Come Undone (2 page)

He understood that. They’d come for a piece of him, and they’d insist on getting it. He, however, was damn sure they weren’t getting any more of him tonight, regardless of how many people insisted on staring at him as though he’d grown an extra head.

‘Xane, it’ll cost us millions.’

Hardly. This was one gig, and there was only one other date left on the tour. It might piss off a few people, but they’d get over it. Bands sometimes had to cancel shows at short notice. It happened. It rarely crippled anyone.

The guys parted to let Elspeth float to the fore. She looked as insubstantial as a wraith, but she had a banshee’s backbone and a scold’s tongue. Her lips were slicked red, and curved into a perfect pout around two sets of vampire fangs.

Xane’s hackles rose the moment her jasmine perfume wafted to his nostrils. He refused to look at her, focusing instead on the top of her head. She and Spook were the only blondes in the band, but Spook’s white-blond mane didn’t come out of a bottle. Elspeth was showing a quarter-inch of mousy brown roots.

When she curled her hand over his arm, he mentally pulled himself inwards. Xane stared at her black polished nails and fought the urge to physically recoil too.

‘Look, honey, I know you’re upset, but for crap’s sake think about this. You’re not just going to shaft us over this gig if you walk out. The press will hammer us into an early grave. We’ll all lose out. All of us.’

The problem was that ‘all’ didn’t seem to include him in any capacity other than as a cash cow. He knew for a fact that she didn’t give a damn about him as a person. She’d proved that resoundingly, five minutes before they’d walked out on stage.

‘Black Halo’s dead.’

He hadn’t planned to say it, to make it so final, but as soon as the words were spoken he knew it was the right decision. They were over in their current format anyway, because he couldn’t continue to work with either her or Steve. This was his band. Without him, Black Halo were nothing. He was their lyricist, their main composer, the motivating force behind it all. Their whole image had been created by him. Without his drive, nothing would ever happen. Maybe now they’d start to appreciate that.

Despite his bitterness, the shock reflected in their eyes gave him a moment’s pause, but only until he realised that the relief the announcement brought him had given his foul mood a strange little upswing. Oh, yeah, screeched the bit inside him that hurt. Chew on that, lady.

When he jerked away from Elspeth’s grasp, to his relief she didn’t attempt to touch him again.

‘No,’ Rock Giant groaned. ‘We are not done over a fucking lovers’ tiff.’ He stared at them as if he expected them to lay aside their quarrel and to kiss and make up.

It wasn’t happening.

Rock Giant held his head in his hands, which crushed several of the deranged spikes he’d moulded his hair into. ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this, Xane. The band’s more important than one individual relationship within it. Seriously, you’re throwing in the towel because she’s not warming your bed any more?’

‘Paul’s right, Xane. You’re acting way out of proportion.’ Graham Callahan, the band’s manager, had arrived, his twenty-stone frame squeezed into a corporate suit.

He was not overreacting. This wasn’t only about him and Elspeth. It was about him and Steve, and the rest of the band too, and all their shitty attitudes, which were apparently about to see another airing.

‘You need to get back on stage.’

Not bloody likely. Xane gave a swift shake of his head.

Several of the roadies formed up around him like a squad of Marines. As if marching him back onto the stage was going to achieve anything.

‘Seriously, I’m done.’

‘Xane.’

‘Really, Graham.’

Would it have hurt any of them to ask him if he was OK? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t figured out the basics of what was going on. But no, all they were concerned about was what was best for them and their wallets.

Graham raised his hand. ‘OK, let’s talk.’

He didn’t fucking want to talk. He didn’t want to explain. He just wanted out. If any of them actually wanted to know what had caused this rift then they could yap amongst themselves and figure it out. That’s if the platinum band next to the ruddy enormous diamond on Elspeth’s finger didn’t clue them in.

He wasn’t the one responsible for this. He was just the shmuck who’d been taken for granted and then unceremoniously dumped by someone he’d loved and trusted.

It was probably a good thing there were no windows backstage, because he felt like punching glass.

‘Xane, I’m sorry,’ Steve mumbled at him as Xane shouldered his way towards the greenroom. He wasn’t sticking around for a debate, and he sure as hell wasn’t singing, even if they dragged him back on stage trussed up like a Christmas turkey.

Right now, he couldn’t sing. He was too fucking choked with anger.

Steve tailed him as far as the water fountain. ‘You know it wasn’t our intention to hurt you. It doesn’t have to change things between us. It can still be like before, if you want.’

If he wanted. Nice of Steve to think of him at last. Except, of course, it was bollocks. No way could things be the same. Marriage changed things irrevocably. It involved commitment. It imposed limits. It stank of exclusivity. And Steve and Elspeth were hitched.

‘We’re for ever, man.’ Steve lifted his hand as though he intended them to brush knuckles. Instead, Xane snapped the chain he wore around his neck and dumped the contents into the callused hands of his drummer.

‘Not any more. I don’t want to see either of you again.’

Steve’s brow furrowed. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Weren’t you listening?’ God, it hurt his throat to speak. ‘The band’s done.’

Steve stroked his hand over his chin and his devilish goatee. ‘I didn’t think you actually meant it.’

‘We’re done.’ Xane repeated to emphasise the point.

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. ‘What would you have us do, Xane? I love her. You know I do. Was I supposed to turn her down?’

Xane’s eyes narrowed. The sting in his nose had become almost intolerable. It made him physically ill to look at this man who had been his closest friend for years. ‘Did you think for a second how I’d feel?’

Steve stretched out his arm, but Xane stepped back out of reach to avoid the contact, leaving his former friend shaking his head.

‘I’m sorry it’s happened this way. I really am. It’s not how I wanted it. I thought we were good, Xane. I thought you understood. I hope when you’ve calmed down we can –’

‘Fuck off!’ Xane snarled, tightening his fists. ‘Seriously, just eff off, before I give in to what I’d like to do and wring your bloody neck.’

Not only was Ginny’s plan the source of everything stupid, it was moronic too. Missing the show on the vague off-chance that they might meet the band sucked big time. Dani wanted to be in with the crowd, singing along with Xane’s growling vocals as Spook Mortenson went batshit on guitar. That guy could work magic on a fretboard. His textures, the way he injected primal desire into the heavy choruses from their
Beyond the Lich Gate
album, set vibrations running through her nerves as though it were her he was playing.

‘Can’t we just hit their hotel bar, post show?’ she whined.

They’d managed to slip into the backstage area, although bits of it looked more like a coffee shop, thanks to the leather tub chairs and cute round tables. But there’d not been so much as a sniff of testosterone, unless you counted the odd besuited member of the venue staff.

‘Know where they’re staying, do you?’ Ginny asked, planting a hand firmly on her hip.

Dani sighed at her toes. ‘Actually, I heard it was the Whyteleaf.’ The landmark family-run hotel had recently undergone an extensive refurbishment, having been purchased by a global conglomerate. What’s more, their PR man had clearly decided that having a rock band, even an extreme metal group, constituted a major scoop for business. Black Halo’s image had been splashed across all their recent advertising.

Ginny vetoed the possibility with a slash of her hand. ‘Everyone will be there. We’ll not get close.’

They didn’t seem to be getting very close anyway. ‘Ginny, are you even sure this is the right place? These rooms look like offices.’

‘What do you expect a dressing room to look like?’

‘I don’t know, stars on the doors?’ She’d never been backstage anywhere before, unless you counted performing in the school nativity play. She’d assumed it’d be full of bustling activity, whereas their current surroundings were too quiet. Only the odd vibration through the floor hinted that there was a band on the premises.

They turned yet another corner and into a broad corridor, down which there were at least a dozen doors. ‘Like these, you mean?’ Ginny crowed.

There weren’t actually stars on the doors, but there were card slots. Godwatch, Dying Pain … Ginny read them out, her voice growing louder, until she shrieked, ‘Black Halo. Yes!’ She punched the air. ‘Dani, we’re in.’

Ginny barged straight into the room. Dani followed on the balls of her feet, expecting to be challenged. Inside, dressing tables lit with hundreds of bulbs lined one wall of a roughly boot-shaped room. They’d entered at the leg end, a tight space dominated by rails full of leather coats. Where the room widened, twin squashy sofas sat either side of a coffee table littered with beer cans and half-empty bottles of spring water. A purple electric guitar lay in the centre of one sofa, and a huge display of lilies on its counterpart. The smell of flowers permeated the room, almost but not quite masking the waxy odour of white foundation, hairspray and half a dozen different deodorants.

‘Seriously, they make them all squish into one room?’ Dani had anticipated a dressing room each. Surely by the time you hit Black Halo’s level of success you were guaranteed a little privacy? ‘So, now what?’

Ginny moved the lilies onto the table alongside someone’s laptop and a stack of chocolate. Then she stretched out on that sofa. ‘We chill, silly.’

Dani flicked a glance at the clock on her phone. She had no intention of lounging around in the dressing room with Ginny for the next hour, missing all the thrill of the show. She’d bought a ticket so that she could chant along with the rest of the crowd, not to camp out in a glorified closet. ‘I’m going to go watch,’ she insisted.

‘Suit yourself.’ Ginny rolled her eyes upwards, then crossed her arms and snuggled against the leather. ‘Suppose you’d better take this, then, just so that you can get back in. And don’t lose it. I need to frame that baby later.’

Dani caught the laminated pass and slipped the lanyard around her neck, still half hoping Ginny would come with her. When it became apparent she wouldn’t, Dani headed for the door.

‘Hey, Saint,’ Ginny called. Dani turned to see her helping herself to a bar of chocolate. ‘Are you actually going to come back or shall I see you at the hotel?’

‘Um,’ Dani replied, her hand on the door knob. She worried her lower lip with her teeth. Sure, she wanted to meet the band, but not through subterfuge. Ginny’s method also required her to be somebody she wasn’t, and entailed expectations that made her uneasy. Dani didn’t put out for a guy on a first date – and she was applying the term ‘date’ very loosely in this situation. That rule didn’t change even if the guy in question was a rock star, and somehow she didn’t think any of the band members would be interested in a chat over coffee. Before she let a man between her legs, he had to prove he cared about her. She couldn’t be like Ginny, who never seemed to worry about pregnancy or disease or any other complication. Ginny didn’t need trust to get naked, only the most basic of excuses.

Dani preferred not to take all her clothes off – ever. She routinely showered with her eyes tight closed, and, if it’d been practical to leave her underwear on, would have done so. The thought of allowing a stranger to get frisky with her, especially while his mates were hanging about close enough to hear, if not see, them, made her nauseous, not horny.

‘It’s OK, Saint. I can be woman enough for them all if you’re not game.’

‘Well …’

‘Really. It’s fine. I’ll see you at the hotel.’

‘How?’ Dani asked. They’d driven to the stadium together.

Ginny laughed at her. ‘Duh, I’ll call a cab. You know, the black things with wheels on the corners that ferry people about. And don’t feel you need to wait up.’

‘All right,’ she agreed dubiously, not entirely happy about the idea of leaving Ginny to make her way alone. And she would wait up, same as she always did when Ginny stayed out late, just to make sure she actually got home.

‘Use the pass if you change your mind about scoring yourself some hot man-flesh.’

Dani left her and began retracing their steps. Naturally, she did wonder if she’d made the right decision. She did desperately want to meet Xane, and it would definitely be safer if she and Ginny stuck together, but … hell, Xane probably wouldn’t want anything to do with her anyway, especially when she wasn’t prepared to put out, and she didn’t think she could stomach that sort of rejection. Also, she didn’t want to see Ginny getting frisky with him. That’d make her puke.

Better that she stuck to seeing the gig. As it was, she was going to have to concoct a story for her mum about what she’d been up to tonight. She might have escaped the commune, but the sisterhood were still paying her university fees, and they liked to keep close tabs on her to ensure she was still upholding the precepts of the order.

Attending rock concerts, especially Black Halo gigs, definitely wasn’t on the list of acceptable activities. Black Halo epitomised just about everything the sisterhood despised most. If they found out she’d been here, they’d probably cut her off. Or, worse, drag her back to the commune to live amongst them again.

Dani paused, realising she’d taken a wrong turn in the maze of backstage corridors. Ahead, rather than the entrance hall, were crates of equipment. Several beefy guys – roadies, she guessed – were lounging around swigging tinnies. One or two were entertaining a huddle of scantily dressed rock chicks.

Ginny would have blended right in, but even decked out in Ginny’s goth gear Dani knew she’d give off the wrong vibes. Better she kept her distance than embarrassed herself by asking for directions.