Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1) (44 page)

“S
on of a—” Breaking off the string of curses that had been about to spill, Gage glanced at the young teen who was also vigorously working a game controller. “…biscuit eating pig!” And then he lost both the battle onscreen and with his tongue. “Dammit! Cover me! Why aren’t they covering me? Are they covering you?”

“They’re idiots. New server next game.” Seth kept his eyes cemented on the giant screen television.

“Hey!” Seth’s father and Gage’s bandmate, Colt, wandered into the room from the hallway. “Who’s in the pool?” Removing his shades, he took in the view. A long swimming pool stretched the length of the room, only a few steps beyond the open outside wall.

“Allison and a friend. Trista or something.”

“There’s two babes besides Allison.”

“Allison and two friends.” Gage corrected in a bored manner and concentrated on maneuvering his onscreen chopper. He wasn’t in the mood to enjoy the local groupie action in his pool and had let them be while teaching Seth a few techniques on the guitar.

“Gratitude for keeping Seth safe from Allison’s scary clutches.”

“That’s why you’ve been making me play games?” Onscreen, Seth’s character bit the dust. Instead of respawning, the teen threw the controller aside and furrowed a frown at Gage for his treachery. “Screw this. I’ll be at the pool until we leave.”

“Beer’s in the fridge.” Gage ignored the teen’s outburst and abrupt departure. The ‘Round Ended’ screen flashed, and he let his score tally before logging out and abandoning the gaming.

“You check your voicemail today?” Colt tossed him a frosty bottle and strategically placed himself within sight of his son and the stunning women sunning.

Twisting open the top, Gage considered the long tour leg they’d recently come off of and felt no shame in admitting he was still taking time off.

Colt seemed amused. “Vacation is officially over. You should check your messages.”

“Vacation isn’t over.” Gage countered, and straightened to his feet with the intention of joining his female guests.

“Just find your damn phone. I’m serious.”

“If there’s something I need to know, spit it out.”

But he was concerned enough to locate his cell phone and check the voicemails, texts, and other messages in queue. His heart warmed to see the text from his sister, updating him on her layover, and reminding him she was due into LAX late that evening. Just as quickly, his mood darkened to see a message from his lawyer regarding the trouble he’d gotten into on tour.

And the one Colt was surely going on about―one from his record label. The band was expected to have an album completed with a probable top ten single within the next fourteen months or the label would drop him.

“They'll drop
me
? Or the band?”

“Keep listening. The next one.”

Switching to speakerphone, he glared at Colt for the dramatics. After the next message finished playing, he left the cell on a table letting the call automatically end while he drew a long swig of the beer.

It seemed in addition to a promising song, he was to have something for them to hear before the end of the month.

“Why does the douche keep saying
me
?” Moving closer to the patio, he roved appreciative eyes over tanned bumps and curves glistening in the sunlight.

Colt glowered while taking in the same view. Likely because the girls were openly flirting with his young teen son. Allison’s tits all but floated from the strip of a bikini top as she leaned back with her arms on the rim of the pool while talking and flashing an enticing smile at Seth. Colt had become a father when he was only a few years older than Seth, so although he spoiled his son in almost every way, he had become a real hard ass in these situations.

“Probably because you're so easily replaced.” Colt spoke over his shoulder.

He knew Colt was joking around. But in the light of everything going on lately, he didn’t find the remark the least bit funny and expressed his displeasure with an obscene gesture. “Fuck you.”

“No.
You're
the one who’s fucked. You can't stay sober long enough to write a song. Much less an album.”

“You’re probably right.” The guitars filling every available space in this room saluted mockingly. “So
you
do it.”

“Yeah. Right. Because we know how well that works out for me.” His eyes had been heated with hostility, but now they chilled with clear meaning. “But I'll also gladly take your place when you're booted out.” Colt downed his beer and pitched the bottle into the trash where it clinked against others. As if he hadn’t ridden in on a hardline high horse, he dropped a tiny bag of white powder onto the table where it landed next to the phone of bad news. “Enjoy the rest of your vacay day!”

Easier done now that Colt was taking his leave. He and Colt had been close friends for years―as well as enemies. Colt always had his six in a pinch but also turned on him on a dime if it suited him in some way.

He watched as Colt knelt next to the water, and the women turned their sultry attention his way. This seemed to be the plan. Seth exited the pool from the far end and after looking around, dropped his hand to the front of his swim trunks for a quick adjustment. When he sent a grateful look to his dad, Colt stood, bidding the girls bye, and father and son entered the house through the great room.

Seth popped into the studio room for his guitar and grinned. The angst from a half hour ago had vanished. “Thanks for the lesson.”

“See you.” Gage returned the smile.

Soon the front door clicking closed echoed down the hallway.

Picking up the tiny zip lock bag, Gage carried it outside to the girls. His cravings ran deeper this evening than a couple of thick white lines, but he could wait for the sweet sting he desired.

T
he baggage claim area was empty of rock stars. Gage had yet to answer her ‘Wheels down’ text. While waiting for the crowd to thin around the baggage carousel, she peered through the large windows, scanning the waiting rides, but almost every vehicle was abuzz with loading activity. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she checked for an answer to her text and sent another.

When they were children, her stepbrother had always been there for her. Even when her mom had been photographed by the paparazzi with her lover, creating one hell of a scandalous split up with Gage’s father, Gage had remained interested in her life. But a couple of years after graduation, his band, Fire Flight, had taken off. She’d rarely heard from Gage since.

Stumbling across him on the internet couldn’t be helped, him being a paparazzi and tabloid favorite. They were friends on Facebook. But she had a feeling someone else had taken over his accounts. A social media assistant who thought her congratulatory comments beneath the posts of an album drop or a number one iTunes download were the blabbering of a fan or groupie, because she never got more than a ‘like’—if that—in return.

Obviously, the niggling feeling that Gage hadn’t ignored her on social media had been wishful thinking. He was a rock star, and she knew firsthand how self-absorbed celebrities were.

“Ma’am? Would you like me to help you with your bag?”

Her lone piece of luggage was the only one riding on the carousal, and she hastily grabbed it up with a smile to her previous seatmate. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”

Outside, she waited for a cab to glide into the pickup area and waved the next one down. The cabbie wasn’t as chivalrous as the man in baggage claim had been. He was silent as she slid open the door and wedged her own suitcase into the cargo area before climbing in the back and heaving the door closed.

“Where to?”

“I’m not sure yet. One moment, please.”

Her phone vibrated and blinked with an incoming call from her mother. Ignoring the call, Scarla tapped out her third text to Gage and then one to his father.

Immediately her phone rang, flashing her previous stepfather’s ID. It calmed her a bit to know that although they hadn’t corresponded in years outside of emails and texts, and the hour was late, he was that quick to call.

“I’m not in town right now, but I can arrange a car for you and book you into a hotel.” He made the offer, and again, she was touched. “And if you want, I can have someone meet you at my house tomorrow and let you in. How long are you staying?”

“A week. Two at most. Gage is expecting me. We talked last week, and I may have misunderstood the plans for when I arrived.” She tacked on the fib at the end because Gage’s father had always been hard on him. “Thanks though.” She really did want to stay at Gage’s house. Memories of watching movies and playing video games with him as a preteen and teen were some of the best she’d stored away over the years.

She glared again at the caller ID flashing her mother’s name and once again thumbed ‘ignore.’ He recited Gage’s address and said he’d follow up by texting it and the codes to his son’s house since “Gage isn’t reliable about receiving guests.”

Thanking him again and ending the call, Scarla related the location to the cab driver. As the vehicle pulled away from the curb where they’d been idling, she finally accepted her mother’s umpteenth call.

She was sorry she answered when her mother began to rant. “Why didn’t you pay the rent before you left?”

“I paid half, Mom. I already told you that you would have to pay half of the rent this month. I can’t cover it every time.”

Her mother’s raging tantrums were only the barest tip of her childlike behavior. She was inept at supporting herself or taking any type of responsibility.

“I talked to the landlord. He said it was okay to be a little late.”

“What did you tell him?” Scarla clenched the phone suspiciously.

“I explained the car was running hot and I needed to put it in the shop.”

Letting out a relieved breath, Scarla relaxed in her seat.

The car had been running hot. But she knew her mother wasn’t having it repaired. She’d gone on for the last week about how they should buy a new one—“a Porsche’ maybe”—when Scarla turned twenty-two in a few months.

Feeling queasy just thinking about her birthday, Scarla ended the call without a word and then sent her mother a text saying the call was dropped. Next, she routed her parent’s future calls straight to voicemail.

The city lights were now below and their glow was viewable every few turns of the road as the taxi wound up a mountainside. The cab slowed at a gate, and the cabbie’s eyes met hers in the rearview as he announced their destination. Not really knowing the protocol, she exited, dragging her luggage behind her. As the car reversed, she turned to the looming shadow of a home against the night sky and the gate guarding the fortress.

An elaborate dragon adorned the ironwork, his wings spread and open mouth sinister in the dark quietness of the night. She moved closer to the circle of light cast by a lamp on this side of the fence and punched in the code. As the gate rolled open and the cab’s taillights faded, she experienced momentary panic.
What if he isn’t home? Do I let myself inside an empty house? Make myself at home?

T
he doorbell and the subsequent woofing of his large mutt was an unwelcome intrusion into his comatose state. Another peal rang through the house and five seconds later beeped the app on his phone. The clarity of the bell confused him until he roused enough to remember he was in a downstairs guestroom and not in the muffled sanctity of his bedroom. Never did he hookup upstairs. Swiveling his head, he groaned when he saw he still had company.

Again with the doorbell and fresh barking.

He flung aside the sheets and fumbled through the clothing strewn around the room for his phone.

Jeans on the floor. Not his.

A bra entangled on his foot and he kicked it aside.

Another chime. He trailed the sound to his phone on the adjoining bathroom floor. Jabbing at the flashing icon, he tilted the screen to a side view of a hot babe, leaning slightly as she peered into the leaded glass sidelight. Stepping back, she punched the doorbell again.

“You gonna get that?” The disgruntled voice from the bed was hoarse from the crack she’d smoked earlier and surely from all the screaming she’d done.