it without sidelining you until your contract is fulfilled. Even if you won’t work for me, you can’t work for anyone else.”

He drops my arm and straightens his tie.

“You want to wear Converse instead of high heels, go right ahead. I don’t give a fuck,” he says. “Everything else, I decide.”

I don’t know if it’s my fever or the horror of what I’ve gotten myself into, but something makes me sweat and sway a little on my feet. Malcolm’s hand snakes back out with false solicitation to steady me.

“You really should go get some rest.” He offers a warmed over smile. “It’s been a long three months, and we have a lot more ahead of us. You go on your way. Don’t worry about letting Dub know it was all a misunderstanding.”

His eyes land on me like a fist.

“I’ll handle that. I’ll handle everything.”

A hand on my shoulder distracts me from the icy stare down I’m having with Malcolm.

“Hey, drink this.” Ella offers me a cup of the magic tea that has kept my voice on life support the last few weeks. She flicks a glance between Malcolm’s stony expression and mine. “Everything okay?”

“Yep. I’m off to go find Dub.” Malcolm smiles for Ella’s benefit, I assume. “You’ve done an amazing job on the tour, Kai. Kill it one last time for me tonight.”

He walks off, leaving me with Ella’s questioning eyes.

“You sure it’s all good?” Ella glances over her shoulder, watching Malcolm’s bulky figure all the way backstage. “Malcolm seemed even creepier than usual.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” I sip the hot tea, swallowing my pride. “This is perfect. Thank you for this and a million other things you’ve done for me on the tour that have nothing to do with makeup.”

“Hey, you’re a sweet kid.” Ella shrugs one slim shoulder. “And you’re the real deal. Your tour will be twice as big as Luke’s next year. Maybe I’m just getting in on the ground floor of something great.”

“Yeah, you’re such an opportunist.” I roll my eyes because she’s the genuine article. Few and far enough between in this business. “You’ve taken care of me, especially the last few weeks when I’ve been under the weather. I’ll never forget that.”

“And you need to get to the bottom of whatever you’re under.” Ella gives me a stern look. “The lingering cough. The aches.”

She presses the back of her hand to my forehead.

“You have a fever. I think we should call a doctor.”

“After the show.” I start walking toward the exit and the promise of a nap in my dressing room.

“Mistletoe was just delivered.” Ella’s grin is secretive. “Right on time.”

I nod, an irrepressible grin all over my face, despite the achiness of my body. Despite the residual slime of my conversation with Malcolm. Last show. Rhyson didn’t miss one stop. I’m sleeping in his bed tonight. I don’t care what time we wrap. I don’t care if he’s in the studio and comes home to find me curled up on his front step. It’s happening. Even no closer to figuring out who is behind the sex tape, even knowing Rhyson wants to go public soon, even with the crap revelation Malcolm just dumped on me. All of that makes my life vastly complicated. I’ll figure it out. Maybe San made some headway. Maybe Drex will turn up. Maybe I’ll find a way to wiggle out of the contractual headlock Malcolm has me in, but tonight I get Rhyson. Right now I can’t see beyond that.

“You think he’ll come to the show tonight to see you perform?” Ella keeps pace with me, digging a lemon ginger lozenge out of her pocket and pressing it into my hand.

“Who?” I laugh at her “come on now” expression. Rhyson is an unspoken understanding between Ella and me. She’s the only one on tour who knows we’re together, even though I haven’t actually told her so. Besides Dub, of course. “If he comes, he knows not to tell me. I’d rather not know he’s out there.”

“He’d make you nervous?”

“Uh, yeah.” I shake my head, deriding myself. “I know it’s silly, but it is what it is.”

“I’ve really tried to play this cool and not be a total fangirl,” Ella says, obviously working up to something.

“I hear a ‘but’ in there.” I open my dressing room door and gesture for her to follow me in. “Go on. What is it?”