MySoultoSave (9 page)

She smirked without looking at him. “Victoria, Queen of
England.”

Ah, she toyed with him. A good sign. It meant she did not
loathe or fear him. He searched through memories for a similar notable name,
one she would recognize as a jesting return. “And I am Sid Vicious,” he said.
“Pleased to meet you, Victoria.”

“I didn’t ask for your name. Sid.”

Again the half-smile, the teasing tone. “Yet I’ve given it,”
he said. “And now we’re no longer strangers.”

She cocked her head. “And that matters, why?”

“Look—” He nearly said
Logan
. That would’ve been an
unforgivable mistake. “Your Majesty,” he said with a smile. “Since I can’t…pick
you up, is there an alternative for connecting with you? I would hate to fall
out of favor with royalty.”

Laughter escaped her tight-pressed lips. She faced him
again. “You want to be in favor? Okay, then tell me where you got that.” She
pointed to his head, to the bandanna tied around his hair. “It’s wicked. I want
one.”

It did not escape him that her use of
wicked
meant
something good. “This?” he said, reaching up to remove the bandanna. As he did,
he willed it more firmly into this plane, so it would not fade into the ether.
He held it out to her. “You may have it. A gift to the Queen.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I have others.”

She reached toward him, bit her lip. “Wait. This isn’t like
a promise for sex or something on your planet, is it?”

Confusion knit his brow. “My planet?”

“Yeah. You talk like you just discovered words or
something.”

Her uncanny perception heightened his desire to turn her, to
ally her soul forever with Hell, bound to him. “It is no promise,” he said
hoarsely. “Merely a gift. No strings attached.”

“All right, then.”

She took the material. As she did, her fingers pressed
against his wrist—and his mortal body reacted as though it had been set aflame.
Heat hammered through his veins and flooded his groin. His muscles hardened and
he barely managed to suppress a moan.

Her quick breath at the contact indicated she’d felt at
least some of the sensation.

She stuffed the bandanna in a pocket. “Thank you. Really.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to look at some unmentionables, and I’d rather
not have you hanging over my shoulder.” A smile negated the irritation of her
dismissal. She turned, walked a few steps away, then stopped and looked back at
him. “I’m in a band,” she said—uneasily, as though she weren’t quite certain of
the truth behind those words. “Ruined Soul. We’re playing at the Eight Spot in Philly,
Saturday night, ten o’clock. If you come to the show, maybe I’ll see you
there.”

Ruined Soul. At least the name of the band suited her, if
the company of the others did not. “I may do that,” he said. “And I’ll look for
you there.”

“I won’t be hard to miss. I’ll be the one puking on the
stage.” With a hesitant wave, she strode down the aisle, turned and vanished
from his sight.

Soon, she would not be able to leave him. He would see to
that.

Chapter Eight

So far, this day had been seriously fucked up. Hopefully the
evening wouldn’t follow the pattern.

Logan glanced out the window. Nothing yet. Tex would be here
any minute—since they had so little time before she’d start playing out with
them, the band had decided to run practice every night this week. Not a bad
idea, but she couldn’t help suspecting it’d make her even more of a nervous
wreck.

She ducked into the bathroom for a glance in the mirror and
adjusted the bandanna on her head for the hundredth time. She should’ve burned
the thing, thrown it away or something. The encounter with the guy at the
thrift store had been weird enough to just about make her forget the rest of
the morning.

Especially when he opened his mouth and Fred’s voice came
out.

For a second she thought she’d have a heart attack. And the
conversation that followed had been just as bizarre, with the strange way he
talked. But he’d been so endearing.

And it didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous.

Mr. Vicious, whoever he was, had actual green eyes. Like
emeralds—as if she’d ever seen real emeralds. Okay, like new spring grass.
Vibrant green. Chocolate brown hair that fell to his shoulders. A golden tan
and a body to die for. When she’d touched him to take his “gift”, her skin had
practically fused to his.

Everything about him seemed familiar, intimate. Not just his
voice. Maybe she really had known him in another life.

A horn honked outside. She switched the light off, cut
through the living room and made her way to Tex’s car idling in the driveway.
Opening the passenger door with a smile, she slid in and buckled up. “Try not
to kill us tonight, okay?”

“No promises.” Grinning, he leaned over and kissed her
cheek. “Nice headgear. Where’d that come from?”

“Thrift store.” She couldn’t tell him about the mystery man.
It was just as crazy as the black-eyed freak and the shadow creature. He’d
think she was hallucinating. Which she was—but she wouldn’t confess that to a
counselor, even an off-duty one.

Tex shifted the car and backed out, then swung neatly onto
the road. “So. Did you ever call your sister the other night?”

So much for the off-duty part. “Save it for my next session,
counselor.” She’d managed not to think about Angie or Dad too much, and she
wanted to keep it that way.

“I’m not asking as a counselor.” The injured edge in his
voice sliced at her. “I’m asking as a friend. We
are
friends, right?”

Damn it. Why did he have to be so genuinely concerned?
“Right,” she said with a sigh.

“Well, don’t sound so happy about it.”

“I won’t.” She stuck her tongue out. When he didn’t react,
she grumbled, “Yes, I called her. Okay?”

Tex raised an eyebrow. He didn’t have to say,
And…?

“She said I’m dead to her.” She tried to sound blithe, but
her shaking voice betrayed her. “So I guess that’s my closure.”

He reached over and patted her leg, then left his hand there,
warm and reassuring. After a minute, he said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

No.
The automatic denial wouldn’t quite leave her
tongue. She started to refuse anyway and shocked herself by saying, “My father
died.”

“Oh God, Logan. I’m so sorry.” He actually sounded as if he
might cry. And he never called her Logan. “What happened?”

“He had a heart attack while I was in rehab. It happened
five months ago. I never—” She stopped herself and switched tracks. “I think
Angie blames me for it. I know she hates me because I ruined her perfect image
of dear old Dad. She doesn’t believe me, but I made her doubt him for a few
minutes, anyway.”

A grim expression settled on his face. “We’re talking about
the guy who gave you the silent treatment when he wasn’t trying to kill you,
right?
That
dear old Dad?”

“Yeah. Him.” The ghosts of her former life burned through
her mind. It had been far beyond not speaking to her. The man had deliberately,
systematically denied her existence. He would set out meals for two—him and
Angie. Buy mountains of Christmas presents and print Angie’s name in huge block
letters on every one of them, all facing out so she could see she wasn’t
included. There was an extra bedroom in the house that belonged to no one,
because he kept it locked. She’d slept on the couch, or in a chair or the floor
in the study if he was up watching TV and she couldn’t keep her eyes open any
more.

She’d lived for the weekends. Gran picked her up after
school every Friday to stay with her until Sunday night. Sometimes Angie had
come along, but more often than not, it’d been just her and Gran, who made it a
point to never ignore her, or even tell her she was too busy to talk. Or
listen. Gran, who encouraged her singing and made her believe things would be
good someday.

The real hell had begun when Angie, five years older than
her, finished community college and moved out when Logan was sixteen. Dad
hadn’t stopped her from taking over her sister’s bedroom. In retrospect, it was
the biggest mistake she’d made. Staying on the couch would’ve made it a lot
harder for her father to do what he did.

She wasn’t going to remember that. Not now, hopefully not
ever.

“Don’t worry about it,” she finally said. “You don’t see me
crying, right? I’m fine. He was a bastard.”

Tex seemed less than convinced. But he didn’t ask any more
questions. After a moment of silence, she leaned forward and switched the radio
on. Music helped chase the ghosts away.

For now, it’d have to be enough.

* * * * *

Practice went smoothly for the first five songs or so. Blue
seemed, if not happy to have Logan around, at least cool with it. Tex and Reid
didn’t have any complaints. And Logan started to believe things might actually
work out, for once in her life.

But when they started running through Bush’s “Glycerine,” a
few minor problems developed.

Just before they hit the first chorus, Blue deliberately
twanged a bunch of random notes and accompanied the outburst with a snarl. The
amp let out a frustrated squawk. “Reid! What the hell are you playing over
there, church music?”

“Ah, shit.” Reid ran a hand through his hair. “This tune
bores the fuck outta me. Same four chords, over and over.”

Tex snorted. “You’re bored? I’ll trade you, man.” The song
didn’t have a drum part, so Tex had moved off to the side to watch.

“It’s a crowd-pleaser,” Blue said. “They love it.”

“
You
love it. Christ, Blue, it ain’t like they’re
gonna stone us if we take it off the list. We’ve got other Bush tunes.”
Standing, Reid unslung his guitar and headed for the mini-fridge. “I need a
drink. Anybody else, while I’m up?”

Blue scowled. “Fine. Toss me a Bud Lime—and those aren’t for
you, Reid. Drink your own.”

“What, that fuckin’ cactus juice?” Reid made a face. “I only
drink beer-flavored beer.”

“Same here,” Tex said. “So grab me one.”

“Two manly beers, one wannabe.” Grinning, Reid pulled the
bottles out and looked at Logan. “And what’s your poison, short stuff?”

She managed a smile. “Just water, thanks.”

Blue made a dismissive noise. “Too good to drink with us,
Frost? Oh, wait. I bet you’re protecting your voice. Don’t want it to get all
scratchy and shit.”

“Shut it, Blue.” Reid stalked over and thrust a bottle at
her, then turned an apologetic smirk on Logan. “She’s just pissed about the
song. Doesn’t like it when people point out the obvious.”

“Yeah. You nailed it,” Blue muttered. She cracked the bottle
open and took a long swig.

With a sigh, Logan accepted the water bottle Reid offered.
She could explain why she wasn’t drinking—obviously, Tex hadn’t mentioned the
drug thing to the rest of the band. He probably figured it wasn’t his place to
talk about it. And he was right. But if she confessed, it wouldn’t necessarily
ease the tension between her and Blue. Hell, it might make things worse.

She decided to come clean anyway. Better to know now if her
past was going to be a problem. If it came out later, there’d be even more
complications.

She swallowed some of the water and approached the cranky
bassist. “I’d love to drink with you sometime,” she said. “Unfortunately, I
can’t for a while.”

Blue snorted. “Why’s that? Your mommy won’t let you?”

“My caseworker, actually.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m
an addict.”

Something in Blue’s face softened, even while her eyes
narrowed. “You’re an alcoholic?”

“No.” Drawing a breath, she pushed a sleeve up. “Crystal
meth.”

“Jesus Christ,” Blue whispered.

Logan tugged the material back over the scars. Tex and
Reid’s shocked silence pounded the room behind her, but she didn’t look away
from Blue. “I’m not going for sympathy here,” she said. “I just thought you should
know. Meth addicts aren’t exactly known for recovering. Usually they just die.
I’m clean now, but I could relapse. I’ll understand if you don’t want to work
with me.”

“No, I…” Blue blinked a few times. “Holy shit, dude. You’re
hardcore.”

She laughed before she could stop herself. “Not really. I
was stupid, but I got over it. Mostly.”

“You’re a goddamn inspiration is what you are,” Reid called
across the room. “Hell, you almost make me wanna give up drinking. Way to go,
short stuff.”

“Yeah, right.” She smirked and raised the water bottle.
“Cheers.”

Blue thunked her beer into it. “Listen, I’m sorry about
that. I overreacted. Again.”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t know me, really.”

“Maybe I’d like to.” The other woman smiled. “Let’s get back
to practice. And I
suppose
we can cut “Glycerine” from the set, if you
guys are so bored with it.” She leaned over and stuck her tongue out at Reid.
“So, Logan. Got any thoughts on what we should replace it with?”

Some of the weight lifted from her with the question. Blue
wanted her input. It made her ridiculously happy. She thought a minute, trying
to come up with something good that wasn’t already on the list. “How about ‘No
Rain’?”

“Um. Not sure I know that one.”

“Sure you do, Blue.” Reid walked over, grabbed his guitar
and plucked out the opening notes of the song—a bright, happy little riff.
“Blind Melon, one-hit wonder. The bee girl video.” He grinned. “I love that
tune.”

“Oh, right!” A smile spread on the bassist’s face. “Haven’t
heard that in forever. I always forget about it. Why haven’t we put it on
before?”

“So it’s good?” Logan said.

“Hell, yes. Let’s give it a run.”

“I’m in,” Tex said. “At least I get to play now.”

As Logan moved back to her spot, he came over and gave her a
quick squeeze. “I’m proud of you, Frost. That took some balls.”